This is a story I wrote two years ago, that I was unhappy with. I never liked how it ended for them. A friend actually wrote the ending and he ignored all of my plot lines and focused on melodramatic romance. I learned later that is literally the only storyline he knows how to write, so I should never have let him take over.
There are times as an author (even though these are all figments of our shared imagination) that a fictional creation feels real enough that you have a visceral emotional reaction to their triumphs and failures. Captain Kirk is a good example for me. I want to know his ending and his life. I feel for him when he succeeds or fails. I don't like it when new interpretations of the character change the fundamental nature of the personality.
These characters in this story never deserved an unsatisfying ending, so I am going to give it to them by writing Christmas in July. At my current pace, that should hopefully have this complete by Christmas 2025.
I decided to revisit it and focus it on what really matters - girls without modesty and embarrassed nude females and/or clothed males and nude female situations.
Also, Christmas.
The original story teller was the girl with the unfortunate name of Mary Christmas, who around Christmas time has people joke "Merry Christmas! Mary Christmas" like she never heard that before.
This time I took more of a fly on the wall through another character, her little brother Nick. At times, Nick isn't present but knows what happened well enough to tell it. I wanted a more relatable character this time and Nick felt like the one.
The original had a line that I loved coining "It was the best worst thing that ever happened to us"
My intent was to use some of the Hallmark Christmas movie tropes but make them perverted. As an example, Business Dad is chasing that dollar and has to get the Anderson Account for Christmas. He leaves his fantastic family, hot blonde wife, adoring kids alone again. Naturally, the "worst" thing is some Airport mishaps and all these awful things he has to do to get the account teach him the real value of Christmas, and the movie ends with him saying fuck it, somehow getting an even better job/deal, and throwing snowballs with the family.
You have to break some eggs to make a cake, and you have to have a shit situation to have a good one.
Even the "I was top of the world ad executive, and I was meeting my (clearly shitty materialistic fiance) to introduce him to my parents but (he did some obviously shitty thing to avoid coming) and I ran into my high school sweetheart (Whos is now a loser who sells Christmas trees that never left the Podunk home town, which is incredibly charming and nobody should have ever left because it doesn't exist in reality). Then something shitty happens like a snow storm, and the loser turns out to be a great guy who comes through for me and I fuck his brains out.
I wanted to move some of that into the story, like maybe the town square of this small rural town, the girls end up having to ring a bell for charity but end up exposing themselves. It never materialized in that version, so I plan to include much more public nudity either accidental or intentional.
Frosty air can be fun, because nudity and chilly butts are a great combination with hard, stiff, rock hard nipples and wet pussies.
I've also changed some of the original cast. As an example, Joy was the bubbly younger sister, now she's the bubbly older sister.
This is a scenario that I love. The discovery that someone in the family seems to do whatever they are told to do. They aren't doormats or stupid, they aren't hypnotized.
"Give me your socks"
"Um..okay...what will you do with them?"
"Doesn't matter, now the panties.
"Sheesh..."
No hypnotism, no blackmail, no cruelty - just more of a softcore situation with bored teenagers in a blended family out in rural Minnesota when they are freezing their butts off and don't have fuck all else to do.
I am planning for it to be a short story, so that usually ends up meaning that it would be long.
Mary Christmas
-
EddieDavidson
- Posts: 566
- Joined: Fri Jun 23, 2023 2:38 pm
- Has thanked: 33 times
- Been thanked: 444 times
- Contact:
Mary Christmas
All of my stories: https://storiesonline.net/a/eddie-davidson
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
-
EddieDavidson
- Posts: 566
- Joined: Fri Jun 23, 2023 2:38 pm
- Has thanked: 33 times
- Been thanked: 444 times
- Contact:
Re: Mary Christmas
Christmas time—roasting chestnuts, holiday cheer, people kissing under the mistletoe, and shopping for presents. It’s the most wonderful time of the year, supposedly. Unfortunately, I was stuck in rural Minnesota doomscrolling on my phone, while my new step-brother Ethan ignores me and plays video games.
My parents got married just a few months ago, and it’s always been just me, my two older sisters, and Dad. He’s a park ranger, and his new assignment brought us out to a state park in northern Minnesota.
We had a big slab of land, along the highway, covered in snow, surrounded by trees, with a single wide trailer plopped in the center and nothing to do all day until our parents got home from work. I’d say it was as exciting as watching grass grow, except that I wasn’t sure if grass ever did grow around here because all I saw was endless snow and evergreens.
My big sister Joy burst into the room I shared with Ethan. He didn’t even look up from his video game. He knew she wasn’t there for him. We just hadn’t connected yet as a family. It was more like we were roommates who barely spoke to one another.
It was hard to think of us finally having a mother and a brother instantly. Holly was a fantastic woman, and I am sure she’d make a great mother, but she wasn’t MY mother – at least not yet. She’s from Georgia, and full of backwoods wisdom, and wow, does she know how to cook! I love her Southern cooking.
It shows on her physique, she’s curvy like Joy, big boobs, big hips, big smile, and big hair. She’s got light blonde hair like Joy, and you’d think the two of them would hit it off because they look like mother and daughter. None of us had bonded yet – it was something you couldn’t force.
Her son Ethan does not do wrong in her eyes; he’s the golden boy. He’s tall, athletic, handsome, smart, and we didn’t have a lot in common because he was several years older than me. He was older than Joy and far more mature than all of us.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Joy was giddy with excitement to show me something, grabbing my arm and pulling me from my bed. “You HAVE to see this, Nick! Oh my god!”
I was bored out of my mind, but the reason I didn’t immediately get excited is that my big sister Joy is effervescent and bubbly all the time, which is why she can be so infectious. I assumed it was probably because one lone butterfly that had survived the ice and snow and landed on her window, or she drew a unicorn with a giant penis and thought it was hilarious.
My family has always had a low-brow sense of humor, so farts, poop, and penis jokes were all fair game at the dinner table. Holly put a stop to that by insisting on some decorum and even threatening to wash our mouths out with soap because she wasn’t raised to “talk like a bunch of rowdy hooligans,” as she said.
My father didn’t undermine her and thought we should show a little more class around the table. It hasn’t stopped us from continuing to tell raunchy jokes or laughing when one of us rips a killer fart. I assumed that one reason Ethan wasn’t invited along was probably because what my sister wanted to show me was going to be a fart or penis joke.
My sisters share a smaller room than Ethan than we did. I didn’t think it was intentional that Holly put them in the smaller room. There were three bedrooms, and my parents got the biggest. Ethan and I just happened to get the second largest room.
In a single-wide, there isn’t much room to afford much privacy. My sisters only had room for one double bed, a dresser, and not much of anything else except for a single glass paned window with no curtain and some of Joy’s cat posters.
I was thankful that I didn’t have to share a bed with Ethan, even if our single beds were smaller, we probably had more space to sleep than my sisters enjoyed.
One of Joy's Posters that I like best says “Hang in there” and an orange cat is holding on to a hang glider as it tries to fly over a rainbow. I sometimes relate to his facial expression, because he doesn’t seem afraid or excited – he's just coasting along.
Joy’s old room looked like something Tinkerbell would have magicked up, full of warm pastels, rainbows, and inspirational messages. All three of us used to have our own private rooms back in Chicago, but when we moved to Minnesota a few months ago, we had to consolidate and learn to share our rooms.
There was a lot of Christmas decoration in their room as well. It wasn’t just because it was December, either. Our last name was Christmas. Joy loved to collect silly reindeer ears, elf costumes, ornaments, and mistletoe.
I remembered a time years ago that my sisters chased me around the house trying to get me to stand under some mistletoe so that they could plant sloppy wet kisses on me. There was nothing sexual about it; it was just a silly, goofy thing, but it occurred to me that I may be walking into a trap, and I was about to have my sisters try for round two if they could get me to stand under some mistletoe as a prank.
I looked up at the ceiling and breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t see any hanging over the doorway.
My sister Mary looked up from the bed. She was reading a dog-eared paperback that she’s read a thousand times. She’s the opposite of our older sister Joy in many ways. She’s usually bashful and bookish, but she likes to joke around too.
Joy was curvy like our stepmom and very chesty. Mary was thin like me, a dapple of freckles across her nose, and very mousy and geeky (like me).
They have tons of inside jokes that they share with me, and some they don’t. One thing that all three of us share is that if someone lets out a loud fart, they have to shout “Doorknob” and dash for the nearest door to touch the handle. The two of us that didn’t rip one, are supposed to charge them and yell “EAT IT” while trying to punch them in the arm.
It's playful, not sadistic, and really goofy and immature. It’s also something Dad told us to stop doing around Holly and Ethan. However, the girls still practice the ritual in their room and I do as well when we are alone.
I was a little envious that they shared a room, even though they had even less privacy and space than Ethan and I did. Mary and Joy seemed to be growing closer and sharing secrets, while I had to share with my stepbrother, and it seemed only to emphasize the wedge between us.
“Oh my god, you aren’t going to tell Nick are you?” Mary looked ashamed of herself, but she turned to face us both as we entered the room.
“Why not? He’s our brother,” Joy thought nothing of revealing secrets. “Mary, take your socks off!”
Mary sighed, shrugged, and turned to face us. “I just put them back on,” she rolled her eyes as she bent forward on the bed and began to tug them off.
I was clearly disappointed and didn’t see why Joy found this so interesting.
Joy’s bright eyes and chubby cheeks reflected her jubilant excitement as she revealed her so-called fascinating discovery.
“The snow has rotted your brain,” I shrugged and started to turn away to leave..
“Exactly,” Mary admitted as she finished tugging the socks completely off.
“No, watch!” Joy realized that I didn’t get what she was trying to demonstrate for me, so she added “Mary, stand up, and sniff your sweaty socks, then give them to Nick.”
“Why are you doing this?” Mary frowned like she didn’t see the point as she held her socks up to her nose. “They aren’t stinky,” she announced. Then she approached me to hand them to me. “He doesn’t even want them.”
“I don’t understand what you are trying to show me.” I didn’t accept the socks. I assumed perhaps this was some half-baked prank and I was supposed to take the socks so they could make fun of me for liking girls’ feet or something. I was a porn aficionado, but I had never understood the sexual interest in women’s feet. I also didn’t sexualize my sisters, even though they were both very pretty, and there were no girls for miles around.
We lived so remotely that our only neighbors were wolves. The closest town of Orr had a population of around 400, and it was pretty much just a few stores, a single restaurant, and a courthouse around a town square. I would have been thrilled to be there today in the frosty air, simply because it was mind-numbingly boring at our place. That was the only reason I was still in my sister’s room. I had nothing else better to do.
“Don’t you see? Mary will do anything you tell her,” Joy giggled excitedly. “Stand on one foot and touch your nose.”
“Oh god, you are making me seem like I am dumb,” Mary huffed and sighed. I didn’t understand why she felt compelled to go along with her big sister’s instruction, but she lifted one leg and then placed the tip of her finger on her nose. “Happy now?”
Joy didn’t answer, instead she laughed silently, and told me to give it a try and ask her to do something.
“Did you hypnotize her?” I scrunched my own nose in confusion as I tried to get my head around it.
“I am not hypnotized,” Mary replied sourly as if that should be obvious. She started to take her hand away from her nose and stand.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Joy brightened. She wasn’t being sadistic, cruel or ridiculing Mary. She was genuinely thrilled and seemed almost as confused as I was about why Mary followed instructions and resumed the position.
“You’re my big sister, and I’ve always done what you tell me. When Mom and Dad are gone, then you are in charge. Why is this so fascinating to you both?” she asked through her nasal inflection as she pressed down on her nose.
“Okay, will you please stand up straight,” I tried giving a simple instruction to my big sister, and much to my surprise, she did as I asked.
“Thanks,” she admitted, as her face turned a little red. She remained standing, but not at a crisp military position or anything. I was still surprised she did anything that I told her at all.
