At only eighteen years old, my little sister Samantha was more intellectually and wittily precocious than I ever was, though she had the looks and curves to make a totally different kind of precociousness equally available to her if ever she were to avail herself of it. But instead, she tended to dress plainly in T-shirts and pale blue jeans, though both were often just snug enough to leave the outline of her shapely butt and breasts relatively unobscured. My own usual track suits, skinny jeans, and tank tops did my figure justice as well, but my clothed sex appeal just never seemed quite as effortless as Sam's.
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