I have resumed work on my story Picking Flowers on my Birthday. For this reason I have reverted the page back to draft, so I can continue where I left off. In the meantime I’ll make the first chapter available here in this post, so you can come back to it whenever you like.
Stay tuned for progress updates
WARNING!! Read the disclaimer before proceeding!!
Picking Flowers on my Birthday
It was the winter of my fifteenth birthday. My parents had a long standing tradition of going to a ski resort for two weeks around the turn of the year. My birthday is January 1, so it’s always smack in the middle of this period, which makes this vacation extra special for me. At least it used to. But not that year.
Lots of things were off. For one, I was at the height of puberty, and I hated it. Hormones had been ravaging my body for over a year and a half. But especially since that summer, I had changed a lot. My boobs hadn’t just budded like with other girls, they had exploded! Where a year before there had hardly been a noticeable swelling, I now had a firm C-cup, and my tits hurt all the time, so I assumed they were still growing. My ass had gotten wider, I had hair where there had been none before, and I had started menstruating – quite late I suppose, I had hoped it would pass me by somehow. The summer had sucked, needless to say that I wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending two weeks in a snowed-in cabin with my parents. I hated skiing. I’d never gotten the hang of it, so I rarely got out during those days. I usually never had a problem keeping myself busy at the cabin, but that year, I just felt like crap.
I had discovered and relished in the forbidden joy of masturbation around the age of 7. Of course at that time I had no idea what I was doing and what the significance was, only that it felt marvelous.
I remember my first orgasm very well. I had the habit of snuggling against my favorite Teddy Bear extra close, and wrapping my legs around its stubby paws. For as long as I can remember, this close contact had felt good between my thighs. Especially when I would ride it a bit, move my fanny up and down and rub my muffy along its rugged stubs. And then, one night, it had felt extra special. I didn’t know what I did differently, but the tingling feeling between my legs just got stronger and lovelier with every passing minute. I rubbed it harder and faster, and felt the tingling sensation expand, from only down there to my belly and legs, until I felt exceptionally ticklish from my midsection down to my knees. And after a few more minutes, without having any idea how or with no particular goal I was pursuing, I climaxed for the first time in my life. It had felt like nothing I had experienced before, and it took me over a month of trying before I managed to let it happen again. Back then, I hadn’t understood at all what had happened, but once I’d gotten the hang of it, I masturbated just about every day in my bed.
But since a year or two, this secret and private pleasure had lost all innocence. My parents had never bothered shielding me from sex much, so I saw it on TV and in magazines. And I had started noticing boys too of course. So since the advent of puberty, I knew very well what I was doing and what it meant. I was perpetually horny and syphoned it off with fingering myself whenever I had the chance. Which was often, since I was home alone a lot – my parents had a very active social life and trusted me alone in the house since I was little over 10 years old – and I had gotten very good at pleasuring myself. My fantasies during masturbation were still incoherent and somewhat childish. I had no real accurate concept yet of what was supposed to happen between a man and a woman, so my musings mostly revolved around kissing and cuddling.
As I said, I had seen sex on TV, but nothing too explicit or graphic. Aside from a bare ass and dangling boob, I hadn’t seen too much yet of the raw mechanics of copulation. Until I stumbled on some actual porn. Internet hardly meant anything in those days, so that source was unavailable as it is for kids today, but I had once found a porn magazine in a box of old paper in the backyard shed of a friend’s home, and had a full minute to browse through it before I was startled by my friend who had come look for me during a game of hide-and-seek. This was when I was 12, around the period when I had become aware of the real differences between boys and girls – not just that all boys were stupid – but also differences down there. And what I had seen in the magazine had been hard to wrap my mind around. Glistening slits, long hard penises, whitish goo spewing out of them, women’s faces and breasts covered in the stuff…I was mesmerized and disgusted at the same time. But mostly the former. That night, in my bed, for the very first time did my fantasizing contain actual sexual images. I imagined a large erect penis, its purplish head throbbing and glistening, moving close to my own vagina, touching it, entering it, and squirting that fascinating white liquid on my belly and legs. From then on, I let my mind freely explore the possibilities and beauty of the human sexual intercourse. And since then, my orgasms had become more frequent and more intense as I became better at visualizing sex. This was also the foundation of my sex addiction, as it would become clear that I was insatiable…
After the boring and endless summer, during which I had been too embarrassed by my changing body to go out swimming even once, I literally had nothing better to do to pass time than play with myself, as often as I could get away with, which was sometimes as much as 4 or 5 times a day.
When we settled into the ski cabin for the coming two weeks, that had been pretty much my plan. Just play daughter, smile and be nice, and as soon as my parents were out skiing, the clothes would come off and I’d be pleasuring myself all day.