I tried to recall a time when Mary or Joy had ever been disagreeable and refused to do something I asked them to do. I also didn’t ask them for any favors beyond passing the salt or pepper in recent memory, either.
“Why did you do what I asked? I am not in charge when Mom and Dad are gone,” I was intrigued.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged and shifted uncomfortably, like she was trying to physically wriggle out of thinking about the question. “You asked me to stand up, and I wanted to stand up, anyway.”
“No, he didn’t ask,” Joy giggled. “He told you to do it and was being polite by phrasing it as a request.”
Mary narrowed her eyes angrily, as if she were contemplating a response but biting her tongue.
“Nick asked a question,” Joy smiled but spoke firmly. “Tell him why you really put your foot back down after I told you to stand on one foot.”
“I don’t know,” Mary repeated as she looked up at me, as if she were desperate for me to stop tickling her ribs, even though I hadn’t touched her. “I guess because Joy said you could tell me to do something. Why are you guys making me feel silly?”
“We aren’t,” Joy assured her that she thought it was cool. “Nick told you to stand up straight, though!” She reminded her, placed her hands on Mary’s shoulders, and gently guided her back straight. “Push your tits out, chin up, eyes open and straight ahead, clench your butt cheeks, smile.”
“Dammit,” Mary smiled through clenched teeth. She had boobs, but nothing approaching the huge melons that Joy had. Mary clenched her face, like she was probably clenching her butt cheeks and stood up straight and awkward.
“Now, you do it,” Joy turned to me and insisted that I stand up straight, lift my chin, push out my chest, and clench my butt cheeks like Mary.
I felt tempted to do it just because Mary had to. I pitied her situation a bit, even though I still didn’t understand her motivation. I also felt no compulsion to obey Joy. She reminded us gently about chores, but Mary handled the details. Mary stayed fastidious. She acted like the teacher's pet, the type a teacher left in charge to note the names of talkers when stepping out
Joy seemed disappointed that her experiment had failed, and then glanced back at Mary. Mary stood there rigidly and said, “Okay, you had your fun? Can I get back to reading?”
“No, follow us into the bathroom and let’s do another experiment,” Joy giggled playfully as she led us down the small hallway that connected our bedrooms to our shared bathroom. The doors and walls of our trailer were wafer thin so you could hear someone taking a piss or shower through the plywood. The bathroom was a simple tub with a shower, a sink, and a toilet. We had very hard well water that left permanent red rings at the bottom of the drains. It was so bitterly cold most of the time, that we were just lucky that our pipes didn’t freeze and we had water at all.
Joy left the door open as she led me and my sister into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Joy loved looking at her own pretty face, even though she was the hardest on herself. “Look at these fat chipmunk cheeks, it looks like I’ve been storing away nuts for the winter,” she said playfully as she shook her mouth back and forth to make it seem like she had big jowls.
“Do what I just I did, Mary,” Joy instructed without a second thought.
“No,” Mary said no, but she was already shaking her face back and forth, with her mouth slightly open, like a dog after a recent bath when they try to shake off water. A little spit dribbled out across her lips.
“Why did you tell me No?” Joy found Mary’s discomfort and compliance incredibly amusing. I felt a little pity for Mary because she was put on the spot, but I was also finding it a little amusing because Mary could have just refused like I had.
“Would you stop asking me to do weird stuff, please?” Mary groaned and wiped the spit from her lip with her finger.
“No,” Joy clarified like she was correcting someone’s spelling error. “I didn’t ask you to shake your cute little cheeks,” Joy reached up and pinched her little sister’s cheeks. “I told you to do it. Open your mouth,” she said.
“Guys, stop picking on me,” Mary said as she opened her mouth wide like she was waiting to be fed and rolled her eyes.
“Put your hands like this,” Joy held her hands to her face and pressed her cheeks firmly. Mary did as she was told but kept her mouth open.
“Now, say I am a guppy fish.”
https://www.tiktok.com/@fishdoestheart/ ... 4149764358 (If you are curious the inspiration)
“Dammit,” Mary sighed and continued to blush. “I am a guppy fish,” she half-smiled because of how silly it was. I had seen Mary and Joy play this game years ago, and knew it was trending on TikTok. It was somehow innocent and arousing at the same time – and certainly humiliating for Mary.
“Guppies don’t’ smile. ' Joy shook her head no and held her hands to her face.
Mary stopped smiling and closed her mouth.
“Now smile!” Joy instructed brightly.
Mary held her cheeks and smiled brightly.
I have to admit that made me giggle, and that only encouraged Joy.
“Can I go back to reading or, are you going to do this all day?”
“Going to do it all day,” Joy shrugged without any regard for Mary’s question, “You’ve read that book a thousand times. You know how it ends. Leo gets Mary at the end. It’s the same story every time you read it.”
“It’s the only book I have,” Mary said, taking her hands away from her cheeks.
“You just like it because you think you are the Mary in the story, and some total random stranger is going to show up here and fall in love with you forever, don’t you?” Joy theorized. I assumed that was probably true.
“NO!” Mary frowned and looked ashamed.
“Tell me that is why you get off on reading that same story over and over,” Joy insisted firmly.
“God, I don’t get OFF on it.” Mary rolled her eyes and looked at me as if trying to secretly hint to Joy that she shouldn’t say this in front of me. “I don’t pleasure myself to the book or anything like that. I just like reading it because I have nothing else to do.”
Joy seemed disappointed because she was clearly testing my sister, and Mary had not obeyed.
“What? I am not going to lie and say I am doing naughty stuff in my room to this book,” she looked down. I could tell her defiance was weakening.
“I told you to admit to us both that you pleasure yourself to that book,” Joy repeated, this time slowly with a trace of mischief in her eyes.
“Okay, I may have masturbated thinking about it, but I don’t have anything else to do up here, and everybody plays with themselves. Jeez, Nick is in here!”
“Yep, and like you said, Nick plays with himself, so he knows what you are doing,” Joy’s laughed freely. “What do you jerk off to, Nick?”
“None of your beeswax,” I insisted firmly.
“I’ll tell you what excites me and makes me flip my biscuit if you tell me what gets you hard,” Joy’s cute blue eyes flashed with a naughty expression. We used to play truth or dare, and talk about naughty stuff when we were little, but we hadn’t in many years. I was incredibly uncomfortable.
“I’ll make Mary tell you her secret fantasies as well,” Joy offered.
“No, you won’t,” Mary insisted, but before Mary could say more, Ethan appeared in the doorway.
“What is this about secret fantasies?” he asked. It felt like we were caught red-handed having fun and it was an incredibly sobering moment that jarred us out of the vibe.
“Nothing,” Joy and Mary both replied almost in unison.
“Come on, I am bored. You guys were laughing. What’s so funny? I won’t tell Mom and Joe, if that’s what you are worried about.”
We weren't ready to call Holly "Mom," and Ethan, either not ready or just because we called his mother Holly, called our father "Joe." It sounded bizarre to hear my father's first name. He was never "Father"—he was always "Dad" to me.
“Fine,” Joy shrugged and let Ethan in on the secret, because she was clearly excited to share it. She handed Mary her red toothbrush and told her to stuff it up her nose.
“Oh my god, I am not going to brush with my boogers,” Mary refused flatly. Ethan seemed disgusted and unimpressed.
“I never said to brush with your boogers. Put the tip end in your nose and don’t let it drop out,” Joy explained with a frown as if that were a very reasonable request.
Mary couldn’t even look at herself in the mirror, much less at anyone else. Ethan remained aloof and expressionless as he waited in the doorway to the bathroom for my sister’s performance. Once Mary had stuffed one toothbrush end up her nose, Joy had her do a second one.
Ethan found that amusing, somewhat surprising but he hardly seemed as shocked as I thought he should be.
“You look like a Walrus,” Joy giggled as she admired Mary’s face, then she made what sounded like a Walrus call and told Mary to do that.
Mary reluctantly made the sounds, but not nearly as loud as Joy had.
“Nope, piss-poor Walrus, do it again,” Joy was about to continue the spectacle when Ethan interrupted.
“Can I give her one?” he seemed to instantly understand what we were doing, or maybe he heard us talking through the walls.
“Sure,” Joy shrugged generously.
Mary rolled her eyes, and looked frustrated, helpless, and vulnerable – despite the fact that if she really wanted to tell us all to go to hell, then she could have. There was no way that Mom and Dad would have punished her for refusing to make silly walrus sounds, and if anything, we’d be in trouble.
“Take your sweatpants down to your ankles,” Ethan instantly escalated things to the point of weird and awkward.
Even Joy’s mirthful smile disappeared, and a more serious look of worry flashed across her face.
“I don’t have to do that,” Mary started out strong, and I thought she was going to boldly refuse, except that at the end of her sentence she looked at Joy with uncertainty and asked “Do I?”
“Sure you do, Ethan is even older than me,” Joy replied with a straight face, and a churlish grin.
“Only by a few months,” Mary countered with a pout, placing her thumbs in the waistband of her sweats as if she were tempted to obey, but uncertain.
“I am telling you that Ethan is the eldest, and you have to do what he tells you. If he says Nick can tell you what to do because he’s a boy, then so be it, as well. Dad is the head of the household, Holly is second in command, but they are both the bosses, right?” Joy’s logic was sound. She smacked Mary playfully on the bottom to signal she thought Mary was over-reacting. “You have panties on right?”
Mary was clearly embarrassed and stuck in a predicament of what I felt was her own making. “Yeah, obviously,” she agreed. The toothbrushes dangling from her nostrils, made the entire situation seem incredibly silly and absurd.
“Then he isn’t going to see more than you would show at the beach, go ahead, and take your sweat pants completely down to your ankles like he told you,” my big sister’s tone didn’t have the same confident playfulness that it had when she was telling her to stuff her nostrils with toothbrushes, but she remained firm.
“Can I take the toothbrushes out of my nose?” she asked as she started to slide the sweatpants down, revealing a thin pair of white panties. I glanced away as quickly as I could to protect her modesty from my eyes. However, I still caught an eyeful of Mary’s thick pubes stuffed into the sheer material, and the unmistakable W shape of the outline of her camel toe rounding out the bottom of the panties.
“Nope,” Ethan calmly answered for Joy, adding, “Not yet.”
Joy couldn’t help herself when Ethan joined in her fun. She smirked mischievously and nodded approvingly, and I am certain Ethan picked up on that and it bolstered his comfort level with what was happening.
I was still unsure of what part I had to play beyond passive observer. I was also not sure when Mary would break and tell us to fuck off and that she wouldn’t take any more shit from them. She didn’t cry, or yell or get angry. Mary simply blushed and stoically complied with the instruction – looking like she wanted to dig a deep hole in the snow and hide.
Mary bent over, butt out, knees bent slightly, and slid the sweatpants down to her ankles, even stopping to adjust one of the toothbrushes so it didn’t fall out of her nose – all the while, appearing mortified. She casually placed one hand over her panties as if to protect herself from our prying eyes. But I was already looking everywhere else except at my sister’s shame.
Joy, on the other hand, seemed to find it amusing and titillating. She’s an extrovert who has fought with Holly and Dad about wearing slutty outfits, even in frosty Minnesota, so this was nothing to her.
“What now?” Mary asked slightly angrily.
“You can either keep the toothbrushes in your nose and keep making walrus noises, or take your panties completely off, and I’ll let you take them out of your nose,” Ethan decided to give Mary a choice.
I don’t think Mary was ready for that, because she huffed angrily. Ethan was a smart guy, and I assumed he was testing Mary’s reaction to see how she handled making choices.
Mary looked at Joy, as if waiting for her to weigh on this.
“Are you asking me what you should do?” Joy arched an eyebrow.
“No, just, can he tell me to take my bottoms off?” Mary pouted.
