Runaround Sue

I was not only the youngest of five children, but my four older siblings were all girls. I had many of the advantages of being the youngest–my sisters treated me like a pet; I was smothered with mothers. I also had many of the disadvantages. Like many of the youngest, I had more than my share of hand-me-down clothes. With all older sisters, my clothes were often effeminate. If I wanted blue jeans, I had to endure girlie stitching and cuts, or shirts that buttoned on the wrong side.

At times it felt like I had five older sisters. The sister closest in age, just a year older, Ellen, had a best friend, Sue, who virtually lived at our house. Sue’s family was what is called “dysfunctional” — divorced parents, a stepfather with whom she had a difficult and complicated relationship, a distant and alcoholic mother. For my parents, one more kid in the house was hardly noticed. My three older sisters were all well-behaved. Based on their experience with the first three, my parents trusted their kids, and tended to be permissive because the kids had never given them cause not to be. But sister number four, Ellen, was the wild one, and she and Sue were another story entirely.

Whereas the three older sisters were all good students, and acted responsibly, Ellen and Sue were “boy crazy,” and were constantly getting into trouble. They were both exceptionally pretty girls, and they loved to push the limits, wearing make-up long before most girls their age did, bleaching their hair blonde, dating older boys, coming home late. They wore the shortest miniskirts and during the hot pants fad wore skimpy skin tight little short shorts that failed to cover the bottom third of their bottoms. Both were sent home from school on more than one occasion to put on more modest clothing. Boys were constantly swarming around them. They were also a lot of fun, and everyone, my parents included, tended to laugh off their transgressions.

I had a special relationship with Sue from childhood. She was sort of like another older sister, but we both knew she wasn’t a real sister, and she flirted with me constantly. Sue came with us on family vacations. I got to see her in bikini bathing suits, in various stages of undress, and the object of her constant sexual teasing. Sue enjoyed knowing that I was in awe of her. She immediately recognized her power over me, and loved to exercise it. She never ever went and got something for herself if I was near. She would ask me to get her a pencil, a soda, change the channel (this was before remote control televisions), etc., and I would happily hop at her beck and call. She also quickly discovered and encouraged my voyeuristic tendencies. She noticed me watching her constantly, and often she facilitated my hungry appetite to see her. She frequently slept at our house, and would walk around the house–like my sisters–in her nightgown. She often wore a thin, shortie, translucent one, and I loved watching her breasts through the material and to see her little bikini panties. She would strut around me, lean forward and watch my eyes drop to her chest, and, her favorite, to find a way to flash glimpses of panty crotch by opening and closing her legs.

Once when I was alone in the room lying on the floor watching TV, Sue came in to tell me something. She came in and stood right over me, straddling my head with a foot on either side, allowing me to look straight up the length of her legs to see the breathtaking view of her panties from directly underneath. It was an indelible image that I played over and over again for hundreds of masturbatory orgasms.

One time when Sue needed to quickly change her clothes, she “borrowed” my room for a couple of minutes. When she rushed out, she had left her cute little pink panties in a pile on my bedroom floor. When I entered my room, I shut the door (we didn’t have locks on our doors) fell to my knees and immediately began smelling and feeling Sue’s panties on my face. Within minutes, my pants were undone and I was beating off, licking the crotch of her still-warm panties. Just then the door flew open.

“Caught Ya!” Sue cried. I was mortified. But Sue just closed the door and hopped up on my bed. “I was just wondering what you might do if I left you alone with my panties,” she said, giggling. I was still on the floor with my erect penis exposed, embarrassed and confused. “Do you wanna keep ’em?” she asked. “Yeah,” I stammered. “Well, you have to say, ‘pretty, pretty please, with sugar on top,” she said.