Chapter 1: It almost felt like it was an arranged marriage.

When my mother, Linda, was in high school, she met my father, Bob, at one of her mom’s friends’ weddings. Her parents didn’t approve of their teenage daughter dating a man ten years older than her, but when Mom promised them that she wouldn’t have sex until after her eighteenth birthday, they allowed her to see him, but kept very tight reins on her activities.

Tragedy struck shortly before she graduated when her parents were on their way to pick up her sister, Paula, from an overnight sleep-in and were killed in a car wreck, leaving the sisters with little money or means to live on their own.

Dad, already with a solid business, consoled Mom, and as a result, she became pregnant with me. “At least, Mom and Dad got their wish that I wouldn’t have sex until I turned eighteen,” Mom often related, the bittersweet memory doing little to ease her pain.

I’m Jimmy, by the way, and no, I’m never called James or Jim. The name on my birth certificate is Jimmy, and they’ve never called me anything else.

Dad married her immediately when she informed him she was pregnant, and moved her and Paula into his house. Once Mom’s parents’ estate was settled, Mom and Paula had very little to live on, as the house was mortgaged to the hilt. Dad told her it’d be no problem, as he’d support both of them. She enrolled in a nursing program while Paula, five years younger than her, finished school.

Paula spent her evenings babysitting me, while Mom buried herself in her studies. After my bath, Paula would read a bedtime story to me, and after she’d leave, Mom would always come in, tuck me in, and kiss me on the forehead or cheek, regardless of how well Paula had done it. She never left without whispering, “I love you, Jimmy. Goodnight, sweetie.”

It always left me feeling warm and safe, and I’d always drift off to sleep right after. When Mom finished her training and began working at the hospital, Paula had graduated and enrolled in the local college, majoring in accounting. There was never any mention of her residing in a dorm or an apartment. It was as if Mom treated her as a daughter, rather than her grown sister.

I started school at the same time, so our routine changed to where Paula would bring her books into my room to study. She said she felt more comfortable being with me, which allowed her to concentrate. She’d talk over some of the material she was learning, and although it didn’t mean much to me, she said it helped her memorize things if she spoke them aloud. She’d taught me to read fairly well by then, so I’d help her study for tests by picking off random questions, verifying her answers.

I was always amazed at how patient she was with me. When I’d stumble on a difficult word, she’d slowly pronounce it for me until I had it right, then explain what it meant. The next time, I’d say it correctly, and she’d give me one of her big, glowing smiles that warmed my heart. That was enough of a reward for me. Her smiles were real and genuine, coming from the heart, unlike many of the fake, practiced ones I’d seen other adults use on other kids.

We grew closer than most brothers and sisters would have, even though we were actually nephew and aunt. We would freely discuss our feelings and dreams for the future. Any time I had a problem at school, she’d explain how to deal with it. She’d often come in wearing cottony shorts and a midriff tank-top, revealing her bare, sunken stomach, but it didn’t really affect me as it would later on. At that time, girls and boys were pretty much the same thing to me, except girls had cooties.

Four years later, she graduated, and Mom managed to land her a job at the hospital where she worked. They were thrilled to be able to remain close together, but still no mention of Paula moving out. Dad was never bothered by Paula remaining with us and treated her like his own daughter, just like Mom had done.

By then, I was far enough along in school that I was doing homework. Paula helped me each night and checked my work. Mom still came in at the end of the night, but rather than tucking me, would sit on my bed and ask me how my day went. She’d still kiss my forehead before saying goodnight.

After a year or so, Paula began dating, but would only go out on Friday or Saturday nights, because she didn’t want to miss out on helping me with my homework. Surprisingly, Mom would insist on meeting her dates, grilling them before they left, and would often make Paula change clothes if she thought they were inappropriate. Paula never argued, always obeying Mom, eager to please her.

She’d even spend the night with some of her suitors after three dates or so, but then would move on to someone else after that. After a year, she stopped dating altogether, but really didn’t seem upset about it. I suspected she was dating only to follow societal norms, following what most people her age were doing. Mom didn’t pressure her; in fact, I think she enjoyed having Paula spend more time with us, and my aunt made it clear that she enjoyed our company as well, never sad or depressed.

After another year, Dad frequently invited his best friend Dave over for dinners and BBQs, especially on the weekends. The same age as Dad, he was a half-owner of Dad’s business, so they had a natural connection to our family. Dave and Paula were always paired up, and I wondered whether it was Mom or Dad who was the matchmaker.

Whoever it was, it worked, because they began dating. After a year, they announced their wedding date, but oddly enough, Paula remained living with us. Another peculiar thing I noticed, they didn’t display a lot of affection when they were together. It almost felt like it was an arranged marriage.

I, for one, was very happy that she stayed with us, not necessarily for the same reasons as Mom. It was my attitude toward girls that had changed dramatically, my body finally maturing. The presence of pubic hair, my balls growing, and my dick lengthening all contributed to my new outlook on women.