My Brother’s Friend Deflowered Me


INTRODUCTION & DISCLAIMER – In Spring 1985, handsome 19-year-old Italian-American Vinnie stays for the weekend with his best friend Paul, who lives at home with his parents and younger sister Tara, a high school senior aged 18.

It would seem that Vinnie, known for his eye for the ladies, will behave himself when left alone with Tara, as although pretty she is confined to a wheelchair. But nobody knows about Tara’s secret crush on her big brother’s best friend and the hormones racing through her young mind that cause her to have no end of kinky thoughts.

Will Tara’s virginity remain intact or will Vinnie deflower her when their desires get too much?

Only characters aged 18 & older are naked or in sexual situations. As mentioned in the introduction, the narrator Tara is disabled and uses a wheelchair so if this isn’t your thing please consider whether this story is for you. Otherwise, please enjoy ‘My Brother’s Friend Deflowered Me’ and rate and comment.


They say you never miss what you’ve never had, and in my case it was the ability to walk. Less than three months after I arrived into the world in January 1967, my parents received the terrible news that their baby daughter had a tumor very close to her spine that needed to be removed otherwise her life would be tragically short. The tumor was duly removed, but my spinal cord suffered unavoidable damage in the process. I was of course too young to remember any of this, so all I had ever known was life in a wheelchair.

As I grew up, I had lots of different emotions about my situation, but self-pity was never one of them. Getting to understand more about my condition, I realized how lucky I was compared to other disabled people. Sure I was a paraplegic, but I was in much better shape than many other paraplegics. While I could not really feel my legs, I did have some feeling in my feet and full feelings in my reproductive and digestive systems. This was important, as I had control over my bodily functions and as I grew up my menstrual cycle. I didn’t need to rely on anyone help me to wash, go to the toilet or manage my periods, which was of great relief to me as the alternative would have been highly embarrassing.

Never having known how to walk, I felt empathy for other disabled people who had once been able to walk but now couldn’t due to injury or illness. That would have been totally demoralizing. And apart from an inability to walk, I could do everything else and had no other health problems. My disability motivated me to do well at school, help with chores at home where I could, play a sport (mine was wheelchair basketball) and do volunteer work through our church for those less fortunate. I had great friends at the Long Island Catholic high school I attended, and a great relationship with my parents Jim and Anna and my brother Paul, older than me by a year.

My parents were great, always teaching me to be independent, but never to be rude to those who instinctively tried to help me when I didn’t need it. They treated me like their daughter, not their disabled daughter. Paul and I were always close siblings and the best of friends growing up. As kids he would love to push his kid sister around in her chair, me encouraging him to race faster until our parents told us to slow down in case I lost my balance and fell out but it never happened. Paul was always very protective of me, but that was understandable in the circumstances.

Sometimes I felt guilty growing up that while as independent as possible I was still a special needs kid, and my parents often had to pay more attention to me than my brother. But if it ever bothered Paul he never said so, never once did I ever hear him say, “Tara gets all the attention.” Still, I did feel bad when things had to happen or not happen due to me. For example, we could only live in a single story house as stairs were not something I got along with. While petite like my mother, just five feet two inches tall with a slim build, it was relatively easy for my tall, strong father or brother to carry me if required, but I think one or both of them would have ended up with hernias if they had had to carry me up and down the stairs several times each day. The modifications to the house to help me with my mobility issues all cost money, as did the modification to the car to allow my chair to go on the roof. My medical bills cost money. Sometimes, we couldn’t go on a specific vacation such as camping or do family activities as I wasn’t up to it. I probably shouldn’t have felt bad given I didn’t choose to be in a wheelchair, but nonetheless I did. Maybe it was just the Catholic guilt thing?

In early 1985 I turned 18, was a senior in high school, studying hard and getting good grades, continuing to play wheelchair basketball, working a part time job doing paperwork at a hardware store owned by Mom’s brother and was taking lessons to drive a modified car, something that would give me more independence in the future.

