Sinful People: Chapter 1
I find it amusing now how lifeless my parents seemed in my perspective during my childhood. Even in subsequent memories, I never imagined them as engaging in intercourse.
I came into existence in 1939 as their second child, with my one-year elder sister preceding me. The circumstances surrounding our births, including how they met and if there was any sexual attraction that brought them together, were shrouded in silence.
This secrecy did not stem from a desire to protect their privacy but rather their belief that anything sex-related was "indecent" and a threat to their reputation.
Kate and I did not share a typical siblinghood. We did not hang out with the same friends or share similar interests.
However, the source of our strained relationship was more substantial - Kate, who was always a year older, was an exemplary child. She obeyed everything, excelled in her studies, maintained impeccable hygiene, and embodied manners and dignity - a model that I, as a wayward boy, couldn't possibly replicate, even if I tried.
The distance between us narrowed when I, at the tender age of fourteen (the standard school-leaving age in Austria at the time), left home to study Agricultural Science and Forestry at a technical college in Styria. My curriculum included mandatory work placements during holidays, so I was rarely at home.
Regardless, I held some animosity towards my perfect sister as an adult. Plagued by my own "lewd" thoughts and yearnings, I deemed her as selfishly practicing virtue and shunning sexual encounters.
My sister, on the other hand, had blossomed into a stunning young woman. Standing tall with a graceful physique and a heart-shaped face accentuated by expressive eyes and wavy shoulder-length hair, she drew the attention of many young men. She successfully repelled their disrespectful advances.
I overcame my jealousy when I discovered that Kate was just as deviant as I was. Albeit in a way more intriguing manner.
Her initial dalliance with the forbidden fruit took place while I was away in college.
One day, a photographer from our town's park near a beer garden approached Kate. Smiling, he informed her that she was so stunning that he would photograph her for free.
This photographer was not a local but a Hungarian refugee, eking out a living by taking pictures of couples frolicking in romantic settings, often with American soldiers from the garrison in our town. He provided them with lasting mementos of their time as liberators in occupied Austria.
So, initially hesitant, Kate posed for him in her Sunday dirndl and he snapped a few shots with his Leica. As Kate became more at ease with the process, he informed her that he would have her chosen photo ready to hand her over the next Sunday.
When Kate returned to fetch the long-promised picture, she was incredibly excited. Instead of the run-of-the-mill photographs she anticipated, the photographer presented Kate with a glossy 8x12 print that showcased her in a captivating pose.
Returning home filled with excitement, she raved to our parents about Laszlo, a successful fashion photographer in Budapest, who wanted her to model for him in various outfits. If she agreed, he promised her a copy of the portfolio he needed to establish a professional career in Austria. He begged her for assistance, she confessed.
I am unaware whether our parents voiced any concerns or if they unquestionably trusted Kate's judgment.
She agreed to model for him and, over the next few weeks, spent numerous hours with Laszlo, often until the wee hours of the morning.
Her collection of polished portraits expanded in size. They featured her in various outfits, with the later prints showcasing elaborate makeup and figure-hugging dresses, presumably borrowed by Laszlo. She proudly showed them to us.
Several years later, Kate bestowed upon me one of Laszlo's photographs that portrayed her wistfully gazing into the distance, her barely masked cleavage revealed by a coyly paisley jumper.
Would she have gifted it to me if she had known what transpired when she "modeled" for Laszlo? And that I'd glimpsed her exposure when the jumper concealed her buxom body?
We were alone in the kitchen, seated at opposite ends of the table. I was at home for a brief respite to complete a crucial assignment and my research materials occupied the table.
Kate was perusing a women's magazine. When she arose to use the restroom, I glanced over and noticed that the magazine was noticeably bulky.
Intrigued by this bulge, I quickly approached the table and saw that Kate had interspersed the magazine with a dozen or so photos.
My fertile imagination deduced that they were intended to be concealed. Kate could peruse them discreetly by swiftly flipping a page upon someone's approach.
Aroused by this discovery, I flipped through the magazine to its first print. It was an enticing portrait of Kate. With her head turned aside, her eyes peered down at her exposed shoulder and the subtle glimpse of her budding breasts on full display.
Initially, the first picture intrigued me, but the second one I saw left me stunned. It displayed Kate, kneeling nude on the floor with her face in profile and her hair tossed over her shoulder in what seemed like a fit of anger. The line of her spine led down to the cleft of her curvy, sensually tantalizing, lustful derriere. And it was my sister!
Promptly, I flipped to the subsequent image. There you had Kate, naked on a disheveled bed, leaning on one arm. With the other shoulder thrust back, she presented herself - face raised defiantly without any sign of shame - to Laszlo's camera. It captured Kate's well-toned breasts, topped with enticing dark nipples, the dark triangular region of her bush. And her legs were spread just enough to reveal the plump shape of her vagina.
