I’ll never forget the day my father sat me on his knee and gave me “the Talk”. It was my fortieth birthday.
As he droned on about the birds and the bees, I felt his dick poke my ass and worked out that he was getting excited as he spoke, his voice rising in pitch and speed, about how forty years and nine months ago, he’d stuck his ovipositor in Mum’s pistil, and how exactly nine months later, a joyful miracle happened, that he’d been praying would happen for years: she ran off with their neighbour, Tom — who I called “Uncle” Tom because of the way he always rolled his eyes, wore white gloves and addressed me as “Young Massa James”.
The very next day I decided it was high time I tried this Sex thing to see what all the fuss was about. I wasn’t sure, but I suspected that I’d never had sex with a woman. The reason I wasn’t sure, is that my father had confused me, and had kept talking about sleeping with my mother, which didn’t seem to me to a subject worthy of a lap-talk. I’d slept with my sister G for years, between the ages of two and nine, and while I’d quite enjoyed sleeping with my sister, I wasn’t sure if it was precisely the same thing as what my father had been talking about. There was only one person who could set me straight on the matter, G herself.
I rang her doorbell (which thankfully was at her place, so she could hear it) and waited, listening. As usual there were sounds of shouting, running and commotion and general row coming from inside.
G opened the door with a fierce expression on her face. The fierce expression was not due to me, it was left over from the general row she was in the middle of. Behind her, in the hallway, her twins, Romulus and Remus (named after our uncles, Uncle Romulus and Uncle Remus) were creating havoc. Romulus seemed to be peeing on the hallway wall, while Remus was shoving his brother with his shoulder and shouting “Made you pee on your foot! Made you pee on your foot!”
G looked straight at me and said, “SHUT THE FUCK UP, OR I’LL PEE ON BOTH YOUR FEET! Come in.” I took the last two words to be addressed to me.
We stepped carefully along the hallway, avoiding pieces of Lego, broken glass, suspicious-looking brown patches, and what looked like a dead cat, and adjourned to the relative calm of her living room.
In the rocking chair by the fireplace sat her father-in-law, Harry, who’d been dead for six months, but they didn’t have the heart to move him just yet. Harry was by now completely decomposed, but still recognisable by his pipe and tartan slippers.
“It smells a bit in here, G,” I said.
“Does it? I’m immune to it now.” She took a giant can of room spray from the mantelpiece and sprayed Harry and the rest of the room, filling the air with an opaque mist.
She sat back and popped a cigarette in her mouth. She inhaled and coughed.
“Aren’t you going to light it?”
“Can’t. Fucking kids nicked the lighter again. That reminds me, I’ve got to pay the fire insurance. Anyway: So, to what do I owe the honour of your visit?”
“Dad gave me the Talk yesterday.”
G laughed, setting off another coughing fit. She stubbed out the unlit cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. “Did he now? Did he tell you about shoving his ovipositor in Mum’s pistil?”
“Yes.”
“And did his hard-on try to poke into your fanny?”
“Er, I think so, I’m not sure. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’m more confused than ever.”
“Well it’s all pretty simple really. Here, I’ll show you.” G stood, hoisted her dress, and held it up by the hem with her chin. She pushed down her knickers to the floor.
She pointed at her hairy crotch. “‘ee ‘at?”
“Pardon?”
“See that?” Her dress fell down again. Angrily she unzipped it and threw it aside. She stood completely naked except for her bra.
I peered at her groin. “What is it?”
“That’s my fanny, or to give it it’s scientific name, my fuck hole.”
“It doesn’t look like a hole — oooh, now I see it!” G had wrenched her pussy lips wide apart with all eight of her fat fingers.
“You stick your knob in that.”
“What, now?”
“Not you “you”, you fucking idiot. One. One sticks one’s knob in one’s fanny. You stick your knob in somebody else, thank you very much. You see, if you stick your knob in my fanny, that’s incense.” She smiled and nodded, proud of her vocabulary.
I was now even more confused than ever. “But, G, I thought– I mean how did you get babies?”
“What??”
“I mean if one can’t stick one’s knob in your fanny, how did you-”
“No. No! Fuck’s sake, it’s a wonder you can function at all with that tiny brain. You’re allowed to stick your knob in anyone else’s fanny except mine.”
