The Other Connor Girl

10 years ago I knew a girl named Meghan. Cute, curly dark hair. Early developer, in full bloom at 18. First girl to give me attention. I'm in my late-20s now, and not a month passes without her image and scent coming back to me.

Our mothers were friends. Her family, the Connors, lived in my neighborhood, but she went to a different school. Private school. Her father was a corporate attorney; her mother stay-at-home. Mrs. Connor was ever-present in their house. Dark and curly hair, too. With hips and ass she passed onto her daughter. Her inheritance was bountiful.

We met when my mother brought me to the Connors one Thursday to drop off fresh produce from my older brother's vegetable stand. I followed Meghan out back to see their pool. We hit it off immediately. I kissed her that Thursday aft afternoon, at her iniation.

Everyday for a few months Meghan and I were together. I considered her my girlfriend. None of my friends believed she existed.

Never went past kissing, though. My hand couldn't do much as graze her chest with intent, lest she slap the nearest exposed part of my body in retaliation. Not that kind of girl. Yet.

Not with Mrs. Connor always around. Not with the other Connor daughter around. Bree was three years' Meghan's junior. A bratty little skinny thing, with shocking red hair and perpetually sleepy eyes. She was a true pest. Nonstop nuisance. Meghan never let us get heavy when Bree wasn't fully occupied by her PlayStation.

The brat nursed a crush on me, according to Meghan. Obvious enough for me to notice. I might have been flattened, had I viewed her as anything but an obstacle to spending quality time with her sister. Just a rambunctious tomboy who got in the way.

Occasionally when Meghan wasn't around, because her mother pulled her away for shopping or he wanted to be with her girlfriends, I used Bre to pass time. Fun to play against at video games and casual sports. She threw her whole self into everything. A natural disaster of passion.

Meghan confided in me Bree often cried when I left. Because she had no friends of her own. The odd afternoon with her sister's boyfriend wasn't enough to fight off loneliness.

Soon loneliness caught up with me. Meghan cut off her affections. She told me she met another boy. I figured it was because I rushed her, insisting we make out in our underwear the previous week. Me in my checkered boxers, she in power blue bra and panties.

Why did I have to force her? It wasn't fair. I should have respected he boundaries.

Could've told her I loved her that night we sat and danced together with our tongues, barely clad on the bed. A week later, I was alone. I never saw the Connors again

-----

That is, until 10 years later. Today. When Mother asked if I'd be willing to help Mrs. Connor move, Immediately Meghan came to mind. In her powder blue set. Sitting crossed-legged on her bed. Firm, smallish breasts. Ample hips. Ass spread behind her.

Mother read my mind. Not about Meghan's body, but Meghan the person. Told me Meghan had moved to Texas 3 years ago. Mr. Connor left his wife for the receptionist--ancient story--shortly after I stopped frequenting his house. Mrs. Connor is alone and needs a man's help.

Actually, not alone. Bree recently moved back home after dropping out of college for the second time. 25 yesrs old and directionless. I heard she went to rehab or something. I don't remember. But she'd be there, Mother said.

It was a nice day, and Meghan Connor's childhood home was close enough to walk. So I walk. On the way my mind lingers on Meghan and her underwear.

I knock on the front door. Mrs. Connors aappears. Pleasantries are exchanged. She is now past middle-age. Not as comely as I remember. Somehow I expected Meghan's mom to be frozen in time. But we all age.

The house is a in disarray. Not immaculately organized in the finest middle-class tradition like it had been. Boxes everywhere. Furniture waiting for me.

What I can move, by myself? Not much. Mrs. Connor says Bree will help when she wakes up. It's 1 p.m. The lady of the house excuses herself to run errands and dine with a friend after relaying precise directions to me. Says she'll return by 7.

30 minutes later, as I struggle with an old tube television, slapping footsteps approach. Bare feet on hardwood.

"What's up, Dorkus?"

