Dirty Debs

Truth is often more implausible than fiction. The logic of a written story doesn't always apply to actual events. Especially when the characters involved are real life, horny teenagers, acting on sexual impulse rather than good sense, and ruled by desire, not rational thought.

The following events took place in the summer of 1982. My sister and I were both between our junior and senior years of high school. She was eighteen years old, but I was nineteen. We were just over fourteen months apart.

Our parents had married young and chose to have both of us as quickly as possible. They had held me back a year before I was supposed to enter kindergarten, so that sis and I could attend together, and we were frequently mistaken for twins. Partly because we were in the same grade throughout pre-, elementary and high schools, but also because we had similar coloration and builds: pale skin, auburn hair, and tall and slender figures with pointed features. My sister wore it all better than I did, and looked like the ethereal angel that she was. I was just a washed-out, skinny wimp.

I know it's fashionable in a story like this for the "hero" to be a strapping, bronzed adonis, a perfect physical specimen, quarterback of the football team, anchor of the swim team, attacker on the lacrosse team, blah, blah, blah -but the reality is, I wasn't any of those things. If I had been, it all would have happened much differently I'm sure. And you, dear readers, would be missing out on a sordid tale of post-adolescent lechery, lasciviousness and, as the category heading dictates, incest.

Before I begin my story in earnest, I need to mention something that could prove to be rather confusing. Of the five main characters in this narrative -myself, my sister and her trio of best friends- three of us have the same name. Now if this were a work of fiction and not reality, you would be correct in criticizing me, the author, for being a complete fucking idiot for giving three of the characters in the same story the same name. But since I am chronicler and not creator, I ask that you be tolerant of this complication, and bear with me, as I seek to clarify it. And no, I do not share a name with any of the female characters. I am not the proverbial "boy named Sue."

I will try to explain this as simply as possible, my sister is named Deborah. Her first best friend, known as Deb, is named Deborah, her third best friend, known as Debbie, is named Deborah. Her second best friend, to everyone's relief, is named Jessica. To recap, my sister is Deborah. Her friends, in order of importance to her are Deb, Jessica and Debbie. As we did in real life, so will I in this account, to avoid confusion, only ever refer to my sister as Deborah, only ever refer to her first best friend as Deb and only ever refer to her third best friend as Debbie, except, on occasion, as we did in real life, refer to her as Little Debbie, which she was in stature, but not in breast size. (And yes, I'm getting to the sex eventually. You may want to do something else with your hands for the time being, so you don't wear your "parts" down before you need them.)

Deborah, Deb, Jessica and Debbie all went to the "all girls" Catholic high school across the creek from the "all boys" Catholic high school that I attended, and we were all in the same grade, and the same age, 18-19 years old. But don't worry, you'll discover, as you continue to read, that we were Catholic in name only, at least as far as our sexuality was concerned. Yes, we all went to church on Sundays, and did good deeds like sending money to the missions, and visiting old folks homes to sing Kumbaya with the residents, but we were all, or more precisely we all became, sexual deviants over the course of that fateful summer. And this is not heavy-handed irony on my part as the writer, it's just the plain truth. Our upbringing didn't save us from moral corruption, and probably contributed to it.

And now the story begins.

It is 9pm on a warm July night, and the southeast Michigan sun has not yet completely set in the west. Its dull orange rays still seeped over the horizon. My face lies deep in tan shag carpet. My left ear is pressed against the base of my bedroom door, where a slight crack exists between it and the shag. A short distance across the hallway is a similarly set door, with a similarly sized crack at its bottom. That door leads to my sister's room, where she and her aforementioned three besties are celebrating her 18th birthday. Sporadic waves of giggling are all I can make out. The words leading to them are unintelligible.

In my mind's eye I see the four of them in their summer sleeping skivvies. I imagine tight shorts and t-shirts, or flimsy tank tops and frilly panties. I can only fantasize at this point, but in ten long minutes, when the sun finally sets and darkness prevails, I will be able to actually see! (Be patient dear readers. All will be explained.) In my mind's eye the image of the scantily-clad slumberettes, and their four, feminine, frames, makes my wan wiener rock hard, and it pokes out of the fly of my loose fitting boxers, much redder than my actual skin color. It buries itself in the tan shag carpet several inches deeper even than my forehead.