I thought for a moment. “And anyone else except me can stick his knob in your fanny?”
“Yep. And they usually do.”
“I think I’m getting it now.”
“Not at this rate you won’t be getting’ it any time soon.”
“Ok. But why? Why can’t I?”
“I told you. Because it’s incense. It’s against the law. A brother is not allowed to stick his dick in his sister’s fanny.”
“No, I get that, I just don’t get why. Why is it against the law?”
“Look, there’s got to be laws, otherwise there’ll be lawlessness. You don’t want punks breaking into your house willy-nilly and nicking your stuff, and the Bill does nothing about it? That’s what they call Anarchy. In the UK. You don’t want that, do you?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Well then. Anyway: Have you seen enough?”
“Yes. Thanks for showing me your fanny,” I said sadly.
G donned her dress and sat down.
She noticed my glum expression. “Now what’s the problem?” She asked irritably.
“Well, I was sort of hoping I could practice Sex on you for a bit first, until I’m ready.”
“Oh. Well, no, sorry.”
“Because of -”
“- incense, yes. Sorry.”
“Tell you what, though,” she said brightly. My neighbour Ann would be up for it. She’s a bit big though, come to think of it.”
“What do you mean, ‘big’, you mean her — her fuck hole is big?”
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen it. In fact I doubt anyone’s ever seen it under all that flesh. You’d need a JCB to lift her thighs out of the way. By the way, how big is your knob anyway?”
“Oh I don’t know, a couple of inches. Maybe three.”
“A ‘couple of inches’? Don’t make me laugh. I mean when you have a stiffy. When it’s hard. You know, in the morning.”
I looked at my wrist, pointlessly, as I’d never worn a watch. “Isn’t it morning now?” I asked.
“Jesus. I mean first thing. Morning wood.”
“Sorry G, I’m not following.”
“RIGHT. Stay there. And don’t move.” G rose angrily and stormed out of the living room, leaving me alone with Harry. We sat in awkward silence. G returned with a handful of pills in one hand, and a ruler in the other.
“Here, swallow them. They’re John’s Viagra. He has hundreds of them, gets them from down the pub.”
She handed me a dozen pills. I dutifully swallowed them, with difficulty. “Now what?” I asked.
“Stand up and take out your knob.”
I felt a bit awkward exposing my private member in front of Harry but did as I was told.
“Now rub it. Hang on, let me do it.” She grabbed my dick in her fist and started pumping.
“Never done this before, have you?”
I was unable to respond. I felt a pleasant tingling in my balls and dick. The pleasant tingling start to spread all over my body. My legs and face began to twitch. My eyes fluttered closed.
“Not bad. Eight inches,” I heard G say.
“What’s that smell? Like fish,” I managed to ask.
“That’s my fanny juice. I’m getting a bit wet wanking you off.”
She released her grip on me, and I opened my eyes. I stood unsteadily, my dick throbbing rhythmically like a conductor’s baton.
G sat in her armchair, watching me. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
“Shame about the incense,” I mumbled.
G stood and removed her dress again hurriedly. “Yeah. Shame about the incense.” She lay down on the carpet and opened her legs wide.
“Are you — are we going to… in front of Harry?”
“We are. And don’t breathe a fucking word about this to anyone, got it?”
(I’ll leave the ensuing sex scene as an exercise for the reader. Feel free to cut and paste your favourite action from one of the many fine Incest and Taboo stories on this site)
* * * * *
I visited G every day for a month after that for practical Sex lessons. She was a very good teacher, if a little strict. She started with the basics:
* Firstly, the Holes: The three main ones (Cunt, Gob, Asshole), and the four secondary ones (Earholes and Nostrils)
* Next, the main positions, subdivided by categories (I believe she was using her own, non-standard naming conventions here):
1. The Male Tops: Lazy Cow Face To Face, Bored Lazy Cow Face to Face (requires smartphone/nail file), Shitty Dick, Shitty Dick at the Table, Fishy Dick at the Table.
