index


Message-ID: <30493asstr$991059003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Henrik Larsen" <henlar@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed
Subject: {ASSM} RP: Confessions chapter 1 (m/f, slow)   By Henrik Larsen.       
Date: Mon, 28 May 2001 10:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


If you like the story, then feel free to tell me so. If you thought it could 
have been better, please let me know as well. My E-mail is 
henlar@hotmail.com.


If, for some reason, you feel offended by sexual stories, then I don't know 
why you have opened this one. Maybe to be offended, so you can complain 
about how awful it is that somebody writes stuff like this. If that's the 
case, my advice is to seek professional help. You need it. If you are not 
allowed to read stories like this and choose to continue, I will not be held 
responsible. But don't worry, it's all fantasy.

This and most of my stories would have been a mess of spelling errors and 
grammatical rubbish, had it not been for Old Rotorhead, Cagey and Marie. I'm 
very thankful for their patient work and encouragement.




(c) Henrik Larsen 2000.
Reposting or any other use is strictly prohibited without the express, 
written permission of the copyright holder. E-mail me, I'll probably give 
you permission. I just want to know and control where it is posted. This 
story may be posted as part of a review or to the ASSM archive.


Confessions 1.

Religion didn't play an important role in my home. My parents weren't 
religious and even if they had been, they never had the time to tell me 
about it. Still, it became a very important part of the most exciting time 
of my youth.

I wasn't conceived by mistake; a married couple were supposed to have kids 
and my parents were awfully conventional. They were also very, very 
ambitious and by the time I was born, they must have figured out that they 
didn't really have the time needed to bring up a kid, if they were going to 
look after their careers.

So, they hired a young girl to look after me. She was replaced by another 
young girl and so on. From about the age of four, I can begin to remember 
the girls. I remember them better than I remember my parents from back then. 
There was many a day when I didn't see my parents at all. They went to work 
before I got up and didn't come home until after I was put to bed.

My parents really loved me and cared about me. I'm sure they did, in their 
own way. But career and material wealth were what mattered. The only kind of 
parental guidance I got from them was about correct behaviour in the 
presence of adults and that knowledge was important. Naturally, I was 
spoiled rotten. I got more or less everything I asked for. Actually, I 
didn't need to ask for anything, I just got it.

The only thing I didn't get was a playmate. We lived in a very fancy 
neighbourhood and I was practically the only kid for miles around. The rest 
of the houses were occupied by wealthy, middle-aged couples with grown-up 
children or no children at all.

I think you pretty much get the picture now. A boy brought up by young 
girls, with no contact with other kids. A sissy little boy, slightly nerdy 
and shy in the company of other children.

This was the situation until I was six. Then I learned that I was going to 
start attending school. I was terrified, to say the least. The mere thought 
of school scared me to death. Having to leave my safe, protected environment 
and go to a place, filled with strange children, seemed to me to be the 
ultimate nightmare.

Mom and dad sensed my fear and one evening, they said they had something to 
talk to me about.

'You know, Dan, you have a cousin, Annie. I don't think you remember her, I 
hardly do myself,' my mom began.

'I remember uncle Paul,' I said, enthusiastically. He was my father's 
brother and he had visited us a couple of times over the past two years.

'Yes, uncle Paul and aunt Emma. They have a daughter, Annie. She's the same 
age as you and is going to begin school this fall, too. Uncle Paul wants her 
to go to the same school as you, so she's going to come and stay with us,' 
mom said.

'Here? In our house?' I asked, startled. 'What about uncle Paul?'

'He and aunt Emma have to stay in China. Uncle Paul's job requires him to 
stay there and aunt Emma prefers to stay with him.'

I must have looked a little disappointed. I loved uncle Paul. He had been 
stationed in China for as long as I could remember and when he came to 
visit, he always played with me and he had given me some fantastic things 
from China.

'Uncle Paul will follow her over here from China. It's a long trip, too long 
for a child to take on her own,' mom added.

'When will they be here?' I asked, excited.

'In three days. We'll pick them up in the airport,' dad replied.


The next three days passed slowly. I didn't like the thought that Annie was 
going to come and live with us. But I really wanted to see uncle Paul. 
Finally it was Saturday evening and we were waiting in the airport. My eyes 
were glued to the doors where the arriving passengers came out.

And then suddenly, they were there. There was a lot of confusion. Everybody 
saying hello and embracing and I was kind of left out, until a little girl 
poked me in the side.

