I never understood why my bitch of a sister was so popular with boys when we were growing up. I spread my sister’s legs wide apart and knelt on the floor in-between. I especially remember, Kelly was twelve (almost thirteen) and had just started senior school; mum bought Kelly her first satin waist-slip with pretty lace around the hem, to wear under her school skirt. “It’s not just a slip, it’s satin and it’s lovely,” I told my sister. As I got dressed, Kelly lay on the floor in the lounge and started to cry. Without even blinking, she answered, “Yes, I do.”
“I love the way your slip feels over your satin knickers,” I told my sister as I continued to feel her buttocks. Perhaps if we had been sister’s we would have been much closer when growing up. “I didn’t want to ruin my clothes,” replied Kelly. Occasionally I would babysit for Kelly so they could both go out for the night. My sister (Kelly) who is three years older, left home and got married (to Eddie) at just seventeen.
