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Father & daughter settle a bet the practical way.
We did have the same last name, but it seldom raised any eyebrows and we didn't care anyway. I'm sure people assumed we were related, maybe siblings, maybe married, but I can't remember anyone ever asking and we simply never made a big deal out of it, one way or the other.
We lived in separate bedrooms, but as our cheesy apartment had only one bathroom, we did live in pretty close proximity to each other. It was one of those Hollywood Bath sort of things, with two sinks, but only one tub/shower. At first we afforded each other all the usual courtesies of keeping the doors closed, knocking before entering and of course, "shielding" our eyes as we dashed from bathroom to bedroom wrapped only in a towel.
But over time, as roommates seem to do, we slowly got more and more relaxed in our modesty. Steven got to where he didn't always close the door all the way, I got to where I would wear less and less while moving from room to room, and of course, neither one us every bothered to lock any doors.
Steven would sometimes sit on the couch watching TV with nothing on but his boxer shorts and I'd respond by wearing nothing but boy shorts and a tank top. Of course, I would try not to stare, but many times I could just imagine the tip of his penis lurking just below the fly of his boxers. I know I was gawking at times, but I could just imagine that fly parting every so slightly, so I could get a better view of what lay below. At times, I felt that through the power of positive thinking, I could just "will" the fly on his boxers to part, like the red sea, so that I could get a clear and unobstructed view of what I just knew had to be a magnificent specimen of manhood.
I'm sure Steven felt my lustful gaze for there were many times I could feel his beautiful dark eyes settling in on perky nips or straining for a view up the leg of my shorts. And to help insure his interest, my nipples would raise to the occasion and strain to make their presence known beneath the shear fabric of my top. I never wore a bra at home anyway and it was always pretty obvious. I'm sure he noticed; but other than the usual glance and a big smile, he never said or did anything. At least not in my presence...
Some nights we'd be watching a movie or sporting event together and I just couldn't stand it any longer. I'd make an excuse and slip off to my room. And just in the hope that he would follow me, I never completely closed the door. Once in the near darkest of my room, I would throw myself on the bed and finish slipping those pesky boxer shorts from his beautiful body in my head. I would touch my virgin pussy and push the outer lips first one way and then the other. I would always start very slowly ... push ... push ... push. And then slowly the tempo would build and build and build to within just a matter of minutes my fingers would be in a full circular motion, going faster and faster. And I would be getting wetter and wetter with each pass.
And just when I didn't think I could stand it any longer, my soaking wet pussy lips would magically part and my middle finger would touch my engorged clit. Oh my God; that was all it took. Lighten bolts would shoot through my body and wonderful fluids would fill my cupped hand. Under my breath I would repeat his name; Steven, Steven, Steven... But he never pushed the door open and I would soon drift off to sleep dreaming of his smell, his touch and how much I wanted him in my arms and in my bed.
All of that changed the night of the second anniversary of our parent's death.