“Obviously,” Joy decided without a second thought. “I am sure Nick and Ethan have seen nudity before, and you change in front of me. You can change in front of them.”
“No, please,” Mary begged for Joy to change her mind. I’ve seen my sister change and take baths with her when we were little, but I hadn’t in many years. My grandmother largely raised me, and she didn’t think any of us needed modesty at that age. We ran around in the yard without shirts and just undies and played in the sprinklers.
As you get older and enter puberty, those attitudes change. Those attitudes usually change, especially for us boys. I didn’t want to get caught sporting wood and it was a constant battle to hide my chubby erection in my jeans.
I still remember at my grandmother’s house that one of my older cousins babysit us in the nude. She sunbathed in the nude, and she ate dinner in the nude. She played volleyball in the yard with her family in the nude, but her brothers and parents wore clothes.
Their family didn’t see their daughter’s nudity in their fenced in backyard as any problem or sexually naughty thing. They did a cook out and they thought nothing of my father and biological mother, and the rest of my family seeing their daughters well-developed natural tits and bare ass in a social setting.
It always stuck with me that they were so mature about nudity and hadn’t made it a big deal. I assumed my father would flip his fucking lid if he saw what we were doing in the bathroom and Holly would probably do so as well.
My Dad didn’t care for how Joy liked to dress, and she never revealed all that much. My big sister developed huge, adult sized whoppers at an early age. I assumed she was self-conscious about them because despite trying to show off her cleavage and legs, she always wore a bra or a heavily reinforced bikini top that forced her tits out and up like two unnaturally shaped torpedoes that defy gravity
Although Joy was still a bit of a thrill seeker and immodest, I had never seen her flash her tits or walk around without panties in short skirts like some girls did at my school. She just liked to wear skimpy two-piece bikinis to the pool, and short skirts, tops that accentuated her cleavage. Yet, now she seemed to be reveling in Mary’s exposure and that surprised me.
Joy could seem innocent and cute, often wore her hair in braided pig tails, and accentuated her outfits with fairy regalia. She clearly had a lusty, bawdy side because right now she was almost cackling with delight over how absurd Mary’s predicament made her look.
I don’t know if it was insecurity, repression, or just a desire to remain modest, but Mary had done quite the opposite when we used to live in Chicago. She liked to blend in and wear baggy clothes that didn’t hug her body; she didn’t wear very much makeup or try to get attention for her looks.
I felt like intervening, but I stood there quietly – curious about what would happen.
“What am I supposed to do?” Mary asked Joy to clarify.
"Whatever Nick and Ethan tell you, because they are both boys, and your brothers." Joy assured her, adding, "Because you like to be told what to do."
"I do not!" Mary yanked the toothbrushes from her nostrils, cheeks flaming red. She tossed them in the sink, hands trembling as she straightened. But she didn't pull her sweatpants up. Her fingers hovered at the waistband of her panties instead.
Ethan pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer. "Prove it then. Don't take off your panties. Just pull your sweatpants back up and walk out."
Mary's eyes widened, freckles stark on her flushed skin. She shifted her weight, thighs brushing together, a shiver running up her legs. Joy tilted her head, watching with a sly smile. “Can I?” Mary glanced nervously at Joy for approval to pull her sweats back up.
"No, you can't." Joy shook her head, voice playful but steady, like she was keeping the game going to pull us all closer. "Ethan told you to prove you don't like being told what to do by not taking off your panties. So stay put and do what you are told.”
I could tell that Mary’s brain was full of mixed messages as she tried to process her sister’s instructions. She could have just given us all the bird and told us to fuck off, pulled her pants up and kept her dignity instead of even entertaining this.
Mary's breath caught, hands dropping to her sides. She fidgeted, toes curling on the tile, face burning hotter. "But..."
"Pull them down now," Ethan said, eyes locked on her. I felt contact embarrassment just being close to Mary. Ethan and Joy were being so audacious, and Mary was cringing.
Mary's fingers shook as she gripped the waistband again. She tugged slow, fabric sliding over her hips, bunching at her knees.
“Hurry up, take them all the down, and kick them off,” Joy giggled playfully.
Mary’s thick curly pubic hair popped into view, and I couldn’t help myself. I looked straight at her pussy while she stepped out of them. I noticed goosebumps rising on the back of her willowy neck as she looked down at the floor. “Guys!” she protested.
“Good girl,” Ethan ignored her protest and complimented my sister for complying. “Now spread your feet shoulder-width and put your hands on your head."
Mary whimpered softly, but her feet slid apart on the cold floor. Her hands rose slow, fingers lacing behind her head, elbows out. She shivered harder, knees knocking slightly, eyes squeezed shut against the embarrassment. “So, now I have to strip completely naked anytime my brothers tell me to undress?”
“Precisely,” Joy’s bubbly laughter didn’t come across cruel or wicked. She was clearly enjoying Mary’s embarrassment.
"Why are you making me.. do this?" Mary asked out loud, looking straight ahead, with her fingers interlaced behind her head.
"Because it's fun," Joy said, stepping closer to adjust Mary's posture with a gentle push on her back. "And you're doing great. See how easy it is? Stand up straight, Bubble Guppy."
“If it’s so easy and fun, why don’t you get naked, Joy?” Mary scowled, but didn’t make any attempt to hide her lower body. She still wore a heavy gray sweatshirt with a House Hufflepuff logo on the front from Harry Potter, but nothing else.
My big sister Joy is a daredevil when it comes to thrill rides and haunted houses. I have no idea what Mary thought Joy would do when she goaded her into stripping along with her. Joy’s face lit up like a bunny rabbit in a field of carrots.
“Sure, top completely off,” Joy said, lifting her own sweatshirt up and tossing it in the sink. She thought nothing of reaching behind her and unstrapping the tight brassiere that lifted her bit tits up and out. “Tits away!” she giggled as she let her massive melons bounce freely.
Mary looked down and began to remove her sweater as well. I was shocked at how nice and pointy Mary’s tits actually were. Joy’s blue veined Gonzaga's hung down pendulously, and her huge nipples pointed to her belly. Mary’s naturally medium-sized boobs drooped slightly and then curved back up like a teardrop. Her nipples were incredibly stiff and puffy. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. She looked right at me when she caught me staring, as if I was trying to steal something from her by looking at them.
Joy was already stepping out of her sweats. I was surprised she had a full bush like her younger sister, because I assumed someone as wild as her would trim it down. She wasn’t the least bit shy about tossing her sweatpants aside and giving us a full look at her big butt and pretty little pink pussy.
All she had on was her cute little white ankle socks, and I drank in her sexy, curvy body – trying not to feel guilty that I was so excited to see my sister naked.
“Socks off, too!” Ethan snickered as he commanded Joy to completely disrobe from head to toe.
“Oh, sorry,” Joy laughed it off like it wasn’t even an inconvenience. She, turned around, bent at the waist, and took them off. I could see her pussy lips, and the red-brown ring around her anus clearly when she bent over. “I love being naked! My grandma said girls shouldn’t have modesty.”
Mary stood completely bare now, arms dropping to cover her chest, thighs clamped tight. She shivered, breath quick and shallow. “That was when we were little.”
“Nick,” Joy turned to me, and I blushed. I had been staring at her huge knockers, and up until this point I felt like an invisible fly on the wall observing this surreal spectacle unfold. “Cat got your tongue? What do you think? Did Grandma mean we didn’t need modesty after puberty?”
“No, I think we had some cousins who had pubes that used to skinny dip in the lake,” I stammered nervously.
“She said that whether you go to the tailor, the gym, or the doctor, that everybody knows what you got, so you may as well get over it. You don’t have anything special between your legs that boys can’t see,” Joy imitated our grandmother’s southern drawl.
That rang true to me, and to Mary. I felt that Mary truly believed she had to do what her older sister told her. Mary was a rule follower by nature, but I had never seen her do something like this before. Mary never talked back to our parents, but she wasn't a doormat either. I think Mary accepted that Grandma had intended for girls to go without modesty.
“She’s the one who told me I had to listen to my big sister, no matter what,” Mary admitted.
“Then listen to me, Mary. We used to take baths with Nick, and now Ethan is our brother. We’re all family now, you change in front of me, you can change in front of them,” Joy smiled brightly and clapped her hands playfully. “I am not a hypocrite, I’ll pop my top when you guys tell me.”
I wasn’t so sure that I believed Joy was serious, because of her goofy demeanor, but Ethan didn’t seem to care if she was serious or not.
"Hands behind your heads," Ethan added firmly. I felt like he shouldn’t push things or have so much confidence. Mary may think she had to do what he told her, but I assumed that Joy’s willingness to obey him would end the moment he told her to do something she didn’t find amusing.
Surprisingly, she found his demand to be amusing and audacious. Joy didn’t hesitate and crisply executed the command. Now, both of my sisters were naked and standing side by side in the bathroom with their hands behind their heads.
“Can we turn around so we can look at ourselves in the mirror?” Joy loved looking at herself, and her request was polite. She could have easily turned around and faced the mirror, and neither Ethan nor I would have stopped her if she had.
“Sure,” Ethan replied breezily. I noticed a look of appreciation register on Joy’s face when he did. I didn’t fully process it, but Ethan could have said no to establish he was fully in charge, and Joy may have obeyed. However, by agreeing to her request, he still established he had the power to make the decision and came across like the good guy.
It was a win/win for Joy, because she smiled, bounced on the balls of her feet and admired how her tits jiggled. “Mary as well,” Ethan insisted that she look straight at herself in the mirror. At first, Mary glanced down in shame until Ethan told her she was beautiful. “You should have to look at your pretty face until you realize how beautiful you are.”
Mary was still embarrassed, but I could tell her brow unborrowed and some anxiety faded.
“I am just a plain Jane,” she frowned, even though she obviously liked hearing otherwise, it was clear that she didn’t fully believe it.
Ethan stepped closer behind her, his reflection looming in the mirror. He placed his hands on her shoulders, gentle but firm. "No, you're not. Look closer. See those freckles? That curve? That's what makes you stand out. No hiding it."
Mary's eyes lifted slowly, meeting her own gaze in the glass. Her cheeks stayed pink, but her shoulders relaxed under his touch. She shifted her weight, thighs brushing, hands staying laced behind her head.
“Damn, pour some of that honey on my head, Ethan!” My sister invited a few compliments her way with a giggling chortle.
Mary changed the subject and asked with an exasperated expression, “So now, anytime you guys want you can come knock on our bedroom door and tell us to undress and stand like this?”
Ethan sighed with disappointment because Mary seemed intent on avoiding the compliment that he gave her. He answered her by telling the two of them to jump in place. I waited for Joy to answer Mary, but she didn’t speak right away. She was too busy having fun.
Joy was already bouncing, jiggling, butt cheeks clapping, and smirking as she found it funny. Mary didn’t question it. She looked bewildered, shook her head, and joined her sister, half-heartedly bouncing up and down in the bathroom.
This was certainly far and away the strangest day of my life. I won’t say I wasn’t having fun, or enjoying it, but my mind was reeling because suddenly the four of us were talking and the girls were naked, while Ethan and I had on our clothes, and it was all just so surreal.
My parents got married just a few months ago, and it’s always been just me, my two older sisters, and Dad. He’s a park ranger, and his new assignment brought us out to a state park in northern Minnesota.
We had a big slab of land, along the highway, covered in snow, surrounded by trees, with a single wide trailer plopped in the center and nothing to do all day until our parents got home from work. I’d say it was as exciting as watching grass grow, except that I wasn’t sure if grass ever did grow around here because all I saw was endless snow and evergreens.
My big sister Joy burst into the room I shared with Ethan. He didn’t even look up from his video game. He knew she wasn’t there for him. We just hadn’t connected yet as a family. It was more like we were roommates who barely spoke to one another.
