I don’t play soccer. But we have a new soccer coach, and I have to wonder what brought him to us in a small town in the deep south. They are from Oregon, supposedly. They don’t attend church. His daughter, Kira (names changed to protect innocent), is on the girls’ soccer team and she’s very pretty. Some people talk about her because she has a couple of tattoos on the back of her shoulder, but they like to gossip about anyone. Her mom isn’t a PTA mom type, either, so there’s already talk about her, too. I know my brother (and everyone) noticed her, and it bothered me. She’s actually my brother’s age and in a couple of his classes. They aren’t lab partners in Chemistry so he didn’t have the excuse to invite her over to finish their lab reports, but he is known for being one of the best science students in the school. She came over and it was to study, but everyone knew it was more like a date. My dad was very excited for my bro and made sure he met Kira, made us all dinner, and talked with her a little before going back to the church for evening family programs. I didn’t know what to say to Kira once my dad left. My bro was bringing his Chem notes from his bedroom to the kitchen counter, so I asked her about the tattoos on her shoulders. She was wearing a low cut sweater with a tank, so they were partially visible. They were numbers. One set was the date of her younger sister’s death from leukemia. The other was the date of the death of her grandmother. I asked her if she was always going to do a tattoo when she lost someone, and I realized it was a very insensitive thing to say, especially the way I said it. As she whispered “maybe,” tears welled up in her eyes. I felt so bad, tears welled up in my eyes and I apologized. By the time my bro returned, there was this awkward silence. He was obviously mad at me when he said, “nice.” The study thing didn’t seem right at the moment. So we left my bro downstairs and I took her up to my room and showed her the framed pic of my mother. I was only 3 when she died in a car accident, so what I have of her is more of a feeling than actual memories, but as I explained it to her I actually started crying. I’ve spent my while life wishing to have her, pretending what she’d be like when certain things happened to me and how she would share them with me. So tears ran down her cheeks, too, and we ended up hugging. Then we softly wiped each others’ tears away and agreed that we would have to stick together. She took the brush from my dresser and started putting my hair back. She was behind me, pulling my hair into a pony tail, when I felt her fingers lightly stroking my neck. It sort of tickled and I flinched a little, and she immediately apologized. She was really embarrassed, but I did the same to her, facing her. It seemed like slow motion. One moment I was softly asking if she was ok with this, the next our lips were brushing against each other. Then we were smiling, holding each other. She took down my pony tail and our fingers were running through each other’s hair as we meshed lips and tongues. I couldn’t get enough of her. It became very intense, passionate kissing and then her hand was untucking the blouse from my jeans. I was nibbling a little on her neck, careful not to leave marks, and her hand lightly rested against my chest. I didn’t care if my bro came upstairs and saw. My bedroom door was open about one third the way. I knew he was there. I couldn’t see him, but I sensed him. I liked it. Kira had done this before. As she rested one hand on my shoulder, the other unzipped my jeans and slipped inside my lacy panties. She caressed my outer pussy as my breathing became raspy. Still kissing. I was also putting my hands where I knew my bro wanted his. Two of her fingers pressed into the outside of my sopping cunt, and I dimmed the light. She wore a thong, and her bra barely covered her. It was very sexy, even if it was just one solid color and nothing else. I asked her if there was anything she didn’t want, explaining I recently got my own double sided dildo. She’d never tried one but was willing. As I laid on top of her, grinding it into both of us as we kissed, I also mentioned I had – but had never tried – this pulsing butterfly thing that attaches to the clit and gives intermittent tiny jolts. She was happy to try. It made her come almost violently at first. She said it kind of hurt. We had to adjust it a few times so that it worked more in tune with her body, but she loved it. She could only take so much, though, and we ended by taking it off and getting in a hot shower. My bro wasn’t in sight, and his bedroom door was closed. I could hear music coming from his room. Kira was dressed, and I was in my sweats and t-shirt. We went to his room, knocked, and apologized for leaving him as we pursued our own interests. He pretended to sulk, but he said it’s more important that she not tell anyone at school about whatever it was we were doing. She understood. She said her family had plenty of its own secrets that don’t need to get out. So he asked her if she likes guys, and she said she does. She considers herself “polyamorous.” “Many loves.” Lovers. She said she’d be back. Then she gave each of us a kiss on the cheek, said she should go home to really study, and then she left. When I asked my bro what he saw, he got a massive hard on telling me. He didn’t see the pulsing butterfly part, but he heard the electric toy. We hooked it up to my clit as I lay at the edge of the bed, legs open, and he slurped up my cum as I rode wave after wave of coming in his face. Then he turned me over, put me on my knees, and nearly knocked me over from the force of him thrusting into my quivering cunt. Another shower was in order. Thanks to our church secretary Patty, we have a lot of toys and are happy to share. I can’t wait to see Kira again. I just have to remember that even though she doesn’t go to our dad’s church, it’s a very small town. Everyone knows what everyone does. And WHO everyone does…