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I've had many friends tell me that they envy me for my older sister, but let me tell you, desperate only-children: there is nothing rewarding about growing up with an older sibling. I have spent the vast majority of my life being bullied, threatened, black-mailed, and forced to wear embarrassing hand-me-downs with chests stretched to their limit and stains in unusual places.

A valued member of the track team with lean legs, perky breasts, and beautiful, California Superstar blond hair, my sister, Kylee, was every boy's dream at 17. To make matters worse, she knew it. By that age, my sister already had a pretty decent amount of... Experience. She had perfected the art of subtly weaseling our parents in to telling her exactly how long they would be gone every time they left the house. As soon as they were out the door, like clockwork, she'd be on the phone. Half an hour later, a guy would appear at our doorstep right before disappearing in to her room. If I ever said anything, I was "dead meat," or so she told me--over and over again. The guys ranged from 15 to 27 (once) and it was a rare occasion indeed if the same male visited the house twice.

For a long time, I thought my sister was cheating on the clean, intelligent young man that she claimed to be dating. That was, of course, until I overheard my sister talking to him one night after dinner, long after our parents had gone to bed for the night. Usually Kylee dragged her men off in to her bedroom, but tonight she sat with Christian, her "boyfriend," talking quietly. Christian looked upset and my sister seemed to be comforting him (a rare show of compassion, on her behalf). It was through this conversation that I found out Christian was gay. Their relationship was a cover for both of them: Christian had a "normal" relationship to make his parents happy and my sister had a nice boy to bring home to mom. I never said anything: I knew what the threat would be already.

My sister was everything I was not: beautiful, confident, experienced, and manipulative. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted when she wanted it: from men, to our parents, to our school. I, on the other hand, was red-haired and freckled, having inherited some awful dormant gene from my great uncle's great grandmother's second cousin twice removed. I was slightly chubby growing up and although my parents assured me that it was just "baby fat," even when I began to grow breasts at the early age of 12, I remained just a little thicker than the rest of my classmates. I was quiet, introverted, and intelligent. I preferred books to boys--although that didn't stop me from looking when hormones began to take over. When I was 13 and my parents forced me to get glasses, I knew my life was over. My sister would forever be an object of envy, a perfect specimen of woman placed upon a beautifully carved pedestal that I would never reach.

I hated her.

My sister's constant exploits only served to further annoy me. Our bedrooms were right next to one another and while I could sometimes drown out the noises with music, sometimes I couldn't... Although eventually I stopped wanting to. Kylee had an incredible voice and was, as they sometimes call them, a screamer. She was very vocal and while her voice easily pierced the thin layers of plaster between our rooms, it was always coupled with the persistent pounding of her bed frame against the wall.

For several months, unable to concentrate and unsure what to do with myself, I would sigh and lay down in my own bed until she had finished. Sometimes I would try to block it out by covering with my head with my pillow. It never worked of course--maybe I was just trying to find an excuse to hide my embarrassment.

At first, I hated her for the discomfort it caused me. Later, I hated her for the reaction it ignited in me. As I lay in bed one night, our parents on vacation and leaving my sister to "look after me," listening to the constant thump thump thump echoing through my room, I noticed that my body had started to become extremely uncomfortable. I was clad only in an over-sized, secondhand shirt and underwear that day, since I had spent most of the day locked away in my room avoiding Kylee. The longer I listened to her, the most my discomfort rose. This wasn't a new reaction by any means, but it was far worse that day than it had ever been. I was only 12 at the time, half a year in to puberty and dreading every second of it. I had never touched myself before and I really didn't even know how to. I had barely looked at myself in the mirror, let alone explored my body. I wasn't oblivious however and I was a fast learner.

I took several deep breathes, trying to steady my racing heart, but each breath seemed to do the exact opposite: I only became more uncomfortable, pressure building up inside me until I would've begged the first person that came along to help. Trying desperately to think of something to do, I closed my eyes and examined my body: physically and mentally. I could feel my nipples hardening underneath my shirt until they were tiny, painful pebbles, pulling harshly at the skin of my developing breasts. I could feel my stomach tightening uncomfortably, maybe as much from nervousness as anything else. Lower, the area between my legs was extremely warm and--maybe... Wet? I wiped the thought from my mind, moving back to my breasts.

Tentatively, I ran my fingers along my breast, brushing across the hardened nub with a soft gasp of breathe. Biting my lip, I slid my shirt up, exposing my chest to the cool air of my room. I had to take another surprised inhalation then as my nipples grew even harder, bombarded by the cruel touch of the air conditioned room. Whimpering softly, aching for something--anything--to ease the discomfort, I pressed my hands against my breasts in a rather awkward grope. This seemed to help a little, so I continued, squirming softly as my sister's sounds of pleasure broke over my ears in waves. Gently, I massaged my developing breasts, eventually switching focusing my attention on the nipples themselves. After all, they were the largest issue at the moment.

My small fingers tweaked and twisted at them, occasionally pushing them down into the fatty tissue of my chest in an attempt to get them to stay down, to loosen up (an attempt that always failed). While every touch eased the pain they were causing me, those same touches also caused waves of pleasure that left me gasping and writhing on my bed, building up the pressure inside my stomach more and more.