It was hard to think of us finally having a mother and a brother instantly. Holly was a fantastic woman, and I am sure she’d make a great mother, but she wasn’t MY mother – at least not yet. She’s from Georgia, and full of backwoods wisdom, and wow, does she know how to cook! I love her Southern cooking.
It shows on her physique, she’s curvy like Joy, big boobs, big hips, big smile, and big hair. She’s got light blonde hair like Joy, and you’d think the two of them would hit it off because they look like mother and daughter. None of us had bonded yet – it was something you couldn’t force.
Her son Ethan does not do wrong in her eyes; he’s the golden boy. He’s tall, athletic, handsome, smart, and we didn’t have a lot in common because he was several years older than me. He was older than Joy and far more mature than all of us.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Joy was giddy with excitement to show me something, grabbing my arm and pulling me from my bed. “You HAVE to see this, Nick! Oh my god!”
I was bored out of my mind, but the reason I didn’t immediately get excited is that my big sister Joy is effervescent and bubbly all the time, which is why she can be so infectious. I assumed it was probably because one lone butterfly that had survived the ice and snow and landed on her window, or she drew a unicorn with a giant penis and thought it was hilarious.
My family has always had a low-brow sense of humor, so farts, poop, and penis jokes were all fair game at the dinner table. Holly put a stop to that by insisting on some decorum and even threatening to wash our mouths out with soap because she wasn’t raised to “talk like a bunch of rowdy hooligans,” as she said.
My father didn’t undermine her and thought we should show a little more class around the table. It hasn’t stopped us from continuing to tell raunchy jokes or laughing when one of us rips a killer fart. I assumed that one reason Ethan wasn’t invited along was probably because what my sister wanted to show me was going to be a fart or penis joke.
My sisters share a smaller room than Ethan than we did. I didn’t think it was intentional that Holly put them in the smaller room. There were three bedrooms, and my parents got the biggest. Ethan and I just happened to get the second largest room.
In a single-wide, there isn’t much room to afford much privacy. My sisters only had room for one double bed, a dresser, and not much of anything else except for a single glass paned window with no curtain and some of Joy’s cat posters.
I was thankful that I didn’t have to share a bed with Ethan, even if our single beds were smaller, we probably had more space to sleep than my sisters enjoyed.
One of Joy's Posters that I like best says “Hang in there” and an orange cat is holding on to a hang glider as it tries to fly over a rainbow. I sometimes relate to his facial expression, because he doesn’t seem afraid or excited – he's just coasting along.
Joy’s old room looked like something Tinkerbell would have magicked up, full of warm pastels, rainbows, and inspirational messages. All three of us used to have our own private rooms back in Chicago, but when we moved to Minnesota a few months ago, we had to consolidate and learn to share our rooms.
There was a lot of Christmas decoration in their room as well. It wasn’t just because it was December, either. Our last name was Christmas. Joy loved to collect silly reindeer ears, elf costumes, ornaments, and mistletoe.
I remembered a time years ago that my sisters chased me around the house trying to get me to stand under some mistletoe so that they could plant sloppy wet kisses on me. There was nothing sexual about it; it was just a silly, goofy thing, but it occurred to me that I may be walking into a trap, and I was about to have my sisters try for round two if they could get me to stand under some mistletoe as a prank.
I looked up at the ceiling and breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t see any hanging over the doorway.
My sister Mary looked up from the bed. She was reading a dog-eared paperback that she’s read a thousand times. She’s the opposite of our older sister Joy in many ways. She’s usually bashful and bookish, but she likes to joke around too.
Joy was curvy like our stepmom and very chesty. Mary was thin like me, a dapple of freckles across her nose, and very mousy and geeky (like me).
They have tons of inside jokes that they share with me, and some they don’t. One thing that all three of us share is that if someone lets out a loud fart, they have to shout “Doorknob” and dash for the nearest door to touch the handle. The two of us that didn’t rip one, are supposed to charge them and yell “EAT IT” while trying to punch them in the arm.
It's playful, not sadistic, and really goofy and immature. It’s also something Dad told us to stop doing around Holly and Ethan. However, the girls still practice the ritual in their room and I do as well when we are alone.
I was a little envious that they shared a room, even though they had even less privacy and space than Ethan and I did. Mary and Joy seemed to be growing closer and sharing secrets, while I had to share with my stepbrother, and it seemed only to emphasize the wedge between us.
“Oh my god, you aren’t going to tell Nick are you?” Mary looked ashamed of herself, but she turned to face us both as we entered the room.
“Why not? He’s our brother,” Joy thought nothing of revealing secrets. “Mary, take your socks off!”
Mary sighed, shrugged, and turned to face us. “I just put them back on,” she rolled her eyes as she bent forward on the bed and began to tug them off.
I was clearly disappointed and didn’t see why Joy found this so interesting.
Joy’s bright eyes and chubby cheeks reflected her jubilant excitement as she revealed her so-called fascinating discovery.
“The snow has rotted your brain,” I shrugged and started to turn away to leave..
“Exactly,” Mary admitted as she finished tugging the socks completely off.
“No, watch!” Joy realized that I didn’t get what she was trying to demonstrate for me, so she added “Mary, stand up, and sniff your sweaty socks, then give them to Nick.”
“Why are you doing this?” Mary frowned like she didn’t see the point as she held her socks up to her nose. “They aren’t stinky,” she announced. Then she approached me to hand them to me. “He doesn’t even want them.”
“I don’t understand what you are trying to show me.” I didn’t accept the socks. I assumed perhaps this was some half-baked prank and I was supposed to take the socks so they could make fun of me for liking girls’ feet or something. I was a porn aficionado, but I had never understood the sexual interest in women’s feet. I also didn’t sexualize my sisters, even though they were both very pretty, and there were no girls for miles around.
We lived so remotely that our only neighbors were wolves. The closest town of Orr had a population of around 400, and it was pretty much just a few stores, a single restaurant, and a courthouse around a town square. I would have been thrilled to be there today in the frosty air, simply because it was mind-numbingly boring at our place. That was the only reason I was still in my sister’s room. I had nothing else better to do.
“Don’t you see? Mary will do anything you tell her,” Joy giggled excitedly. “Stand on one foot and touch your nose.”
“Oh god, you are making me seem like I am dumb,” Mary huffed and sighed. I didn’t understand why she felt compelled to go along with her big sister’s instruction, but she lifted one leg and then placed the tip of her finger on her nose. “Happy now?”
Joy didn’t answer, instead she laughed silently, and told me to give it a try and ask her to do something.
“Did you hypnotize her?” I scrunched my own nose in confusion as I tried to get my head around it.
“I am not hypnotized,” Mary replied sourly as if that should be obvious. She started to take her hand away from her nose and stand.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Joy brightened. She wasn’t being sadistic, cruel or ridiculing Mary. She was genuinely thrilled and seemed almost as confused as I was about why Mary followed instructions and resumed the position.
“You’re my big sister, and I’ve always done what you tell me. When Mom and Dad are gone, then you are in charge. Why is this so fascinating to you both?” she asked through her nasal inflection as she pressed down on her nose.
“Okay, will you please stand up straight,” I tried giving a simple instruction to my big sister, and much to my surprise, she did as I asked.
“Thanks,” she admitted, as her face turned a little red. She remained standing, but not at a crisp military position or anything. I was still surprised she did anything that I told her at all.
I tried to recall a time when Mary or Joy had ever been disagreeable and refused to do something I asked them to do. I also didn’t ask them for any favors beyond passing the salt or pepper in recent memory, either.
“Why did you do what I asked? I am not in charge when Mom and Dad are gone,” I was intrigued.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged and shifted uncomfortably, like she was trying to physically wriggle out of thinking about the question. “You asked me to stand up, and I wanted to stand up, anyway.”
“No, he didn’t ask,” Joy giggled. “He told you to do it and was being polite by phrasing it as a request.”
Mary narrowed her eyes angrily, as if she were contemplating a response but biting her tongue.
“Nick asked a question,” Joy smiled but spoke firmly. “Tell him why you really put your foot back down after I told you to stand on one foot.”
“I don’t know,” Mary repeated as she looked up at me, as if she were desperate for me to stop tickling her ribs, even though I hadn’t touched her. “I guess because Joy said you could tell me to do something. Why are you guys making me feel silly?”
“We aren’t,” Joy assured her that she thought it was cool. “Nick told you to stand up straight, though!” She reminded her, placed her hands on Mary’s shoulders, and gently guided her back straight. “Push your tits out, chin up, eyes open and straight ahead, clench your butt cheeks, smile.”
“Dammit,” Mary smiled through clenched teeth. She had boobs, but nothing approaching the huge melons that Joy had. Mary clenched her face, like she was probably clenching her butt cheeks and stood up straight and awkward.
“Now, you do it,” Joy turned to me and insisted that I stand up straight, lift my chin, push out my chest, and clench my butt cheeks like Mary.
I felt tempted to do it just because Mary had to. I pitied her situation a bit, even though I still didn’t understand her motivation. I also felt no compulsion to obey Joy. She reminded us gently about chores, but Mary handled the details. Mary stayed fastidious. She acted like the teacher's pet, the type a teacher left in charge to note the names of talkers when stepping out
Joy seemed disappointed that her experiment had failed, and then glanced back at Mary. Mary stood there rigidly and said, “Okay, you had your fun? Can I get back to reading?”
“No, follow us into the bathroom and let’s do another experiment,” Joy giggled playfully as she led us down the small hallway that connected our bedrooms to our shared bathroom. The doors and walls of our trailer were wafer thin so you could hear someone taking a piss or shower through the plywood. The bathroom was a simple tub with a shower, a sink, and a toilet. We had very hard well water that left permanent red rings at the bottom of the drains. It was so bitterly cold most of the time, that we were just lucky that our pipes didn’t freeze and we had water at all.
Joy left the door open as she led me and my sister into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. Joy loved looking at her own pretty face, even though she was the hardest on herself. “Look at these fat chipmunk cheeks, it looks like I’ve been storing away nuts for the winter,” she said playfully as she shook her mouth back and forth to make it seem like she had big jowls.
“Do what I just I did, Mary,” Joy instructed without a second thought.
“No,” Mary said no, but she was already shaking her face back and forth, with her mouth slightly open, like a dog after a recent bath when they try to shake off water. A little spit dribbled out across her lips.
“Why did you tell me No?” Joy found Mary’s discomfort and compliance incredibly amusing. I felt a little pity for Mary because she was put on the spot, but I was also finding it a little amusing because Mary could have just refused like I had.
“Would you stop asking me to do weird stuff, please?” Mary groaned and wiped the spit from her lip with her finger.
“No,” Joy clarified like she was correcting someone’s spelling error. “I didn’t ask you to shake your cute little cheeks,” Joy reached up and pinched her little sister’s cheeks. “I told you to do it. Open your mouth,” she said.
“Guys, stop picking on me,” Mary said as she opened her mouth wide like she was waiting to be fed and rolled her eyes.
“Put your hands like this,” Joy held her hands to her face and pressed her cheeks firmly. Mary did as she was told but kept her mouth open.
“Now, say I am a guppy fish.”
https://www.tiktok.com/@fishdoestheart/ ... 4149764358 (If you are curious the inspiration)
“Dammit,” Mary sighed and continued to blush. “I am a guppy fish,” she half-smiled because of how silly it was. I had seen Mary and Joy play this game years ago, and knew it was trending on TikTok. It was somehow innocent and arousing at the same time – and certainly humiliating for Mary.
“Guppies don’t’ smile. ' Joy shook her head no and held her hands to her face.
Mary stopped smiling and closed her mouth.
“Now smile!” Joy instructed brightly.
Mary held her cheeks and smiled brightly.
I have to admit that made me giggle, and that only encouraged Joy.
“Can I go back to reading or, are you going to do this all day?”
“Going to do it all day,” Joy shrugged without any regard for Mary’s question, “You’ve read that book a thousand times. You know how it ends. Leo gets Mary at the end. It’s the same story every time you read it.”