A nickname from the old days. Bree pegged me as a dork from the beginning, due to my lack of athletic prowess. I turn.

Oh, shit.

If anyone isn't frozen in time, it is Bree. She's grown into herself. Grown out from herself, as well.

Still skinny, more or less straight up-and-down. Orange-sized breasts. Smaller than Meghan's at 18.. At 25, Bree retains her wild red hair and tomboyish style. Tank top and shorty shorts. Her pale arms and thighs inform me she doesn't get out as much as she used to.

"Cat got your tongue, Dorky?"

Hadn't occurred to me enough time had passed for it to be weird I hadn't spoken. Its just that I had no idea Bree was this gorgeous. The old sleepy eyes inform me it is truly her.

Her lips do not belong to the brat I remember. They are new. Plump and naturally puckered.

Don't think she's wearing make-up, which renders her presentation more impressive. Her pale skin is flawless. Pencil-thin, high-arching eyebrows cover an extra wide forehead. Not always an attractive feature. On her it resembles a silent movie star.

"Don't stare, boy. Talk to me!"

"Meghan's little sister," I say. Finally, words return. "Barging in on me as usual," I tease.

"[Scoffs] Not Meghan's sister. I'm my own person. See?" She spins, raises her arms, and cups her tits playfully.

Ignore that bait, I tell myself.

"I suppose. Are you here to help or play at modeling?"

"Ya think I could be a model?" She strikes an awkward pose, accentuatimg her slight hips. Unlike mother and sister's. Bree is in no way ample, but I think she might be prettier than Meghan or Mrs. Connor.

"...Sweet. No," Bree deadpans. "Here to help Meghan's little boyfriend, Dorky. I mean Marky." Everyone calls me Marcus.

"Little boyfriend? Always bigger than you," I retort.

"Not what I heard," she snaps back with mport. What does that mean?

Bree grunts with effort as she bends to grab a corner of the t.v. I admire her tiny ass before deciding to beg for clarification.

"What does that mean?"

"Tell ya later. First, let's earn our keep. Or my keep."

Judging by appearance and fragrance, Bree is no tomboy anymore. She sweats as we work and smells better as the afternoon passes. I stare at her more than I should. We move piece after piece into the U-Haul outside.

"Howcome you disappeared? You broke my heart, ya know.," Bree says out of nowhere two hours later, as we break for drinks (water).

"Um, well, Meghan didn't want me around obviously."

"I did!" She says with a soft yet deep look. Like she means it.

"I didn't come around here here for you. That would've been creepy. I was here for her."

"Then she dumped you and you abandoned me."

I chuckle. Bree doesn't join in. She's serious.

"Just like Daddy. He doesn't even call anymore."

"That's... That's bad," is all I muster. I'm no good at this kind of talk.

"Fuck him. Ray too."

"Ray?"

"My boyfriend. Ex. My ex boyfriend. My only boyfriend." One boyfriend for a 25 year-old this beautiful stretches my credulity.

"Oh, sure. You've only had one boyfriend... What do you call the rest of them?"

"Rest if what?...Marky, I'm not being cute. I mean, I am cute, but I'm not joshing. Ray was my one and only. I could've married him and had his babies. I'm not a slut." Phrased like a joke, but she sounds serious.

"I didn't mean you were a slut. It's just, you're beautiful," I stammer out, "and there's no way guys haven't been beating down the door."

"This door, Marky, was covered by Mommy. And no guys from our circle were interested in the Connor girls after Daddy ran off with his bitch."

"Ookay," I say in a light manner. She refuses to play along. Refuses to take my direction at all in this back-and-forth.

"No, seriously. Until I met Ray at school I was a virgin."

"Not anything I need to know, Bree," I say, embarrassed.

"And he just wanted to fuck. Also the time. I went from desert to ocean."

Bree us grown up now, I remind myself. With a capacity for adult conversation. Too big a capacity, maybe. I don't want to hear it. I find myself inexplicably angry at this Ray.

