One Saturday Night in 1959

Ah, the fabulous fifties. Dwight Eisenhower was in the White House, gays were in the closet, tail fins were all the rage and "good" girls didn't go all the way until marriage. Boys did, but only if they could find a "bad" girl willing to go there.

I wasn't one of those boys, and neither were most of my horny, sex-starved high school buddies. We were all from upper-middleclass, church going families and the girls we dated—and I use the verb dated loosely—might let us cop a feel or two in the backseat of a car or on the sofa when parents were away. Being a socially awkward, shy, nerdy lad, I rarely got that far. In truth, I rarely had a date. More often than not, Saturday nights found me lounging in front of the TV watching Have Gun Will Travel, Gunsmoke and a late night horror movie.

So you can imagine from the following why one specific Saturday night in late spring of 1959 is forever etched in my memory.

My parents had gone to a party, leaving me, my sister Beth and Marla Sue, her sleepover guest, in the house. The girls were in their second year of college. I had just turned eighteen, looking forward to my own college experience. Unlike me, they were socially precocious and sexy as all get out. Marla Sue was Sandra Dee to Beth's Natalie Wood, or so people said. Marla had the blond, blue-eyed, girl-next-door looks, with her cute turned-up nose and perfect little bod. Beth, in contrast, was a tall, athletic brunette. She had pouty lips and beautiful eyes—big, brown and seductive. "I wouldn't mind humping your sister," was a common refrain I heard from my friends who couldn't take their eyes off her long shapely legs and a face that did indeed bare a subtle likeness to the iconic Natalie. In truth, I'd have humped her too if we weren't related, not to mention the blond Marla Sue.

Well, on that Saturday in question, I was in my room, doing nothing in particular. Sis was in her room with Marla Sue playing records. Buddy Holly's voice mixed with shrieks of laughter. I sang softly to myself, adding a slightly different lyric: "I love you, Marla Sue, with a love so rare and true, oh Marla, my Marla Sue..." To this day, Beth denies she heard me. Even so, not a minute later, she and Marla Sue popped open their door, came down the hall and barged in without knocking. Both girls were barefoot and in short-shorts, influenced perhaps, by the 1957 song of the same name. Beth said they were bored playing records, and Leave It To Beaver, a show we all watched, didn't come on for another half hour. She then suggested we play spin the bottle, a game I was just vaguely familiar with, having never played it before. From what little I knew, it involved spinning a bottle and then kissing the person the bottle pointed to.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Beth said, seeing my hesitation. "Besides, you might learn something other than what they teach you in school."

"She's right, Jonathan," Marla Sue chimed in, "you wouldn't mind kissing me, would you?"

Kissing Marla Sue was an exciting prospect, exciting but also scary. She had experience; I didn't, and anyway, Beth's presence would surely be an inhibiting factor. "Well, I don't know," I said.

"Oh, don't be a party pooper," Beth argued. "It's just a game. You aren't afraid to kiss a girl, are you?"

Beth was pushing the right buttons. She sensed that I'd be hard pressed to turn down her challenge no matter how tentative I felt, and she was right. In fact, for the past few months, I'd been lifting weights to pack meat on my bony frame, working hard to shed my nerdy image. "Of course I'm not afraid," I insisted, flexing my budding biceps against the sleeves of my tight-fitting T-shirt. "Let's play," I said finally, knowing that refusing would subject me to more teasing.

Beth smiled triumphantly. "That's the spirit. We can play in the den while watching Perry Mason until the Beaver comes on."

The den was my family's favorite room in the house. It held the big Zenith TV we got the previous year, plus my dad's new stereo. Wood paneling lined the walls and squares of a cork material covered all floor space. A huge picture window, facing east, let in bursts of sunlight during morning hours. Built-in bookshelves over the Zenith held volumes of the World Book Encyclopedia, classics like The Great Gatsby and Gone With The Wind and some of my dad's medical journals (he was a pediatrician). There were just two pieces of furniture, a new sofa upholstered in tangerine orange that sat against the wall opposite the big window and, in a corner next to the window, a black leather armchair. A spider clock, a turquoise and black thing that used turquoise balls dabbed with black dots in place of numbers, hung on the wall above the sofa. "Tacky," my dad once called it. "Sometimes in marriage you have to make concessions," he told me when I asked why he kept it and the pole lamp he also wasn't too crazy about.

