Sinners All, Even Then. Ch. 01

It bemuses me now how asexual my parents appeared to me while growing up. Even in later recollection, I never imagined them as actually fucking.

I was born in 1939 as my parents' second child, following my one-year older sister. That our births resulted from a sexual relationship between our parents was cloaked in a silence that also included how they met and if there was anything sexual in what attracted them to each other.

Sharing this with others offended not their sense of privacy but what they considered their decency. In their feeling, everything connected with sex was 'indecent', and as such a threat to their respectability.

Although Kate and I were only one year apart, we did not share a childhood. We did not have the same friends or shared interests.

But, more importantly, Kate was always my better. She was a bright, always decent and well-behaved child who, in our parents' eyes, could do no wrong. She was in everything, in her obedience, her schoolwork, her neatness and manners -- but especially in never having an indecent thought or saying an indecent word - a model who I, as a flawed boy, could not match, even had I wanted to.

The tensions between us eased when I, at fourteen -- the then school-leaving-age in Austria - left home for five years at a Technical College in Styria. My studies in Agricultural Science and Forestry prescribed supervised work experience during the holidays. Therefore, I was home for only brief visits.

Nevertheless, there was some resentment of my perfect sister left by the time we moved into adulthood. Plagued by my own 'indecent' thoughts and desires as an eighteen-year-old, I looked for a likely sinfulness in Kate.

Kate, I had to admit, had grown into a beautiful young woman. She was tall with a well-proportioned figure, and a fine-boned face with expressive eyes and dark, shoulder-length hair. For a while, she was beleaguered by young suitors whose indecent intentions she dismissed unrewarded.

Praised for her virtue by our parents, Kate appeared to be a demonstrably 'decent' young woman, uninterested in sex and promiscuous adventures.

I, however, found out that Kate was as sinful as I. Only much more interestingly so.

About her initial seduction -- I was away at College -- I learned by hearsay.

One day, a photographer who plied his trade in our town park near a beer garden, approached Kate. Smiling, he said she was so pretty that he would photograph her for free.

He was not a local but a Hungarian refugee making a living by photographing, in suitable locations, foremost US soldiers from the garrison in our town, usually with local girls in their arms. He provided them with lasting mementoes of their time as liberators in occupied Austria.

So, Kate, at first reluctant, posed for him in her Sunday dirndl and he took several shots on his Leica. Kate must have gradually relaxed in her posing. He told her he would have the best photo ready for her next Sunday.

When Kate went to pick up the promised photo, she returned all excited. Instead of the usual pocket-size photo she had expected, the photographer gave Kate a glossy 8x12 print that displayed her in a very flattering, dirndl-clad pose.

On returning home all excited, she told her parents that Laszlo had been a fashion photographer in Budapest and that he wanted her to model for him in other dresses. If she agreed, he promised her a copy of the folio he needed to further his professional career in Austria. He had begged her, Kate said, to help him.

I do not know if our parents raised any objection or if, as always, they blindly trusted Kate.

She agreed to model for him and over the next weeks, spent many hours with Laszlo, often until late into the night.

Her collection of glossy prints steadily grew. They showed her in many poses, the later ones in unfamiliar make-up and in glamorous dresses that Laszlo must have borrowed. She showed them to us with pride.

Some years later, Kate gave me one of Laszlo's photos which showed her wistfully serious, with barely a suggestion of her shapely breasts under a beautifully Norwegian-patterned jumper.

Would she have given it to me if she had known what I had learned about her 'modelling' for Laszlo? And that I had seen her indecently stretched out tits the jumper so coyly hid?

We were home alone, sitting in the kitchen at opposite ends of the table. I was home for a short break to complete a major assignment and my papers were spread out on the table.

Kate was reading a women's magazine. When she got up to go to the toilet, I looked across and noticed that the magazine was somewhat bulky.

I quickly got up to have a look and saw that Kate had placed a dozen or so photos dispersed between the magazine's pages.

My sinful mind realised they were meant to be hidden. Kate could look at them and quickly turn a page if somebody approached.

Wildly curious, I turned the magazine's pages to the first print. It was a beautiful, sensuous portrait of Kate. With her face turned sideways, her lowered eyes looked down on her naked shoulder and the bared onset of her breasts.

While the suggestiveness of the first picture excited me, the second one I unpeeled came as a shock. It showed Kate, kneeling naked on the floor.

Laszlo had captured her with her face in profile and her dark hair thrown over her shoulder as if in anger, her back tensing. The line of her spine run down into the crack of Kate's high-lighted, voluptuously sexy, sinfully indecent ass. And it was my sister!

With fevering, hurrying fingers I turned to the next print.

And there was Kate, naked on a disarrayed bed, leaning on an elbow. With the other shoulder thrown back, she offered herself -- her face raised and defiant of any shame - to Laszlo's camera. It had captured Kate's shapely-firm tits, topped with dark perky nipples, the dark triangle of her bush. And her legs were just spread enough to show the plump shape of her pussy.

But what shocked me more, was Kate's face: it bore an expression for which I, the then 18-year-old, lacked the words. In recollecting, I realise that it was the face of a just fucked woman still hungering for more!