The clock ticks tortuously until the ten minutes expire. The sun has sunk, the evening sky fades to asphalt black. Better give it five more minutes just to be safe.

When I'm confident that it's finally dark enough to make my move, I get up from the carpet, and brush the microfibers off my knees. I pull my t-shirt down over my crotch as far as it will go, then reach under it to tuck my raging hard on into the elastic waist band of my drawers. Here goes nothin'.

I open the door a crack to make sure the coast is clear, then quickly glide across the hallway to the bathroom opposite. I silently pull the door shut behind me. But I can't lock it. It needs to look like no one is using the bathroom This phase is the most dangerous part of my plan. If anyone were to enter during the brief moments it takes me to slide the screen up, crawl out the window onto the low-lying roof of our add-on living room, then slide the screen back down again, I would be completely busted.

But I drop to the rooftop undetected. Splayed out on its coarse shingles, I look over my shoulder into the murky darkness of the just vacated commode to make sure I have landed on my perch undetected. Confident I have not been seen, I crane my neck forward toward the streams of tungsten spilling out of my sister's bedroom window. To improve my view, I drag myself across the roof as far as I dare, lifting my hips just enough to avoid shingle burning my still priapic penis. I prostrate myself in the darkness between the sharp parallelogram of yellow light shining through her window pane, and the pale blob of apricot haze, drifting across the roof from the high set mood lamp overlooking the patio in our back yard.

I roll onto my back and twist my neck sideways, peering over the edge of the roof. My parents are sitting on the fat cushions of the cast iron furniture on the back patio, and they're... What are they doing?... They're making out? My God, they're really going at it! Mom has dad's tongue in her mouth, a glass of sangria in her left hand, and -What?- his dick in her right. His dick! So this is what they do during "relaxation time" on hot summer nights. No wonder Deborah and I were never allowed to join them on the patio.

And even in the dim light of the mood lamp I can't help but notice the size of my father's swollen cock. It's as fat as the cushions of the cast iron patio furniture. And in its aroused state it arches up over his torso higher than his belly button. My dick's not as fat as that. And it's not as long either. I mean it's not that much shorter, but it's way thinner. What gives? I must have inherited the penis gene from my mother's side of the family, along with my pale skin and anemic red hair.

Suddenly, mom breaks free of dad, who was groping her tits over her flimsy tank top. She places the big round sangria glass in his hand instead, kneels on the wooden deck in front of him, and pulls his tennis shorts down to his ankles... What am I witnessing here?!?! She gathers up his bulbous balls in both hands, holding firmly to the base of his thick, long cock. What happens next can only be described as a miracle of nature. Like a python, she seemingly unhinges her jaw, and swallows dad's "fatty" like it's a baby crocodile. Amazing! My own "thinny" is now so hard, that it's broken free of the elastic restraint of my boxers. I feel the warm night air blow over my now exposed shaft. Dad has mom blowing him, but all that's blowing me is the faint summer breeze.

Transfixed by the sight of my beautiful mother slurping and gagging on my dad's preposterously proportioned prick, I'm about to start stroking my own more reasonably sized one, when I hear a loud squeal from my sister's room. Damn, I almost forgot about them. I twist my neck back in the other direction, and looking through the window with my head upside down, I feel the blood rushing out of my rod and back into my head. Despite the pressure on my eyes and the strain in my neck from gazing at the window the wrong way round, I can still see inside. And I can't believe what I'm looking at. I roll back the right way to make sure I'm not hallucinating, and the view from my stomach is the same as it was on my back.

All three Debs sit in a circle on my sister's bed, and all three of them are topless! (You can't make this up dear reader.) And Jessica also has her shirt off, and she's crossing to the window. I flatten myself out in that dark area of the roof as much as I can, so she won't see me, but without losing site of her nubile, ambling body for a second. She strolls through the room with a bouncing gait, but her young tits are so firm, they don't even jiggle. As she opens the sash, the aforementioned faint summer breeze wafts through the screen and hits her nipples making them hard. I noticed at first they were inverted, but now they poke outward at me from the window like it was the screen at a 3D drive-in.

"Now that feels a lot better. Too darned hot in here," she chirps.

