Pretend No More

© 2026 Igor Pajić

I remember it like it was yesterday, every single second, every breath, every tiny sensation carved so deep into my soul that I can close my eyes right now and feel it all over again. That Christmas morning changed everything inside me. It lit a fire that has never gone out, not for one single day since. It’s the reason I’m sitting here at eighteen, still a virgin, but so fucking obsessed with sex that it’s the only thing I think about from the moment I wake up until the second I finally pass out at night.

It was one of those perfect cold, snowy Christmas mornings where the whole world outside felt wrapped in silence and magic. The air smelled like pine needles and cinnamon and fresh-baked cookies that Grandma had pulled out of the oven just an hour earlier. We were at our grandparents’ house, the old wooden one just one street away from ours. Ivy and I had spent the entire morning on the living-room floor, surrounded by huge cardboard boxes overflowing with the homemade ornaments we made every single year. Glitter was everywhere, glue sticks, colored construction paper, ribbons, little bells, tiny plastic stars. My fingers were sticky, my knees hurt from kneeling so long, but I didn’t care. I was happy just being there with her, laughing, competing over who could make the prettiest snowflake.

When we finally hung the last ornament on the tree and stepped back to admire our work, it was time to head home. Ivy grabbed my hand like she always did when we walked together. The snow crunched under our boots as we stepped outside. The cold bit at my cheeks, but her hand was warm. She leaned in close, her breath making little clouds in the air, and whispered in that special voice she only used when she had something huge to tell me:

“You know what I found out?”

My heart slammed against my ribs. Something new. Something secret. Something that felt dangerous even though I couldn’t explain why. My whole body tingled with excitement I didn’t have a name for yet.

“I found out how babies are made.”

And then she told me. She told me everything. She didn’t hold back one single detail. She described exactly how a man and a woman do it – how the man’s penis gets hard and slides deep inside the woman’s vagina, how they move together, how it feels, how the sperm shoots out and meets the egg inside her, how the baby starts growing in her belly. She used words I had never heard before, but the way she said them made my face burn and my stomach twist in the most incredible way. She explained the wetness, the thrusting, the moaning, the way bodies fit together perfectly. She made it sound like the dirtiest, most magical thing in the entire universe. I stopped walking right there in the middle of the snowy street, eyes wide, mouth open, hanging on every single word that left her lips. My little mind was spinning so fast I could barely breathe. I didn’t fully understand it yet, but I knew I needed to know more. I needed to feel it. I needed it more than anything I had ever wanted in my life.

By the time we got home my head was on fire. I couldn’t sit still. I couldn’t think about anything else. The house was warm, the lights were twinkling on our own tree, but all I could focus on was Ivy’s voice replaying in my ears. She saw how worked up I was. She took me straight to my room, closed the door, and sat on my bed with me. For hours she kept talking. She answered every single question I threw at her, no matter how silly or dirty it sounded. She explained what an erection was, what cum was, what an orgasm felt like. She described how good it was supposed to feel when you rubbed yourself the right way. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would explode.

Then she looked at me with that mischievous sparkle in her eyes and asked the question that changed my entire life:

“Do you want to try it? Just for pretend?”

Of course I said yes. I didn’t even hesitate. I had no idea what I was agreeing to, but the way she said it made my whole body light up like fireworks. We locked the door. We didn’t take our clothes off – we kept everything on – but she climbed on top of me on my bed and we started rubbing against each other exactly the way she had described. I remember the weight of her body pressing down on mine. I remember the way her hips moved in slow, deliberate circles. I remember the strange, incredible pressure building between my legs as my cock got harder and harder with every single movement. That was the very first time it ever happened to me. I didn’t know what an erection was, I didn’t know why it was happening, but I knew it felt so fucking good that I never wanted it to stop. The friction through our clothes, the heat, the way my dick throbbed and stiffened more and more each time she pressed down – it was the single best feeling I had ever experienced.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours. She kept whispering in my ear, telling me exactly what we were pretending to do, describing how it would feel if we were really doing it for real. I was breathing hard, my hands gripping her waist, my hips pushing up to meet hers instinctively. Every single rub sent sparks shooting through my entire body. I didn’t cum that first time – I didn’t even know what cumming was – but the pleasure was so intense I felt like I was floating.

