My Sister the Matchmaker

When six-year-old June learns her parents met as teens because her aunt arranged it, she tries to do the same for her cherished brother, John--and succeeds!

Part One

My sister June and I have always gotten along splendidly. I am four years and three months her senior having been born in March 1962 while June was born in 1966 during the month that bears her name. We are the only children our parents had. I was constantly amazed to hear from my male classmates about the hostility some of them had towards their sisters as that was a totally foreign concept in my family. June was, and always has been, especially kind to me. My name is John O’Neil. I always tried to reciprocate, treating my sister with great love and respect.

One day when I was ten and June was six, we were having a typical dinnertime conversation with our parents. June, always a curious girl, asked Mom and Dad how they had met. Despite my being older than June, I had never even thought about asking my parents questions pertaining to that topic, so their answers were a revelation to me, too.

Dad recalled the circumstances. “My sister, your aunt Denise, had a classmate whom she thought would be an excellent future wife for me,” he explained. “I guess it was about 20 years ago. I was just 15 years old at the time while Denise and her friend were 13. Denise asked this girl to come to our house to work on some school assignment. At least that was the premise, but it was really a ruse. When Denise brought Angela Davidson home with her one afternoon, she introduced her to me as ‘the girl you ought to marry someday.’ This appeared to be news to Angela. She didn’t even know Denise had a brother. She had this horrified look on her face. I honestly think she wanted to turn around and run out of the house. I smiled at Angela and tried to be as polite and low-key as I could after such an odd introduction. Angela luckily decided to stick around, too. This was a good thing. Within about five minutes I decided that maybe Denise was right. Angela was quite nice, very pretty, and she had many good qualities. Angela became comfortable with me, too. Eight years later I married her. Is that about right, Angela?” He gave my mother a very loving look. June and I both applauded.

“Yes, that’s a fairly accurate, condensed version of the story,” Mom agreed. “We weren’t a couple for eight years before we were wed, though, but we were always friendly. However, somewhere along the line we eventually figured out that we were meant for each other. Think about it! If it hadn’t been for your Aunt Denise being so pushy, I might have married someone else and this handsome fellow sitting across the table from me also might have married someone else. That means you two wouldn’t be here today eating this meat loaf.”

“Wow!” June said. “Maybe I ought to find John a future wife from the girls in my classroom!” The three of us laughed. Mom accurately said I was a little bit on the young side to be courting anyone. I agreed. At age ten, my interest in girls was practically zero, anyway. However, I knew enough about the persistent nature of my sister to know that she was now on a mission to find my future wife amongst her schoolmates.

Part Two

Sure enough, about three days later, the parade began. When I arrived home from school, June had a surprise waiting for me in the form of six-year-old Beverly Davenport. I later learned that June had basically given an open invitation to her 16 female classmates that one of them could marry me someday. As a strapping fifth-grader, I suppose I was a bit of a prize for these little first-grade cuties because Beverly was the first of four such candidates who eagerly accompanied June to our house to meet me for the eventual purpose of matrimony.

As soon as I saw Beverly sitting at our living room table I knew why she was here. June didn’t have to say a word, but she did anyway. “John, this girl is Beverly Davenport. Can you guess why I brought her home with me today?”

“I don’t have to guess,” I informed June. “I already know. You think Beverly would be a good wife for me sometime in the future, right?”

“Hey, that is right!” June exclaimed. “How did you know that, John?”

“Just intuition,” I responded, “and I know how your mind works.” I then added, “Hi, Beverly. How are you today? Did June tell you why she brought you here today—or did she say it was to do homework together or something like that?”

Beverly seemed surprised by that question. “No, I volunteered to come here when June said she was looking for someone to marry you someday. I’ve seen you in the schoolyard, John. I think you are very handsome, so that’s why I came to your house today. There’s no other reason.”

I was a bit startled by her honesty. “Well, that is very flattering, Beverly,” I told her. “You’re quite pretty yourself, too. Maybe I will marry you in about 15 years.”

Beverly blushed for just a moment, then she looked at June and said, “I like your brother. He’s very nice. May I hug him?”

“Don’t ask me; ask him!” June replied.