“It’s the only book I have,” Mary said, taking her hands away from her cheeks.
“You just like it because you think you are the Mary in the story, and some total random stranger is going to show up here and fall in love with you forever, don’t you?” Joy theorized. I assumed that was probably true.
“NO!” Mary frowned and looked ashamed.
“Tell me that is why you get off on reading that same story over and over,” Joy insisted firmly.
“God, I don’t get OFF on it.” Mary rolled her eyes and looked at me as if trying to secretly hint to Joy that she shouldn’t say this in front of me. “I don’t pleasure myself to the book or anything like that. I just like reading it because I have nothing else to do.”
Joy seemed disappointed because she was clearly testing my sister, and Mary had not obeyed.
“What? I am not going to lie and say I am doing naughty stuff in my room to this book,” she looked down. I could tell her defiance was weakening.
“I told you to admit to us both that you pleasure yourself to that book,” Joy repeated, this time slowly with a trace of mischief in her eyes.
“Okay, I may have masturbated thinking about it, but I don’t have anything else to do up here, and everybody plays with themselves. Jeez, Nick is in here!”
“Yep, and like you said, Nick plays with himself, so he knows what you are doing,” Joy’s laughed freely. “What do you jerk off to, Nick?”
“None of your beeswax,” I insisted firmly.
“I’ll tell you what excites me and makes me flip my biscuit if you tell me what gets you hard,” Joy’s cute blue eyes flashed with a naughty expression. We used to play truth or dare, and talk about naughty stuff when we were little, but we hadn’t in many years. I was incredibly uncomfortable.
“I’ll make Mary tell you her secret fantasies as well,” Joy offered.
“No, you won’t,” Mary insisted, but before Mary could say more, Ethan appeared in the doorway.
“What is this about secret fantasies?” he asked. It felt like we were caught red-handed having fun and it was an incredibly sobering moment that jarred us out of the vibe.
“Nothing,” Joy and Mary both replied almost in unison.
“Come on, I am bored. You guys were laughing. What’s so funny? I won’t tell Mom and Joe, if that’s what you are worried about.”
We weren't ready to call Holly "Mom," and Ethan, either not ready or just because we called his mother Holly, called our father "Joe." It sounded bizarre to hear my father's first name. He was never "Father"—he was always "Dad" to me.
“Fine,” Joy shrugged and let Ethan in on the secret, because she was clearly excited to share it. She handed Mary her red toothbrush and told her to stuff it up her nose.
“Oh my god, I am not going to brush with my boogers,” Mary refused flatly. Ethan seemed disgusted and unimpressed.
“I never said to brush with your boogers. Put the tip end in your nose and don’t let it drop out,” Joy explained with a frown as if that were a very reasonable request.
Mary couldn’t even look at herself in the mirror, much less at anyone else. Ethan remained aloof and expressionless as he waited in the doorway to the bathroom for my sister’s performance. Once Mary had stuffed one toothbrush end up her nose, Joy had her do a second one.
Ethan found that amusing, somewhat surprising but he hardly seemed as shocked as I thought he should be.
“You look like a Walrus,” Joy giggled as she admired Mary’s face, then she made what sounded like a Walrus call and told Mary to do that.
Mary reluctantly made the sounds, but not nearly as loud as Joy had.
“Nope, piss-poor Walrus, do it again,” Joy was about to continue the spectacle when Ethan interrupted.
“Can I give her one?” he seemed to instantly understand what we were doing, or maybe he heard us talking through the walls.
“Sure,” Joy shrugged generously.
Mary rolled her eyes, and looked frustrated, helpless, and vulnerable – despite the fact that if she really wanted to tell us all to go to hell, then she could have. There was no way that Mom and Dad would have punished her for refusing to make silly walrus sounds, and if anything, we’d be in trouble.
“Take your sweatpants down to your ankles,” Ethan instantly escalated things to the point of weird and awkward.
Even Joy’s mirthful smile disappeared, and a more serious look of worry flashed across her face.
“I don’t have to do that,” Mary started out strong, and I thought she was going to boldly refuse, except that at the end of her sentence she looked at Joy with uncertainty and asked “Do I?”
“Sure you do, Ethan is even older than me,” Joy replied with a straight face, and a churlish grin.
“Only by a few months,” Mary countered with a pout, placing her thumbs in the waistband of her sweats as if she were tempted to obey, but uncertain.
“I am telling you that Ethan is the eldest, and you have to do what he tells you. If he says Nick can tell you what to do because he’s a boy, then so be it, as well. Dad is the head of the household, Holly is second in command, but they are both the bosses, right?” Joy’s logic was sound. She smacked Mary playfully on the bottom to signal she thought Mary was over-reacting. “You have panties on right?”
Mary was clearly embarrassed and stuck in a predicament of what I felt was her own making. “Yeah, obviously,” she agreed. The toothbrushes dangling from her nostrils, made the entire situation seem incredibly silly and absurd.
“Then he isn’t going to see more than you would show at the beach, go ahead, and take your sweat pants completely down to your ankles like he told you,” my big sister’s tone didn’t have the same confident playfulness that it had when she was telling her to stuff her nostrils with toothbrushes, but she remained firm.
“Can I take the toothbrushes out of my nose?” she asked as she started to slide the sweatpants down, revealing a thin pair of white panties. I glanced away as quickly as I could to protect her modesty from my eyes. However, I still caught an eyeful of Mary’s thick pubes stuffed into the sheer material, and the unmistakable W shape of the outline of her camel toe rounding out the bottom of the panties.
“Nope,” Ethan calmly answered for Joy, adding, “Not yet.”
Joy couldn’t help herself when Ethan joined in her fun. She smirked mischievously and nodded approvingly, and I am certain Ethan picked up on that and it bolstered his comfort level with what was happening.
I was still unsure of what part I had to play beyond passive observer. I was also not sure when Mary would break and tell us to fuck off and that she wouldn’t take any more shit from them. She didn’t cry, or yell or get angry. Mary simply blushed and stoically complied with the instruction – looking like she wanted to dig a deep hole in the snow and hide.
Mary bent over, butt out, knees bent slightly, and slid the sweatpants down to her ankles, even stopping to adjust one of the toothbrushes so it didn’t fall out of her nose – all the while, appearing mortified. She casually placed one hand over her panties as if to protect herself from our prying eyes. But I was already looking everywhere else except at my sister’s shame.
Joy, on the other hand, seemed to find it amusing and titillating. She’s an extrovert who has fought with Holly and Dad about wearing slutty outfits, even in frosty Minnesota, so this was nothing to her.
“What now?” Mary asked slightly angrily.
“You can either keep the toothbrushes in your nose and keep making walrus noises, or take your panties completely off, and I’ll let you take them out of your nose,” Ethan decided to give Mary a choice.
I don’t think Mary was ready for that, because she huffed angrily. Ethan was a smart guy, and I assumed he was testing Mary’s reaction to see how she handled making choices.
Mary looked at Joy, as if waiting for her to weigh on this.
“Are you asking me what you should do?” Joy arched an eyebrow.
“No, just, can he tell me to take my bottoms off?” Mary pouted.
“Obviously,” Joy decided without a second thought. “I am sure Nick and Ethan have seen nudity before, and you change in front of me. You can change in front of them.”
“No, please,” Mary begged for Joy to change her mind. I’ve seen my sister change and take baths with her when we were little, but I hadn’t in many years. My grandmother largely raised me, and she didn’t think any of us needed modesty at that age. We ran around in the yard without shirts and just undies and played in the sprinklers.
As you get older and enter puberty, those attitudes change. Those attitudes usually change, especially for us boys. I didn’t want to get caught sporting wood and it was a constant battle to hide my chubby erection in my jeans.
I still remember at my grandmother’s house that one of my older cousins babysit us in the nude. She sunbathed in the nude, and she ate dinner in the nude. She played volleyball in the yard with her family in the nude, but her brothers and parents wore clothes.
Their family didn’t see their daughter’s nudity in their fenced in backyard as any problem or sexually naughty thing. They did a cook out and they thought nothing of my father and biological mother, and the rest of my family seeing their daughters well-developed natural tits and bare ass in a social setting.
It always stuck with me that they were so mature about nudity and hadn’t made it a big deal. I assumed my father would flip his fucking lid if he saw what we were doing in the bathroom and Holly would probably do so as well.
My Dad didn’t care for how Joy liked to dress, and she never revealed all that much. My big sister developed huge, adult sized whoppers at an early age. I assumed she was self-conscious about them because despite trying to show off her cleavage and legs, she always wore a bra or a heavily reinforced bikini top that forced her tits out and up like two unnaturally shaped torpedoes that defy gravity
Although Joy was still a bit of a thrill seeker and immodest, I had never seen her flash her tits or walk around without panties in short skirts like some girls did at my school. She just liked to wear skimpy two-piece bikinis to the pool, and short skirts, tops that accentuated her cleavage. Yet, now she seemed to be reveling in Mary’s exposure and that surprised me.
Joy could seem innocent and cute, often wore her hair in braided pig tails, and accentuated her outfits with fairy regalia. She clearly had a lusty, bawdy side because right now she was almost cackling with delight over how absurd Mary’s predicament made her look.
I don’t know if it was insecurity, repression, or just a desire to remain modest, but Mary had done quite the opposite when we used to live in Chicago. She liked to blend in and wear baggy clothes that didn’t hug her body; she didn’t wear very much makeup or try to get attention for her looks.
I felt like intervening, but I stood there quietly – curious about what would happen.
“What am I supposed to do?” Mary asked Joy to clarify.
"Whatever Nick and Ethan tell you, because they are both boys, and your brothers." Joy assured her, adding, "Because you like to be told what to do."
"I do not!" Mary yanked the toothbrushes from her nostrils, cheeks flaming red. She tossed them in the sink, hands trembling as she straightened. But she didn't pull her sweatpants up. Her fingers hovered at the waistband of her panties instead.
Ethan pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer. "Prove it then. Don't take off your panties. Just pull your sweatpants back up and walk out."
Mary's eyes widened, freckles stark on her flushed skin. She shifted her weight, thighs brushing together, a shiver running up her legs. Joy tilted her head, watching with a sly smile. “Can I?” Mary glanced nervously at Joy for approval to pull her sweats back up.
"No, you can't." Joy shook her head, voice playful but steady, like she was keeping the game going to pull us all closer. "Ethan told you to prove you don't like being told what to do by not taking off your panties. So stay put and do what you are told.”
I could tell that Mary’s brain was full of mixed messages as she tried to process her sister’s instructions. She could have just given us all the bird and told us to fuck off, pulled her pants up and kept her dignity instead of even entertaining this.
Mary's breath caught, hands dropping to her sides. She fidgeted, toes curling on the tile, face burning hotter. "But..."
"Pull them down now," Ethan said, eyes locked on her. I felt contact embarrassment just being close to Mary. Ethan and Joy were being so audacious, and Mary was cringing.
Mary's fingers shook as she gripped the waistband again. She tugged slow, fabric sliding over her hips, bunching at her knees.
“Hurry up, take them all the down, and kick them off,” Joy giggled playfully.
Mary’s thick curly pubic hair popped into view, and I couldn’t help myself. I looked straight at her pussy while she stepped out of them. I noticed goosebumps rising on the back of her willowy neck as she looked down at the floor. “Guys!” she protested.
“Good girl,” Ethan ignored her protest and complimented my sister for complying. “Now spread your feet shoulder-width and put your hands on your head."
Mary whimpered softly, but her feet slid apart on the cold floor. Her hands rose slow, fingers lacing behind her head, elbows out. She shivered harder, knees knocking slightly, eyes squeezed shut against the embarrassment. “So, now I have to strip completely naked anytime my brothers tell me to undress?”
