Unrelated Events

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Chuckie listened. Down the hall, he could hear the sound of his dad snoring a loud, obnoxious, almost exaggerated snore.

Ah, the sweet, sweet sound of complete and uninterruptible privacy.

Chuckie was standing near the door in his room, the room he had lived in since he was born a little less than a decade and a half ago, still hesitating to open the door. Save for Chaz's cliched snoring, the house was completely silent. Chuckie's mom was invariably wearing earplugs to cope with the horrible din, and Kimi was infamous for her ability to sleep through anything. Or would that be famous? Whatever. Of course, this meant nothing, because Chuckie was sure he would be caught.

So out the door he went, down the hall lined with boards that were obviously bought wholesale from "Squeaks-R-Us," and down the stairs that must've been painfully hand-crafted by Stradivarius himself in order to amplify Chuckie's footsteps to the extent where a concert hall's PA system couldn't possibly make them any louder. Then down another hall, covered in tile that was obviously cooled via liquid nitrogen, making the soles of Chuckie's bare feet contract a mild form of frostbite. Then, finally, into the computer room. His safe haven. He stepped into the room and closed the door as quietly as his adolescent, episodic Parkinsons-ridden hands could manage.

Then he sat down at the computer, and moved the mouse back and fourth a little bit. The monitor clicked on, and slowly the image of the computer's desktop started to appear on the screen. Slowly, slowly, as if tiny mice were drawing the image on a gigantic Etch-E-Sketch they used in lieu of an actual screen.

Finally, the desktop was viewable. He double-clicked on the Internet Explorer icon, typed "www.google.com" into the web bar.

Loading, loading, loading. And Verizon said that this DSL was fast.

Loading, loading, loading. And Google isn't anything other one image and a text box.

Loading, loading, loading. Fucking James Earl Jones.

Chuckie pressed the stop button, then the reload button, and the page appeared instantaneously. Fucking computers.

Chuckie paused, and listened. Listened for doors opening. Listened for footsteps. Listened for the bated breath of a concerned parent standing outside of the computer room door, waiting to see what their fourteen year-old son was doing on the computer at one o'clock in the morning, and trying to be as covert about it as humanly possible. Waiting for the chafing sounds of skin on skin.

Not a sound. Down the hall, up the stairs, and down the hall again, Chaz was demonstrating how chronically congested his sinuses were.

So it was safe. So nobody was trying to catch him. Nobody was going to walk in and interrupt Chuckie mid-coatis. It was safe to proceed.

So Chuckie proceeded. He typed "Hot lesbian sex" in the search field and hit enter, each keystroke sounding like someone was putting a Ming vase on a pedestal and then hitting it with a saxophone.

The new page loaded, and about five hundred thousand websites were found. The red-haired youth, clad only in boxers, began to scan the list of smut for potential sources. Even though this wasn't his first time at sneaking porn on the sly, he wasn't a seasoned veteran quite yet. He finally found one that seemed decent enough: a certain site by the name of "UltraHot Lezbosexxx 4 U!!!"

The red-haired boy, his nipples went hard. There was a little bit of a draft in the computer room, and maybe putting a shirt on would've been a good idea. The red-haired boy, the short, fine hairs on his forearms stood on end, the skin around each one tenting up with it, like thousands of little hills with white flags of surrender protruding from them. The red-haired boy, his penis was already starting to get a little bit hard. Just a little bit. Enough where the bump in his boxers that signified where his shaft was resting above his balls was starting to get a little bit bigger. But just a little bit.

On the computer screen, the typical porno-site splash appeared. Anyone who has ever seen a porn site knows what this looks like. It's a hyperactive medley of semi-attractive, confused young women posing naked over crudely-made 3D background images. There are thirty popups that crowd around the main window, but Chuckie closes them all. This causes more to pop up. Chuckie holds down ALT-F4 for a little while, and problem mostly solved. Chuckie examines the young ladies in front of him, dressed in scarlet stockings and nothing else, in stiletto heels and nothing else, in lace boudoirs and nothing else. They're shooting him erotic looks with their long, french-manicured pinkie nails perching on the sides of their overly plump lips. But Chuckie isn't looking at that. Fuck faces, there are vaginas to gawk at. This one confused young woman, her breasts are the size of volleyballs, her nipples the size of the bottom of a coffee cup. She's resting her right pinkie nail on the right side of her mouth, and her pubic hair is shaved to a thin, two inch-long, one inch-wide strand above her clit. The lips are moist, shiny, but not parted. Moist, shiny, and fat with arousal. The red-haired boy, his penis isn't just a little bit hard, now. His boxers are tenting up, holding his erection back, keeping it secret. In the light of the monitor, you can see the blood pressure causing his shaft to gently pulsate through the fabric.

And then, "Real women don't look like that, you know."

Oh shit.

Oh shit. Shit shit shit.

The voice is a feminine one. Oh shit, he's dead.

"I mean, how could a woman possibly have breasts that big?"

The voice does not belong to his mother.

"I've heard that when they get boob jobs like that, their nipples get all off-center, so they have to cut them off and move them to a more natural location." The owner of the voice moves a bit closer, a little bit Chuckie's right. "I've heard that they lose all sensation in the nipples when they do that."

The voice belongs to Kimi.

