My Taboo First Time

By: Natalie Deschain

“Chris?” I said.

“Yeah?” he said, blearily.

I sat down across the kitchen table from my stepbrother and looked at him. I had been planning this for weeks and I knew I had to make every detail perfect. I pretended I’d just gotten up, but I’d been awake for hours, styling my hair, making it shine and fame my face in loose waves so it looked like bedhead but more, I don’t know, artful. I was in my underwear and a tank top with nothing on under it, and when I leaned forward to look him in the eye I pushed my breasts together with my arms. His eyes flicked to my chest and I saw his cheeks redden just a bit before he looked down at his cereal and took a hungry bite, as if by crunching hard on it he could banish me from sight. We would be separated in two days, both of us going to college, me as a freshman, my stepbrother as a junior. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

“Yeah? What?”

“What are you doing today?”

“I have to mow the back yard,” he yawned, “and finish packing up my stuff.”

Hearing word of him packing his things to go away made me sigh, and sigh harder when I realized I was doing it, too. I pictured how empty our house would feel with just Mom and Dad.

I kicked out my foot. My toes found the hard side of his calf and he pulled his leg back, glancing at me with annoyance.


“I need you to do something,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes.


“A favor.”

He took another bite of cereal and mumbled through it. “What kind of favor?”

“A very special favor.”

I leaned my head on my hand and watched him. He was desperately trying not to look up. I shifted and twisted in my chair so my top tightened over my chest. I tried to look as calm and collected as I could. As sophisticated as I could. As grown up as I could, much as I hate to say it. I needed him to see a woman when I asked him this. I got up, and I walked around the side of the table. I sat on the corner of the table beside his breakfast, prompting him to look up to me, which meant he swept his gaze up my body and the next to nothing that was covering it. I shifted my weight onto the table and crossed my legs, pulling one over the other, and gain he watched. I leaned over on one arm like a burlesque singer leaning on a piano.

I said, “I need you to fuck me.”

He jerked back from me like I was a hot oven. Then he stood up, swallowing roughly a mouthful of cereal and wiping the milk from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“This is not funny,” he said.

“It’s not a joke,” I countered, standing to face him. I pushed out my chest and arched my back and stared into his eyes. “I can’t go to college a virgin.”

He sputtered and coughed. “I’m not hearing this.”

“Yes, you are,” I said, my voice straining. “Please, Chris. I need it.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said, “This isn’t funny, I.. Just go to your room.”

“You can’t send me to my room. You’re not Dad. Besides, I’m an adult, I don’t have to do what you say.”

I grabbed his wrist and he jerked out of it and grabbed mine, then the other. He stood there holding my wrists in his powerful hands, calloused from weight lifting and football play. His jaw worked up and down almost in time with the heaving of my chest as he stared at my breasts. His eyes rose up to meet mine and he abruptly let go of my arms, and they fell to my sides. I licked my lips and looked down. His stomach was sucking in hard with every breath, his body quivering with tension. His hard cock was swinging against his boxers like he’d stuffed something rigid down his shorts. The sight of his arousal made my body clench like a fist, and I felt the first prickles of new sweat on my brow and between my shoulder blades. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my panties.

Then he grabbed my arms and moved me out of his way, roughly. I stumbled and fell back into my chair as he stalked up the stairs, without looking back at me. He vanished into his bedroom with a hollow clap of his slamming door, and I sat there struck dumb, staring after him until he opened them again and came out in swim trunks and ratty old sneakers with half the eyelets missing and big scratched up sunglasses. He walked past me without saying anything into the back porch. I heard the door slam. I heard the dull, distant cough of the lawn mower struggling to life with throaty urgency. I sat there in my underwear feeling the cotton clinging to my sex with my arousal and felt tears welling up in my eyes. I’d been thinking about him this way for years, and I’d always been afraid to act. I wanted him to be my first, I truly did.

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