'You must be Dan,' she said. 'I'm Annie. I'm going to live with you.'

I stared at her at the red-haired, freckled girl. I don't know what I had 
expected. A Chinese girl perhaps.

'Eh, hi,' was all I could say.

'Dad says you're a nice boy. He said we were going to give you a present, 
when we arrived.'

Annie handed me a little parcel. I looked at it.

'Aren't you going to see what it is?' Annie asked, impatiently.

'Maybe I should wait until uncle Paul and my mom and dad can see it too.'

Annie shook her head.

'They're too busy talking.' Annie said, matter of factly.

I wasn't sure it was the correct thing to do, but Annie somehow sounded very 
convincing, so I began unwrapping the gift. Inside was a cardboard box with 
Chinese letters on it. Excited, I opened the box and very cautiously took 
out the contents. It was a radio; a tiny, tiny radio. I had never seen 
anything like it before. I was used to big radios. The smallest radio I had 
seen up to then was a transistor radio, the size of a shoebox. This was more 
like the size of two matchboxes. I was thrilled beyond my wildest 
expectations.

'It's a radio. My dad says it's the kind of radio they are going to use, 
when they send a man to the moon.' Annie said.

'Wow.'

'I got one too.' Annie said.

'Can we talk with them too?' I asked.

'No, you can only listen.'

I tried to turn it on.

'You have to put the batteries in,' Annie said.

I looked in the box again and there were two batteries and a little earplug. 
Soon, the batteries were in and the radio turned on. It took a little while 
to get anything but static, but suddenly, loud music sounded from the tiny 
speaker.

Suddenly, the grownups all looked at Annie and me.

'What on earth is that?' mom exclaimed and then added: 'Turn it down for 
God's sake.'

'It's a radio, mom. When they send a man to the moon, Annie and I can hear 
him,' I said excitedly.

'Well, let's see if they can get a man up there first, shall we?' my dad 
said, smiling.

That was '66, I was seven years old and I was in heaven. Annie showed me how 
to use the earplug and we sat together on the back seat of the car listening 
to our radios all the way home. All my fears about Annie coming to live with 
us were gone. I'd found a friend.

When we got home the grownups went to the living room and I showed Annie 
around the house. I ended the tour in her room.

'This is your room. Do you like it?'

Annie looked around the room.

'It looks nice. What's behind that door?' Annie asked and pointed.

'My room. You have to go through my room, if you are going to the bathroom.'

'Hm. Then we can open the door and talk, when we've gone to bed,' she said, 
sounding excited.

'Yeah, I guess so,' I replied, not really getting the idea.

'I mean, it's like . . . we're not alone,' Annie explained.

We sat down on Annie's bed.

'Why isn't your mother with you?' I asked.

'She's ill. She needs a lot of medicine and she hides it from dad, because 
she doesn't want him to know how ill she is. It's our secret, mom and me. 
You mustn't tell dad. He gets so worried for mom,' Annie answered, 
seriously.

'That's sad. Do you think you will miss them a lot?'

'I don't know. I don't see dad much. He travels a lot. And mom sleeps until 
late. The medicine makes her sleepy. I play a lot with the other kids or 
play with Yin.'

'What's a Yin?' I asked, ignorant as I was about Chinese names.

'It's not an "it". She's the woman who takes care of me,' Annie answered and 
giggled.

'Oh. Mine is called Susan, and the one before her was Andrea. Have you only 
had Yin?' I replied.

'Yes. She's my best friend. I'll miss her,' Annie said, a little sad. 'But I 
can go home every summer and visit her.'

We talked a little longer, but it was late and somehow, we just fell asleep 
on Annie's bed. Late, mom and dad and uncle Paul woke us and I was put into 
my own bed.

Annie was right about the door. It was nice to talk, after we had been put 
to bed. Soon we had arranged our beds on each side of the wall, so we could 
talk quietly; we couldn't see each other, but we were only inches apart.

Annie and I got along well. We looked much alike but inside, we were very 
different. Annie was outgoing and daring. She would go to the line every 
time and often cross it. But she always got away with it, no matter what she 
did. She had this fantastic ability to look so innocent and, if needed, 
remorseful. I was usually reluctant to follow her lead. Still, I guess I 
gradually became a little more daring too.

