125 lines
7.2 KiB
Plaintext
125 lines
7.2 KiB
Plaintext
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.incest
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Subject: Johnny's closet
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From: lliillii@aol.com (LlIIllII)
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Date: 25 Mar 1996 18:55:31 -0500
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Do not read this if you are under 18 or offended by stories of a sexual
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and possibly incestuous nature.
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Looking back, I couldn<64>t have had a better childhood if I had written the
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script myself. Well, not really <20>childhood.<2E> What I am going to tell you
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starts at about age 14 and continues up to ... up to now, actually. The
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purpose of my tale is not to make you jealous, but, rather, to wake you up
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to some delicious possibilities.
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My name is Johnny. I lived in a huge Victorian house in New Jersey with
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my mom and two sisters. My father left when I was 13 and my sisters were
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11 and 15. Mom and dad had what seemed like the perfect family ... three
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kids spaced two years apart ... but the two of them just never got along.
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They decided divorce was better than all the fighting, and we kids
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actually agreed.
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We saw dad every other weekend and he never missed a child-support
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payment or a birthday. It could have been much worse.
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When they first sat us down and gave us the <20>divorce<63> talk, little
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Marie cried and Barbara, my older sister just got angry. I sat there cooly
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and listened. When dad got to the part about my being <20>the man of the
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house now,<2C> I just shrugged. What could I do at age 13? Take out the
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garbage? I did that anyway. But none of us wanted to make dad or mom feel
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guilty, so we managed to calm Marie and that was that. He left the next
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morning.
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Now, age 13 is difficult for any boy, what with hormones and body
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changes and noticing girls and all that, but for me it was a bitch --
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literally. That<61>s because there I was, starting to get erections at
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anything that looked like tits -- even two scoops of mashed potatoes on a
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plate -- and what happens? I<>m left as the <20>man of the house<73> with three
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women. There was mom, 38 years old and absolutely beautiful; Barbara, 15
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and incredibly well developed; and Marie, 13 and a real flirt.
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My daily life consisted of 8 hours of sleep and 16 hours of hard-ons.
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It was probably more of hard-ons, but I couldn<64>t tell about the sleeping
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ones.
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Well, about a month after dad left, I started having this fantasy that
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I could see through walls. Our four bedrooms were on the second floor of
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the house, and we all shared a huge bathroom. Mom and dad had spent plenty
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to make it real big and luxurious when we moved in. There was a giant
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shower stall with sliding glass doors, a separate antique clawfoot tub, an
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antique sink and this thing that dad said was for women<65>s cleanliness. The
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bathroom was decorated with fine prints and the walls were covered with a
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beautiful Victorian-design wallpaper.
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My bedroom was next to the bathroom, separated only by my walk-in
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closet. My two sisters had the rooms across the hall, and mom slept --
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alone, now -- in the master bedroom at the end of the hall, farthest from
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the bathroom.
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The bad thing about my room was that, being next to the bathroom, I
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would wake up everytime someone flushed the toilet. I started sleeping
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with earplugs when I was about 10, and that seemed to solve the noise
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problem.
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The good thing, of course, was also that my room was next to the
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bathroom. It made it much more convenient to take a pee in the middle of
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the night, or to run back to my room after a shower on a cold morning.
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So, the bathroom thing was both good and bad. Soon I would forget the
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bad. Very soon.
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As I mentioned, I was working on this keen fantasy of being able to see
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through walls. What I did was to wait until one of the girls -- mom or
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Marie or Barbara -- went into the bathroom. I would go into my closet and
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put my ear to the wall. It was a very thin wall (a piece of paneling,
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actually, that dad installed when converting the original bathroom). The
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purpose was to even out the new room and to give me a nice-sized closet.
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So, I would listen through the wall and determine what the person in the
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bathroom was doing. I would then go back to my bed and pretend that I
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could see them.
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With my door locked, I would then jerk off -- as quietly as I could --
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imagining what it looked like as, let<65>s say, Barbara was peeing or mom was
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taking a shower. I would try to picture their bodies, the actual pee
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coming out, the soap dripping across breasts, and so on. But my
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almost-14-year-old imagination was not very good, and sometimes I<>d fall
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asleep without cuming.
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And then, it hit me. On the eve of my 14th birthday, I was listening to
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little Marie going to the bathroom, and I realized that there was only
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about a quarter of an inch separating my eyes from that room. What an
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asshole I<>d been!
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All I had to do was figure out an undetectible way to poke a hole in
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the paneling and I<>d be able to watch everything that went on in there.
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I was home alone that evening. Mom was next door arranging some sort of
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sales party, cookware or something, where friends would come to the house
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and buy plates and baking stuff. Barbara was out with a new boyfriend. And
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Marie was with mom.
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I went to the basement and opened the toolbox dad had left for mom. I
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got out a screwdriver and a hammer and a giant nail. And went back to the
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bathroom.
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I looked at the wall that backed to my closet. On it was the sink and
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the medicine cabinet. Any hole I made would certainly be seen, I thought.
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But then I realized that the wallpaper might provide camouflage for a tiny
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hole if I placed the hole in exactly the right spot.
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About an inch above the top of the medicine cabinet, the wallpaper
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image was that of a dark red-and-black flower. The black spot was in the
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center, about a quarter of an inch wide, maybe a little more.
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I climbed up on the sink and placed a nail on the black spot. WHAM! I
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banged it with the hammer and -- miracle of miracles! -- a perfect hole. I
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climbed down and looked at it from ground level. If you really REALLY
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stared, you might notice something, but odds were no one would ever look
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carefully at that particular flower. I climbed back onto the sink and,
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inserting the screwdriver, made the hole a littlel bigger. I cleaned up
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all of the tiny wood spinters that had fallen into the sink, and rand
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downstairs to put the tools back. Just as I got back to my room, Barbara
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came home from her date.
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<20>I hope you<6F>re not in the bathroom, Johnny,<2C> she shouted. <20>I really
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gotta pee!<21>
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<20>No problem,<2C> I said. <20>I<EFBFBD>m studying.<2E>
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I never moved so quickly in my life. I grabbed my desk chair and
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practically threw it into the closet. I climed on top and looked for the
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hole. As soon as the light went on in the bathroom I could see its shaft
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coming through the paneling. My, god, with the chairm the hole was at
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exactly the height of my eyes. I supported myself using the clothes rod
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and looked in. There was Barbara ripping off her jumper and squatting on
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the toilet, which was on the wall to the left of the sink. I looked down
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as she sat and watched her rock back and forth as the pee streamed into
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the water below. <20>Whew!<21> she said out loud.
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<20>Holy shit<69> I said, to myself. <20>This was going to be great.<2E>
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I heard mom and Marie coming in the front door.
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more to come.
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Let me know if you want to see Chapter 2
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