The next day we did it again. And the day after that. And the day after that. For months we kept “playing” every single chance we got. Whenever our parents left the house, whenever we could steal even ten minutes alone in my room or down in the basement or in the garage, we would lock the door and do it. She would climb on top of me, or sometimes I would get on top of her, and we would grind and rub and press against each other until we were both breathing heavy and sweaty. She started getting more into it too – her body was changing, she was feeling things she had never felt before. She would moan softly sometimes, tell me it felt really good when I pushed against a certain spot. For me it became pure, all-consuming obsession. That secret game took over my entire world. Every night before I fell asleep I would replay every single moment in my head. Every single morning I woke up already hard just thinking about the next time we could do it. I lived for those stolen minutes. The feeling of my cock getting rock-hard and rubbing against her through our clothes became my addiction. I started noticing how my body reacted even when we weren’t playing – just sitting next to her on the couch would make me stiffen. I started getting hard in class, in the car, at the dinner table, anywhere. Sex was all I could think about.

We did it hundreds of times over those months. Sometimes slow and gentle, sometimes faster and rougher when we were really excited. Sometimes we would stay fully dressed, sometimes we would pull our pants down just enough so I could feel the heat of her through her panties. I remember the exact texture of her clothes against my dick, the way the fabric would get damp, the way her breathing would change when she really got into it. I begged her every single day. I would whisper to her at breakfast, in the hallway, before bed: “Can we play today?” And most of the time she would smile and say yes.

Then one day it all stopped.

She had started to understand more. She realized this was something brothers and sisters were never supposed to do. She sat me down one afternoon and told me we had to forget it ever happened. I begged. I cried. I promised I would never tell anyone. I told her I needed it, that it was the only thing that made me feel good. We did it a few more times after that conversation, but each time she looked more and more guilty. Every time we finished she would say “This is the last time” and then a week later I would beg again and she would give in. But eventually she shut it down completely. She made me swear on everything I loved that I would never speak about it again. She said if anyone ever found out we would both be in huge trouble. And just like that, it ended.

Years passed.

But the obsession never left me. Not for one single day.

I started looking for sex everywhere I could find it. I stole my dad’s old magazines from the bottom of his drawer and jerked off to them for hours in the bathroom. I stayed up late on the family computer searching for every dirty video and story I could click on before the history got cleared.

By the time I turned eighteen the obsession had swallowed me whole. I was still a virgin, still untouched, and that only made it worse. Sex was everywhere in my head, every waking second. Every girl I saw became an instant fantasy. It didn’t matter if she was my age, younger, or a woman in her thirties walking her dog — the second my eyes landed on her, my brain stripped her naked. I imagined bending her over, spreading her legs, sliding my cock deep inside her while she moaned my name. I jerked off to them all, sometimes three or four times a day, sometimes more. My phone was full of hidden folders, my laptop had bookmarks I cleared every night, and my right hand was basically calloused from constant use. I was desperate, aching, always hard, always leaking pre-cum into my boxers. But no matter how many times I came, it was never enough. I needed the real thing, and the real thing never came.

At night, when the house went quiet and everyone was asleep, I would sneak into the laundry room like a thief. I’d pull out Ivy’s clothes — her soft cotton panties, the ones she wore to the gym, her lacy bras, her worn leggings that still carried the faint scent of her body. I’d press them to my face, inhale deeply, rub the fabric against my cheek, then wrap her panties around my throbbing cock and stroke for hours. The material felt so warm, so soft, so feminine. I’d edge myself for what felt like forever, squeezing the head, twisting my fist, imagining some random girl from school or the hot MILF from the supermarket. I never once thought of Ivy while I did it. She was still just my big sister. Those clothes were simply the closest thing to a real woman’s touch I could get. I would stroke until my cock turned red and angry, until my balls ached and my arm burned, then finally explode thick ropes of cum all over the fabric. After that I’d quietly wash everything in the sink, hang it back exactly where I found it, and slip back to my room like nothing happened. Those nights were my secret ritual. They kept me sane… or at least that’s what I told myself.