 From the time Annie came to stay with us, and until we were around ten, the 
young girls that looked after us were replaced at an ever-increasing rate. 
It took that long for my parents to realise what the problem was. But when 
one of them left after 3 days, we were in trouble. Before she left, she told 
my parents loudly and clearly, in a voice loud enough for us to hear it 
(while we eavesdropped outside my dad's study) that we were two little 
monsters. Even Annie's innocent look couldn't help us that time.

Mom and dad had a serious word with us; very serious! They didn't threaten 
to send Annie home, but it was close.

By then, Annie and I were inseparable. The duration of Annie's summer visits 
to China had gone down from five to two weeks. Separation would have been a 
catastrophe for both of us. We had to promise that we would behave nicely 
towards the next young girl and in school as well.

School was primarily Annie's problem. We both did well in school, but Annie 
often got comments from the teachers on her report card, because she was a 
little too mischievous.

Mom decided that it would be a good idea to employ a young girl from a 
foreign country. She wanted an English girl to help us improve our English, 
but for some reason she couldn't find one from Britain. Instead, she hired a 
French girl.

This girl's name was Simone and she was an exchange student, studying 
English. We had just started learning English in school and Simone didn't 
speak one word of Danish, so we all had to try our best. That way, it did 
work out as my parents had intended. We were all forced to speak English and 
we had to learn it fast.

One thing helped us learn English more than anything else: Simone was 
Catholic and apparently, she believed in the stuff. Mom thought it would 
widen our horizon to know a little bit more about Catholicism, so we had to 
follow Simone to church every now and then. Going to Mass was the worst. It 
lasted forever and since the church was full of people, we had to sit 
quietly and listen.

We also went along, when Simone was going to confession. Annie was restless 
and began wandering quietly around the church. Suddenly, she gestured to 
make me come over to her. I went over to where she was, next to the 
confessional.

'Listen,' Annie whispered.

I could hear Simone's voice very clearly. Father Peter apparently didn't 
understand French so Simone spoke English, fairly loud and clear enough for 
us to hear.

' . . . and I then I touched myself,' we heard her say.

Father Peter mumbled something we couldn't hear.

'Uh, I touched myself . . . very . . . intimate place.' Simone relied.

More mumbling and Simone answered again.

'Only outside my clothes.'

At this point, it sounded as if one of them got up and it scared us. We 
rushed back to the bench and sat quietly with beating hearts and blushing 
cheeks. Nothing happened for a couple of minutes. Then, just as Annie was 
about to get up and sneak over there again, Simone came out of the 
confessional and headed towards us.

We didn't really have a clue what she was telling Father Peter about, but 
the thrill of listening made the confession much more exciting than Mass. 
Over the next month, we heard a lot about "inappropriate thoughts" and how 
Simone "touched" herself and how she touched her "Perle".

The whole thing intrigued us so much that, in the evening, when we lay in 
our beds, we sometimes played "confession".

'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,' Annie would say and I would reply 
something like: 'Tell me and Jesus will give you absolution.' Then Annie 
would "confess" something, usually repeating what she had heard Simone say 
in confession and I would ask her to tell more.

We didn't really know what Father Peter said. He always mumbled. We caught a 
few words here and there and guessed at some, but the rest I made up.

We only heard Father Peter speak out loud once. It was three months later. 
By this time, Simone had a boyfriend and she no longer talked about touching 
herself. Now it was her boyfriend, touching her and doing things to her with 
his "thing". It seemed as if this "thing" was in her hands and in her mouth 
all the time.

One Sunday, Simone was confessing this week's escapades with her boyfriend, 
unaware of the extra ears, listening to her confession.

' . . . he was so persistent and then I gave in. But I was afraid that it 
would have consequences, so I let him use the other entrance,' Simone said.

The father mumbled.

'How do you say it . . . mon derri re . . . sodomize,' Simone said.

And that was when we heard Father Peter.

'MY CHILD!!! That is a very serious sin. Don't ever let him do that again. 
It must have hurt terribly.' Father Peter yelped, appalled.

'Oui, tout d'abord . . . in the beginning, but then it felt bon. Tres bon.'

Whenever Simone was angry or excited about something, she put in a lot of 
French words, when she spoke.

Father Peter lowered his voice again and Simone told him a little more about 
"sodomize" or whatever the terrible sin was called.

Simone was a very cheerful girl and we grew very fond of her. I think she 
liked us too and she showed it. She would always hug us and kiss us on the 
cheek, which we weren't accustomed to. But we got used to it. Actually, I 
ended up liking her hugging and kissing on the cheek. It felt good.