"How can people like that? How can guys like that, rather?" She's standing there, not even looking at Chuckie, not even looking at the boxers that are tenting more than they should be. She's just staring at the window that Chuckie left open, because Chuckie was too startled to close any of the windows. She's staring at the D-cupped, confused young woman who probably didn't get the money she was promised for this shoot. At the young woman who is going to regret doing this photo shoot for the rest of her life, and is going to feel completely and utterly humiliated at the mere mention of pornography. The young woman who is always, always going to have the skeleton of being an internet porno slut in her closet. Then she looks down at Chuckie, not at his erection, but at his eyes. His medium-blue eyes that look dark-blue in the monitor's radiant light. At his terrified irises, semi dilated by the contrast of lots of dark surrounding very bright. She's looking at how, in his left eye, there's a tiny little dot below and to the left of his pupil.

And without a word, she pats him on the head. She's wearing an unusually tight-fitting shirt, though only unusual in the respect that people don't normally wear tight-fitting clothing to bed. Her 13 year-old breasts poke out of the shirt a bit. A-cups, maybe? Who knows, but they're respectable for a 13 year-old Asian. She isn't wearing a bra, and her nipples are hardened a little bit by the same draft that is making Chuckie's nipples hard. And she's not wearing pants. Just panties. Nothing scandalous, but not grannie underwear, either. Her thighs taper down from the panties to her knees, to her shins, to her feet, all of it perfectly smooth.

It's about the time that Chuckie's eyes start traveling around Kimi's body that she sits down on her knees, her legs folded behind her. She moves the swiveling chair that Chuckie is sitting on so that he is facing her, and she rests her arms and her breasts on Chuckie's knees. And again, even though Chuckie has a more rapidly-undulating bulge in his boxers, she's just looking up at his eyes, and Chuckie's just sort of gaping back, with no idea what to do.

Kimi chuckles a small chuckle, looks off to one side for a second, then slips her index fingers under the elastic of Chuckie's boxers. She moves them back and fourth in-between the cotton-covered rubber and his skin, which is unusually warm.

And Chuckie is still gaping.

She then starts pulling the boxers down, little by little. She pulls them down by the sides, the parts that are by his hips. They're creamy white, and smooth. The elastic slides down his lower navel a bit more and more, until small orange hairs start to appear. Chuckie's erection is tilting towards his belly button, and snags the boxers in place, so she stops. She takes the time to run her hands up his stomach, onto his chest. His stomach is smooth: not fat at all, but not overly toned. She runs her hands over his little outie belly button, up his abs and to his chest, and she rubs. His nipples brush against the tips of her fingers, and the almost invisible peach fuzz that sits on his sternum feels like very, very thin velvet.

And Chuckie is gaping, but now he's gaping and shuddering a little bit.

Then she returns to the job she had before. She continues pulling his boxers, his dark green boxers, down a little bit more and a little bit more. Finally, she gets it to the point where dark red, curly pubic hairs start poking out from behind the elastic, and then she lifts the boxers up and over. Chuckie's erection, five and a half inches long and surrounded by an arc of dark red pubic hair, is all that remains.

And chuckie is sitting there, his boxers around his knees, with his adopted sister's face several inches away from his penis. And she's looking at it. She's examining how the shaft, about as thick as a D-cell battery, gracefully curves upwards towards his bely button, and how his pink-red foreskin is pulled halfway down his shiny head. And it's pulsating with Chuckie's heartbeat. Then she looks down at his adobe-red testicles, slightly retracted in the thanks to the draft that is making both of their nipples hard. She looks and sees a few red hairs sticking out of the stretchy skin.

"Huh. Uncircumcised?" She says, in a tone so matter-of-fact that only a urologist could do a better job at it. "Funny, I thought that was a big thing here."

Chuckie didn't know the difference. Then again, most don't.

"Smells nice, though." Then she touches it, first with the tips of her fingers, running her fingers up and down the shaft, just a little bit. Chuckie shudders, without managing to lose his dumbfounded expression, and Kimi grabs the skin right below the head and pulls it down a little bit. His foreskin follows suit, and completely uncovers Chuckie's head.

"Aww, cute."

Then she gently grabs the shaft and starts going up and down, right below the head. His foreskin glides up and down over the tip, and Chuckie is shuddering again. Then she speeds up, and Chuckie is starting to twitch a bit. It feels like thousands of sparks of undeniable pleasure are shooting from his penis to the rest of his body. And she speeds up a bit more, and grabs his scrotum, running her finger under it to where the rest of the erection is. Then she gently pushes, and Chuckie starts to feel his body tense up. He starts to feel the initial rush, the initial sensation of semen flowing from his testicles to his prostate. She pushes a little bit harder, and then speeds up just a little bit more and tightens her grip, and he can't help himself. Then he feels the orgasm, the climax, rushing through his system. He arcs his head back and shudders even more, but the liquid is encountering some resistance. It shoots past the impression on the shaft that is being made by Kimi's finger, and out his shaft in general. Spurt spurt spurt spurt. Spurt spurt. Spurt. Spurt. The semi-white, viscous liquid is all over his stomach, caught up in his curly, dark-red pubes, and covering Kimi's hand. He pants slowly, and a little more of the semi-white liquid drips out of Chuckie's retracted foreskin.

And with her tongue, Kimi begins to clean up the mess.

(End of Chapter 1. More to be added when I'm bored.)