Watching Her

While I was growing up, I shared a room with my sister ("Laura", for the purposes of this story) who was two years older than me. Even though we have the same parents, she and I are as different as two sisters can be in both personally as well physically. I wouldn't say that I'm shy, but I'm not an exhibitionist either. When I used to change in our room, I would take off my shirt but leave on my bra. Moving quickly, I would put on my pajama top and then reach under my top and remove my bra. I don't think I was embarrassed or self-conscious, but perhaps I wasn't as proud of what I had. I was then and still am relatively small-chested but I have nice shapely hips. Laura, on the other hand, had even back then a magnificent pair of large, beautifully shaped breasts, narrower hips and longer, more slender legs. When she changed, she would take off everything and then stand there and talk to me or on the phone with her breasts swaying freely. She wasn't in a hurry at all to put her night shirt back on--when she wore one. Sometimes I would stare at them. Not out of lust but rather out of a longing to have such a beautiful pair of breasts. If she caught me looking, which sometimes she would, she would just smirk but make no effort to cover up. One thing that we do have in common is masturbating almost daily, although we've never talked about it with each other. That I know of, she isn't aware of how many times I used to watch her which is where this story really starts. Our beds ran along side adjoining walls, like an "L", with the feet together. Perhaps when we were very young this configuration was comforting because we could see each other. As we grew older, there was just no real reason to change it. This worked out to my advantage. Also to my advantage back then was the fact that I'm a very light sleeper. I'm not sure when it started, but it was a few years before she moved out of the house that I would awake at night and hear rustling of the sheets and heavy breathing and sighing. I learned a trick of keeping my eyes mostly shut and watching through my eyelashes. Sometimes I would even fake snore, as quickly I found out that if I was completely quiet she would stop as if to wait to make sure I was asleep. If I was lying facing her, I would see her hand underneath the sheets slide down between her legs and begin to rock up and down. I vaguely remember the earlier days but remember that she was fairly secretive about it at first. The sheets would still be around her neck, although I might from time to time see her other hand move around her chest to what I assumed would be to fondle her breasts. The first time I saw her do this I was so aroused that I couldn't stand it. My heart was racing. Mouth dry. Difficult to swallow. And I ached. I ached and ached to touch myself and join her. I got so wet watching her. This became an ocurrance that happened almost three or four times a week. I didn't get to watch all those times--there were many times my back was turned to her when I woke so I could only listen and imagine what she looked like. I tried turning over sometimes, but she would stop and wait. Sometimes she just wouldn't start again. Over the next two or so years, she got steadily more brazen with what she was doing. By that time I think I had my fake snoring honed to an art. She started first by simply pulling her covers down to her waist, often exposing her naked breasts. On nights with full moonlight, I could see her playing with her nipples and pinching them while her hand rocked faster and faster under the sheets between her legs. As years passed, she got into a routine where she would look over at my direction, and satisfied that I was indeed sleeping she would pull the covers completely off. On those nights with ample moonlight coming into the window and depending on how her legs were positioned I could clearly see her vagina. Her right hand would rub hard while she would move her left hand up and down her body. When she seemed to be especially horny, she would grab her breasts with her left hand and squeeze them in a way I could never do to mine. She would grab a handful--almost like I imagine a cow being milked--and squeeze hard. She would tear at them. Sometimes she would move her left hand and insert one--or often more--of her fingers. I could hear and see her fingers moving in and out. Speeding up as she sped the circles of her right hand until she her legs would bolt out in a straight line. She would sigh and grunt as she circled her ankles. Deeply satisfied, she would pull her sheets back on. Show over while the tingling and wetness between my legs would often have to wait until morning. Over time, I would very quietly touch myself if I was laying on my side and I was convinced she couldn't see. Although I enjoyed the show, I was mortified that she'd ever catch me watching her. Mostly maybe I was afraid she'd stop. That didn't happen often, though. Instead, I would usually wait until the morning and then stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom before my shower. I would imagine her again and watch myself in the mirror. I would try to do the same things that she had done to herself. I would rock my pelvis forward so I had a good view of myself in the mirror and imagine the scene from the night before over again as I watched myself. Sometimes I would roll up my towel and drape it over the side of the sink and hump it while watching my breasts heave, wishing they were as large as Laura's so I had something more interesting to watch. To this day, I've never talked to her about what I saw or how I imagined her. But they are some of my "most used" memories to masturbate over to this day.