Simone took her job seriously. She was there for us. After school, she had 
often baked a cake or something similar and she was always ready to play 
cards or board games.

Simone always smiled and I guess we knew something was seriously wrong, when 
we got home that day. Simone had been crying, her eyes were all red and 
swollen. She was pale and there was no sign of a smile. Of course, we 
immediately tried to find out what was wrong, but she wouldn't say.

Later that day, we listened by the door, while she was talking to mom and 
dad. Simone talked very quietly and cried all the time. We could hear mom 
trying to comfort her, but we couldn't hear what it was all about.

The next day, mom was home when we got back from school. She told us that 
Simone was ill; it wasn't anything serious but she would have to be in the 
hospital for a few days.

The day Simone returned from the hospital, she still looked very sad. Not at 
all like the Simone we knew. We tried to cheer her up, but in vain and she 
didn't want to tell us what was the matter with her and why she had to go to 
the hospital. Finally, she told us that she was going home to France again. 
We were genuinely sad about that and Simone was too. We all cried.

Simone had been special and not just because of the confessions. Maybe it 
was because we had been told to treat her nice. We'd had a chance to get to 
know her, but I still think it was more than that.

Simone left and her absence left a vacuum. The girl who took over was 
nothing special. We still treated her nice, but she wasn't Simone. We didn't 
spend much time with her, as we had done with Simone. When she quit, my 
parents decided that we were old enough to look after ourselves.

Time passed and we grew older. Annie went home twice a year to visit her 
parents; at Christmas and for three weeks in the summer. It was lonely 
without her. We still didn't see any other children except in school and at 
gymnastic training. They all lived too far away and besides, Annie and I had 
each other and didn't need any other kids to play with.

The summer we turned fourteen, Annie left to visit her parents as usual. She 
was supposed to be gone for three weeks, but 5 days after she had gone, mom 
suddenly told me she was coming home the next day. I was both happy and a 
little worried. Mom hadn't said anything about why she was coming home so 
quickly.

Annie was very quiet, when we picked her up in the airport, but I assumed it 
was the long flight. It was late, when we got home and we went more or less 
straight to bed. We talked a little about nothing. Annie mostly answered my 
questions about the visit with monosyllabic words.

Suddenly, she didn't answer. At first I thought she had fallen asleep, but 
then I could her she was crying quietly.

'Annie, are you ok?' I whispered.

There was a loud sob from the other side of the wall. I got out of bed and 
went into her room and sat down on the side of her bed.

'What happened? What's wrong?'

Annie tried to speak, but it only made her cry harder. She was shivering 
like she was cold. I had never seen her like that before. I put my arms 
around her and hugged her for several minutes, until she had calmed down 
sufficiently to speak again.

'Why . . . why didn't they tell me?' Annie finally managed to whisper.

'Tell you what?'

'Mom . . . is an alcoholic. The medicine . . . all the things she . . . 
never could do . . . because she was . . . ill . . . it was all lies . . .' 
Annie said and began crying hard again.

I didn't understand the full implication of what Annie told me, but I 
understood enough to figure out why she was so sad.

'They just . . . sent me . . . away,' Annie sobbed. 'They . . . lied to . . 
. me.'

I didn't know what to say. My stomach was one big knot. I just held her and 
let her cry until she fell asleep.

Annie felt better in the morning. Mom and dad acted as if nothing had 
happened. Maybe they didn't know. After breakfast, Annie told me what had 
happened.

'I found my mom drinking vodka from the bottle. At 10 in the morning. 
Suddenly, it was all so obvious. We had a row. First she tried to convince 
me that she wasn't drinking. She "had just mixed some medicine in the 
bottle". Then she blamed me, because I had moved away.'

I interrupted her.

'But you were only 6. They sent you over here to go to school.

'That's what I told her. Then she blamed me, because I had been a difficult 
child when I was there. I asked her how she knew; she was never there. Then 
she started to cry and was very remorseful, telling me that she would quit 
right away. We both cried a lot and I forgave her.'

'Why did you come home then?' I asked, stupidly.

'She didn't really keep the promise. In the afternoon, she was drunk as a 
skunk and we had another row. Mom went to bed. Then dad came home. I told 
him what I had discovered and he started talking about "protecting me" and 
"keeping it a secret". He didn't understand . . . He didn't understand how I 
felt. I was . . . so . . . I felt so let down. All these years, I had 
worried about mom. I had kept her secret from dad, because I really thought 
she was ill and that it would make dad sad if he knew how ill she was. And 
it was lies. It was all lies!'