“Precisely,” Joy’s bubbly laughter didn’t come across cruel or wicked. She was clearly enjoying Mary’s embarrassment.
"Why are you making me.. do this?" Mary asked out loud, looking straight ahead, with her fingers interlaced behind her head.
"Because it's fun," Joy said, stepping closer to adjust Mary's posture with a gentle push on her back. "And you're doing great. See how easy it is? Stand up straight, Bubble Guppy."
“If it’s so easy and fun, why don’t you get naked, Joy?” Mary scowled, but didn’t make any attempt to hide her lower body. She still wore a heavy gray sweatshirt with a House Hufflepuff logo on the front from Harry Potter, but nothing else.
My big sister Joy is a daredevil when it comes to thrill rides and haunted houses. I have no idea what Mary thought Joy would do when she goaded her into stripping along with her. Joy’s face lit up like a bunny rabbit in a field of carrots.
“Sure, top completely off,” Joy said, lifting her own sweatshirt up and tossing it in the sink. She thought nothing of reaching behind her and unstrapping the tight brassiere that lifted her bit tits up and out. “Tits away!” she giggled as she let her massive melons bounce freely.
Mary looked down and began to remove her sweater as well. I was shocked at how nice and pointy Mary’s tits actually were. Joy’s blue veined Gonzaga's hung down pendulously, and her huge nipples pointed to her belly. Mary’s naturally medium-sized boobs drooped slightly and then curved back up like a teardrop. Her nipples were incredibly stiff and puffy. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. She looked right at me when she caught me staring, as if I was trying to steal something from her by looking at them.
Joy was already stepping out of her sweats. I was surprised she had a full bush like her younger sister, because I assumed someone as wild as her would trim it down. She wasn’t the least bit shy about tossing her sweatpants aside and giving us a full look at her big butt and pretty little pink pussy.
All she had on was her cute little white ankle socks, and I drank in her sexy, curvy body – trying not to feel guilty that I was so excited to see my sister naked.
“Socks off, too!” Ethan snickered as he commanded Joy to completely disrobe from head to toe.
“Oh, sorry,” Joy laughed it off like it wasn’t even an inconvenience. She, turned around, bent at the waist, and took them off. I could see her pussy lips, and the red-brown ring around her anus clearly when she bent over. “I love being naked! My grandma said girls shouldn’t have modesty.”
Mary stood completely bare now, arms dropping to cover her chest, thighs clamped tight. She shivered, breath quick and shallow. “That was when we were little.”
“Nick,” Joy turned to me, and I blushed. I had been staring at her huge knockers, and up until this point I felt like an invisible fly on the wall observing this surreal spectacle unfold. “Cat got your tongue? What do you think? Did Grandma mean we didn’t need modesty after puberty?”
“No, I think we had some cousins who had pubes that used to skinny dip in the lake,” I stammered nervously.
“She said that whether you go to the tailor, the gym, or the doctor, that everybody knows what you got, so you may as well get over it. You don’t have anything special between your legs that boys can’t see,” Joy imitated our grandmother’s southern drawl.
That rang true to me, and to Mary. I felt that Mary truly believed she had to do what her older sister told her. Mary was a rule follower by nature, but I had never seen her do something like this before. Mary never talked back to our parents, but she wasn't a doormat either. I think Mary accepted that Grandma had intended for girls to go without modesty.
“She’s the one who told me I had to listen to my big sister, no matter what,” Mary admitted.
“Then listen to me, Mary. We used to take baths with Nick, and now Ethan is our brother. We’re all family now, you change in front of me, you can change in front of them,” Joy smiled brightly and clapped her hands playfully. “I am not a hypocrite, I’ll pop my top when you guys tell me.”
I wasn’t so sure that I believed Joy was serious, because of her goofy demeanor, but Ethan didn’t seem to care if she was serious or not.
"Hands behind your heads," Ethan added firmly. I felt like he shouldn’t push things or have so much confidence. Mary may think she had to do what he told her, but I assumed that Joy’s willingness to obey him would end the moment he told her to do something she didn’t find amusing.
Surprisingly, she found his demand to be amusing and audacious. Joy didn’t hesitate and crisply executed the command. Now, both of my sisters were naked and standing side by side in the bathroom with their hands behind their heads.
“Can we turn around so we can look at ourselves in the mirror?” Joy loved looking at herself, and her request was polite. She could have easily turned around and faced the mirror, and neither Ethan nor I would have stopped her if she had.
“Sure,” Ethan replied breezily. I noticed a look of appreciation register on Joy’s face when he did. I didn’t fully process it, but Ethan could have said no to establish he was fully in charge, and Joy may have obeyed. However, by agreeing to her request, he still established he had the power to make the decision and came across like the good guy.
It was a win/win for Joy, because she smiled, bounced on the balls of her feet and admired how her tits jiggled. “Mary as well,” Ethan insisted that she look straight at herself in the mirror. At first, Mary glanced down in shame until Ethan told her she was beautiful. “You should have to look at your pretty face until you realize how beautiful you are.”
Mary was still embarrassed, but I could tell her brow unborrowed and some anxiety faded.
“I am just a plain Jane,” she frowned, even though she obviously liked hearing otherwise, it was clear that she didn’t fully believe it.
Ethan stepped closer behind her, his reflection looming in the mirror. He placed his hands on her shoulders, gentle but firm. "No, you're not. Look closer. See those freckles? That curve? That's what makes you stand out. No hiding it."
Mary's eyes lifted slowly, meeting her own gaze in the glass. Her cheeks stayed pink, but her shoulders relaxed under his touch. She shifted her weight, thighs brushing, hands staying laced behind her head.
“Damn, pour some of that honey on my head, Ethan!” My sister invited a few compliments her way with a giggling chortle.
Mary changed the subject and asked with an exasperated expression, “So now, anytime you guys want you can come knock on our bedroom door and tell us to undress and stand like this?”
Ethan sighed with disappointment because Mary seemed intent on avoiding the compliment that he gave her. He answered her by telling the two of them to jump in place. I waited for Joy to answer Mary, but she didn’t speak right away. She was too busy having fun.
Joy was already bouncing, jiggling, butt cheeks clapping, and smirking as she found it funny. Mary didn’t question it. She looked bewildered, shook her head, and joined her sister, half-heartedly bouncing up and down in the bathroom.
This was certainly far and away the strangest day of my life. I won’t say I wasn’t having fun, or enjoying it, but my mind was reeling because suddenly the four of us were talking and the girls were naked, while Ethan and I had on our clothes, and it was all just so surreal.
All of my stories: https://storiesonline.net/a/eddie-davidson
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
-
EddieDavidson
- Posts: 566
- Joined: Fri Jun 23, 2023 2:38 pm
- Has thanked: 33 times
- Been thanked: 444 times
- Contact:
Re: Mary Christmas
https://storiesonline.net/blogentry/64204
Just for fun, here is a blog explaining why I don't post that often, referencing this forum. It's written for another site, which has voting that generally reduces enjoyment and doesn't quantiatively reflect actual value.
It seems to be much more stable today (hopefully didn't speak too soon). it also thanks Hooked6 among others for their influence.
Arby's: The Same Shit Different Bun Theory (By Eddie Davidson)
My theory that is based on peer reviewed stomach pain and countless documented disappointments related to Arby’s Prime Rib Cheesesteak, German Bratwurst on Pretzel bun, and assorted marketing gimmicks, is that Arby’s sandwiches are in fact the same shit on a different bun. This assertion is supported by qualitative and quantitative analyses drawn from consumer testimony, controlled taste comparisons, and a review of promotional menu cycles. Across all examined products, findings reveal a consistent core composition in both texture and flavor profile, with variation limited almost exclusively to the bun type and minor condiment adjustments. The recurrence of identical base components, paired with a statistically significant correlation to adverse digestive responses, suggests that perceived novelty in Arby’s marketing is primarily superficial, functioning as a rebranding of an unchanging culinary substrate rather than the introduction of genuinely distinct menu innovations.
I say all that, because I now believe that my Arby's theory can be extended to pretty much every day of my life, and everything in it.
I have a map pin with a doo-doo emoji in Google Maps over my local Arby's. I have a bad memory, so it's ostensibly there as a context clue to remind me never to go there when I see an ad and say to myself "Oh, Arby's has real smoked country style ribs™? Maybe this time it won't taste like horse's asshole with the turd still in it!!." and off I go to be disappointed again.
I remember growing up watching the news and seeing minor disasters, or layoffs, or a murder here and there. Now, I can't even watch the news because it's a constant cycle of tragedy, and as I get older, the Arby's sandwiches that life cooks up for me cost more than I can afford, somehow have less bun and more pain, and taste even shittier.
One of my solutions has to been to write stories.
I write so that I can see out of the eyes of my characters and live vicariously through them.
I introduce characters that are a hybrid admixture of people I once knew, in places I've once visited, at times I've once lived through that were not as Arby-ified. I completely Un-Arbified the situation by writing different outcomes for situations I once found myself in and playing "What if".
Not all of my stories are recycled real-life adventures, but one technique I've discovered to make writing authentic is to put yourself into the situation and be the eyes and ears of the reader; as a fly on the wall observing or one of the characters. Provide context clues as to what they are thinking without dropping a mountain of exposition on the reader's head to wade through. Take them on this journey WITH the character so they can enjoy the ups and downs of life without returning to Arby's to find out that they are out of Potato Cakes on the one day you were craving one of the few things that made going there worth a shit.
To extend my theory and put the ANAL in Analogy, there aren't many restaurants around me besides Arby. If I want anything to eat, I've got to pull up to the only counter serving. In my youth, I had a lot of places I could go to get something, and Arby's food wasn't half-bad. The sandwiches seemed bigger and fresher, and they were affordable.
I make quite a bit more than I did in my twenties, and I could NEVER afford to rent the SAME exact places I lived back in those heady days. I used to turn heads and get noticed. If I had the audacity to flirt with a woman now, that would seem creepy. I never learned to flirt in my twenties because girls came up to ME and flirted.
In my thirties, I was in the prime of my life. I guess that's the era when Arby's got into gourmet-style sandwiches and high-quality meats. The forty year old me was so ripped and jacked that I could have kicked TWO of my twenty-year old selves asses. I was too busy living life back then to write about it.
Now, in the immortal wisdom and words of the great Lynyrd Skynyrd ----- ALL I CAN DO IS WRITE ABOUT IT.
So, why don't I publish on here?
Well, since nobody asked, or gives a fuck, I'll tell you anyway.
I have about a dozen stories on my hard drive that are near finished. I get inspired and start a new one and tend to write only stories when I am inspired because the quality of the story is much better. I can knock out chapters quickly when I "free-write" and just sit down and get focused.
The problems are like Arby's sandwiches - too numerous to mention, and they are all basically flavors of the same thing.
The first is quite simply that I have no "muse". I have a couple of long-time friends on here that help me out, and without them, I'd have given up on this place a long fucking time ago.
The user community is largely the most toxic I've ever encountered. It's not 4chan trollboi level, but the forums feel like toxic waste dumps. If I ask for help, feedback, or comment, there will be one or two users there ready to pounce on me with negative shit, and an avalanche starts. My intent for an open dialogue and having a constructive exchange of ideas where we may take away a different perspective and even learn things is naive at best.
People may ask "You expected something like that on the INTERNET?" as they laugh.
It would be the same as expecting something other than stomach pain and disappointment by eating at Arby's.
The thing is - why keep going some place and expecting different results if you know it's never going to be like you remembered or hoped?
For one - it's pretty much the only place I know. There is another forum focused on Embarrassed Nude Females. I once touted how positive the community was, but I spoke too soon. The toxic trollbois popped out almost immediately like karma's little helpers to prove to me how silly I was to think that. I had a 29 chapter story in progress about a girl that wants to convince her family to have a nudist household which I was very proud of.
