The Tableau That is Lisa Ch. 01

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Chapter One

My First Time


All persons engaging in sexual activity in this true story were 18 years of age at the time the story took place. Now we are older. Much older.


This story begins in the fall of 1978. In a small town. In the high plains desert of western Texas. In a sparsely populated county. This county grows cotton and cows. It is a place which an Englishman passed through a hundred years ago. No doubt to get somewhere else. The book he wrote about his journey was titled, “High, Dry and Dusty” That sums up the geography here pretty well.

We live in the county seat. There is a courthouse in the courthouse square, a single screen movie theater, a couple of clothing stores, a Piggly Wiggly, a Sears and Roebuck catalog store, and two pharmacies, one of which has a soda fountain. This is really significant because the two people in town who sell condoms have each known you, and your parents, since you were six. There are a few cafes and restaurants, Mom used to work at Kevin’s. But we almost never indulge in the interest of saving money. There are several churches, my friend Eva’s dad is Pastor at one.

Let love be without dissimulation. Abhor that which is evil, cleve to that which is good. -Romans 12.9

Mom likes to quote that. It means we should stay away from bad people and keep the good ones close to us. Mom is not a Michael Corleone “hold your friends close and enemies closer” lady. In this I am like Mom. I am like her in other kinkier ways too.

School has just ended on Jamie’s birthday. Mine was a few days ago, as of today we are both eighteen, legal adults in the eyes of the State of Texas. Although we both have a bit more than a semester of high school in front of us. George, my big brother, is wearing his finery. Polished boots ironed blue jeans, an ironed Western shirt, silver bolo, and his best suede jacket. Jamie and I are changing into our best dresses.

When we emerge from my, our, room. George complements both of us on our dresses pendik escort and our appearance. George combines Dad’s understated politeness with Mom’s no-nonsense honesty. He has just this sweet way of communicating to Jamie and me how much prettier we are when we wear nice dresses and just a tiny smidge of makeup to accent our natural beauty, rather than more. Most of all he let us know how he thought that we were special, and that if other people could not see that and could not appreciate us for us, who we were, well, then we just did not need them.

George bought the dress that Jamie was wearing. He took good care of us, me and my two little brothers. Two years ago, he figured that Jamie was going to stay at our house. So, he spent HIS money to buy her a mattress. Employee discount at the farm supply store that he worked at, instead of going off to study at A and M, or the U of T, or even Tech, all of which had just recently accepted him. Then he took some pine boards and built a bed for her in my room. So, at sixteen I finally had a sister.

George was constantly buying things for us, spending his money, not just Mom and Dad’s. Money that he should have been saving for his escape. He had asked me what I wanted for my birthday about a month or so back. I had asked him if we could wait for Jamie’s birthday. Because what I really wanted to do was go the Roadhouse for a first legal beer. The three of us together. George said sure, we could wait. But that Jamie and I should plan on dressing nice, because he planned on taking us to the best restaurant in town, to buy us our first drinks, and a nice birthday dinner. That is George, too good for this place.

He needs to get out of here and go to the U. He has a future. The selfish little girls around here can see that. They circle him like sharks smelling blood. Jamie has the same problem, the groping, ham handed little boys here want her because her drunken, disinterested family is loaded. In both definitions of the word. George saw right through the she-sharks. maltepe escort Jamie was burned by smooth talking parasites. Me, your storyteller Lisa, I am the third lonely musketeer. A nerdy little bookworm. Velma, not Daphne, which just goes to show you what a bunch of fucking retards I go to school with.

A few years ago, George sat me down and in his kind way told me that he knew that the girls who pretended to like him did so because he was reasonably attractive, that is a gross understatement, that they saw that he was going to go to the U, and then places. That he knew I was going to be successful too. That I was smart, and beautiful. That I got good grades, that I too was going to go to the U, and then write my own ticket.

That conversation and the frustration that I felt dating little boys who just wanted blow jobs or hand jobs led to the decision I made tonight listening to my big brother. Reveling in his kind, sincere honesty and brotherly love for me. And Jamie too. (And yes, I know it should be “love for Jamie and me”. And that I should not start sentences with “And”.)

My decision was completely logical. It withstood scientific scrutiny. I would seduce my big brother. I truly loved him not as a wallet and a disembodied penis. I loved him for him. He loved me for me. I just needed to breach that “no sex between siblings” wall. But I had been a legal adult in eyes of the State of Texas long enough to be considered to know what I was doing. A contract that had been entered into on my actual birthday could no longer be rescinded. (Did I perhaps mention that I was a nerdy little bookworm.)

That taboo was to prevent genetic issues in offspring. It did not apply in this situation. George was intelligent, compassionate, wonderful, lonely and presumably horny. I was intelligent, compassionate, lonely and most decidedly horny. I was just thinking that we could take care of each other as we always had, not about having children when we were eighteen and twenty years of age. Still responsible for kartal escort raising our younger siblings. Win-Win.

So, we climbed into the crappy little orange Datsun pickup truck that should have been in a junkyard. Except that George found it for sale really cheap, and brought it back from the dead. We squeezed into the bench seat with the JC Whitney Navajo rug seatcover. George checked the mileage written on the three by five card stuck into the gap in front of the dead instrument panel. To make sure we had enough gas to make the round trip.

He flipped the toggle switch to energize the coil and pushed the spring-loaded starter button to engage the starter. Then he unlocked the huge padlock on the substantial chain attached to the steering wheel.

At first, I wanted to laugh. Who in their right mind would steal this? But I reconsidered. Almost everyone in this town was poor. We were doing better than most and George was just being prudent. I am certain that he could have bought a whole lot of parts, or heck a nicer truck with all the money he spent on our brothers and me.

Not to mention on Jamie, whom in theory, but certainly not in practice had a family of her own to care for her. George was a catch. I thought that after I seduced him, I might be able to maneuver him and Jamie together. I loved George. I loved Jamie. They could get married, have kids of their own one day. The three of us could stay together forever.

We drove to Ken’s Steak House. George bought us both our first legal drinks. Then Jamie and I got to buy our own first ‘bought it myself’ drinks. George danced with us. Told us every other boy there was jealous of him. George bought us each a decadent steak dinner. Jamie and I bought each other a drink. George congratulated us, he talked about what bright futures we had. We danced some more.

We realized he had not had a drink, so Jamie and I together bought a round for the three of us. Then he drove us home. He kissed Jamie happy birthday on her cheek, he kissed me happy birthday on my cheek. I know that I had way more alcohol in me than I should have. I was flying, and on top of the world. I was horny, randy, ready. We went to bed and we made love, real, hot, sweaty, naked, love. My first time…

With Jamie.

Lisa Ann

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