Annie had to inhale deeply a couple of times. But she didn't cry. It was a 
different Annie this morning. Older, more mature. She didn't sound like a 
little girl any more.

'I decided that I didn't want to stay there any more. It wasn't my home. I 
wanted to come back here.'

She looked me straight in the eyes.

'You are my closest friend,' she said, very seriously. 'Promise me that 
you'll never lie to me.'

'I promise,' I said with a lump in my throat.

'I'm your sister now. I'm never going back.' Annie said.



It took a while before Annie got back her normal good mood. Mom and dad 
acted as if nothing had happened. I didn't know if they knew or not, but I 
guess they did. I myself didn't know what to say or do. I found it a little 
awkward just to ignore it, like mom and dad did, but I couldn't really say 
anything to make it better. I tried to forget about it and gradually, I 
succeeded.

Annie didn't go home for Christmas. I certainly didn't mind. I loved 
Christmas; the mood, all the lights and the presents. Spending Christmas 
with Annie there only made it better.


Other things soon began to occupy my mind. The older boys on my gymnastics 
team had been talking about girls and sex for a long time. I listened but 
wasn't really interested. But gradually, I began to find it more and more 
interesting. I began to look at girls differently. I also noticed that I was 
getting hair in places I hadn't had hair before.

I knew, from the very rudimentary course on human biology in school, that I 
had entered puberty. I knew the physical signs, nothing else, but I suddenly 
felt that the things the older boys were talking about were very exciting. 
Looking at girls and dreaming about them was even more exciting.

My knowledge about sex was mainly based on the locker room discussions. The 
older boys used words that I didn't know at first. I learned, though. The 
meaning of words like pussy and wiener. I could translate the words "von 
hinten" from German, but it took a little while before I found out what they 
were talking about, when they said "giving it to her von hinten" - apart 
from "from behind".

I didn't really gain any specific knowledge from listening to the older 
boys, but enough to figure out what Simone's confession was about. And that 
the thing that had shocked Father Peter so much, was pretty much the same as 
"von hinten".

I also figured out that Simone must have followed Father Peter's advice and 
stopped doing it that way. Instead, she had let her boyfriend enter her in a 
way accepted by the Catholic Church and she had gotten pregnant.

My first real sexual revelation came shortly after my fifteenth birthday, in 
January. I was in the shower, washing myself and dreaming about one of the 
girls in my class. I must have washed my dick while I was dreaming. Suddenly 
I got a funny feeling in my groin and when I looked down, my dick spewed out 
some milky fluid. I was scared at first, but then I realised that it was 
what was described as ejaculation in my lesson on human biology; or what the 
older boys described as "coming".

It became a frequent activity when I showered, since it was the only place I 
had a enough privacy. The door between Annie's and my room was never closed 
and I found it difficult to find a good explanation as to why I suddenly 
would want it closed. Besides I was so used to it that I really didn't want 
the door to be closed. We always talked, when we went to bed and it was 
usually the best time of the day. We could discuss almost anything. I say 
almost, because I hadn't discussed my new discovery with Annie. Somehow, I 
didn't think she would be the least interested; maybe even disgusted.

Masturbating was the only active form of sex I practised. We didn't have 
parties in school or any other events where I had a chance to socialise with 
girls. Going to the local disco wasn't an option at all. I would never have 
gotten my parents permission and even if I did, I wouldn't dare to go alone. 
I was still a bit nerdy and slightly introverted.

Life went on. The summer marked the beginning of our last year in elementary 
school. Annie and I were already destined to continue our education at a 
famous gymnasium and that was pretty much the same for the rest of our 
classmates. That meant the schoolwork and the coming exam was pretty 
important.

I guess in every class there's always somebody who tries to get around 
things the easy way. Our class was no exception. His name was Mark and his 
father was a well-known and wealthy businessman. The only thing Mark was 
really good at was soccer. Apart from that, he was a selfish, 
self-satisfied, bragging nuisance. He acted as if he was God's gift to the 
world and somehow, he always got away with it.

Mark rarely bothered to do his homework. Instead, he would "borrow" the 
assignments from one of the girl's desk and copy the answers. He always 
returned the papers he "borrowed" but I couldn't figure out why the girls 
let him do it and most of them did. Some of the girls had learned never to 
leave their homework lying on their desks, but other girls still did it.