Everything we had done as kids had vanished completely. The pretend games, the grinding through clothes, the way her body felt on top of mine — it was all buried so deep I barely remembered any of it. Ivy was just my sister again. We argued over the TV remote, teased each other about dumb stuff, and went about our normal lives. She had her boyfriends, I had my endless jerk sessions, and sex never came up between us. Or at least I thought it never would.

Then one ordinary Friday evening the entire world tilted.

We were all in the living room — Mom, Dad, Ivy, and me — watching some late-night thriller. The actress was insanely hot: long legs, full tits, lips that looked like they were made for sucking cock. The movie was packed with sex scenes, long, slow, explicit ones. You could hear every moan, every wet slap of skin, every gasp. I got hard so fast it hurt. My cock was straining against my sweatpants, leaking pre-cum in a steady drip. I tried to hide it, crossing my legs, pulling a blanket over my lap, but the pressure was unbearable. My balls felt heavy and tight. Every time the actress arched her back on screen I imagined it was me making her do that. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I mumbled something about needing the bathroom and practically ran out of the room. My heart was hammering as I locked the bathroom door. I sat on the cold edge of the tub, yanked my sweatpants and boxers down to my ankles, and freed my aching cock. It sprang up, rock hard, the head swollen and purple, veins bulging from all the jerking I’d already done that day. I wrapped my fist around it and started stroking — slow at first, savoring the slick sound of skin on skin. I replayed the movie scenes in my head: the way the actress rode that guy, her tits bouncing, her mouth open in a silent scream. I imagined it was me underneath her, my cock buried to the hilt while she ground down on me.

But I had already jerked off twice that morning and once after school. My cock was raw, sensitive, almost sore. No matter how fast I stroked, how tight I squeezed, the orgasm wouldn’t come. Minutes dragged by. Five. Ten. Fifteen. My hand was flying up and down my shaft, the wet slapping noise echoing off the tiles. My cock had turned bright red from the constant friction. The head was glistening with pre-cum and spit. I was sweating, breathing hard through my mouth, balls drawn up tight, right on the edge but unable to tip over. I was so lost in it I didn’t hear the footsteps in the hallway.

The door swung open.

Ivy stepped inside.

She had thought I’d gone straight to my room after leaving the living room. She was just coming to pee, phone in her hand, half-distracted. The second the door opened she froze mid-step. Her eyes dropped straight to my lap.

There I was — pants around my ankles, cock rock hard and angry red in my fist, pointing straight at her like it had been waiting for her. I was still mid-stroke, fingers locked around the throbbing shaft, pre-cum dripping down over my knuckles. Time stopped. We stared at each other in complete silence. A full minute passed, maybe longer. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us moved. Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushing a deep pink. Her gaze flicked from my face down to my exposed cock, then slowly back up again. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. My cock twitched violently in my hand, another thick bead of pre-cum leaking out and sliding down the shaft. The air between us felt electric.

I finally snapped out of the trance. Panic exploded through me like ice water. I yanked my pants up so fast I nearly fell off the tub, shoving my still-raging hard-on awkwardly into my boxers. The fabric scraped painfully against the raw, overworked skin, but I didn’t care. I pushed past her in the narrow doorway, shoulder brushing hers, and bolted down the hall to my room. I slammed the door, locked it, and threw myself face-down on the bed, heart racing, cock still painfully hard and trapped against my stomach.

The shame crashed over me in waves. I buried my face in the pillow, replaying the moment on loop: the way she looked at my cock, the long unbearable silence, the way her eyes had lingered. I waited for her to knock. I waited for her to yell. I waited for her to tell our parents. Nothing happened. The house stayed quiet except for the faint sound of the movie still playing in the living room. After a while I heard her footsteps pass my door and go into her own room. She never came to see me.

Night had fallen completely. I didn’t wait for her. I couldn’t face her. I pulled the blanket over my head, still fully dressed, and forced my eyes shut. Sleep came eventually — restless, broken, filled with flashes of that bathroom moment. Her shocked face. My red, throbbing cock pointing right at her. The heavy silence that felt like it would never end.