I didn’t wait for the question. To be a sport, I lifted Beverly from her chair with ease and promptly gave her an enormous bear hug followed by a kiss on the cheek. I could tell by the expression on her small, cute face that she thoroughly enjoyed that unexpected interaction with me. Beverly snugly wrapped her arms around me, not wanting the hug to end. She looked at June and said, “I really, really like John. I know what I’ll be doing in 15 years.”

I just laughed and said, “Now that we’ve decided that, why don’t we go downstairs to the rec room and turn on the TV. There must be some program on right now that the three of us can enjoy together.” Beverly took me by the hand as we descended the staircase. I caught a quick glimpse at June. She seemed quite proud of herself.

I turned on the TV, but Beverly, a dimpled, towheaded girl who was clad in a sky-blue dress and knee socks, seemed uninterested in whatever was on the screen. Instead, she sat on the couch beside me, edging closer to me with every passing minute. She was chattering about her favorite foods, her best subjects at school, what types of dogs she liked, and so forth. By the time she explained why oatmeal cookies were the yummiest treat in the world, she was seated on my lap with her head resting gently on my shoulder. I surprised myself by accepting Beverly’s actions as desirable. Maybe girls—even those the same age as June—were not as off-putting as I had always thought they were!

Beverly remained on my lap for the next 30 minutes until she announced she had better get home or she’d be late for dinner. She lived just two blocks away from our house. Before she left, she whispered in my ear. “May I kiss you, John?”

“Of course, Beverly!” I told her in a whisper of my own. “Kiss me as often as you like for as long as you like.” Beverly took full advantage of that offer, with a lengthy, passionate smooch that seemed straight from a Hollywood romance scene. From a distance, June smiled at us. The minute Beverly had gone out the door, June ran upstairs in record time to tell Mom about her newfound success as a matchmaker. She began, “Mom, do you remember how Aunt Denise matched you with Dad? Well, can you guess what I just did for John?”

Part Three

Despite Beverly tracking me down in the schoolyard the next day for a couple of quick hugs, to my amazement, a different girl accompanied June home that afternoon. She was a brunette who was slightly taller than both June and Beverly. The most noticeable thing about her was a prominent smile. I figured once she got her adult teeth, she should be acting in toothpaste commercials. Compared to the aggressive way Beverly approached me, this girl was downright demure. June explained, “I know you liked Beverly a lot, John, but she’s just one of four girls in my class who really want to meet you. This is one of them. Her name is Paula Steinman…and she’s really smart.”

I offered my hand and said with a grin, “So you want to marry me, too, Paula. Is that right?”

“Well, maybe,” she answered without any emotion. “It depends on whether I like you or not and how we get along.” This girl was at least logical about June’s offer. We did not really hit it off, though—and June must have sensed it right away. When Paula left, June apologized to me. “Paula was a dud,” she admitted. “Maybe the girl I’ll bring you tomorrow will be as good as Beverly.” My sister was being very thorough with this project she had created for herself. To my great surprise, I had become interested in it, too! I guess I was getting older and wiser to the ways of the world.

Alison McKenzie was candidate number three. She was better company than Paula had been, but that wasn’t saying much. I could tell Alison was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, so I told June I had no interest in her as a future wife. The fourth candidate was the unforgettable Karen Sebastian who couldn’t wait to clamber all over me and run her fingers through my hair. This six-year-old freely confessed that she liked to kiss her two older brothers’ friends at every opportunity and “do sexy stuff” with them. I was certain that Karen would be a fun date when she got to be a teenager, but I wasn’t interested in marrying a girl with no concept of self-restraint. I figured if we married, she might cheat on me during our honeymoon!

“Beverly wins by process of elimination,” I told June about half a minute after Karen had departed. “In fact, she wins easily just on her own merits. You can tell her that for me, please.” June reported that Beverly received the news with great happiness. She accompanied June home the next day—and for most of the next six years. Beverly would always refer to me as “Future Husband.” I reciprocated by labelling her as “Future Wife.” By the time I was 14 and Beverly was 10, I suspected that June had done me a huge favor four years earlier by recruiting her to be her future sister-in-law: Beverly was undeniably pretty, plus we got along swimmingly. We constantly hugged each other and occasionally kissed; I was often the instigator.