One day, when we were assigned to write an English essay for the next day, 
Annie had put her essay on the desk in plain view. We had often discussed 
Mark's habits and Annie never let him copy her homework, so I was very 
puzzled. Mark didn't waste any time and took the essay and copied it between 
classes. Even more surprisingly, Annie hardly complained when he took it.

'Why did you let him copy your essay?' I questioned Annie in the bus on the 
way home. 'You'll have to write another. You can't both hand in the same 
essay.'

'I've already written another. Here, read this, this is the one Mark 
copied,' she answered with a broad grin, handing me the paper. 'Read the 
second paragraph.'

I read the paragraph Annie pointed to:


'I'm going to blow you,' she whispered and put it into her mouth. He was 
stiff and moaned incomprehensibly.

'Suck it!' he hissed.

'How does it feel? Can you feel it raising inside you? Are you happy now,' 
she asked.

He stuck it deeper into her mouth and she pulled hard on it. His head 
exploded and it splattered out over her face and chest.


I looked at Annie, shocked and blushing. It shocked me that Annie could 
write something like that and that she actually knew the meaning of it.

'Are you crazy? You can't write something like this in an English essay. Old 
Miss Rabinowich is going to kill you, if she doesn't have a massive coronary 
first," I said.

'I never had any intention of showing this to Miss Rabinowich,' Annie said, 
still grinning.

She took the paper, folded it up and put it in her pocket.

'This is the one I will give her, if Mark admits copying my essay,' she 
said, taking out another paper and handing it to me. 'Read the second 
paragraph in this one.'


I did and it was completely different, yet almost the same words:


'I'm going to blow your head off,' she whispered between her teeth and put 
it into his mouth. He was stiff from fear and moaned incomprehensibly.

'Suck it!' she hissed at him. 'How does it feel? Can you feel the fear 
rising inside you? Are you happy now?' she asked.

She stuck it deeper into his mouth and pulled the trigger hard. His head 
exploded and blood splattered out over her face and chest.


I suddenly realised that Annie had planned it and wanted Mark to take the 
essay.

'Annie, Mark is going to be in a lot of trouble,' I said and looked 
seriously at her.

'Serves him right. He's had it coming for a long time,' she said and added, 
'I only wish I could see Miss Rabinowich's face when she reads his essay.'

I couldn't help laughing, trying to imagine Miss Rabinowich's reaction. And 
Mark did deserve it. He had sponged off others' work for far too long. We 
got off the bus, laughing ourselves to tears. Annie took the folded up paper 
and put it in the garbage can.

'Promise not to tell anybody?' she said.

'Of course I won't.'

'Don't you think Mark noticed?' I asked, suddenly realising that this could 
backfire.

'Don't worry. He's too dumb to notice. His English is too lousy for him to 
understand what he is copying.

We had to wait two days to see the result of Annie's practical joke. We were 
going to have Miss Rabinowich in the first lecture that day, but she didn't 
show up. Looking out the window, we saw Mark's father walking from the 
parking lot, followed by Mark, who looked like he was being taken to the 
gallows. Annie and I exchanged knowing glances.

A couple of minutes later the headmaster, Miss Rabinowich, Mark's father and 
Mark walked into the classroom.

'Miss Hansen,' the Headmaster said, very strictly.

Annie went up to him and he showed her Mark's essay.

'This young man claims that you wrote this for him. Is that true?'

'No. He stole my essay and I had to write another.' Annie answered and began 
reading the essay.

She put her hand over her mouth, looking genuinely shocked and handed the 
paper to the Headmaster.

'I . . . I certainly never wrote that,' she said, blushing fiercely.

'I'm sorry, Miss Hansen. I know this is not something to show a young girl,' 
the headmaster turned to Mark.

'But she did write it!' Mark protested.

'And you took it and copied it?' the headmaster asked, inquisitorially.

'Yes . . . you saw it, Sofie,' he said and looked pleading at Sofie. She was 
one of the girls that usually let him copy her homework.

'It's true. He took Annie's story and copied it,' Sofie answered.

Just as Annie had planned, the Headmaster turned to her again.

'Do you have the original paper?'

'Yes,' Annie said and went down to her bag. She took out the decent version 
of the essay Mark had copied and went back to the group of angry adults.

