Errors in Judgement
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To say that I loved Marianne would be a lie. Or rather, it would be misleading, considering the nature of this account. I did love her, but it was more of a sisterly kind of a thing than any flaming passion. In a way we were siblings, but so as not to weird anyone out, at most we could be considered in-laws.
I loved her sister, you see. Both young women were beautiful, bright, intelligent, and fine catches for anyone. Marianne’s elder sister, Sarah, was of a more scientific and rational bent, whereas Marianne was more of an artist, more whimsical and emotional. I had the great fortune of being Sarah’s fiancee. While my very brief description of her might make her seem cold or overly rational, this is not the case. She is a warm and energetic person. This story is not about my experiences with her, however…
I was not in love with Marianne, but I was fascinated by her. I enjoyed her company, and as she is a perky and cute girl this probably not unusual. What is more, she always seemed so happy to see me. I’m not the sort of guy that has women lining up to see me, so girls giving me any sort of friendly attention are always appealing. In addition, she is extraordinarily beautiful. Her long dark hair caressed features that were more rounded than fine, making her face glow when she smiled. The beauty of her features lay in that they were more welcoming than the carved features one sees in some of the more traditionally beautiful women. Her body was similarly desirable. She was petite, small really, but her body was full and screamed to be touched. Without being fat, she put a great many curves in a small package. Her breasts were rather too large, but this would really be her only flaw, and it was a rather aesthetically pleasing one at that.
These characteristics alone would have made me take an interest, but then there was the fact that she was Sarah’s sister. Naturally, loving Sarah as I did, as I do, I would have liked to have simply said, “wow, she’s pretty damned hot,” or something similarly stupid and superficial, and left it at that. After all, while their features are very different, both are very beautiful, and if one could be said to be the more lovely it would probably be Sarah. More importantly, I delighted in Sarah’s company. She was one of the smartest women I was likely to ever know, and our times together were always interesting. We shared a number of common interests, and I could look upon our future together with no expectation of ever being bored. I respected her, admired her, and enjoyed her. While I respected her sister, we wanted different things from life, and she was not nearly as stimulating. But she was Sarah’s sister…
Why would that be important? Why would so trivial, and indeed so convenient a consideration drive me to obsess about a woman that, while desirable, was certainly no more so than the one I had? Perhaps I should elaborate on why it was that I didn’t have women beating down my door. I am not conventionally attractive. While I do have pleasing features I am, to put it bluntly, fat. Growing up this way, particularly in a somewhat affluent Long Island suburb, is not the best way to develop a healthy psychological outlook toward women. LI suburbia can best be described as the capitol of superficiality. The best dressed best bods often made the rest of us feel terribly inadequate. It certainly didn’t help that feeling unattractive, I gave almost no attention to my appearance and was a bit of a nerd on top of it all. As a result, expecting never to get laid, I raised women to an extraordinarily high pedestal in my mind. I felt them to be for the most part unattainable, and while they were intimidating, they were also the font from which all happiness would spring.
What does all of this have to do with Sarah’s sister? Well, being obsessed with women as I am, I spend a great deal of time imagining the women I know as potential lovers. Women to whom I am attracted fascinate me, but in spite of my success in love, they continue to seem as inaccessible as the dark side of the moon. Feeling as though I could never have them makes having them seem all that more important, which certainly does little to promote my fidelity. In fact, being in a relationship has only made women more unattainable, and me more desperate to win them.
Stupid, but true. Enter Marianne. Not only is she lovely, kind to me, and of some interest to me as a partner, she is also Sarah’s sister. Who could possible be more unattainable than your girlfriend’s sister? Marianne would, in fucking me, betray her sister. I in turn would have to not only cheat on Sarah, but would also have to be willing to screw up both my relationship, and theirs. Clearly, it would be most difficult to find a grey area into which I could slip my conscience with such a girl, (or anything else for that matter) and even if I could, she would have to do the same. These facts, coupled with the ruin that would be almost unavoidably left in the wake of such an encounter, made Marianne’s bed an impossible bahis firmaları goal. Unfortunately it also made her equally impossible to ignore.