Perry Mason and his secretary Della Street were discussing a case in Perry's office as we sat cross-legged on the floor with an empty Pepsi bottle in front of us. Beth's first spin landed directly in front of me. Showing no inhibition whatsoever, she leaned over, pulled my head forward and planted a kiss right on my lips. I brushed the back of my hand across my mouth.

Beth laughed. "Oh, come on, that wasn't so bad, was it?" I shrugged and smiled, trying not to appear too embarrassed.

"Your turn," Marla Sue said, pointing at me. "We're going clockwise."

My spin landed directly in front of Marla Sue. Our kiss was brief but it was enough to stir my young cock, well hidden beneath my underwear and jeans. As the game progressed, I loosened up more, letting my lips linger longer on Marla Sue's with each turn.

"Little brother is trying to French you," Beth teased.

Marla Sue laughed. "I don't think he knows what that means." She was right, I didn't, but was too ashamed to admit it. Marla Sue looked at me sympathetically. "Do you, Jonathan? Do you know how to French kiss?" I shrugged and looked away. "Just as I thought. Here, I'll show you."

Brushing the bottle away, she took my head in her hands. "Jonathan, you are about to learn the art of French kissing. She then proceeded with the confidence that could only come with experience. I couldn't help but wonder how many lessons she'd had under her belt, how many boys she'd done this with. In seconds, I learned that the process involved the tongue as well as the lips. It felt very weird, the slimy feel of someone else's tongue rubbing against mine, the exchange of saliva. At least she smelled good, like baby shampoo, and she tasted good too, like the popcorn she and Beth had munched on earlier. My cock was starting to press hard against my clothing.

Glancing at the TV, I watched Perry Mason grilling some woman on the stand, breaking her down as he normally did to those whose guilt was finally exposed at the episode's climax. Meanwhile, Beth proposed to take our innocent little game to another level. Instead of being kissed, the player on the receiving end of the bottleneck must shed a piece of clothing. "Sort of like strip poker only you play with a bottle," she explained. "The first one brave enough to get totally naked wins." Beth claimed she'd played before but never with boys. Marla Sue said it was a first for her also.

Of course, everything we had done thus far was a first for me. I was a virgin wading into virgin territory. My cock stiffened with the anticipation of seeing Marla Sue naked, though the thought of the girls seeing me that way tempered some of my enthusiasm. I relaxed a little knowing that the Beaver would soon be on, figuring the game would end by the time we got down to our skivvies.

Beth got up and peered into the darkness through the picture window. "We don't want anyone spying on us," she said. She drew the curtains, then switched off three of the four globes on the pole lamp, leaving the room in a pallid glow.

Marla Sue hit Beth on her next turn, prompting sis to slip off her blouse. Through the years, I had caught glimpses of my sister naked. But not lately, not since she entered junior high. So now I was staring at her in bra and shorts, getting turned on in the process and feeling somewhat guilty about it. Giving sis a brief peck on the lips was one thing; seeing her this way—and anticipating more—was something else.

"Things are getting very interesting, little brother," Beth said, just as our show's theme music and voiceover came on. "...starring Barbara Billingsley, Hugh Beaumont, Tony Dow and Jerry Mathers as the Beaver..."

"Aren't we going to watch this?" I asked.

"Of course," she said, "while we finish what we started."

Marla Sue nodded. "Relax. This is indeed getting interesting."

I shrugged, then took my turn, hitting Marla Sue on my spin. Like Beth, she slipped off her blouse. Beth's rack was nothing to sneeze at, but she took a backseat to Marla Sue in that department. I tried to resist gawking at her deep cleavage, to no avail. Marla Sue smiled in satisfaction.

Beth, up next, hit me on her spin. "Off with something, Jonathan," she ordered. Off came my T-shirt. I hardly looked like my hero Steve Reeves, though my pecs were starting to develop through endless sets of bench presses.

"Nice chest," Marla Sue said, rubbing her hand over my growing mounds of pectoral muscle. If she was trying to make me feel more confident, she succeeded.

Somehow during all this we managed to follow Beaver's exploits. "Boy, are we in trouble now!" Beth cried. She meant the Beaver and his friend Larry, not us. Tricked by two older boys, they were using a stolen rowboat while picnicking by a lake.

Beth did find herself in trouble after Marla Sue took her spin. "Not me again," she groaned, facing the choice of either unsnapping her bra or peeling off her shorts. "Oh well, here goes," she said, and then proceeded to lean back, unsnap her shorts, and then flutter kick them down her legs and on to the floor. Down to her panties and bra, sis held the lead.