Paul Tuzla Escort was a freshman in college. The college was in Long Island so Paul could live at home and commute to classes every day. I was very glad as I loved his company, and would have missed him if he went away to school. The same applied to his girlfriend Michelle, a pretty redhead who was like a sister to me, although with Paul being my brother that was kind of weird. However, my favorite friend of my brother’s was his best friend since childhood, in the tall, dark and handsome form of Vinnie Antonio.

Vinnie was from a large, Italian-American family, the third of six brothers and sisters. They lived not too far from us, and attended the same Catholic high school. I’d always liked Vinnie, he was funny and charming and treated me like an equal. Plus he was so good-looking and charming. I’m not sure if my parents liked Vinnie and the rest of the Antonio family so much. They were originally from Brooklyn and had the strong accents of this borough to match, plus loud voices no doubt from so many people living in the same house struggling to make themselves heard. Vinnie attended college like my brother and like Paul lived at home, as it would have been dumb to pay accommodation fees to live at a college only a short drive away.

Soon after turning 18 in the winter something had happened that I never thought would. While I had always liked Vinnie as a friend and thought he was handsome – what girl wouldn’t, Vinnie was tall, with a fit muscular build to die for and his swarthy, smoldering Italian looks that could have won him a career in acting or as a male model – I had never had romantic feelings towards him.

But one cold afternoon in February, Vinnie passed by me in the hallway on his way out to his car after studying with Paul he had said to me, “I’ll catch you tomorrow, Tara.” This simple statement set off some reaction in my body and my heart aflutter. I wheeled myself to the living room windows and watched through the curtains as Vinnie got into his car and drove away into the snowy evening I felt that romantic feeling go through me and from that point there was no turning back – I had a crush on my brother’s best friend.

I thought this might be a passing thing, like having a crush on an actor or a pop-star, which had happened in the past but because Vinnie was around a lot, my feelings just got stronger. Paul and Vinnie liked to lift weights together in the garage, and I would often join them. I couldn’t of course lift weights like they could but could do a weight program to help me with my upper-body strength and toning, and would admire Vinnies fit masculine body as he pumped iron. When Vinnie picked up a towel and wiped the sweat away from his handsome face and his dark hair, I felt wet in another place, namely on the saddle of my panties.

I never mentioned my crush on Vinnie to anyone else, and I don’t think anyone caught on about my feelings for him. Lots of girls liked Vinnie and he dated plenty of them, but with me there were a few assumptions that prevented anybody suspecting my crush.

Firstly, as I had been around Vinnie most of my life it would seem that if I was to get feelings on him it would have happened already, and secondly people seemed to think that due to my paraplegia, I was asexual and not interested in dating and sex. While I was indeed not dating anyone and a virgin – the only male to ever see down there in great detail my gynecologist – it didn’t mean that I had no interest in sex, far from it. Sometimes in bed at night my fingers found their way into my panties, through my pubic hair and into my pussy, my resulting orgasms one of the reasons why I was so grateful to have feeling between my legs.

This had happened more frequently in recent months as my feelings for Vinnie got stronger. Some specific things helped this process along. Vinnie would sometimes come along with Paul and my parents to see my basketball games, and one time after I made a difficult shot Vinnie got a bit over-excited, leaped out of his seat yelling, “Yes, yes, yes, go Tara!”, cheering loudly and whistling. I think my parents were a bit embarrassed but on the court the dampness in my panties was not only caused by sweat but a certain other substance.

I most certainly wasn’t feeling sexy two weeks later when I had the flu and was off school sick and feeling sorry for myself. Vinnie had said, “I’ll make you my Nona’s famous cold remedy, you’ll feel better real soon.” He then vanished into the kitchen and returned five minutes later with a hot drink that contained honey and lemon and I suspect something from my parents’ liquor cabinet, but I sure as hell wasn’t complaining. In bed that night as I tried to sleep through my cold symptoms I felt those wonderful feelings of having a crush sweeping all over my body, and thought about how nice Vinnie had been to me and wishing I was more to him than his friend’s younger sister.