I fell asleep like that: embarrassed, horny, terrified, and burning with a new kind of obsession I didn’t understand yet.

Because something had cracked open that night.

And nothing between me and Ivy would ever be the same again.

The next day passed in a strange, heavy silence. Ivy never said a single word about what had happened in the bathroom the night before. Not one look, not one comment, not even an awkward glance across the breakfast table. She acted like nothing had changed, like she hadn’t walked in on her little brother jerking his raw, red cock right in front of her. I kept waiting for the explosion — for her to pull me aside, to yell, to tell Mom and Dad, to make everything blow up. But nothing. She just smiled at me the same way she always did, grabbed her coffee, and went about her day. That silence was worse than anything. It left everything hanging in the air between us, thick and electric.

I spent the whole morning and early afternoon outside with my friends, trying to shake the shame and the confusion. By the time I got home it was late afternoon. I knew Mom and Dad were both still at work and wouldn’t be back for hours. The house was completely empty except for Ivy. I only planned to run in, grab something quick to eat, and head straight back out with the guys. I kicked off my shoes in the hallway when I heard Ivy’s phone ringing loudly from somewhere inside the house.

I didn’t think anything of it. I figured she had left it on the couch or in the kitchen. I was still bent over untying my second sneaker when the bathroom door suddenly swung open.

And there she was.

Ivy stepped out completely naked, still dripping wet from the shower, skin glistening with water droplets that ran down her body in tiny rivers. Her hair was soaked, plastered to her shoulders. She had a towel in one hand but hadn’t even started drying herself yet — she was holding the phone to her ear with the other, answering the call mid-step. She froze the exact second she saw me.

We just stood there, maybe five feet apart, staring at each other in total shock. My eyes drank in every inch of her for the very first time in my life. This was the first time I had ever seen my sister completely naked. She wasn’t some perfect porn-star fantasy. She had a few extra pounds on her, soft curves around her hips and belly that made her look real, womanly. Her breasts were medium-sized, not huge, with small pink nipples that had tightened from the cool air after the shower. A thin line of dark hair ran down between her legs, leading to the puffy lips of her pussy that I could see clearly. Water was still running down her thighs, dripping onto the floor. When she turned in panic to run back into her room, I got the full view of her ass — round, soft, jiggling just a little as she hurried away, the phone still pressed to her ear.

The image burned itself into my brain like a brand. My cock instantly swelled inside my jeans, hardening so fast it hurt. My mouth went dry. My heart hammered against my ribs.

She disappeared into her room and slammed the door. I didn’t wait. I bolted straight to my own room, locked the door behind me, and practically ripped my jeans open. My cock sprang out, already leaking pre-cum, rock-hard and throbbing painfully. I stood there in the middle of the room, one hand braced against the wall, the other wrapping around my shaft, and I started stroking like a man possessed.

For the first time ever, I wasn’t thinking about some random girl. I was thinking about Ivy. Only Ivy.

In my head I saw her standing there again — naked, dripping, nipples hard, pussy right there in front of me. I imagined her dropping the phone, stepping closer, reaching out and wrapping her soft hand around my cock. I imagined her dropping to her knees and taking me into her warm, wet mouth. I pictured her pushing me back onto my bed, climbing on top of me, those soft thighs straddling my hips, and slowly sinking down onto my cock. I imagined how tight and warm she would feel, how her pussy would grip me, how her soft belly and those medium tits would bounce as she rode me. I imagined her moaning my name — “Ian… fuck me, little brother…” — while she ground down hard, taking every inch.

That was all it took.

I came so hard and so fast that my knees almost buckled. Thick, heavy ropes of cum shot out of me, splattering against the wall. I kept stroking through it, groaning low in my throat, milking every last drop while the image of her naked body stayed burned behind my eyelids. It was the quickest, most intense orgasm I had ever had in my life, and it was all because of her.

From that exact second, everything changed. The obsession that had started when we were kids came roaring back stronger than ever. But this time it wasn’t innocent pretend games. This time it was raw, adult, filthy. This time I wanted the real thing. I wanted to fuck my sister. I wanted to feel her pussy squeezing my cock. I wanted to hear her moan while I came inside her.