"Okay, one of you has to catch up," Beth said with a hint of desperation. She then gave the bottle a hard spin. Once again it was my turn to shed something. "Come on, don't be chicken," Beth chided, "off with those pants." She pointed to herself. "I did it and so can you. Be daring."

Be daring is right considering my boner was close to full staff, something I didn't want them to see. Still, I figured appearing cowardly was worse. Standing up, I stepped out of my jeans, leaving me naked except for a pair of white Fruit of the Loom briefs. Trying my best to be discreet, I clasped my hands over the bulge, hoping they wouldn't notice.

They noticed.

Beth reached up to pull my hands away. "Whatcha got there, brother?"

"Yeah, don't be shy," Marla Sue said, reaching for my other hand. "It's not the first time we've seen a guy's boner."

I didn't know whose boner or boners they saw, but up to tonight, it wasn't mine. I sat back down, keeping one hand over my crotch, spinning the bottle with the other. Beth sighed with relief when it landed in front of Marla Sue, who kicked off her shorts, pulling even with Beth. Technically, I was in the "lead" having nothing on but my briefs. However, this was one game I had no interest in winning. For me, winning would be the pleasure of seeing Marla Sue braless. But, after her spin, it was Beth's turn to finally bare her boobs.

"You know, you two should declare me the winner if I do this," Beth said, her angst evident. She was folded up like a human accordion, her legs bent, her arms wrapped around her knees, her body moving in a slight rocking motion. Given the pressure she put on me, I couldn't help but enjoy her discomfort.

Marla Sue pouted, fatuously it looked to me. "Quit now and you'll deny me the opportunity to strut my own stuff." She cupped her hands over her bra and swiveled from side to side.

"Be my guest," Beth said, still in her tucked position. "I dare ya."

"I will if you will. Let's give your kid brother an education."

I shifted my eyes back and forth from my would-be "teachers" to the show's last scene where Beaver's dad was giving Beaver a lecture on something or other. For as long as I'd watched this show, I'd never once seen an episode where Beaver, Wally or any of their friends had engaged in anything like this. I figured that if old Hugh Beaumont could get that serious about Beaver playing in a stolen rowboat, he'd really go ape shit if he caught either of his sons doing what we were doing.

Beth reached behind her back to unsnap her bra. "Are you okay with this, Jonathan?" She kept her fingers on the hooks, waiting for a response.

I wasn't really, though I couldn't resist the opportunity to see Marla Sue follow suit. "If she joins you," I said.

Beth waited until Marla Sue discarded her blouse. Then, in unison, they dropped their bras into their laps, baring all. Well, almost all. Their panties were still on, and I couldn't help wonder when or if they were the next to go.

"Not a word of this to mom and dad," Beth warned me. I sat there, silent and staring. "You hear me, Jonathan? Not a word."

"Right, not a word."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"You swear, cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Yeah, all that."

Marla Sue, sitting cross-legged, leaned back on her hands. "Well Jonathan, what do you think?" I thought my boner was about to burst though my underwear. Like I said, she was well endowed. Anyway, it wasn't just about the size of her boobs. Indeed, she could have been close to flat-chested and I still would have been aroused to the point of exploding, because it was more about her eroticism, this incredibly seductive quality she possessed, the sensuous way she moved, for example, and her voice, soft and enticing.

Marla Sue shimmied from side to side, bouncing her boobs, waiting for a response. "No comment?"

I sat there grinning, trying, unsuccessfully, to translate what I was feeling at that moment into words. Finally, I managed something: "Nice."

"And I'd bet you wouldn't mind feeling as well as looking, would you?" I nodded. Marla Sue then turned to sis: "What do you think, Beth? Should we make this a hands-on lesson as well?"

"Sure, why not? Learning by doing is the best education there is."

Not sure what to do or how to do it, I began to reach for her chest, then pulled back.

"Here, let me help," Marla Sue giggled, amused by my shyness. She then grabbed my hand and placed it square over the nipple of her left breast. "Stroke it. Gently. That's it. Like that. Oh, that feels really good. Keep going. You're learning fast."

Aroused by the sight of her naive brother being seduced, Beth began to touch herself, stroking her boobs with one hand, rubbing her crotch with the other. Naïve or not, it didn't take me long to sense that our puerile little bottle game was over, supplanted by something I could barely imagine until tonight. The question was, how far did they intend to take this? Somehow I didn't think it included watching Lawrence Welk. His show had come on after Beaver, and from our young perspective he was an old man playing music for old fogies. One of his musicians, a smiling guy with curly hair, was playing the accordion, leading the band in a polka. Not that we were watching beyond a token look. Marla Sue now had me sucking on her boobs as she sat on the floor with her back resting against the sofa, her fingers inside her panties, rubbing her clit. Her verbal "instructions" had morphed into moans of delight.