Planning my escape internally, I can't help in the meantime watching Bree's lips, along with the rest of her body, while she lectures me on Ray's myriad faults.

Some people exude sensuality. Not necessarily the dirty kind. Bree's is an open kind. She wants to be touched. Her body waits. Invites you in.. Her legs--previously crossed over eachother--now stand open. A certain bodypart pointing at me.

"...not like we could even fuck." What is she saying? That's not right. If sex was all Ray wanted and sex didn't happen, what did they do together?

Why am I even talking about Bree's sex life? How did I get here? Bree led me, that's how.

I interrupt. "What did he stick around for, if you wouldn't give it to him?"

We're discussing this on Bree's level, apparently. Not my level. I sink to the level of her choosing.

"Didn't say I didn't give 'IT' to him, Marky. We couldn't do it. That's the thing. We couldn't fuck. I think I'm still a virgin."

What? I can't make sense of this. Bree picks up on my befuddlement and continues."His dick is sooo big. You have no idea."

I choke on my drink. Bree goes on. "We tried, but he never fit."

"Bree, what the fuck? What are you talking about? Why are you talking like this?" I move into the family room and sit on a lonely couch in empty space.

"You wouldn't get it, I guess," she says, following me. "But that's how it was." She sits next to me. Touching me with thigh, arm, and hand on my knee. "I need a guy more like you, Marky."

"More like me?" I don't put two-and-two together.

"Yeah." She speaks directly into my face. "Meghan told me you have a small one."

Girls tell other girls intimate stuff about guys. Whatever. But this wasn't possible. Meghan never saw or touched my package.

Nevertheless, my ears burn and I assume I blush. "How would she know?" I ask.

"Oh, Marky," Bree says, lifting her left leg to drape over my lap. Her right is folded beneath her. "Meghan saw yours. That's why she dumped you."

My face betrays my surprise.

"Yeah," Bree goes on. "She didn't tell you, but she told me years later. We're sisters. We share sometimes."

"She couldn't... We broke up because she met someone new...When would she have?"

"Yeah, Marky. Someone new. A new boy with a bigger cock. Steve Janssen, from Dad's club. He flashes me once. Years after he fucked your precious Megan.

A bunch of Meghan's friends from the old days crashed my 21st birthday. Steve bragged about being biggest and showed the whole bar. Definitely a big one. Not as big as Ray's."

"..."

Bree giggles. "That's besides the point. When you made out in your underwear that night with my sister..."

"What!? Hoe do you know?"

"...Duh. Meghan told me all about it later." Yes, Bree mentioned that. I'm having a hard time focusing.

"Anyways, she saw your little dickie through the slit in your boxers."

Goddamn. Not only did Meghan see my penis, she dumped over it. Then went and fucked thus Steve. Hoe could Meghan jump from not letting me feel her up to fucking some big-dicked asshole?

"Don't, Marky," Bree said, sensing my pain. Stroking my thigh. Growing my apparently undersized penis in the process. "There's nothing to get upset about. Meghan wasn't for you. You need a girl like me." She says this as if surprising herself. Working out the truth as she spoke it.

"A girl like what?!" I shove her leg off my lap and stand. My pants stand out as well as up, and Bree smirks when she sees. She knows the effect her words and her touch have had. "What are you like?"

Pointing at my boner, Bree says, "See, you like me!...Do you want to fuck me now? You can fuck me if you want."

Absolutely I wanted. But I'm not used to girls throwing themselves at me. Or in this case asking me to throw myself at them.

It wouldn't be proper. I used to be in love with her sister. Her mother is...in fact, the house is empty for once. Mrs. Connor wouldn't return for hours.

"Look, Bree, all this talk about dicks and what fits in you. Inviting me of all people to fuck you...What did they do to you in rehab?"

