I didn't feel like going to Middies that evening. I was too embarrassed to face Paul, whom I believed thought I was some kind of freak, not only that but I was ready to come on and the lower part of my tummy felt bloated, and my nipples were absolutely caning.

I literally cried myself to sleep that evening. I wasn't one to get maudlin when I was due on, but something was affecting my mood, I was positively heartbroken. I had waited, and fantasised, for so long about having Paul inside of me, and it was demoralising to think it may never happen again. My thoughts boarded on the absurd in that I had fallen in love with Paul, not in a conventional brother-sister way, but in a heart zapping way. I mean, Paul, himself, wasn't the best looking of guys, even then. He had jet black hair in 1970s feather-cut style. He was not skinny like me, but well proportioned.

[Fast forward 43 years and I have often thought what was wrong with me all those years ago. First my cousin, then my brother, and a couple more guys I should not have focussed on (more about this in a later blog). I couldn't use the excuse that I was unintelligent because I knew very well incestual sexual relationships were morally wrong, and forbidden, if not illegal. It wasn't really whilst I was in my late 30s that I began to understand myself more.

I've already mentioned that I had a very uninspiring child and youthhood, but that doesn't mean to say I lacked any kind of sexual emotions. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I was attracted to boys ever since I was in junior school. At seven years old I remember having a huge crush on a boy called Philip, who was then in the top year at school, so would have been 11 years old. I was distraught when he went up to the senior school.

I was 10 years old when I entered puberty. I was still in junior school and there was no real problem...well apart from a pervy schoolteacher who used to look over the cubicle doors when we were getting ready for swimming. I was always small for my age, but my body started to develop at the same age as the other girls, only a bit different as I found out when starting senior school. I never had any hang-ups until then, but then we never had showers in the juniors, and the cubicles at swimming we had to ourselves. At senior school we had a communal shower, one which we would all use at the same time after PE. When surrounded by 40 or so naked girls, it was difficult not to compare myself to them. Some hadn't started puberty at all, but I had, and standing beside others who had, I looked positively woeful. I dare say it's like guys with tiny cocks having to shower with normal guys and suffer feelings of emasculation. I was fine from the waist down. My legs were short, but my thighs and calves were meaty. I developed those through swimming a lot. Apart for two hideous small tapering lumps that mother nature cruelly planted on a pale thin chest, my upper body was bereft of shape and character. Had I been flat-chested like some of the pre-pubescent girls, at least I would have comfort in the knowledge that my time would come, but my time was upon me, and presented me with a god-awful chest. I was the smallest in my year at school and the one who faced the wall whilst showering. Literally from day one my self-esteem hit rock bottom.

In spite of my self-loathing, I was still very liked and respected by the other girls. I was very sporty, a champion swimmer, and for some reason sporty girls were popular. For a short while I hung around with the same set of friends, which I had in junior school, but it soon became apparent I was the spare wheel. Whereas they grew in confidence, height, and bust size, I resembled a seven-year-old with two walnut whips stuck inside her shirt, and one who also suffered with greasy skin. Suffice to say, unlike my friends, I never attracted boys, and the only thing I did attract was the awkwardness of being side-lined.

My time as a member of the popular girl group came to an end and I became friends with other misfits, a girl called Linda, who was a chubby girl with glasses, Anita, a pretty but very intelligent girl who was seen as a geek, and Susan, very plain looking, very bitter, and who hung around with us because nobody else liked her. She was one of those who imposed herself on you, who tried to buy friendship, love, and affection by inviting you around her house for tea or giving you small presents like sweets and make-up. Her dad, Jeff, called me half pint due to my diminutive size, and it caught on. I hated the nickname because it reinforced my personal hang-ups. Even at 11, Susan had healthy boobs for someone her age, and she would often bring mine up, not in a malicious way, more in pity for me, but it was hurtful all the same.