2. The Female Tops: Lazy Bastard Face To Face, Lazy Bastard I’m A Celebrity is on (requires TV remote)
3. The Full Gobs: Hungry Cow, Pot Noodle Tongue, Cheese ‘n’ Fish Meal for Two
4. The Calmer Sutures: The Sprained Neck, The Slipped Disk, The Hernia, and The Broken Elbow.
After the basics came a week of Technique and Pacing, followed by two weeks of Kinks and Fetishes. This last was predominantly theory, as G was basically “Vanilla” — a term she didn’t explain, but I understood to mean that she was White Caucasian. And of course, being her brother, that made me Vanilla too.
After a gruelling final exam lasting five hours, which included a Mixed Medley of four positions, a sprint, an endurance trial, a pie-eating contest, and a pole vault, G pronounced me certified and qualified to have Sex with a Woman.
I had no idea yet how much I still had to learn.
* * * * *
I decided that G’s neighbour Ann would be a good place to start my real-life sexual adventure, being conveniently situated right next door to G, so that, if necessary, I could pop next door to G’s place to ask for help if I got stuck at any point. G wasn’t keen on my choice but agreed; she told me she’d warn Ann that I was going to call on her.
“When you turn up, make sure you’ve got some flowers with you,” she told me. I had no idea why but guessed that flowers were one of Ann’s kinks. At the florist I bought a single wide-stemmed lily. I grabbed the flowering end in my hand, crushing it, and made a few practice stabs in the air with it. The florist looked puzzled.
“What did you do that for?”
“It’s for my girlfriend”, I said proudly. “I’m going to stick it in her fanny. My sister told me that she likes flowers, and my sister knows a thing or two about sex, I can tell you.”
I arrived promptly at nine A.M. at Ann’s house, even though we hadn’t actually arranged a time. She opened the door and smiled. She was a huge woman, in all directions. She was almost as tall as me in her bare feet.
“Flowers? For me? How thoughtful!” She tried to grab the crushed lily from my hand, and after a tussle during which she almost broke my fingers, she took the lily and held it to her nose, covering it with bright yellow pollen. She sneezed loudly. “Won’t you come in?” She said in a sing-song voice.
“Please take off your shoes, this is a new carpet,” she said. I kicked off my trainers. It was immediately obvious to both of us that I’d forgotten to wear socks, as my foot-stink permeated the air like a noxious cloud.
“Did you by any chance step in dog poo on your way here?” She asked, holding her yellow nose.
“No, sorry.”
“Pity, it might have toned it down a bit.”
I followed her into her kitchen dining room at the rear of her house. She opened a low cupboard and bent down. My lust grew as I watched her enormous, spherical ass jiggle beneath her floral dress. I adjusted my writhing undercarriage gingerly. She retrieved a vase from the cupboard.
“Oh dear, it’s too small. Ah, there’s the one I was looking for, right on the top shelf!” She stood on tiptoes and tried to reach the vase, but it was too high up.
She noticed that I was staring at her ass. “I wonder if you could pass me a chair, James,” she asked slyly. I shoved a kitchen chair towards her with a foot.
“Thenk you,” she said primly. She raised the corner of her dress over her knee and clumsily climbed onto the chair, which creaked and rocked under her weight. Her ass was now at eye-level, and at a distance of three feet took up my entire field of view. Time for action, I decided. I opted for “Brown Windsor”, which was one of my fortes. I rose from my chair, hoisted her dress up to her waist and pushed my face deep between her voluminous buttocks. I poked out my tongue as far as it could go, in an attempt to reach her asshole. It was a forlorn effort. Prising her butt-cheeks apart with all my might before I suffocated, I withdrew my face and panted for breath.
“Please, James,” she said, stepping down from the chair. “Don’t be in such a rush. A woman likes to be wooed.”
“Crikey,” I said: “If that wasn’t wude enough for you –”
“– No, no, James. I mean seduced. I mean, well, I mean we should get to know each other first. A little chat. Maybe a walk in the park, a nice dinner…”
“Well,” I began, but stopped, noticing a strange look had come over her.
“Yes,” she continued, dreamily. “A nice dinner… Lobster salad, perhaps, followed by a dish of pasta smothered with cream and bacon. Lovely fresh hunks of bread, and then steak with crisp, crunchy chips, carrots, peas, parsnips, a whole peacock stuffed with chestnuts…”
She waddled towards me, advancing slowly like a big, terrifying, monstrous zombie, drooling profusely, her eyes glazed. Suddenly she snapped out of it.