Suddenly Bree is on the verge of tears. I shouldn't have gone there. But I wasn't myself, high on sex and confusion. She forcibly pulls me back down onto the couch.

"Rehab? No, Marky. I was a mental case. Involuntary committed. Because I couldn't stand Ray and everything else. I wanted to die. Mommy didn't know what to do with me."

Tears stream from her sleepy eyes psst her swollen lips. Her attitude turned on a dime. up so fast. Instinctively I comfort her. Give her a hug. I am mildly scared for her.

Her lips attack. So wet. She engulfs my mouth. Puts her mouth all over my face. It's too much. I back off.

"Are you a virgin?" She asks.

"What? No!"

"I thought maybe...I'm sorta one too. You know, because of Ray's...Meghan wouldn't touch you. Other girls can be mean to small guys too."

"No one has ever told me I'm small, Bree," I say. Unsure why I feel the need to defend myself.

"Okay. I believe you" Bree genuinely listens. Stares at my eyes.

"I've had girlfriends..."

"How many?"

Hmm. Who counts? I've had sex with two women in my life. Both in college. Now that I'm out and steadily employed in web design, I don't date anymore.

"Two," I answer.

"Mmm-hmm." Has anyone ever listened this intently to me? "And how long did they last?"

"Uh, I dunno. Months."

"Before or after they saw your thing?"

"Jesus, Bree!"

She laughs. Back to her manic phase, I guess. Goodbye depressive phase.

"It's not like that, Bree. Whatever it was with Meghan, I have adult relationships now."

"That's what I'm talking about!. I want you to fuck me. We're adults. And unlike the other girls Ill stay with you after "

My fuck or flight instinct kicks in. As anxious as I am to go through with this gorgeous, skinny, wild young woman, I'm equally as anxious to flee. Before I do, Bree unceremoniously lifts her shirt up and off. No bra. Her breasts are too, too cute. Bright pink ripples. I move to suck them, but she's moving too.

Shorts come off next. No panties. Bree doesn't shave. Her pussy is sopping wet. How did I not notice before? Wild red hair, same as on her head. No, curlier.

Clothed and motionless, I watch Bree slide down to her lay on her back. Writhing. Waiting for me.

I don't undress. I simply unzip and take myself out. What there is to take out. Bree smirks with her puffy lips. A confirmation smirk, acknowledging she was right about my size. I am inside her before the smirk fades. She is tight! Slippery, hugging me.

No wonder Ray couldn't fit. Nor Steve presumably, if Bree had given him the opportunity. Bree's pussy is as wide as a mouse ear.

She moans loudly, in falsetto. Makes a LOT of noise. More flattery than I deserve. But she means it. She is an honest moaner.

The family couch is soaked. Her lush upper lips pucker out the whole time I hump her. Which isn't a long time, to be fair.

Sleepy eyes watch me. I admire her face up close. Definitely not made up. Bree is a natural wonder. I can't believe she's real right now. Prettier than my idealized memory of Meghan ever could be.

I cum hard, within 15 thrusts. Sweat dripping down.. She screams. Literally screams. I'm sure she came. There is no doubt.

"I love you, Markus." First time she's used my full name. "Do you love me? I love you, I love you, I love you."

No clue what is possessing me, I answer humbly, "I think so."

"Tell me the truth."

"Okay, okay. I love you too...I love you more than I ever loved Meghan."

"Shut up! Don't say her name ever again!"

I'm still inside her. She plants a series of little kisses on me. "You belong to me now. I only want you and you only want me."

It occurs to me, and should have occurred earlier, that Bree might not be all there. Mentally. Maybe she was in hospital for good reason. Maybe I am another Ray, to be followed by another Marky someday after her next breakdown.

Also occurs to me I am not wearing a condom. I just came hard in my old girlfriend's bratty little sister's bare pussy. This could be a problem.

"I love your little dickie, too. It feels so good, Marky. Please don't go soft. Please stay in me forever."

The End