The headmaster read through the essay and handed it to Miss Rabinowich. She 
scanned it as well and smiled with satisfaction.

'This is the kind of work Annie always delivers. I knew she would never 
write that filth,' she said and looked at Mark's essay with disgust.

'Not only do you steal your classmate's essay, you are too dumb to even copy 
it correctly,' The headmaster said, sarcastically and turned to Mark's 
father, who looked like he was about to have a fit.

'I'm not sure your son is the kind of pupil we want in this school. We have 
a reputation . . .'

Mark's father interrupted the Headmaster.

'I can only agree and I assure you that it will never happen again. I'm sure 
we can work out something,' he said and tried to guide the headmaster out of 
the classroom, with Mark in a tow.

Miss Rabinowich was somewhat upset but not shaken and proceeded with her 
class, almost as if nothing had happened. Mark didn't reappear until after 
Miss Rabinowich had left the class. As he passed Annie on his way down to 
his table, he hissed:

'I'm going to get you for this.'

'What?' Annie said and looked very innocent.

A couple of the other boys came to Annie's rescue.

'You can't blame Annie for your own stupidity, Mark. It's not her fault that 
you can't copy correctly.'

'You had this one coming . . . moron.'

Mark mumbled something and slunk off to his own table. The defeat was total.


The incident with Mark meant two things to me. First, I suddenly realised 
that Annie had grown up too and maybe she wasn't as innocent and ignorant as 
I had led myself to believe.

Secondly, she began to appear in my fantasies, when I masturbated. This 
worried me. It was wrong to think of her that way. I mean, she was almost my 
sister and you shouldn't think of your sister that way. I tried hard, I 
really did, but whenever I fantasised about girls, her face would suddenly 
appear in my mind.

I thought about Simone again and her confessions. She seemed so happy and 
relieved, when she came out after confession. Maybe that was the way to get 
rid of the guilt I felt, when Annie appeared in my fantasies. I never got 
beyond thinking about it. I honestly didn't know how to become a Catholic. I 
wasn't sure I believed in God at all. Could I become a Catholic, if I didn't 
believe in God? Would I have to go to church all the time or could I just go 
to confession, when I needed it? It was too complicated and I gave up the 
idea.

I felt terribly guilty, but Annie took over more and more in my fantasies. 
No matter how hard I tried, her face and body still occupied my mind. And I 
was suddenly beginning to notice her body.

Annie always walked through my room to the bathroom. When we were younger, 
she often walked naked through my room, when she was going to shower. She'd 
stopped doing that a couple of years ago. She began to wear a bathrobe. But 
lately it had changed again. She often just wore a towel, wrapped around her 
torso and it barely covered her behind, since it was also covering her 
chest.

I tried not to, but I couldn't help staring at her and trying and get a 
glimpse of her lovely shaped behind or the swellings on her chest. She would 
often stop to talk to me and it was awfully difficult not to stare, when she 
was standing in front of me, barely covered by a towel.

Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed as if Annie spent more and more 
time talking to me, after her showers. She was driving me insane and 
fuelling my fantasies and my guilt.

I was both relieved and disappointed, when she began to wear her bathrobe; 
not every time, but more often than not. However, I soon realised that it 
would only add to my torment. When she stood or sat and talked to me after 
her shower, the robe slowly opened. A couple of times, I got a sneak peek at 
her breasts and once I could almost see all the way up to her crotch.

I fought a losing battle, trying not to look at her, whenever I got the 
chance. Something inside me, over which I had no control, urged me to look, 
but afterwards, I was plagued with guilt. Not knowing what to do, the 
situation remained the same and for the time being, I learned to live with 
the constant guilt.

As autumn turned into winter, it became colder and darker and I spent more 
time in my room. I was practically always in my room, when Annie came from 
her shower. I gradually became used to her casual dressing-habits and the 
guilt wore off a little bit. I could almost talk with her without constantly 
trying to get a glimpse of her feminine attributes. And I did get a glimpse 
fairly often. She was very careless when tying the belt that held the robe 
together.

One day, just before Christmas, Annie was particularly talkative. She talked 
and talked, moving around in front of me and making a lot of gestures as she 
talked. She was wearing a towel that day. I can't recall what she was 
telling me, but her arms flew around her body and she had to tighten the 
towel several times. It didn't help though. The towel loosened again and 
before she could tighten it, the towel fell to the floor. Annie was suddenly 
standing in front of me, completely nude.