At playtime us four girls would sit on a bench, chatting and watching what was going on around us. Susan was the one who invariably found fault in anything and everyone. Some boys would zig in and out of playful girls, targeting their boobs or grabbing them between the legs through the skirts. Even though the girls laughed, Susan found this totally abhorrent and labelled the girls as ‘slags' for enjoying it. I, however, had a totally different take on it. In bed at night-time I used to fantasise about it happening to me, and this is when I started to masturbate. From the ages 11 to 16, hardly a night would go by without me pleasuring myself. I never delighted myself to orgasm. I knew there was something over the horizon, and often tried to find it, but never could. It made it all the more difficult by the fact I shared a bedroom with my two sisters.

The first time I ever got grabbed between the legs was by my brother when I was 12, as I have said before. He probably saw what went off in the school playground and decided to try it on me. Paul and I were always at each other's throats. He was always tormenting me, and it invariably ended up with us physically fighting. If mum was home, we'd get a clout, if she wasn't then I usually got beat up by Paul. This one occasion we were fighting on the sofa. I had a skirt on, and Paul tried to pull down my knickers. He only managed to pull them part of the way down but enough to have a good poke. I retaliated with a flurry of slaps and ran off crying. Paul begged me not to tell our parents and for a while I blackmailed him. I used to think what would have happened if I had let him and masturbate to different scenarios. These fantasies were with me every night, even mornings or throughout the day, if time permitted. I was a serial masturbator, horny as hell throughout my adolescent years...but boys would not give me a second glance.

In July time 1973, I was sitting on the floor with Neville in his parents' conservatory/outhouse. It was a structure joined to the house where they kept the washing machine and a big chest freezer. My dad was decorating the front room for my uncle and auntie. Neville and I were in the outhouse sucking on ice lollies. Neville was sat down against the freezer. I was stood beside him when totally out of the blue he grabbed my skirt and looked under it. I saw the funny side and then sat down next to him so he couldn't do it again, but he wasn't finished. He started to pull up my skirt, "Will you stop it", I said brushing away his hand. He was persistent, however, and I started to think about Paul and how I came to regret stopping him. After a few more attempts I gave way to him. He lifted my skirt to expose my knickers and stared at them for a while until his other hand was ice lolly free. He then tugged at my knickers to view my pussy. Realising I wasn't going to offer resistance, he proceeded to explore my little quim with his fingers. I absolutely loved it. It would have been better still had he not insisted I play with his pole. Like me he was 14, and I guess his cock was close to full size. The last penis I had seen was a boy's called Michael White, who in junior school was not against showing us girls his private bits, he would have only been about nine, so when I saw Neville's it came as quite a shock. I wasn't so much scared but in awe with the way it grew in hardness. I hadn't a clue what to do with it, so just ran the tips of my fingers up and down the shaft.

A similar thing with happened again a year later with Neville, but fondling was as far as it went. Something inside me wanted more but I was too naïve to know just what.

I believe the sexual attraction I had towards my brother and Neville stemmed from the early years. Since puberty, for my sins, my libido was very healthy. I discovered in my 30s, after a series of miscarriages, my testosterone level was on the high side for a female. I think that accounted for my post-pubescent sex drive, and maybe why my tits were pathetically small. All my ‘me' time consisted of flapping my wings to Paul and Neville as I had first-hand experience with them...far better than any fantasy. My adolescent fixation on them seemed to diminish, particularly when I started seeing John, but re-awoke the first time Neville put his hand on my thigh at the cinema]

The week commencing Monday 17th, was the week I should have gone to the doctors for my pill prescription, but I decided not to. There may have been an intuitive motivation in that my body was in brooding mode, particularly after the abortion 17 months ago, but it wasn't something I was conscious about.

My period started on the Monday and it was exceptionally heavy, causing me to miss work on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and to miss Middies on the Tuesday evening. Most of the time I was feasting on aspirin and sat on the sofa with a hot water bottle against my tummy.