Unsolicited Comments like "Go outside and touch grass" and "You write boring stories" are common when you are an author. Pointless trolls who contribute nothing like Statler and Waldorf sitting in the balcony week after week throwing out snotty grams are common here. However, you can turn off commenting on stories and hit block when someone wastes your time sending you one.
On that forum, they get added to your story as you post it, permanently. It's like a commercial break in the middle of your favorite TV show to tell you what a shitty television show you are watching.
Let's face it, the only Anal I am doing lately is analogies, so to continue it;
It's like I am sweating in my garden to trim roses for people to smell, only to have to step in dog-shit every time I walk through it to tend to another plant. I have to read it each and every time I open up the forum post. The admins (to their credit) took care of the issue, but not before my creativity was drained and I shit-canned the stories. Every time I go back to those stories, I think about those comments and relive those instead of the fun word pictures I was trying to evoke.
For two - I have no muse.
I asked for editing help a few months ago, and a few kind people responded. I sent them what I was working on, and most were either overwhelmed, uninterested, or sent me back "I am reading," and I never heard from them again. You can't instantly make a connection with people and have a rapport. I understand that.
I stayed in touch with the long time friends I've known on here for a reason. They are different but they also aren't into my stories and don't really want to offer any helpful guidance. I need that feedback to keep me motivated and focused, and fresh.
I made a deal with myself a long time ago, when I first began as a writer. It's a deal, I would encourage EVERY author to make, whether they are experienced or haven't even begun yet.
1 - Don't publish a story until you finish it.
Every time I have broken that rule, I regret the shit out of it. I have a couple stories on here that I consider to be some of the best I've ever written. I just can't put an ending on them. My New Pony story, and Visiting Aunt Scarlett.
It's not a coincidence that BOTH of these were actually collaborations with Mike McGifford (one of those long-term friends). I started publishing them and then lost the spark, and now they've been in limbo forever.
2 - Read as much as you write.
I find as a good rule of thumb that it's best to read as much as I write. If I write three chapters, I should read three chapters of someone else's content.
The intent isn't to copy their style or content! The intent is just to stay fresh as an author and learn new techniques through observation.
I began writing for very selfish reasons. I simply wanted to write to inspire others to write similar stories. I loved stories in the genre of Mike McGifford, Amanda Serve, Vulgus, Phil Phantom, Hooked6, Tailweaver, and MaryS. I was hoping to give back to the community that gave to me, and INSPIRE others to write like they inspired me.
Then, I could read more content like the kind I enjoy reading.
However, as time went on, I realized how completely naive that was. I've managed to inspire and encourage a few authors who are also on that long-term friend list. If I've done more than that, I don't know about it.
It was Hooked6 and Vulgus in particular, who made writers out of me.
I didn't just like their genre. I liked HOW they crafted a story. I studied HOW they told it and learned to SHOW the reader and not TELL the reader.
I have always been a good bullshitter, and I've worked in strip clubs and had a colorful life. The secret to telling a good story is imagining you are sitting across from someone in a bar and talking to them - then just write what you'd say.
It was READING other people's stories that taught me how to enhance that. I could create a word picture with dialogue. I could cleverly HINT about things with clues.
Instead of writing "I am Darlene. I am 18 with hazel eyes and blonde hair, I live in Illinois, and this is my story..." you establish who she is, where she is, and what she looks like through the scene. I am not going to bore you with writing 101, but it was reading OTHER PEOPLE'S STORIES and the actual mentorship of people on this site including Hooked6 and Vulgus that made me a better author.
All you have to do is read my early shit and see a huge improvement over time.
Am I the best writer?
No.
Am I trying to be?
Also, No.
I am just trying not to be the Arby's of writing and put the same shit on a different bun.
A lot of my stories are about the same topics; embarrassed nude females and power exchange relationships.
You could probably create a Chaucer's tales style set of character templates for my stories to classify many of the characters that I introduce. There is usually a nerdy kid who's too smart for his own good who really likes butts and quirky girls.
Here is a clue: That's me, dude.
I write myself into stories.
It's not that I am a narcissist (necessarily). It's that one way I can get into the story is to create my own alter-ego. I try to give some nuance and make them distinct, but ultimately that version of Eddie is persistent across many of my stories.
Then there is the creepy old blowhard who sometimes sounds smart. Yeah, that's old Eddie. I usually make him very different than me, and sometimes I have him marry a slutty woman that looks surprisingly like Morgan Fairchild (because why not).
Ever since I discovered AI to illustrate my stories, I've enjoyed adding pictures of myself into the background as Easter eggs. That's not the same thing. I just like to do that as a goof/easter egg for loyal readers to notice.
However, what I try to do with my stories that makes them different is explore a variety of topics. I am not about just describing fetishes and sexual encounters. Those are more of the background activity that happens WHILE the story is happening.
There is a famous line about a movie producer asking a writer about their script. In the script, the main characters are talking. The producer asks "What are they supposed to be doing while they are talking?"
"They are having a dialogue," the writer blithely responds because he doesn't understand that's not the story. The dialogue is one component of the scene. The body language, the activity, and all of it serve an outcome. Even when the scene is dialogue-heavy, I learned through reading that I could still move the story along.
I could go on and on about the lessons that I've learned through simply reading other authors. I've also learned what not to do by reading drek and AI slop that is passed off now as erotica.
Unfortunately, there are simply not enough positive/constructive/good examples of fiction to keep up with my ratio. If you haven't written a story, I would simply encourage you to write and publish here. If not for yourself to live vicariously through the characters, to inspire others (including me) to read it and write so you can enjoy more content.
Yes, you will get snotty grams, yes, you will have setbacks, but maybe your journey will be easier and not as Arbified as mine.
I plan to publish some stuff up, but I can't say when or what. I know that in my illustrious history on this site, that for the same reason I have over 1,100 people who took the time to click "Follow" on my stories. To get that many fantastically weird perverts who thought enough of my work to follow it and read it, I am sure I also generated quite a few trolls that hate my guts.
I was never writing for mainstream appeal and I never wanted to do that. I have never limited the topics or fetishes I write about. I don't believe in censorship and just because an author writes a war story - it doesn't mean they advocate war. If an author of murder stories writes about murder it doesn't mean they are telling you to murder. In my case, I am just reflecting that people are diverse and not everyone is into the same shit.
(Arby's, are you listening? That doesn't mean just change the bun!)
I may include femdom in my stories. That will piss off the man babies because they are insecure in their manhood.
In the same story, I may include someone who believes in more traditional submissive roles for women. That will piss off the people who think submission is a weakness and it's me spelling out a recipe for a society based on mysogony.
I have news for the trolls that downvote for that reason: Society IS based on mysogony, racism, greed, etc. No one needs Eddie to write a little story to tell them how to keep doing that. I am just writing a story, not preaching from the pulpit about how things ought to be. These people would have torn down books like 1984 and the Handmaid's tale because they think the authors are fascist assholes.
If I include pee-pee, or poo-poo, bondage, electric play or someone jerking off a dog - we are all adults and we know these stories are fiction. If you can handle someone's head being blown off in a war movie, you can handle a fetish that you don't personally do. If you can't - another option is not read it. The trolls think by downvoting they will prevent people from writing about it, or maybe since they have literally no value in society and no other influence - this is all they can do.
I do this in part, because just like some people are vegan and maybe I am not, I can still include a vegan in my fucking story without being accused of 'promoting veganism'. Get it? I can write about a deaf person and not be deaf. I can write about someone who gets their rocks off a different way than me. That's what grown ups do. They all have different tastes. I don't ONLY write me. I write every motherfucking body that needs to be in the story with different opinions and tastes.
However, it gets me hate sometimes, which seems unwarranted. If you are going to be pissed off at me, there are a dozen reasons that may be warranted, but the fact I wrote a story that featured a girl who likes to pretend to be a kitty is not the one.
In any case, they irritatingly pounce as soon as they see my first chapter posted on the new site and hit "You call this a story" because the admin insists on a voting system that doesn't really work. It does add up and taken with everything else, it can make posting here much less fun than it should be.
When you have a small sample set, if only seven people vote and you have 1,000 readers, you have less than 1% of the population of readers deciding that the story is a 3.4. The only people voting that early are usually sycophants or trolls, with trolls outnumbering everyone. Most of my stories will eventually get in the tens of thousands of readers, but early on that story is going to get abused and beaten by the trolls.
I assume they have such limited real-world power, and since their time is largely worthless and of no value, that they have nothing better to do than pounce on new stories to down vote them. It's discouraging because most of my stories don't hit their stride until chapter seven.
I would also say that for a new author, be aware that you have to suffer in order to get published here. It's not a fun experience, but also turn comments off. They are on by default - shut them off.
Nine times out of ten, it's going to be some lazy ahole that didn't read story codes bitching "This contained (a story code from your story) and I don't like that, 3 out of 10!!!!"
Voting doesn't objectively tell you the quality of your story. It's a means for people like him to punish you as an author for not writing only the fetishes he likes.
In conclusion, if life really is like Arby’s, then the cruelest part isn’t just that you keep getting served the same shit on a different bun, it’s that sometimes you bite in thinking you’ve finally found something worth chewing, only to realize halfway through that you are probably going to have the shits later.
I am not sure how that advice is really of value. Please follow me for more life advice/stories.
Just for fun, here is a blog explaining why I don't post that often, referencing this forum. It's written for another site, which has voting that generally reduces enjoyment and doesn't quantiatively reflect actual value.
It seems to be much more stable today (hopefully didn't speak too soon). it also thanks Hooked6 among others for their influence.
Arby's: The Same Shit Different Bun Theory (By Eddie Davidson)
My theory that is based on peer reviewed stomach pain and countless documented disappointments related to Arby’s Prime Rib Cheesesteak, German Bratwurst on Pretzel bun, and assorted marketing gimmicks, is that Arby’s sandwiches are in fact the same shit on a different bun. This assertion is supported by qualitative and quantitative analyses drawn from consumer testimony, controlled taste comparisons, and a review of promotional menu cycles. Across all examined products, findings reveal a consistent core composition in both texture and flavor profile, with variation limited almost exclusively to the bun type and minor condiment adjustments. The recurrence of identical base components, paired with a statistically significant correlation to adverse digestive responses, suggests that perceived novelty in Arby’s marketing is primarily superficial, functioning as a rebranding of an unchanging culinary substrate rather than the introduction of genuinely distinct menu innovations.
I say all that, because I now believe that my Arby's theory can be extended to pretty much every day of my life, and everything in it.
I have a map pin with a doo-doo emoji in Google Maps over my local Arby's. I have a bad memory, so it's ostensibly there as a context clue to remind me never to go there when I see an ad and say to myself "Oh, Arby's has real smoked country style ribs™? Maybe this time it won't taste like horse's asshole with the turd still in it!!." and off I go to be disappointed again.
I remember growing up watching the news and seeing minor disasters, or layoffs, or a murder here and there. Now, I can't even watch the news because it's a constant cycle of tragedy, and as I get older, the Arby's sandwiches that life cooks up for me cost more than I can afford, somehow have less bun and more pain, and taste even shittier.
One of my solutions has to been to write stories.
I write so that I can see out of the eyes of my characters and live vicariously through them.
I introduce characters that are a hybrid admixture of people I once knew, in places I've once visited, at times I've once lived through that were not as Arby-ified. I completely Un-Arbified the situation by writing different outcomes for situations I once found myself in and playing "What if".
Not all of my stories are recycled real-life adventures, but one technique I've discovered to make writing authentic is to put yourself into the situation and be the eyes and ears of the reader; as a fly on the wall observing or one of the characters. Provide context clues as to what they are thinking without dropping a mountain of exposition on the reader's head to wade through. Take them on this journey WITH the character so they can enjoy the ups and downs of life without returning to Arby's to find out that they are out of Potato Cakes on the one day you were craving one of the few things that made going there worth a shit.