Almost unconsciously, I slipped my hand inside my briefs and began to masturbate. I was about to come when Beth said, "Here, let me help." The next thing I knew, my briefs were off and my own sister was giving me a blow job. As I lay on the floor, Marla Sue turned around and leaned over me so I could continue to suck on her boobs. In seconds, a fountain of sperm gushed forth. Marla Sue shrieked seeing her boobs catch much of the splatter. Beth grabbed a box of tissues. We shared the cleanup, wiping the sticky substance from Beth's hands, my stomach and Marla's chest.

I was running on pure hedonistic, carnal lust at this point. In fact, we all were. To me, it felt as if we were in a car sans brakes, careening downhill, our speed accelerating by the second, headed for God knows where.

Just minutes after the cleanup, my young cock sprang to life once again. Marla Sue beamed. "Wow, look at that, Beth," she gushed. "Your virgin stud brother is still all hot and bothered."

Beth nodded, her face expressing a serious call to duty. "So I see. Guess we'll have to take care of him again. But this time..." She looked away, as if embarrassed, before continuing. "But this time we should go for the ultimate."

"The ultimate?" I asked, though I had a feeling what she meant.

"Well, little brother, believe it or not, we're still virgins also."

Marla Sue caught my look of skepticism. "She's right, Jonathan. We've never gone beyond third base."

"So I thought maybe you could help us rectify that," Beth said, "bring all of us across home plate, so to speak. If that's okay with you."

Like I said, I understood why my friends thought Beth was so hot. Like them, I sometimes gawked at her long, shapely legs. Plus, her Natalie Wood image didn't hurt. Even so, the incest taboo kept me from fantasizing about a sexual relationship with her, much less actually suggesting one. Apparently, she didn't share the same hang-up. In fact, she volunteered to go first.

Marla Sue plopped on the sofa and watched what Beth did next—pushed the crotch of her panties aside, then squatted down on my throbbing, rock-hard cock. She was tentative at first, taking in just the tip. Then, in increments, she squatted lower and lower until her wet pussy absorbed the whole thing. "Oh my god! I can't believe I'm being so naughty, screwing my own brother. This feels beyond incredible!"

It did for me also, expressed more through grunts than words. For virgins, we seemed to be doing quite well for the short time we went at it. I played with her tits, ran my hands along her smooth thighs and breathed in her sweet scent when she bent down to kiss me. The taboo factor, far from being a turnoff, just seemed to heighten our excitement.

Fearing pregnancy (the pill was not yet on the market and I didn't have a rubber to my name), Beth jumped off a couple minutes into it. Good thing, too, because it took her but seconds to finish me off with her mouth and hand.

Marla Sue pouted looking down at my now flaccid penis. "Think you can get it up again for me?" She was all worked up from rubbing herself while watching us.

"Sure, with a little help," I said, confident that my young, still eager cock could muster a third round. As I sat on the sofa, Marla Sue got on her knees, wedged herself between my legs and went to work with mouth and hand.

"Come on, Jonathan," she pleaded, her hand working my cock like a well-tuned piston, "stiffen that member of yours so you can stuff my wet hot tinkle."

Her use of tinkle to describe her pussy upped my desire even more, took it to another level. The word had an erotic, euphonious ring to it, produced in my perverted thinking images of hot piss soaking her panties and then running down her luscious thighs.

"I think we're ready now," she said, gripping her hand around my stiff "member."

Unlike Beth, she dropped her panties all the way off, then laid back on the sofa and spread her legs. She carefully guided me into her, then clasped her legs around my waist. "Just pull out before you come," she said. "I'm not ready to be a mom either."

Because this was round number three, I was able to stay in longer, to absorb myself in the moment. The term out of body experience had not yet entered my vocabulary, but that's what this felt like, as if it was happening to someone else. I was living the fantasy, kissing and humping a Sandra Dee lookalike right in my own home. The image is still vivid all these years later—her pretty face, all flushed and eager, her wavy blond hair matted with sweat and her soft voice, encouraging and complimentary. I can't recall all she said, but I do remember this line: "Looks like the student has become the teacher." The teacher held out for as long as he could before pulling out and coming on her stomach.