I try to be quiet when I stroke myself, but I must have been noisy.I heard a knock on the door and my sister Rachel burst into my room."Bobby, are you...ok? Oh my God!"Rachel was staring directly down at my erect cock. There was no sense of trying to cover up."What do you want?" I asked her."I will leave you alone," my sister said as she turned around to leave."Wait Rachel, don't go," I said to her.My sister turned around and kept looking at my erect dick. I patted the bed and told her to come. I flexed my jaw to one side to check for the scar I knew was there, the result of a cycling accident when I was thirteen: something I always covered up nowadays. It arced across me, pale curve against my still reddened skin, against the blotchiness of embarrassment and fluster. I stepped back and looked at the suit, at the shoes, at the shirt, the watch: I thought about when we’d started and I’d spend days in jeans or joggers, would get home dirty and dusty from the sites we were outfitting,. More

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