When I heard the toilet flush, I quickly restored the magazine's earlier order. Rushing back to my chair, I lowered my flushed face over my suddenly wildly exciting forestry report.

Laszlo eventually left our town for the greener pastures of Vienna. I can only guess what use he made of Kate's photos.

There was then a ready market for such spicy prints. Did they finish up in the service memorabilia of GIs returning home to the States; to be there, years after, still masturbated over, and embellished with a story that was so often told that it became the truth?

It is a likelihood that I, as a dirty old man, have come to like!

In the years after her modelling 'exposure', Kate met her future husband to get married at twenty-one. In their courtship, I found nothing interesting to observe. Hannes was thirty, the successful owner of a growing trucking business. He treated me kindly, but we never grew close. Serious and utterly respectable, Hannes seemed to me then as sexless as my parents.

During the three years before her marriage, Kate's growing attachment to Emma would have been for me, if I had been home, much more intriguing to watch than her eventual engagement.

Being home only for brief, occasional visits, I saw little of Emma. After graduating from College, I had to work under supervision for two years in various State forests to be certified as a Forester.

Emma was our cousin, six years older than Kate. Emma had married at nineteen Helmut, a twelve-year older civil engineer. Helmut was the son of a local master builder but worked for an American construction company as an On-Site Engineer on large projects.

It meant that Emma had followed him, for the first five years of her marriage, from job to job with temporary stays in widely dispersed places.

Helmut eventually resigned and returned home after completing several lengthy assignments, like building a brewery in Alexandria, Egypt, and constructing ski lifts in Germany and Switzerland. He took over his now elderly father's lucrative, local business as a going concern. He and Emma also bought a substantial villa on the outskirts of our town.

In setting up again her social contacts and relationships, Emma also drew our family into her circle of acquaintances.

Kate quickly became Emma's and Helmut's favourite. She saw them often and was regularly invited to their parties and social gatherings. This continued even after her engagement and despite Hannes' dislike of Helmut.

Hannes thought, he told Father, that Helmut was an overbearing, arrogant prig. Part of the reason could have been that during the war Hannes had served as a conscripted soldier while Helmut was a Staff officer in the Pioneers. And now, Helmut's status and manners had so unduly captivated his future wife.

However, there was more at play. Hannes could also have noticed what I, on a single occasion, had seen.

Twice a year, Emma invited her close relatives for a dinner gathering. When I was home for the Christmas holidays in my final year in college - I was eighteen then -- I was included.

On arriving at their villa, Kate detached herself from us to join Emma and Helmut not merely as their party helper, but as if she were, with them, the host.

And Helmut, as the Lord of the Manor, treated Kate throughout the evening with an intimate familiarity that made me an interested watcher.

Therefore, my attention throughout the evening was much more on Helmut's possession-taking hands than on the excellent food and dullish conversation.

My parents, being decent people, either pretended or did not notice Helmut's behaviour.

Throughout the night, he quite openly groped Emma, who wore an intriguing, oriental dress. I watched his hand slide up her tight dress as she leaned over the table to serve or refill our glasses. Miraculously, I could see Emma's long shapely legs through the cloth and how they clamped shut as Helmut quite brutally gripped her ass.

His hands were also, throughout the evening, less openly, on Kate in her dirndl. Being more disgusted than shocked, I saw Helmut sliding a possession-taking hand up Kate's skirt as she served our meal at the table. Her hands did not shake and her face showed neither shock nor surprise.

Sometime after our meal, I went to the kitchen in search of a soft drink. On opening the door, I saw Kate standing at the table and Helmut embracing her from behind. She was laughing and in bending forward, wriggled her ass against his pressing-in cock.

But my eyes were drawn to his hands. They almost lifted Kate's tits out of her Dirndl's decolletage.

I withdrew before they noticed me.

After dinner, my interest focused more and more on Emma. My eyes followed her as she moved through their large, with three lamps moodily lit living room. With the shadows behind her, the contour of her body in her tub-like dress was only fleetingly suggested.

But when she stood or moved into the light of a lamp, Emma's figure, highlighted in the silvery transparency of her caftan, would have been fully revealed had she not worn a normal-size bra and cotton panties under her dress.

She noticed my watching her, giving me now and then a knowing smile. At times, she seemed to step into a light and pose for me alone.

We, the guests, were, of course, not aware of why Emma wore such a provocative dress for our gathering and the role it played in her marriage. But we sensed a mounting tension. Not that my parents would have said anything. They steadfastly pretended not to have seen that Emma's dress was almost transparent.

Their non-response -- or was it Emma in her dress - must have irked Helmut. Affected by the drink but trying to stay in control he suddenly declared that it was his favourite dress, and that he allowed Emma to wear it only -- he paused, and Emma lowered her eyes and smirked -- when they had special guests.

They had found the dress, Helmut told us, in a boutique in Alexandria. When Emma tried it on, he said, he knew this harem caftan was the dress for his wife. As you can sometimes see - he grimaced at Emma - it fits her figure to a T.

We broke the ensuing silence with our thanks and goodbyes. Only Kate was reluctant to leave.