To extend my theory and put the ANAL in Analogy, there aren't many restaurants around me besides Arby. If I want anything to eat, I've got to pull up to the only counter serving. In my youth, I had a lot of places I could go to get something, and Arby's food wasn't half-bad. The sandwiches seemed bigger and fresher, and they were affordable.
I make quite a bit more than I did in my twenties, and I could NEVER afford to rent the SAME exact places I lived back in those heady days. I used to turn heads and get noticed. If I had the audacity to flirt with a woman now, that would seem creepy. I never learned to flirt in my twenties because girls came up to ME and flirted.
In my thirties, I was in the prime of my life. I guess that's the era when Arby's got into gourmet-style sandwiches and high-quality meats. The forty year old me was so ripped and jacked that I could have kicked TWO of my twenty-year old selves asses. I was too busy living life back then to write about it.
Now, in the immortal wisdom and words of the great Lynyrd Skynyrd ----- ALL I CAN DO IS WRITE ABOUT IT.
So, why don't I publish on here?
Well, since nobody asked, or gives a fuck, I'll tell you anyway.
I have about a dozen stories on my hard drive that are near finished. I get inspired and start a new one and tend to write only stories when I am inspired because the quality of the story is much better. I can knock out chapters quickly when I "free-write" and just sit down and get focused.
The problems are like Arby's sandwiches - too numerous to mention, and they are all basically flavors of the same thing.
The first is quite simply that I have no "muse". I have a couple of long-time friends on here that help me out, and without them, I'd have given up on this place a long fucking time ago.
The user community is largely the most toxic I've ever encountered. It's not 4chan trollboi level, but the forums feel like toxic waste dumps. If I ask for help, feedback, or comment, there will be one or two users there ready to pounce on me with negative shit, and an avalanche starts. My intent for an open dialogue and having a constructive exchange of ideas where we may take away a different perspective and even learn things is naive at best.
People may ask "You expected something like that on the INTERNET?" as they laugh.
It would be the same as expecting something other than stomach pain and disappointment by eating at Arby's.
The thing is - why keep going some place and expecting different results if you know it's never going to be like you remembered or hoped?
For one - it's pretty much the only place I know. There is another forum focused on Embarrassed Nude Females. I once touted how positive the community was, but I spoke too soon. The toxic trollbois popped out almost immediately like karma's little helpers to prove to me how silly I was to think that. I had a 29 chapter story in progress about a girl that wants to convince her family to have a nudist household which I was very proud of.
Unsolicited Comments like "Go outside and touch grass" and "You write boring stories" are common when you are an author. Pointless trolls who contribute nothing like Statler and Waldorf sitting in the balcony week after week throwing out snotty grams are common here. However, you can turn off commenting on stories and hit block when someone wastes your time sending you one.
On that forum, they get added to your story as you post it, permanently. It's like a commercial break in the middle of your favorite TV show to tell you what a shitty television show you are watching.
Let's face it, the only Anal I am doing lately is analogies, so to continue it;
It's like I am sweating in my garden to trim roses for people to smell, only to have to step in dog-shit every time I walk through it to tend to another plant. I have to read it each and every time I open up the forum post. The admins (to their credit) took care of the issue, but not before my creativity was drained and I shit-canned the stories. Every time I go back to those stories, I think about those comments and relive those instead of the fun word pictures I was trying to evoke.
For two - I have no muse.
I asked for editing help a few months ago, and a few kind people responded. I sent them what I was working on, and most were either overwhelmed, uninterested, or sent me back "I am reading," and I never heard from them again. You can't instantly make a connection with people and have a rapport. I understand that.
I stayed in touch with the long time friends I've known on here for a reason. They are different but they also aren't into my stories and don't really want to offer any helpful guidance. I need that feedback to keep me motivated and focused, and fresh.
I made a deal with myself a long time ago, when I first began as a writer. It's a deal, I would encourage EVERY author to make, whether they are experienced or haven't even begun yet.
1 - Don't publish a story until you finish it.
Every time I have broken that rule, I regret the shit out of it. I have a couple stories on here that I consider to be some of the best I've ever written. I just can't put an ending on them. My New Pony story, and Visiting Aunt Scarlett.
It's not a coincidence that BOTH of these were actually collaborations with Mike McGifford (one of those long-term friends). I started publishing them and then lost the spark, and now they've been in limbo forever.
2 - Read as much as you write.
I find as a good rule of thumb that it's best to read as much as I write. If I write three chapters, I should read three chapters of someone else's content.
The intent isn't to copy their style or content! The intent is just to stay fresh as an author and learn new techniques through observation.
I began writing for very selfish reasons. I simply wanted to write to inspire others to write similar stories. I loved stories in the genre of Mike McGifford, Amanda Serve, Vulgus, Phil Phantom, Hooked6, Tailweaver, and MaryS. I was hoping to give back to the community that gave to me, and INSPIRE others to write like they inspired me.
Then, I could read more content like the kind I enjoy reading.
However, as time went on, I realized how completely naive that was. I've managed to inspire and encourage a few authors who are also on that long-term friend list. If I've done more than that, I don't know about it.
It was Hooked6 and Vulgus in particular, who made writers out of me.
I didn't just like their genre. I liked HOW they crafted a story. I studied HOW they told it and learned to SHOW the reader and not TELL the reader.
I have always been a good bullshitter, and I've worked in strip clubs and had a colorful life. The secret to telling a good story is imagining you are sitting across from someone in a bar and talking to them - then just write what you'd say.
It was READING other people's stories that taught me how to enhance that. I could create a word picture with dialogue. I could cleverly HINT about things with clues.
Instead of writing "I am Darlene. I am 18 with hazel eyes and blonde hair, I live in Illinois, and this is my story..." you establish who she is, where she is, and what she looks like through the scene. I am not going to bore you with writing 101, but it was reading OTHER PEOPLE'S STORIES and the actual mentorship of people on this site including Hooked6 and Vulgus that made me a better author.
All you have to do is read my early shit and see a huge improvement over time.
Am I the best writer?
No.
Am I trying to be?
Also, No.
I am just trying not to be the Arby's of writing and put the same shit on a different bun.
A lot of my stories are about the same topics; embarrassed nude females and power exchange relationships.
You could probably create a Chaucer's tales style set of character templates for my stories to classify many of the characters that I introduce. There is usually a nerdy kid who's too smart for his own good who really likes butts and quirky girls.
Here is a clue: That's me, dude.
I write myself into stories.
It's not that I am a narcissist (necessarily). It's that one way I can get into the story is to create my own alter-ego. I try to give some nuance and make them distinct, but ultimately that version of Eddie is persistent across many of my stories.
Then there is the creepy old blowhard who sometimes sounds smart. Yeah, that's old Eddie. I usually make him very different than me, and sometimes I have him marry a slutty woman that looks surprisingly like Morgan Fairchild (because why not).
Ever since I discovered AI to illustrate my stories, I've enjoyed adding pictures of myself into the background as Easter eggs. That's not the same thing. I just like to do that as a goof/easter egg for loyal readers to notice.
However, what I try to do with my stories that makes them different is explore a variety of topics. I am not about just describing fetishes and sexual encounters. Those are more of the background activity that happens WHILE the story is happening.
There is a famous line about a movie producer asking a writer about their script. In the script, the main characters are talking. The producer asks "What are they supposed to be doing while they are talking?"
"They are having a dialogue," the writer blithely responds because he doesn't understand that's not the story. The dialogue is one component of the scene. The body language, the activity, and all of it serve an outcome. Even when the scene is dialogue-heavy, I learned through reading that I could still move the story along.
I could go on and on about the lessons that I've learned through simply reading other authors. I've also learned what not to do by reading drek and AI slop that is passed off now as erotica.
Unfortunately, there are simply not enough positive/constructive/good examples of fiction to keep up with my ratio. If you haven't written a story, I would simply encourage you to write and publish here. If not for yourself to live vicariously through the characters, to inspire others (including me) to read it and write so you can enjoy more content.
Yes, you will get snotty grams, yes, you will have setbacks, but maybe your journey will be easier and not as Arbified as mine.
I plan to publish some stuff up, but I can't say when or what. I know that in my illustrious history on this site, that for the same reason I have over 1,100 people who took the time to click "Follow" on my stories. To get that many fantastically weird perverts who thought enough of my work to follow it and read it, I am sure I also generated quite a few trolls that hate my guts.
I was never writing for mainstream appeal and I never wanted to do that. I have never limited the topics or fetishes I write about. I don't believe in censorship and just because an author writes a war story - it doesn't mean they advocate war. If an author of murder stories writes about murder it doesn't mean they are telling you to murder. In my case, I am just reflecting that people are diverse and not everyone is into the same shit.
(Arby's, are you listening? That doesn't mean just change the bun!)
I may include femdom in my stories. That will piss off the man babies because they are insecure in their manhood.
In the same story, I may include someone who believes in more traditional submissive roles for women. That will piss off the people who think submission is a weakness and it's me spelling out a recipe for a society based on mysogony.
I have news for the trolls that downvote for that reason: Society IS based on mysogony, racism, greed, etc. No one needs Eddie to write a little story to tell them how to keep doing that. I am just writing a story, not preaching from the pulpit about how things ought to be. These people would have torn down books like 1984 and the Handmaid's tale because they think the authors are fascist assholes.
If I include pee-pee, or poo-poo, bondage, electric play or someone jerking off a dog - we are all adults and we know these stories are fiction. If you can handle someone's head being blown off in a war movie, you can handle a fetish that you don't personally do. If you can't - another option is not read it. The trolls think by downvoting they will prevent people from writing about it, or maybe since they have literally no value in society and no other influence - this is all they can do.
I do this in part, because just like some people are vegan and maybe I am not, I can still include a vegan in my fucking story without being accused of 'promoting veganism'. Get it? I can write about a deaf person and not be deaf. I can write about someone who gets their rocks off a different way than me. That's what grown ups do. They all have different tastes. I don't ONLY write me. I write every motherfucking body that needs to be in the story with different opinions and tastes.
However, it gets me hate sometimes, which seems unwarranted. If you are going to be pissed off at me, there are a dozen reasons that may be warranted, but the fact I wrote a story that featured a girl who likes to pretend to be a kitty is not the one.
In any case, they irritatingly pounce as soon as they see my first chapter posted on the new site and hit "You call this a story" because the admin insists on a voting system that doesn't really work. It does add up and taken with everything else, it can make posting here much less fun than it should be.
When you have a small sample set, if only seven people vote and you have 1,000 readers, you have less than 1% of the population of readers deciding that the story is a 3.4. The only people voting that early are usually sycophants or trolls, with trolls outnumbering everyone. Most of my stories will eventually get in the tens of thousands of readers, but early on that story is going to get abused and beaten by the trolls.
I assume they have such limited real-world power, and since their time is largely worthless and of no value, that they have nothing better to do than pounce on new stories to down vote them. It's discouraging because most of my stories don't hit their stride until chapter seven.
I would also say that for a new author, be aware that you have to suffer in order to get published here. It's not a fun experience, but also turn comments off. They are on by default - shut them off.
Nine times out of ten, it's going to be some lazy ahole that didn't read story codes bitching "This contained (a story code from your story) and I don't like that, 3 out of 10!!!!"
Voting doesn't objectively tell you the quality of your story. It's a means for people like him to punish you as an author for not writing only the fetishes he likes.
In conclusion, if life really is like Arby’s, then the cruelest part isn’t just that you keep getting served the same shit on a different bun, it’s that sometimes you bite in thinking you’ve finally found something worth chewing, only to realize halfway through that you are probably going to have the shits later.
I am not sure how that advice is really of value. Please follow me for more life advice/stories.
All of my stories: https://storiesonline.net/a/eddie-davidson
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
The site is free up to 100 chapters a day. You can get unlimited just for submitting stories.
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: SpankingFetish and 19 guests