Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. ï>¿Pink Baby Dolls by MsBHaiVing The trials of a chaste young woman coming into maturity. Pink Baby Dolls Pt. 01 "Well that's just great isn't it." The fridge door slammed and the magnetized shopping list, the only homey touch in out sleek stainless kitchen, flew off and disappeared under the wine rack. "Why am I not surprised?" my brother drawled, 'tsk, tsk, tsking' with barely contained contempt, as he narrowed his eyes at our mother and radiated what I felt to be (but would never voice) well-earned contempt. "Mark, you know how important it is to your father and I not to offend his associates when they invite us to one of their weekend stayovers." mother said briskly giving him her back. Stillness shrouded my brother like a cloak and frost sculpted his already hard jaw. "He's. Not. My. Father." Mark had only been four years old when his mother married our father and I was born the next year but he was still unable or unwilling to accept us as family even though he and I were born to the same mother. He was tall, dark and intense; I was the opposite, and our relationship seemed fated to be forever-more ravaged by our differences. "Well I'm sorry this came up at the last minute but I'm sure you and Jocelyn will be fine on your own," my mother continued, deliberately ignoring his comment as she withdrew a wad of cash from her purse and laid it on the counter. A sardonic sneer of indifference masqueraded as a smile as Mark quirked up an edge of a lip and focused unseeing eyes on the pile of bills. "Well, don't think we'll be playing out the quaint little Norman Rockwell family Thanksgiving charade you made us come home from school for. Let's make one thing very clear - for everyone," he cast a quick glance in my direction, "I am completely delighted to learn I'll not be having to spend a minute more than I have to with a single damn one of you." He tossed his unkempt mop of black hair off his face so violently that his glasses almost followed the shopping list that had careened across the floor. He turned towards me, swept a disparaging look up and down the length of me, gave a snort of dismissal, swept up a chunk of the cash and strode off towards his mancave in the basement. Sarcasm and hostility were my brother's usual response to our parents abandoning us yet again. Actually one might say it was his perpetual state of being around here. I sighed deeply as I watched him sweep away under his usual thundercloud and heard the slamming of his door a moment later. Another family member who didn't want to be in my vicinity. Nothing new there. You'd think Mark and I would have banded together somewhat since we had both been constantly shipped off or left to our own devices by our parents. Unfortunately that had never been the case and we always kept our distance from each other. As my mother was gathering up her things to leave I asked "What do you do at all these weekend getaways anyway, Mum?" She momentarily looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights but then quickly slid her eyes sideways and with a scathing glance, defensively replied "Nothing. I told you it's all business. Your father's career depends on our participation." And that was the end of that. And then my mother, despite the fact that my brother and I had been forced to cancel our respective holiday plans to come home for Thanksgiving - he from his fancy-pants ivy league university and I from the live-in Catholic high school where I was finally about to complete my last year - my mother turned and flounced off dramatically to join my father who was waiting, no doubt impatiently, out in the car. As usual, there was soon nothing left of them but the pizza money on the counter and the cloud of my mother's perfume. No, nothing new at all. Mark fumed as he stomped down the stairs and slammed the door to his suite. It bounced right back open just as it always did when he slammed it. Which he seemed to be doing more often than not he realized balefully, because he just didn't get the satisfaction from slamming the damn thing that he used to. He shook his head and swore under his breath, too disgusted to go back and close it. "Friggin' door." The expression he'd seen on Jocelyn's face before he'd summarily dismissed the lot of them was making him irritable too. "Friggin' sisters." No matter. Feeling angry and irritable was better than the pervasive melancholy that had been encompassing him lately. He threw his glasses onto the coffee table welcoming the familiar rage (they bounced too but it didn't matter because they weren't prescription - just props to augment his already scholarly persona). He ripped off his oversized t-shirt and headed for his weights. He didn't allow himself many indulgences but a good workout, a steaming shower, a fully loaded pizza and a little one-on-one time with himself (for another good workout), would be just what he needed to deal with this fiasco. In her room upstairs later, Jocelyn tipped her head to the left and then to the right as she gazed at herself in her full-length mirror. The ruffle at the hem of her pink babydoll pjs skimmed just below the clearly visible matching hi-cut panties beneath. She held up her phone so Amelia, her girlfriend from school (at whom's house she was supposed to have spent the holiday weekend), could see her right from the top of her blonde ponytail down to her powder-puff stilettos. "Wow, the matching slippers are just darling Amelia. This outfit is definitely my favourite gift. Thank you sooo much!" Jocelyn inquired as she twisted her ankle inwards to show a long stretch of leg leading up to the perky cheek exposed by the g-string. "It's so cute on you!!" Amelia squealed in appreciation. "It really would have been perfect for our pajama party!" she sighed. "I wish we'd been able to celebrate your birthday together as planned. I guess we'll just have to postpone our pillow fight until the next long weekend," she said as Jocelyn brought her phone back around to look at her friend. "That wispy seashell pink looks just delicious on you with your creamy complexion and golden hair. You look so yummy I could just eat you all up!" She licked her lips. Jocelyn giggled and pirouetted on her toes to look behind herself at the Barbie doll bedroom. "I guess you could say I like pink," she did a flirty little shrug and widened her smile. "And I ESPECIALLY like pink champagne!" She demonstrated by hefting the magnum from the sweating silver ice bucket and