All of this set the stage for an event that, while certainly quite wonderful on many levels, was also the ruination of probably the best thing that has ever or will ever happen to me.
Understand that while my eyes might follow her surreptitiously around the room, I had no intention of pursuing my obsession. I also never anticipated an opportunity. While we were very friendly with one another, it wasn’t like we hung out. I only saw her in the context of Sarah’s family. If my computer hadn’t burst into flames, I probably would never have been alone with her for any kind of time, and what happened would never have occurred.
One day, toward the end of my second year at college, my computer made some mysterious noises and died, never to wake again. This certainly sucked, and with several papers looming on the horizon, it sucked still more. I could have labored away on the antiquated and ill treated PC’s in one of the many computer lounges on campus, of course. Crowds, inconvenience, and other factors all made this option unappealing, however. Sarah’s family live nearby and their computer, tucked away in their basement, offered a welcome refuge from University computers.
It also meant I spent a lot of time at Sarah’s house while her family and Sarah herself were away. Even when some of them were around, they didn’t generally spend much time in the basement excepting, you guessed it, Marianne.
She actually slept in a small out of the way area of the basement of the house that had been an apartment. In addition, she spent quite a bit of time working out with exercise equipment or watching TV, both of which were also located down there. At first I think she was embarrassed to exercise in my presence, but it wasn’t long before I was treated to the sight of her jogging, pedaling, or lifting away, and occasionally grunting a bit. All of this was quite distracting, I am sure you can imagine. Sometimes I would sit on the couch with her after she had finished her exercise and showered, and we would watch some television together. As she got more comfortable with me, she would sometimes just park herself there in her bathrobe and nothing else. This further treated me with the occasional fleeting glimpse of leg or upper chest, which I grew to anticipate with something approaching slavish devotion.
I suppose it was that which finally got me. We were sitting together a little less than two weeks after I had begun my studies there, when she suddenly switched of the TV and turned to me. “Why are you such an asshole'” she asked in a neutral sort of tone.
Needless to say, I was rather unprepared for this. The fact that she didn’t seem particularly hostile, just curious, didn’t really make the situation any easier to deal with. Of course, I immediately assumed I had crossed some line somewhere in looking at her. Not knowing for sure, as there were plenty of other things that she might consider me an asshole for, about the best I could come up with in reply was “What'” which I believe was quite an achievement under the circumstances.
“Well, I mean, you’re a nice guy, and my sister really loves you, but I mean, you like stare at me all the time. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
I had the poor grace to blush at this time, and said “I didn’t realize I was being so obvious.”
“Yeah, well, you were. How exactly am I supposed to feel, knowing the every five minutes you are staring at my ass? I mean, come on, you’re my sister’s boyfriend. Do I have decades of this to look forward to'”
“Look, Marianne,” I said, beginning to squirm, “I really am sorry that I have made you uncomfortable, it’s just that….” I petered out at that, not really knowing how to explain, and really short of a sensible justification.
“It’s just what'” she demanded.
“Look, it’s a little difficult to explain-“
“No it isn’t, just stop staring at my ass, I mean God,” she exclaimed, turning away.
Feeling pretty damned low at this point, I said, “I’m sorry, you’re just so beautiful, and well…” I was quite for a minute, then got up and got ready to leave. As I was gathering my books, she turned and watched me over the back of the couch. After a moment she asked, “Well what'”
“It isn’t an excuse, it is just that you are so different from Sarah. And while I don’t want you any more that I do her, I know she can never be every woman, and I guess I sometimes wonder…” I looked at her for a second, and then said, “besides, they say that forbidden fruit is the sweetest, or whatever it is they say exactly. I can’t really imagine anything that is more forbidden than you are.” I jammed a book into my bag, feeling really stupid.
“Do you love my sister'” she asked simply.
I paused, and not looking at her said, “More than I could possibly tell you.”
Marianne then said, “Look, it’s not like I don’t want you to work kaçak iddaa here anymore, just try not to stare OK'”
I looked at her some more and said, “I’m really sorry about this.”
She replied, “Don’t be.” As I was walking up the stairs she said after me, “I don’t really think you are an asshole.”