When Beverly was just 12 years old, she was becoming sexually appealing to me, too. She had been among the first girls in her class to blossom. This was very apparent when she’d visit our house during warm summer days in 1978. We had an above-ground swimming pool. She filled out her tight, one-piece bathing suit quite nicely. (June wasn’t even close to having a female figure like that at age 12.) Of course, that made Beverly even more fun to hug. One day when Beverly was frolicking in the pool with June, Dad took me aside to have a chat. He cautioned me that I was perhaps treading in dangerous waters. “There’s a big difference now,” he told me. “When you were 10 and Beverly was six, it was just cute how affectionate you two were. Now you’re 16 and she’s 12. You’re a normal teenage boy, John. You’re still four years older than she is, but Beverly has matured to the point where she has a figure that turns the heads of adult males. Maybe you ought to cut back on the hugging, son.”

“That’s a very interesting idea, Dad,” I replied. “Just today I was thinking of bypassing the hugging altogether and going straight to sexual intercourse with Beverly. She’s certainly built for it,” I said in a monotone voice. Dad looked at me with a worried and shocked expression until I broke out laughing. Only then did he realize I was being facetious and gave me a playful swat to the back of my head as punishment. “I knew you weren’t going to listen to that advice, son,” he told me as he turned and walked away.

Amazingly, despite having the normal urges that a teenage boy does, I didn’t pressure Beverly to take the next, obvious step in our relationship. First, it would have been illegal, as the laws in my part of the world at that time had 14 as the age of sexual consent. (It’s since been raised to 16.) Second, I didn’t want to risk a good thing. I actually wanted to marry Beverly when we got into our twenties, and I think she felt the same way. I didn’t want to endanger that relationship. Thus, it was a challenge to behave myself appropriately with her now that she was a preteen sexpot. There were times, especially in the swimming pool, where my hands freely wandered. Beverly was not bothered by that at all. In fact, she seemed to welcome my occasional sensual touches.

Part Four

Two years later, in 1980, when Beverly Davenport was 14 and I was 18, her good looks continued apace. Beverly, a freshman, was the best-looking girl at the same high school I attended. There wasn’t even much debate about it. She outclassed even the girls my age in overall sex appeal. Beverly was now about 5’4” tall. She still had her cute dimples and lovely blonde hair. As an added bonus, she was now built like a swimsuit model. I was the absolute envy of every male pupil at that school whenever Beverly would frequently give me very affectionate hugs. Yes, we had slowly evolved to the point that we were a couple—and I was absolutely ecstatic about it.

One day, after receiving a terrific kiss and a long hug from Beverly, a jealous classmate named Clancy Nestor asked me, “John, how did you get connected with a freshman girl who looks like that? Did you have a scouting report on her from middle school?”

“My scout found her for me long before that!” I replied honestly. “In fact, here comes my reliable scout now.” At that precise moment June was approaching me for a ride home in the used car I’d recently bought. Before she could utter a word to me, I said, “I love you, sister!” and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for introducing me to Beverly when you and she were six years old!” Clancy just shrugged. He walked away impressed.

About a week later, after receiving another terrific kiss from Beverly, she whispered in my ear, “John, we do need to talk sometime.” She had a serious tone in her voice which slightly worried me. Beverly must have sensed my concern. She assured me that what she wanted to speak about was nothing bad at all. I told her to meet me outside the front door of the school, in an area that had a few seldom-used benches nearby.

Neither one of us wasted much time getting to that spot. We sat closely beside each other. Beverly, still the one to take the initiative, got straight to the point. “How come we’ve never had sex yet, John? From what I hear from my female classmates’ stories, at least half of them are regularly screwing somebody.”

I just laughed at that statistic and said, “Frankly, I don’t believe it, Beverly. If teenage girls are anything like teenage boys, they exaggerate greatly.”

“Well, maybe,” Beverly conceded. “So, let’s just focus on us. How come we haven’t had sex yet? You’ve certainly had plenty of opportunities to have me over the years. You know I would have said yes to you.”