Jess turns, giving me a perfect view of her perfect ass cheeks. They protrude out of either side of her undersized cotton panties, and are amazingly firm, just like her tits, undulating only slightly as she joins the Debs on the bed. She's like a marble statue turned to flesh, yet still maintaining her solid perfection.

"Maybe we should have thought of opening the window first to cool off, before we took our tops off," Deborah utters meekly, as she covers herself with her arms.

As beautiful as my sister is, she has always been self conscious about the size of her breasts, and embarrassed because they were too small. But seeing them now for the first time as an adult, in their less-than-full glory, I found them to be beautiful. Milky white like the rest of her skin with puffy, radiant pink nipples, the perfect size and color for her ethereal good looks.

"Your breasts are beautiful Deborah," Deb echoes my sentiments, encouragingly. That's what best friends are for. "Mine are not that much bigger." Maybe that's why they're besties.

"It's not about the size of your jugs," the overly endowed Debbie preaches. "It's about the quality of your nipples. And your nips are grade A. I've seen a ton of them."

Debbie played field hockey since junior high, so she probably had seen her fair share of nipples in the girls' locker room. For me, these were the first eight I'd ever set eyes on. As far as I was concerned, they were all magnificent. And just to be thorough, Debbie's nipples were big and round, but not too big for her enormous breasts. Deb's were pert and perky, the hardest of them all. At least they looked the hardest. I could only wonder what they felt like.

"Thanks girls. You're all so pretty, so your kind words mean a lot to me."

"Move your arms out of the way," Debbie blares at my shy sibling. "So we can see them better."

Deborah smiles softly, and lowers her arms.

"I wanna kiss 'em," Debbie declares.

Now that the window is open, I can hear everything perfectly. But I still can't believe my ears. Debbie's a dyke! And wants to suck on my poor, innocent sister's titties!

"You field hockey players are such lesbos," Deb replies protectively.

"It's ok Deb," my sister blushes. "No one's ever done that to me before. I'd like to see how it feels."

She'd like to see how it feels!

"And it's better to start with a friend," my sis adds demurely.

"Well happy birthday then," her best friend concedes.

"You should let me do it to you sometime," Debbie wisecracks to Deb, as she crawls across the mattress to Deborah. Her immense, round boobs hang big and soft under the defined lats of her angular back.

"Maybe you'll get lucky one day." Deb retorts, trying to be sarcastic, but her voice belies her curiosity and arousal.

Debbie gently starts lapping at one of Deborah's nipples, flicking her tongue over it and circling it around her areola. My sister lets out a soft sigh.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," Debbie jokingly sings between sucks. But the other girls are too turned on to laugh.

And speaking of too turned on, my pecker has gotten so hard, that I'm afraid it's going to push through the roof, and break through the ceiling plaster in the living room.

Debbie reaches up and massages the other breast, then starts pinching the nipple. Deborah quivers visibly, and moans.

"I like watching her do it to Deborah almost as much as feeling it when she did it to me," Jessica blurts.

When she did it to her!

"C'mon Deb. Do it to me. It's about time you fooled around with another woman." Jess waves her over with a frantic motion of her arm. Her tricep is so taut, it doesn't even shake.

Deb grimaces sardonically. "Why am I friends with you perverts?" But she hurries over to Jess in spite of herself, and starts sucking back and forth on her protruding nipples. She even takes half a tit into her mouth, but it's so damn firm it barely squishes.

As Deb pulls at those tits with her mouth, making hard popping sounds, Jessica stares fixedly at the other two young women. Debbie still kisses and squeezes Deborah's breasts, but now only with one hand. She uses to the other to start rubbing between my sister's legs through her flowered panties.

"It's getting wet down here girls."

Jessica starts frigging her own pussy through her cotton panties. "That's so fucking hot. Does it feel good Deborah?"

"So good," she replies. Then to no one in particular, "It feels so fucking good." The other three women stop in unison.

Deborah looks at them confused. "Why are you all stopping?"

"We've never heard you use the 'F' word before," Deb responds. Her mouth now unencumbered my Jessica's tits.