Not really knowing what to say, and pretty much feeling like I was, I said, “Thanks, I mean, I really kind of feel like one.” I think she might have said your only human, but I can’t be sure.
Anyway, I was pretty much resigned to using the computers at school from then on, but after a day of that, I decided that I could go back to Sarah’s the next day. After all, it was Friday, and Marianne was usually at class during most of that day. I could duck out before she got home, and not really have to subject her to much awkwardness. (Or myself, let’s be honest…)
As it turned out, she turned up two hours earlier that was her usual routine, catching me busily at work.
“Oh, I uh,” I said with what was becoming my customary eloquence around her.
“My class was canceled, and I was kind of curious to see if you’d be here, after your no show yesterday.” She set about putting away her school things.
I said, “Well, I was kind of busy yesterday,” which was rather lame.
Turning to me, Marianne laughed and said, “Oh sure. Listen, I meant it when I said you could still work here.”
“I know,” I said, after all I did believe she meant it.
The rest of that day went pretty smoothly. I was nearing the end of my work, and I would be getting my computer back from the shop at the end of next week anyway, so it wasn’t as though it would be much longer. I decided to go back on Monday like she said. That was her big exercise day. While I wasn’t looking forward to it like I had the previous two times, I figured I would see how she took my being there. If she really was leaving bygones bygones then I could breath easier about the whole Sarah thing. I suppose it turned out to be a pretty bad idea at that.
Come Monday morning, there I was. Not a particularly early rising family, Marianne got up after I got there. She said hello, went upstairs, and returned some little time later dressed to exercise. Perhaps you don’t find jogging pants sexy, there certainly are more appealing forms of dress after all. Nevertheless, there is something about the implied accessibility of the flesh beneath them that makes them somehow enticing. To be honest, I looked in spite of her complaints. I guess I could say that I couldn’t help it, but it was more like I could hardly catch myself at it. I’d look, and jerk away, realizing that my eyes had wandered. I did make an effort.
Later, when she had finished and taken her shower, Marianne returned in her thin and revealing bathrobe, as though nothing had changed. I didn’t go to sit next to her like I had been though, figuring I shouldn’t press my luck. After a few minutes had passed, though, she said, “break time,” and I figured it was less awkward not to argue. Besides, there was always the possibility that I might catch a glimpse…
We watched the idiot box for a minute, and she was shifting about a lot. She kept grabbing at her shoulders. I asked, “what’s wrong'” feeling a bit uncomfortable.
“I have a bit of a shoulder cramp, actually.”
“Um…” I said, about to offer to massage her, but realized quickly enough what a stupid idea that was. All said and done, her shifting had a few times revealed her thigh almost to the hair of her mound, and the worst thing for me to do would be to start touching her.
“Can you give me a back massage'” She asked instead, putting me in a bit of a spot.
“Um…” I repeated, effectively communicating that I thought it was a pretty bad idea.
“Oh come on, I’ve been watching you. Compared to how you stared at me before, you’ve hardly looked at me.” She smiled a bit wickedly at me and continued, “While I realize that that isn’t saying much, I hardly think you’re going to jump me.”
“OK,” I said with some reluctance, but at the same time a goodly amount of excitement had begun to arise. (among other things) After all, massage, even a really minimal and superficial one, can be pretty intimate.
She turned her back to me, and I set to work, admiring the way her left knee and calf had come out from under her robe in the process. At first I just rubbed at her shoulders through the robe, which was pretty soft and thin. As I lifted her hair and started kneading the muscles of her neck, however, a certain amount of bravery or foolhardiness had taken over. I returned to her shoulders by pushing my hand partly under the loose fabric. She didn’t seem to mind, and she relaxed backward toward my lap. As I rubbed her back, she made the occasional pleased murmur which was unbearably arousing, especially when combined with the smell and feel of her delicious damp hair.
All of this was quite troubling of course, but I was able to get into a sort of rhythm, and kaçak bahis soon I was almost able to pretend that I wasn’t getting turned on by the feel of her soft skin or the sound of her short little moans as I kneaded a stiff muscle.