The Gebze Escort fantasy of Vinnie and I being more than friends I thought would stay just that – after all one look at me and my limitations as a girlfriend were obvious – until a couple of seemingly unrelated events occurred at the same time in spring 1985 that set off a perfect storm and things were never the same again.

First, I had my period in the week before spring break and secondly, the Antonio family needed to have termite treatments on their house that required them to move out over four days of the weekend while the work was done. With such a large family, they were going all over the place to friends and relatives and to my delight Vinnie was coming to stay with us for four days, sleeping in our spare bedroom. Actually, delight was understating it, I was more like a star-struck groupie whose favorite male recording artist was staying for a long weekend, but I was good at hiding my emotions.

How my period was relevant to all of this would appear confusing at face value. I was one of those girls who got her period every 28 days without fail, and it always went the same. Three days before it started I would get all cranky and emotional like many girls, very hormonal and precious, and would snap at people who annoyed me or break down in tears if looked at the wrong way. Men of course annoyed me far more than women when I was like this. Then there was the main event, my period itself, and it always lasted six days. The first three days I was always crampy and bloated, my menstrual flow heavy and my period wreaking havoc with my digestive system too. Days four and five things started to settle down a bit, my flow was lighter and my menstrual cramps were gone. But it was the sixth day of my period when things got really interesting.

By the last day of my period my menstrual flow was light and intermittent before finishing completely and my unused pads could go back into my underwear drawer until it all happened again next month. But it was in my brain that things went haywire on the last day of my period. It must have been my hormones playing up, because without fail I would get really horny and think the most explicit and dirty sexual thoughts and fantasies, this continuing on for another two days. I never dared tell anyone about my thoughts during this time, they would have judged me harshly. Hell, I judged myself harshly and told myself I shouldn’t think like this, but still I did.

Some of my fantasies were normal enough, straight heterosexual sex mainly with Vinnie but sometimes with other guys as well. But my other fantasies, my God. Sometimes I would imagine that I was dressed in my Catholic school uniform with line of about 20 guys stood before me, and one at a time they approached my wheelchair and I gave each of them a blow job. Other times I thought about lowering my panties down to my thighs, sitting in my chair with my legs open enough so my vagina was visible up my skirt, the boys this time each taking it in turn to smell my lowered panties while perving on my pubic hair and my pussy. Other times I would think about boys smelling the seat of my wheelchair after I had moved out of it. I fantasized about having to take a shower out in the open with all the 18-year-old boys and male teachers watching me naked and washing my most private parts, Vinnie there too watching me and enjoying the show. When I was using the toilet at school (there was one disabled cubicle in the girls’ bathroom available for me to use), I would pretend that my good-looking young male math teacher walked in on me and saw my lowered panties and my exposed pussy.

So it was by a twist of fate that the Friday Vinnie arrived for his four day stay was the last day of my period, and this sent my hormones wild. All day at school I kept counting down the hours until classes finished for the day and I could head home and Vinnie would arrive. My anticipation, and my secret sexual desires made concentrating in classes that day very difficult.

When I wheeled myself through the front door and up the hallway after arriving home I didn’t have long to wait, Vinnie was already there and stepped out of the kitchen right in front of me, opening a can of soda.

“Hi Tara,” he said casually, his strong Brooklyn accent making him even hotter and sending my clitoris wild with desire.

“Oh hi Vinnie,” I said, trying to sound casual too and not to say anything dumb. The other week I had been talking to Vinnie when he came over to study with Paul and I actually used the expression ‘swell’ when describing my day. This would have been okay had it been 1958, but by now the last two digits of the date had reversed and nobody said ‘swell’ any more. Vinnie and I had laughed about it, but I still felt embarrassed.

On my way into my bedroom to change out of my Catholic school uniform, I looked down and noticed that my legs were slightly open, and this would have given a slight view Aydınlı Escort up my skirt and to the white cotton panties I was wearing. Right away my hormones and the sexually twisted thoughts they created in my mind came into play. Had Vinnie seen my panties and did he like them? Did he know that I was on my period, and wearing a pad in my panties? My private feminine area went wild as I thought of one deviated thought after another.