“Yes, that’s very true, Beverly,” I replied. “But up until three weeks ago when you turned 14, I could have ended up with a criminal record that would have followed me forever for having sexual relations with a minor.” I added as a joke, “It might have been worth it, of course…”

Beverly quickly pointed out that things had recently changed. “I’m over 14 now, John, so everything is completely legal. Come to my house tonight at 7 p.m. for some lawful intercourse. Nobody else will be home at that time.”

“That will be a first for us!” I declared.

“Well, yes,” Beverly replied, somewhat confused. “We’ve never had sex before.”

I chuckled and issued a prompt clarification. I told Beverly, “What I meant was I’ve never set foot inside your house before! Honestly, you’ll have to remind me what the house number is.”

Part Five

According to my watch, I arrived at Beverly’s home at 6:55 p.m.—not too early, and certainly not a moment too late. She was waiting for me, anxiously looking through her living room window as I approached the front door, so I didn’t even have to knock. Wearing a dainty pink blouse and a short black skirt, Beverly had never looked more attractive to me in her life. We passionately kissed for about five minutes before actually saying anything.

“Let’s take this to my bedroom, John,” Beverly eventually suggested.

I wholly concurred with that idea. “Lead the way,” I said.

If someone had asked me to give a basic description of the décor of Beverly’s bedroom, I could not do it; it would only be a wild guess. I was so focused on finally bedding my longtime sweetheart and fiancée that I don’t know if its walls were wallpapered or painted and what color they might have been. We were too busy disrobing each other in a frenzy to worry about such trivialities. Beverly, now sexily sprawled on her bed in her birthday suit, occupied my entire attention.

Beverly’s breasts were magnificent things to behold and be held, of course. They were round, firm and thoroughly built for passionate sucking. The idea that I was the first male to enjoy them sexually was a huge turn-on for me. They were the kind of tits with small areolas. Beverly’s nipples were slight but stiff. Her vagina was covered with fine hair. All in all, Beverly was completely adorable!

I didn’t know where to begin ravishing her, but I had to start somewhere, so I began I vigorous round of cunnilingus to stimulate her pussy for intercourse. Long, loving licks liquified her crevice. I liked the taste and stuck my tongue into her as far as I could. I envied a few male classmates of mine who had extra-long tongues that were wonderfully handy to possess in such situations. (One guy in particular named Patrick Greenwood, whom I often ate lunch with, could impressively touch the tip of his nose with his tongue. In contrast, I could barely elevate mine beyond the top of my upper lip.) Be that as it may, I seemed to be satisfying my sexy bedmate as Beverly squirmed with delight from my efforts.

Next on the agenda were Beverly’s inviting breasts. They were indisputably the best set at my high school—and they were all mine at that moment. They weren’t overly large attributes—perhaps 20 percent larger than an average high-school girl’s assets—but they were certainly prominent items. I used them as best I could with every body part of mine that might enjoy them: my fingers, my thumbs, my palms, my lips, my teeth, my undersized tongue, and especially my penis, which had been fully erect from the moment Beverly let me into her house. Fucking Beverly’s tits was almost as pleasurable for me as drilling her pussy—that’s how sexy they were.

I was delighted to see that Beverly was not content to be a passive lover. She eagerly and enthusiastically simulated my sexual appendage with fellatio, declaring that she had wanted to do that particular act to me and for me for at least three years.

When Beverly was done, I hadn’t come to an orgasm, but I felt like I was wielding an iron rod. I wasted no time in putting it to use in the most effective way possible. I drove it deep inside her vagina, initially with long, slow thrusts. I eventually increased the speed and repetitions of my penetrations. I felt Beverly’s pussy become noticeably wetter, so I knew I was sexually pleasing her at least as much as she was pleasing me. After about six or seven minutes of intense screwing, I was at the point of no return. I pulled out, gave my throbbing dick a few yanks, and ejaculated across Beverly’s breasts. They became covered with gobs of my thick, white goo. For some reason we both began laughing. I suppose it was simply a good, joyful reaction to a very positive experience for the two of us. I can’t speak for Beverly, but for me it had been worth the wait.

The next day I made a special shopping trip. I went to a florist and bought two bouquets of mixed flowers and two large boxes of candy from the best chocolatier in town. I delivered one bouquet and one box to Beverly—and the others to my sister June. The latter was accompanied with a card thanking her for being such an excellent matchmaker all those years before.