Obviously, what shocked me more was Kate's expression: a look for which I, as a 18-year-old, lacked the words. Looking back now, I realize it was the face of a woman who had just been fucked and still yearned for more!
Upon hearing the toilet flush, I swiftly arranged the magazine in its original position. Dashing back to my chair, I lowered my aflame face over my now incredibly stimulating forestry report.
Eventually, Laszlo relocated to the captivating pastures of Vienna. I can only speculate about the usage he made of Kate's photos.
Unquestionably, there was a promising market for such spicy prints. Perhaps they wound up as souvenirs of GIs returning home to the States; treasured years after, still masturbated over, and embellished with a sexual saga that eventually became true?
It's a plausibility I've come to enjoy!
Following her photoshoot 'revelation', Kate connected with her future husband at the age of 21. During their courtship, I saw nothing interesting to note. Hannes was 30, the owner of a thriving trucking company. He treated me cordially, but we remained at a distance. His demeanor seemed as sexless to me as that of my parents.
Across the three years preceding her marriage, Kate's bond with Emma would have caught my attention had I been present.
Being away for brief, infrequent visits, I witnessed little of Emma. Upon graduating from college, I needed to work under supervision for two years in different State forests to be certified as a Forester.
Emma was our cousin, six years eldest than Kate. Emma had married 19-year-old Helmut, a 12-year-elders civil engineer. Helmut was the offspring of a prominent local architect but worked for an American construction company as a site engineer on sizeable projects.
Helmut eventually relinquished his position and returned home after completing various lengthy assignments, like constructing a brewery in Alexandria, Egypt, and erecting ski lifts in Germany and Switzerland. He assumed control of his father's prosperous, local business as a going concern. He and Emma also procured a substantial villa on the outskirts of our village.
In resuming her social associations and connections, Emma also brought our family into her activity circle.
Kate became Emma's and Helmut's darling. She visited them frequently and was frequently invited to their dinner parties and social activities. This carried on even after her engagement and in spite of Hannes' distaste for Helmut.
Hannes thought, as he expressed to Father, that Helmut was a domineering, pretentious snob. Partial reasoning could have stemmed from the fact that during the war, Hannes had served as a conscripted soldier while Helmut was a staff officer in the Pioneers. And now, Helmut's achievements and demeanor had acquired a disproportionately powerful hold on his betrothed.
But there was more at play. Hannes could've also discerned what I, during a single encounter, observed.
Two times a year, Emma invited her closest relatives to a dinner feast. When I was home for the holiday season during my final year at college - I was 18 then - I received an invite.
Upon reaching their villa, Kate detached herself from us to join Emma and Helmut not only as their party helper but as if she were the hostess.
And Helmut, as the Lord of the Manor, treated Kate all night with an intimate familiarity that made me a captivated onlooker.
Therefore, my focus throughout the night predominantly centered on Helmut's possessive hands.
My parents, being morally virtuous individuals, either feigned or disregarded Helmut's actions.
During the evening, Helmut's hands frequently found their way to Kate's body while she wore her dirndl. Despite feeling disgusted rather than shocked, I witnessed him sliding his possession-grabbing hand up Kate's skirt whilst she served our dinner at the table. Her hands didn't tremble, and her face showed no signs of shock or surprise.
Later during dinner, I headed to the kitchen for a cold beverage. Upon opening the door, I stumbled upon Kate standing at the table and Helmut wrapping his arms around her from behind. Laughing, she bent forward, pressing her ass into his erection.
My gaze, however, settled on his hands. They nearly lifted Kate's breasts out of her dirndl's low-cut neckline.
I quickly exited before they noticed my presence.
As the night progressed, my attention shifted to Emma. As she moved through their spacious living room illuminated by three dim lamps, her figure, in her tubular dress, was only momentarily outlined by the shadows behind her. However, when she stood or stepped into the light of a lamp, the silvery transparency of her caftan would have exposed her body had she not worn a normal-sized bra and cotton panties underneath.
She caught me staring and responded with a knowing smile. At times, she even seemed to move towards a light to pose solely for me.
As guests, we were unaware of the significance of Emma's revealing attire or the part it played in her marriage. However, we could sense an increasing tension in the room. My parents purposefully ignored the transparency of Emma's dress as if they hadn't noticed.
Perhaps this intentionally unresponsive attitude further riled up Helmut. He was clearly slightly intoxicated but striving to remain in control when he announced his favorite dress was this harem caftan, only allowing his wife to wear it - he paused, and Emma lowered her eyes and smirked - for special guests like us.
They discovered the dress in a boutique in Alexandria. When Emma attempted to put it on, Helmut asserted that this harem caftan was the perfect fit for his wife. As you can sometimes observe - he grimaced at Emma - it appears to fit her figure perfectly.
We ended the evening with our gratitude and farewells. Surprisingly, Kate was hesitant to leave.
Read also:
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- Anu's Merging: A Harmonized Combination
- My delight: Chapter 1
- In Bangalore, overlooking the omission of Trisha
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