My Step-Sister Jessica (p.1)

It was the first time that my dad had remarried. She seemed nice at first, but then she turned out like most stepmothers do: heartless bitches. At least there was one good comfort: She had a pretty good-looking daughter that was two years younger than me.

My name is Brian. I was 14 years old, mostly skinny, short and dark jet-black hair and dark eyes that would penetrate into the deepest reaches of a person. I tell you that I was skinny, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have any muscle on me. I guess people could say that I was lean and fit; it’s just that I never pictured myself that way. I was always running around the neighborhood and used to do a lot of yard work for various neighbors, who paid me well. All of that sweating in an Arizona heat would keep you lean and throwing back heavy soil and yard clippings all day didn’t hurt either. It gave me a muscular build, but I never saw myself that way back then. One thing I do remember is that I was just like every other 14-year-old boy: Horny as hell.

My stepsister Jessica wasn’t exactly to die for, but she was easy on the eyes. She was a few inches shorter than me, had soft light brown hair that was almost blonde, and green eyes. She had a nice pair of B cup tits that were growing in, and she stayed fit by playing volleyball with the local neighborhood group that was always down at the park near the house.

We were like the typical stepbrother and stepsister. Pretty much acting like family and always annoying each other. It’s what brothers and sisters live to do to each other. We always did our homework out at the kitchen table and then watched TV even until after our parents went to bed. Our parents were laid back; they understood the want of staying up late, and they figured if we were too tired from staying up late and did not get enough sleep, then it was a lesson learned and we would have to suffer through school anyways. If our grades ever dropped, then they would suspend the privilege. But our grades never dropped below a B+.

Jessica and I had bedroom right next to each other and the bathroom was across the hall. Jessica would always keep the door shut, and I would keep mine shut because we both wanted our privacy. At least at first. As months passed by, we grew more comfortable around each other. She started first by standing in my bedroom doorway talking to me about school or boys that she hated while wearing just her towels, one wrapped around her head from her still-wet hair, and the other hanging around her waist in the ever-amazing, gravity-denying boob-tuck. How it stayed there, I’ll never know. After a while, she would leave the door to the bathroom open after she had changed into her bra and panties while she was rinsing off makeup, but before she changed into pajamas.