I was back at work on the Friday, and still hadn't been to the doctors. On the evening I had a visit from Paul, who came to check on me because he was told I had been ‘poorly'. I explained to him what had been wrong with me, not that he really wanted to know. The conversation soon turned to what happened on the previous Sunday. I assured Paul that I never did it on purpose, and that I just couldn't do anything about it. He accepted what I had to say, which was a huge relief to me. Then, and for some strange reason, he went on to quiz me about my sex life. I was never any good at lying, but knew I had to so not to implicate others. I could hardly tell him I was screwing Len and Bob from the club, our cousin Neville, oh and by the way, Mick from the club also had a good rummage around in Yugoslavia. I only admitted to having sex with John and Janis. Paul conceded he had been a virgin before having sex with me. I acted surprised, but of course I had already figured that out.

It soon dawned on me that my welfare wasn't the reason why Paul came to my house because as I was telling him what Janis and I got up to, he reached out for my pussy. I watched his hand slip inside the tops of my knickers. He was totally confused by the tampon chord and tugged on it. "Don't pull it out", I urged. "What is it?", he asked. "It's a tampax, I'm still on my period". Paul swiftly pulled out his hand, "You could have said". His face was a picture, like he had just chewed on a lemon. Still laughing, I knelt in front of him and took his jeans and briefs completely off. Sliding trousers over shoes in those days were simple enough as trouser leggings had more of a flare to them as they do nowadays. It was the disco era after all. So, there I was, reacquainted with the gorgeous piece of steak between his legs, and after a few seconds of playing with it, it rose to attention like a new recruit trying to impress his sergeant major. With one hand, I held the thick shaft and worked my lips and tongue on the purple dome. I was somewhat short of wrapping my hand around it completely...it's what comes from small hands and big cocks. My other hand was under his jumper, stroking his chest. I asked him to take his jumper off, which he did. He was muscular and his is skin tone was a few shades darker than mine. His torso hair was thick at the chest and narrowed to a single line to his pubes. Paul leant over and lifted up the back of my jumper. I raised my arms so he could slide it off. His attempt at unhooking my bra though was very clumsy to say the least, so I did it for him and dropped it onto the floor. I returned to his cock, this time cradling his scrotum with one hand and running my hand up and down his cock with the other. Paul, still leaning over me, slipped his hands under each side of me and grabbed my tits. It was far from ideal for me. My breasts get tender during my period and my nipples were still sore from the last time. He started off gentle enough but soon began to roll my nipples between his fingers and thumbs and popped them like a pea from a pod. I concentrated on pleasing his cock, but it seemed he was hell bent on punishing me. He stretched my tits by yanking exceptionally hard on my nipples. On a scale of 1 to 10 the pain was 11 but I didn't want him to stop. I wanted him to continue until he climaxed and let go of my nipples so I could experience the high of being free from pain. That was my goal, that was my climax. Paul began to twitch. I knew his climax was imminent. My hand went like the clappers to hurry it along...to relieve me of the unbearable torture. I was squirming and moaning in pain. I didn't think I could take any more but then his cock throbbed and shot out half a dozen or so heavy jets of his thick cream, and in doing so he sadistically dug his fingernails into my nipples. It was so intense that my mind entered the realm of confusion, and I began to squeal. My mouth was open, intending to capture the lashing cum, but I was unable to keep my eyes open due to the cum splashing on my face. He finally let go of my nipples and it was like experiencing an orgasm, even my pussy began to contract. I wiped my eyes and sipped up the cum from my hand and his cock and made a show of scooping my facial cum into my mouth. Paul looked at me as he did before when I did it, a mixed expression of abhorrence and disbelief. "Do you always do that?", he asked. "Waste not, want not", I jokingly replied, "I didn't like it at first...", I continued, "...the taste I mean, but it's grown on me". I inspected my nipples, both were dripping with blood. "Have you seen what you have done?". Paul found it funny. It wasn't that funny though when I put my bra back on...ouch.