Taking off my school uniform and changing into a pair of stone-washed denim jeans and a yellow knitted sweater with my feet bare I sat in my wheelchair watching a movie on the VCR with my parents, brother and Vinnie after dinner. Our cat had settled onto my knee, and was one happy pussy, purring contentedly as she fell asleep in my lap. But there was a pussy in the room that was far happier than the feline one, and that was the one between my legs, covered by my panties and my jeans. Stealing discrete glances at handsome Vinnie, my vagina tingled and I could feel myself getting damp down there and it was good that I was wearing a sanitary pad, otherwise I would probably have ended up soaking through the double cotton of my panty saddle by the time the film was over and it was time for bed.


The next morning, my period was definitely over and I spent ages deciding what to wear. Finally, I decided upon a denim jacket, denim skirt and a matching teal blue tee-shirt and stockings. I always wore stockings to cover my legs; while I could put on leggings pantyhose were just that bit too cumbersome for me. I clipped on my teal-blue hooped ear-rings, and as I brushed my shoulder-length lightly permed hair, light brown like my mother and brother’s hair, I reached into my hair accessories and took out a teal blue hair bow. On my feet, I put on white ankle socks and white sneakers.

Leaning forward in my wheelchair, I looked up my own skirt and could see my bikini-brief style panties, white in color with small blue flowers and the bare skin at the top of my legs, where my panty leg elastic finished and my stocking tops commenced. My pussy responded as I wished it was Vinnie looking up my skirt, and liking what he saw up there.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, my brown eyes looking back at me. “Tara, calm down,” I said to myself as inside, I kept thinking how great it would be if Vinnie liked the clothes I was wearing and told me I looked pretty. Lots of people said I was pretty, I often thought they were just saying it to be nice, but the more I looked I had to admit that they were right. Although of course I was modest, and never ever referenced myself as being pretty.

Opening my bedroom door, my heart was aflutter as the first person I encountered was none other than Vinnie, looking so hot in his tight black tee-shirt and blue jeans.

“Hi Vinnie, did you sleep well?” I asked, feeling chirpy by seeing my crush so early in the morning.

“Hi Tara, I slept good thanks,” said Vinnie. He looked at the clothes I was wearing. “You look real nice Tara, the color teal suits you.”

I smiled and blushed. “Thanks Vinnie,” I said shyly, while in my panties my clitoris reacted to his praise. If this continued all of Saturday, I would have very sticky undies by nightfall!

Saturday was a pretty normal sort of day, everybody doing their own things. I helped Mom with a couple of things around the house and then we ran some errands. It was the evening I was looking forward to. Paul and Michelle were going out with her parents and her sisters, while Mom and Dad were going out to dinner in the city with Dad’s sister and her husband. That meant Vinnie and I would be alone for the evening.

Now if I had been able to walk I think Mom, Dad and Paul might have had reservations about leaving their 18-year-old daughter/sister with a 19-year-old guy known for his eye for the ladies. But as it seemed unrealistic that Vinnie would try to get into the pants of a chick in a wheelchair, they didn’t have any concerns about leaving us alone together in the house.

They didn’t of course know about my hormones driving me wild with sexual desires, and how Vinnie getting into my pants was the one thing I wanted to happen more than anything else in the world. However, it didn’t seem that likely. Vinnie had a great time together that evening, ordering some Chinese food, listening to music on my cassettes, watching a video and talking and laughing together, but he was a perfect gentleman. Despite my relaxed demeanor, inside I was anything but and my emotions swirled like a washing machine. I was horny, nervous and thinking up ways I could live out my erotic fantasies with Vinnie.

It was nearly time for me to get ready for bed. I needed to go to the bathroom and take my shower, and soon my over-sexed mind thought up a way I could enjoy myself. While fiercely independent and protective of my privacy when showering or using the bathroom, I loved having Vinnie help me with simple things, it turned me on.

“I really need to get ready for bed now, it’s getting late,” I said.

“Okay,” said Vinnie, as he ejected the cassette from the VCR and returned it to its cover.

“Would you mind pushing me to my bedroom please so I can get everything ready?”

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