taking a small swig, spluttering as the effervescence bubbled up and tickled her nose. She thrust her bottom lip out in a pout, "I guess I'm going to have to drink this whole thing by myself now though because of my jerk parents." She took another sip to wash away the reminder and was again caught unawares by the fizzy. "I really need to go down and get a proper glass to drink this from." "Well, you'd better not go downstairs dressed like that!" Amelia cautioned. "Somebody might see you." Jocelyn tried to look blase' but ended up sounding petulant, "Like who? My brother? Who cares? I've never even seen him with a girl. He's probably gay." Amelia thought about that for a minute. "Yeah, you're probably right. The cute ones always are." Jocelyn choked back a laugh. "What?? Mark? Cute?" "Hey! Don't roll your eyes like I'm crazy. If he didn't always prowl around the house dressed like a sack of potatoes and combed his hair every once in a while, I bet he'd be cute!" Jocelyn humoured her and acquiesced, imagining Amelia with her hands on her hips as she lectured. Amelia's defensiveness disappeared as quickly as it had sprung up though as her expression turned wary and she continued, "But he might tell on you for drinking and that'd be bad. Oh wait! Are you of age now?" "No. One more year. You have to be 19 here." "Well, knowing him, (not that I do, but) he'd probably find something to criticize and make fun of, the jerk." "Yeah. To be perfectly honest though, I doubt he'd even notice me or what I was doing." Her eyes caught on the reflection of herself in the mirror and a smile broke back across her face. "It's fun to play dress-up, even at our age, isn't it?" she declared gleefully. "Maybe I really should go down and show him my outfit to see what he thinks. Gay men are, after all, supposed to have great taste, right?" They both burst out laughing and then chatted a few minutes longer until they rang off, promising to talk again tomorrow. An hour or two later Jocelyn had painted her nails, applied more makeup than she'd ever be allowed, changed her hairstyle - twice - and finished more than half the bottle of bubbly - still without a glass. She went back to the mirror and decided to model a few poses, each one turning out more sultry and scandalous than the last. First she practised her pucker. Then she practised throwing come-hither looks through the seductive sweep of her lashes. With a fairy-light touch she drew a delicate fingertip back and forth across her ruby bottom lip and used her other arm to support her breasts, plumping her bosom and molding her cleavage to lean forward and tease an imaginary lover with her tongue. She turned her back and threw her hair over her shoulder sending the golden veil cascading down her back. She lifted the back of her frilly top and watched the tight jiggle of her cheerleader wiggle approvingly. The bubbly was gliding down her throat much more smoothly now so she decided to turn up the tunes and dance. She watched her sensuous undulations in the mirror and ran her hands up and down her body, shaping her tiny waist and caressing the curve of her hips. The silkiness of her pjs whispered over her breasts abrading them gently and making them taut and itchy. She watched in dreamlike fascination as her nipples tightened, stippled and strained against the sheer fabric of her baby dolls. She was tempted to run her hands over their pillowy fullness... perhaps a well-placed pinch. The need for relief was shameful yet so distracting. Her bottom felt soft, round and saucy and as she cupped the luscious mounds, kneading them firmly with a primal rhythm, a shudder ran through her and the sway of her hips became more provocative, more purposeful. Her hands found themselves sweeping back around her hips and down the front of her thighs as her breath came faster and shallower, accompanied by a deep inner purr. She ran her palms back up her slightly spread thighs, thumbs upward, fingers inward, up and up to the lacy edge of her dainty panties. Her thumbs strummed lightly, enticingly, just inside the barrier of the frill. The secret cove between her legs started to pulse with the beat of the music - or was that the beat of her heart - and her fingers joined her thumbs to nudge the edge of her panties a little higher. Push them a little deeper. Hunger quivered and throbbed within her as her fingers circled closer to her swollen slit. So close. So hot. So... With a visible start she broke free from the bonds of her lust and realized she had been almost about to debase herself. She whipped her hands away from her trembling body, appalled that she'd almost fallen victim to the desire to pleasure herself. Oh god. What had she been thinking? Nothing! Absolutely nothing, that's what! She hadn't been thinking at all. She certainly hadn't been thinking about THAT! Certainly not! She backed away from the mirror and was immediately flooded with the distressing awareness that her most private parts were... damp. Disgustingly damp! Like a wet creamy honey pot practically dripping down between her legs. Hot mortification flooded her face. This wickedness had to stop. She was a good girl and had never done anything so perverse. She felt like a dirty little slut and could only be grateful no one knew of her shame. Jocelyn turned off the music and, taking a deep breath to steady herself, she stood in the middle of her bedroom looking around and wondering what she should do now. She sure as heck wasn't going to be able to go to sleep and she felt a bit too rattled to be left to her own devices. The music - or something - had left her feeling restless and unfulfilled but she didn't feel like dancing anymore but couldn't figure out how else to address her needs. Besides, she realized now that it wasn't that much fun to be tipsy all by one's self. Maybe she should go downstairs and offer Mark a drink. That would be a nice sisterly thing to do and she suddenly felt a compunction to be sisterly. Ignoring the improbability of any degree of welcome on Mark's part, Jocelyn rationalized that he might want company for a change and was probably feeling as bored as she. Being her big brother, she was (almost) absolutely confident that he could probably think of lots of things they could do together to amuse themselves. Surely she had to but ask. She twirled and did a final check in the mirror, front view and back, picked up her bottle of bubbly, and pranced out of her room with nary a stumble, already feeling brighter-eyed and bushy-tailed.