"Well get fucking used to it. And you," she points to Debbie, "stick your fucking fingers in my pussy and make me cum. I don't like all this teasing." And with that she rocks back on the bed, juts her legs in the air, pulls off the flowered panties, and flings them across the room. They fly out the window and land on the roof right in front of me. (You can't make this shit up dear readers.)

Neither my sister nor her friends notice as I carefully pull the panties toward me out of the light from the window and into my area of darkness. They have each returned to doing what they were doing. Deb is sucking on Jess's tits again as hard as she can. Jess is rubbing her clit through her panties as hard as she can. And Debbie is finger banging my sister with two fingers, as hard as she can.

I notice the panties are damp, and without taking my eyes of the spectacle in front of me, I sniff the wet spot of my own sister's panties. It smells so delicious, that I have to to taste it as well. I suck the wet spot into my mouth and imagine the feel of flesh instead of nylon. Then it dawns on me. I'm tasting my own sister's pussy juice.

But there's no time to ponder the implications, because just then I hear a loud gasp coming from behind me. It sounds both pleasureful and pained at the same time. I hurriedly roll over on my back to the edge of the roof. A bit too hurriedly as my left leg, butt cheek and hip fall over the side. But I pull them back up before plummeting to the concrete below. And mom and dad are so engrossed in what they are doing, that they don't notice their own son is watching them.

But watching them do what exactly? I may have still been an innocent Catholic high school boy at that moment, but I knew what was going on. Based on mom's solid stance in doggie position, and dad pounding into her at an oddly acute angle, not to mention the fact that my best friend Jeff Barret had a couple of Ginger Lynn videos hidden in his bedroom closet that we had watched together, I knew that dad was having his own special brand of "relaxation time" in mom's back patio. In other words, he was ramming her ass.

And as I watched my father slam fucking my mother in her malleable sphincter, my first thought was, "That's sensible. Two children is enough." But my second thought was, "I wonder if Deborah has inherited mom's butthole-elasticity gene." Then I rolled back over and discovered the answer to my question.

Looking through that bedroom window was like looking into one of those big sugar Easter eggs with the diorama of chicks and bunnies playing together in a candy flowered field. Except that in this tableau the bed sheets had flowers on them and Debbie had two bunnies up Deborah's pussy and four chickies up her ass. And she was finger fucking her so fast and hard with those six digits that her mammoth mammaries were flopping around all over the place. I don't know where the sounds were louder, from Debbie's hands slapping against my sister's crotch, or from her own big bazoomies slapping against her hard ribs and washboard stomach. But neither was louder than the sound of Deborah's birthday orgasm, which was bigger even than both of Debbie's tits combined.

It was so loud, it triggered me to roll back over to the edge of the roof in a panic to make sure my parents hadn't heard it. Nope, still engaged in oblivious anal sex. Phew! Back to the peep show. Just in time to see Jessica bringing herself to orgasm. It was like... if the Venus de Milo had arms and could reach down and frig her marble clit to a concise, yet powerful, no-nonsense orgasm, vocalized by a forceful, efficient "AHHH!" Then it was over.

"I always have to pee after I cum," Jess darted out of the room.

"I have to pee too. Be right back," Deborah followed her.

From my dark place on the roof, I heard the bathroom door whisk open. Then the light came on. Throwing all caution to the faint summer wind, I stood up instead of rolling or crawling. I lumbered over to the window. In my eagerness to watch two women pissing for the first time in my life, and because I had to overcompensate for the angle of the roof, I wasn't able to stop myself until I bumped into the aluminum siding next to the bathroom window. It gave off a loud, metallic thud. But because Jessica had lifted the seat at that exact moment, the sound of the lid hitting the porcelain toilet tank masked the sound of my body crashing into the siding. (A fortunate coincidence of this true story.)

Through my own lustful reflection in the bathroom window, I watched as Jess sat down on the rim of the seat. Her thighs and ass looked harder than the gray porcelain of the toilet bowl. I could hear the tinkle of piss hitting water, but her legs were closed, so I couldn't see anything except the tops of her thighs.

Suddenly I felt hot breath in my ear. Then, almost instantaneously, I heard Debbie's hushed voice. "I wish we could see the piss come out. Don't you?" She locked her arms around me, in a vice-like grip. Her soft, gigantic breasts splayed across my back.