'Ooops,' Annie giggled shyly, but she didn't try to cover herself.

I just sat there, looking like a cod on dry land, gasping and staring at 
her. Then she said something that took whatever breath I had left, away.

'Do you like what you see?'

I was flabbergasted.

'I . . . I . . . yes,' I finally managed to stutter.

I felt very embarrassed, but my body's reaction opposed that of my mind. 
Nothing happened for an eternity. Suddenly Annie picked up the towel, 
leaning towards me and getting so close I could feel the heat radiating from 
her nude body. Then she rushed into her room.

It was the first time I had ever seen a girl nude. I had imagined what they 
looked like, using the images I had seen in paintings or dark, shaded images 
from movies, but I had never seen a girl fully undressed. The girls often 
trained in the same hall as the boys, when we practised gymnastics and I had 
looked a lot at the girls in their leotards. Now, I suddenly knew what a 
girl really looked like.

The image of Annie in the nude was burned into my brain. I couldn't stop 
thinking about it. I had to go shower very quickly to get relief. It was 
still hard to concentrate on my homework after the shower.

Annie began to consult me, when she was getting dressed, asking if she 
looked OK, if her arse looked big and stuff like that. She would come into 
my room and do a little catwalk and then ask me about her clothes and how 
she looked. It was rather innocent and yet I found it slightly disturbing. 
My mind always began undressing her, when she turned and showed herself off 
to me like that.

Just after Christmas, she bought a new swimming suit. She hadn't paid much 
for it, because it was on sale. Just before we went to bed, she wanted to 
try it on and show it to me. I was used to seeing her in leotards, but this 
was a two piece bikini and it showed more than it covered.

'What do you think? Do I look sexy?' she asked, swirling and jumping around, 
making her breasts bounce. It looked as if her breasts were going to burst 
the flimsy material.

I tried to keep my composure and answer calmly.

'You look very good. But it is very . . . revealing,' I answered.

'Do you mind?' Annie promptly replied, teasingly.

'Don't be silly,' I said, blushing.

'Come on. You've promised never to lie to me, remember?'

Yes, I remembered.

'I don't mind, OK?' I said, feeling the blood rush to my face.

Annie looked down her legs.

'God, I need to shave my legs,' she said and in an instant she was gone. Ten 
minutes later, she reappeared from the bathroom.

'That's better, don't you think, she said.

I was sitting on my bed and she put her left foot on my thigh, showing me 
her freshly shaved leg up close. Her crotch was right in front of my face 
and it distracted me.

'Eh, yes,' I said, not able to tear my eyes away from her crotch.

'Feel,' she said, leaning towards me and taking my hand, leading it to her 
leg.

Her skin was so smooth. She pulled my hand up to her thigh. The skin on her 
inner thigh was unbelievable smooth. Annie innocently guided my hand closer 
to her crotch, oblivious to the effect it had on me. I was so aroused. I 
didn't know what I was doing. My hand just continued on the course Annie had 
set.

In a trance, I let my hand brush over her crotch, feeling the heat almost 
burning my fingertip. Annie gasped and froze. That woke me up.

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't . . .' I said, feeling awful.

'It's ok,' Annie said and added with a shy giggle, 'It felt nice.'

'It was wrong. I'm sorry'

I had already changed into pyjamas and suddenly I became very aware of my 
own predicament. It made me feel worse about it all. If Annie looked down, 
it would be impossible to hide. I tried to put my hands in my lap to cover 
myself, but I wasn't sure if it did the trick and I didn't dare to look 
down. I didn't dare to look up at Annie either, so I just stared at her 
tummy.

Finally, Annie took her leg down.

'I'd better get to bed too,' she said casually and strolled out of my room.

Relieved, I rushed out to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I had hoped to 
be able to get back under my duvet before Annie had finished changing into 
her pyjamas, but I didn't make it. She was waiting outside the bathroom, 
when I got out and I could feel her eyes on my crotch. My dick had almost 
gone back to normal size, but her stare immediately woke it again. I rushed 
past her to the safety of my bed. My sleep that night was disturbed by 
numerous dreams about Annie. I felt utterly bad about the whole thing and 
promised myself not to get carried away again. I promised myself that it was 
all over, but little did I know that it had just started.


To be continued.

_________________________________________________________________________
Get Your Private, Free E-mail from MSN Hotmail at http://www.hotmail.com.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+