When I thought I couldn't stand it anymore, I removed my hands quickly, laying perfectly still on my bed. It only lasted for moments, though. The sound of my harsh breathing echoed through my room and filled my ears, the pressure in my body aching for release, my thighs pressed together as I squirmed, feeling vaguely as though I had to pee--although I knew that I didn't. All of these things were punctuated by my sister's rhythmic moans of ecstasy.

I moaned myself, a sound that surprised me and caused me to cover my mouth quickly with my hand. My sister could have never heard me, but I was still afraid that she might. I was terrified that she might come in here to find me like this, helpless and squirming as I listened to her.

I had to try a new tactic. I had to do something. Unsure what exactly I was doing, but willing to go for just about anything, I reached down to the second point of discomfort in my body: the area between my legs. I had never explored my vagina before. We hadn't yet had "the talk" at my school and although I had read through enough biology books to know that there was a hole for pee and a hole for reproduction... I didn't really know what else was down there.

Anticipation building, I gently cupped myself with one hand, still squirming softly as I felt the heat rolling off of my body. Curious about the source of the dampness I had felt earlier, I slipped my hand beneath my panties and ran one finger lightly across my slit, my eyes widening to find that my lips were completely soaked. Had I peed myself in my excitement? Is that was my sister was doing now? I shook my head at the foolish notion. I didn't have to pee. Besides, this didn't smell like pee... It was slick and warm and very different.

Slowly, I pressed my finger deeper in to my slit, letting the digit become completely soaked as I ran it along the length of my vagina. It felt good, but I was clearly missing something. I wasn't going to find what I wanted this way. With great concentration, I felt around until I found something hidden near the top. It felt vaguely like a nipple, but it was harder, a little smaller--and infinitely more sensitive. I found it on accident really, but as my finger brushed against it I yelped softly in surprised pleasure. I had found what I was looking for.

Giving a soft sigh of relief, I began to work with the tiny nub, my hips thrusting with some unseen desire as I felt the pressure in my body building again. At first, my motions were awkward and inexperienced, but I quickly figured out exactly where to touch. The sides and tip of the nub seemed to be the most sensitive, sometimes so much so that I thought the feeling would break me. I alternated between rubbing the entire area gently and teasing with the tip of my finger against the tip of the sensitive little mound.

As I began to fall in to a rhythm, my pleasure building with every movement, I took time to listen more closely to my sister. In the time I had been fooling around, she had already screamed out in pleasure multiple times, her voice then falling in to silence, followed by giggles, followed by moans of pleasure. She would be at it for a while, yet. At the moment, she seemed to be at the beginning of the cycle, her moans low and erotic... There was no thumping now and I couldn't hear the male at all, but clearly my sister was doing something to be making those sorts of sounds. I listened to her pleasure as I touched myself, imagining her body doing the same things mine was, imagining what how she must be feeling.

When my sister's moans grew desperate, so did my own. I had allowed myself a small amount of sound now, just to ease the pressure, gasping gently as my body spasmed with pleasure. I was so enraptured in Kylee's voice, so fascinated by it, that I didn't realize how close to the cusp of ecstasy I had come. When my first orgasm hit me, it took me completely by surprise, breaking over my body as a river demolishes a concrete dam, pleasure rampaging across my skin like a force of nature. I yelled out softly, the sound a mangled exclamation of pleasure and release, trying desperately (and failing horribly) to control my young body as it thrashed around on the bed. The pleasure felt like it would never end and I was completely at its mercy, a child flailing around on her bed until bliss had finally had its way with her.

I awoke several hours later, my small blue underwear soaked with that mysterious substance from earlier. My hands smelled of it and my shirt was still pulled up awkwardly over my chest. Most notably though... Someone had covered me with a blanket.

I sat up straight, panic racing through my mind. Had Kylee seen me like this? Did she know what I had done? I felt shame rushing to my cheeks as I threw my blanket aside and pulled my shirt down indignantly. Grabbing a new pair of underwear and a soft pair of pajama pants, I slipped in to both and quickly shoved the damp panties into the bottom of my laundry hamper. Biting my lip, I ducked my head out into the hallway, aiming for the bathroom. Much to my relief, my sister's door was closed, the room quiet--perhaps she had fallen asleep as well. Softly, I tip-toed across the hall to wash my hands thoroughly, until I was sure the smell was completely gone.

If Kylee had seen anything, she never mentioned it. In fact, she almost seemed a little nicer that afternoon as she made dinner. The man she had been with stayed for food and I thought, occasionally, that she would shoot him a small grin right after looking at me. If he saw it, it seemed to make him uncomfortable. Kylee said nothing though and I began to wonder if it was my imagination--perhaps I had merely covered myself up in my sleep or gotten up to do so in a haze and didn't remember.

That wasn't the last time I touched myself, any more than it was the last time that my sister had a guy over in our house. Although Kylee never noticed it, I began to develop a routine of my own every time she snuck in to her room and shut the door behind her. I was never really sure if what I was doing was wrong, but I figured it probably was, so I never said a word about it to anyone. After a while though, I began to appreciate my sister just a little more for providing such great background noise.

Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.