“Where was I? Oh yes. A woman likes to be wooed. Don’t be in such a hurry, James. Besides, what did you take me for?”
“What did I take you for? Well, basically for Sex. Or that’s what I thought.”
“But there’s plenty of time first. For a little chat, flirting, and then, in the bedroom, a little teasing, a little foreplay.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I don’t know anything about any of that. All I know about is holes and positions.”
“Oh dear. Well, would you like me to teach you the art of seduction?”
“Not particularly, to be honest.”
“Well,” she said, stiffening. “If you’re not willing to learn, I’m afraid you’ll get nowhere with most women.”
“What about big, fat ugly women, like you?”
“Well, I have to admit that big, fat ugly women are generally less demanding in that area, but I’m afraid I happen to be an exception. So it’s foreplay or zero play, James. Ahaha!”
I forced out a grudging fake laugh and relented. I really couldn’t see why we couldn’t do the flirting, teasing and foreplay after the sex, but she was clearly not willing to argue the point.
She suggested we started by taking a stroll round her little garden and chatting idly. She was so unfit she kept stopping every two feet, arms on her hips, breathing heavily. “I’m — alright — go — on — without me,” she panted, so I lapped her a couple of times until she could go on. I remarked on her pretty washing line, and how the round rubbish bins contrasted wonderfully with the upturned broken washing machine in the weedy lawn. I picked a stone from the flower bed and threw it at her playfully. I stood on one leg, to show her my physical prowess. But I could tell from her expression she was unimpressed.
“How am I doing?” I asked her, after a while, with little hope.
She slapped my face by way of reply. I asked her if she could give me some pointers.
“Well,” she said. Women like intelligence, charm, a sense of humour, and generosity in a man. Of course having money helps.”
“I don’t have any of those. Next?”
“Er, well, skills, achievements. Women like a successful man.”
“I have two certificates.” I reached into my back pockets and pulled out both of them proudly. I held them up to her.
“This is my birth certificate. It says I was born, and proves that my name is actually James Hornchurch. And this… this is a certificate saying I’m qualified to have sex with a woman!” I waggled them both in her face with a triumphant “Uh? Uh?”
She pushed the certificates aside. “I see,” she said.
“So, can I put my knob in your fuck hole now?”
Ann sighed. “James-”
“- Please?”
“Oh, what the hell: FINE. But promise me you’ll never, ever come here again.”
I was relieved. I didn’t want to see Ann again, I really didn’t feel we connected.
* * * * *
G had been right. Sex with Ann was physically demanding. Eventually, by keeping her huge thighs separated with a car jack, I had access to her fanny. It was much smaller and tighter than I’d expected, and I gave up trying to shove my dick into it after ten attempts, nine of which turned out to be well off the mark anyway. I resorted to “Pot Noodle Tongue”, which I rushed somewhat, as I could see the car jack buckling as she neared climax.
The following morning I took out a pencil and pad, and made some notes on my progress:
SEX WITH A WOMAN:
ATTEMPTS: 2
SUCCESSFUL: 2
FAILED: 0
========
TOTAL: 4
I sat back and checked my calculation. There was no doubt about it, I had a 200% success rate for sex with women! Now, I thought: Time for a real test. I looked around my empty study to check I was alone. I drew the blinds. I pulled out a copy of “Fifty Shades of Grey” from the bookshelf. I’d chosen this book deliberately because I knew nobody would accidentally pull it out to read. I’d hollowed it out, and kept secreted in its innocent covers my most prized possessions, a postcard-size picture of the woman of my dreams. Laura Suckwell. She’d signed it “To Stan.”
Yes, Laura Suckwell, “Miss Impossible”, the world’s most successful movie star.
I started on my plan. I began by learning everything I could about her. I watched “Pretty Woman”, “Notting Hill”, “Woman In Red”, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” (an early porn film of hers), “Red Sparrow”, “Redemption Day”, Truffaut’s “Day For Night”, The Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night”, “Die Hard”, and all the Laurel and Hardy shorts.
Next, based on the principle of Six Degrees of Separation, I found the closest person I knew to her, which was Janice Levy, who I knew from my local branch of Sainsbury’s from my shelf-stacking days. But she was no mere shelf-stacker like me: She was Checkout, baby. And she was American!
* * * * *
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