Until dad told me about “the surprise”…
I should have suspected when we didn’t move into our regular cabin like every year, but into a larger one with 2 extra bedrooms. I wasn’t going to be alone to enjoy myself at all. Uncle Stefan, my dad’s brother, his wife aunt Hilde and their obnoxious son Bert, my now seventeen year old nephew, were coming to spend the holiday with us. They’d arrive shortly after noon. And to make things worse, my nephew had sprained his ankle during gym class on the last day of school! I bet he did it on purpose. In any way, he wouldn’t be going skiing at all, nooooo, he would be spending the entire vacation in the cabin. With me. Sure, since I didn’t like skiing anyway, and Bert was a bit “reduced in his mobility”, I could look after him and help him out, bring him snacks and drinks and shake up his pillow and bring his newspaper! The worst vacation of my life had just gotten orders of magnitude worse! Not only was I stuck with this pimpled, snotty, spoiled and infantile relative of mine for two weeks, I could also forget my plans about riding my finger all day. He was gonna be around to hear – hell, even smell me – so any privacy I had counted on was out the door.
Shortly after noon they arrived. I’m sure my uncle and aunt were there too, and I’ll accept any recount of me greeting them and playing the well-adjusted, friendly and getting-so-big niece that they hadn’t seen for over two years. My uncle and aunt had moved to a different province and contact was scarce since then. I’m sure it was a happy and joyous family reunion. But the only thing I remember of that afternoon was my cousin Bert.
It had been more than two years since our families had last spent some time together. And Bert had been in the height of puberty then. He had indeed been a snotty, pimpled and obnoxious brat. Even though he was two years older than me, I had never liked him any more than I could lift him above my head. We just never got along much. He always chased me around making funny faces and noises, hid my stuff, poked my sides, and basically just behaved like any boy that age, stuck halfway between child and man, the body slowly going through the transition, but the mind seemingly forever caught in infancy.
But boy, had puberty ever treated him good!
The child was out the door, and the man was knocking, urging to be let in. He had grown near a foot since he had been fifteen himself. His face had almost completely cleared up, the pimples that used to disgust me so much now almost entirely gone. His jaw had become somewhat more prominent, and he had a light stubble on his chin and cheeks. As he took off his coat I saw his torso had gotten wider, his shoulders now broadening and his arms getting a definite muscular impression under the tight sleeves of his turtleneck sweater. I knew he had always been a swimmer, training quite fervently, even when he had been just a boy, and his body was definitely taking on the characterizing shape.
He must have been surprised to see how much I had changed as well. Even though my hips and waist were still a bit out of proportion, I had definitely gotten some real curves. I still hadn’t lost all the baby fat on my haunches and belly, but I guess you could say – objectively speaking – that my ass was starting to take shape, my legs were nicely forming, and my boobs did already turn the heads of the older boys at school. My face hadn’t changed much, but I had been spared from too severe skin blemishes. My hair was longer and fuller, and I’m quoting my mom now, who can’t stop bragging about my dark brown eyes and long lashes, prominent and ever inquisitive yet somewhat cynical and defiant. A mouth with full lips and (luckily, something I was proud of) nice healthy teeth, never plagued by retainers. Yep, guess I was becoming quite a looker. I took after my mother a lot. She’s half brazilian, and I think she looks amazing, even at 40. Must be those Latino genes.
Bert gave his coat to my mom, who was running around like a headless chicken. She was thrilled at the prospect of spending her vacation with family. She had always gotten along well with my aunt, and it had been a while since they had had a chance to catch up.
Bert just stood there, with a cool gaze and a vague smirk on his face, which I reluctantly had to admit to myself had gotten pretty handsome. He was checking out the cabin with his hands in his pockets. At first he pretty much ignored me, which I found kind of annoying, but when he was done scoping the interior of the chalet he turned his attention to me.
I had never noticed before how penetrating his gaze was. He had the same green eyes as my dad and his dad, something that runs in their family. He still had the smirk on his mouth when he looked into my eyes and said my name, not quite mockingly but not completely void of the lingering animosity there must still have been between us as far as I was concerned. He stared at me just a second too long and I started feeling a little uncomfortable.
“Lucyyyy!!” he said again, his face now lighting up as if he was greeting his best friend after two years no seen, instead of the bitchy and whiny niece he had buggered to tears last time they were forced to spend time together. He definitely was handsome, no denying it. His teeth were just as perfect as mine, his smile opened up his face, his eyes suddenly friendly and kind in stead of sneaky and impish.
What he did next caught me totally by surprise. He stepped forward, threw his arms around me and gave me three kisses on my cheeks, as is a custom in my country. He smelled terrific. After the kisses, he held me at arms length and said “Damn, look at you!! I bet you’re beating the boys off you with a stick. You look great!”
I was too perplexed to say anything witty, and he sounded just too sincere, his complement genuine – although cheeky enough to make me blush, no doubt – so I just muttered a clumsy thank you and proffered a shy smile. But I had been very aware of his arms around me, my boobs pressing into his chest, his smell, and the effect all this had on me. I could kick myself. Was he just gonna barge in here, ruin my vacation, and do it looking all nice and being friendly, instead of obnoxious and snotty, like what I had emotionally armed myself for? I hated him for catching me off guard like this, and myself for letting my guard down.
It was six days until my birthday. I was very confused now, a shameful mix of slightly flustered and severely disgusted, more with myself for acting like a silly school girl than with him for not living up to the negative expectations I had imposed on him.
Little did I know then that my flusteredness would surge and evolve into arousal as my birthday would near, and the disgust would gradually change into an almost unbearable craving…
to be continued…
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