Perhaps things still might have been OK, but my awkward position as I massaged her started to give me cramps. I began to shift my position a little bit after a few minutes, and I suppose my leg started to annoy her because she suggested that I stretch it out alongside hers lengthwise on the couch. Of course, this would be a whole lot more comfortable, excepting the small consideration of my erection, which would them be sticking her right in the back, what with her sitting between my legs as she would then be. (Actually, it’s a fairly big consideration, but that’s not the point.)
Anyway, somehow believing that I could still mange the situation in that position, I slid my leg alongside hers, and settled back to massaging her. This was all well and good, but I had to lean forward to take some of the pressure off of my cock, out of fear she might notice it. This left my face more or less alongside hers, with me breathing on her neck and smelling her hair. Plus, her robe was being pushed open quite a bit my ministrations, and I was treated by a pretty great view of her afformentioned large breasts.
Even this situation, while clearly deliciously difficult, would not have necessarily created our rather rapid descent without the conversation that would begin a few moments later.
“You and Sarah are having sex'” Marianne asked a little breathlessly as I worked her shoulders, pushing my thumbs still further down her smooth well muscled back, serving to loosen her robe still more. This was about the last thing I expected her to ask.
Understand, theirs is a very Catholic household. I was nearly positive that Marianne was a virgin in spite of being 19. Sarah had remained chaste during the first three years of our relationship, and her finally yielding to my advances was a rather new thing.
I paused my massage, temporarily distracted from the bliss before me by the unusual question asked by someone I had never expected to discuss sex with at all, never mind sex with her sister. “Uhm… yeah, well… that is to say, we have.”
I resumed my massage when she shrugged her shoulders impatiently. “That feels good, don’t stop. So, what is it like'”
Certainly not expecting this, but being a little bit less flatfooted, I said, “What do you mean by that'”
“I don’t know like, I guess I’m asking if you like it.”
“Of course I do,” I said, becoming still more aroused and interested at the same time. Where was she going with this’
“Do you think she likes it'” Marianne asked.
“I assume she told you about us'” I asked, trying to understand what this was all about.
“Yeah, I’d asked her.”
Continuing to stroke her, but a bit more softly, distractedly really, I asked, “well, what did she say'”
“She said she liked it a lot,” Marianne answered, her voice quite soft.
“Yes I rather think she does,” I replied, somewhat quiet myself. My erection poked Marianne in the back. I don’t know if she noticed, but I certainly did. I had begun to lightly run my fingers across the tops of her shoulders, which wasn’t massaging her, but she didn’t seem inclined to complain about either. Her skin was unbelievably soft and warm. “Mind you, we had to go rather slowly at first.” Why would I volunteer such a comment’
“Oh, why is that'” Marianne asked me, her voice almost a moan. She wiggled backward a little, pushing my erection harder into the small of her back, and drawing a small whimper from me.
“Well uh, Marianne,” I stumbled, a bit of awkwardness managing to force its way into my stupor. I watched my hands lightly stroke her back, I pushed her hair aside, and gently played my fingers up her neck and along her jawline. Some strength came back into my voice as I forgot that I shouldn’t be touching her like this and just concentrated upon the feel of her. “A guy can hurt a girl, Marianne, particularly the first couple of times. Especially small girls like you and her,” Leaning closer to her ear, I said more softly, “so it is important to be careful,” I ran my finger under her earlobe very slowly, enjoying the sweet dampness of it, “it’s important to take your time.”
So quietly that I almost couldn’t hear her, Marianne said, “I hope that someone will be that gentle with me the first time…”
I can’t say it was an invitation, but I certainly treated it as one. My lips tenderly caressed her ear. I sucked her earlobe into my mouth, gently nipping it with my teeth. She shuddered and drew a sharp intake of breath. Needless to say, I had completely lost control. I slowly pushed my fingertips down the front of her chest, slowing to a crawl as the flesh began to rise to her breast. Marianne was breathing rather heavily now, and I imagined that if she planned on telling me to stop, she would have by now. I kissed her more firmly along her ear and into her neck, slowly working my left arm around her so that I could pull her toward me. God her skin was so hot, it almost felt like fire against my lips and face.
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