I was hesitant to write a harem story around the younger sisters, but it's a story I've never done before and I thought I could have fun with it, so here we are. Lisa creates a pheromoneal spritz to make Lincoln more receptive to his younger sisters' love, and the older sisters and some others get involved. Please don't lynch me.

Lucy Loud had a secret: She liked trashy romance novels, you know, the paperbacks with pictures of hunky, shirtless men on the covers, their long hair fluttering in the wind. She had dozens of them packed away in a box shoved deep under her bed and covered with a layer of equally trashy horror paperbacks. She only read them late at night, when everyone else was asleep and the chances of her shame being discovered were at their absolute minimum.

Her attraction to these novels mystified her at first; the only interesting parts were inevitably when the hero "sank his burning man rod" into the heroine's "quivering chasm." The suspense was lame, the drama was lame, the dialogue sucked, and the prose was purpler than Luna's skirt...but the sex scenes were very interesting.

She read her first romance novel by accident: While browsing through the adult fiction section at the Royal Woods Public Library, she came across a tattered paperback called The Power of the Moon. The cover was totally black save for a white, gibbous moon. Wicked, Lucy thought, and took it home. She realized it wasn't a horror novel when she was over 100 pages in, but the sexual tension (she didn't know then that that's what it was) between the small town sheriff and the waitress intrigued her. She knew something was going to happen between them, and by the time it did, she was as excited as they were, her stomach fluttering and her heart pounding. When she got up from her bed after reading their big scene, she felt...squishy between her legs. Hm. Interesting.

After The Power of the Moon, Lucy decided she wanted to read more books like that, so she went back to the library and found herself in the romance section, surrounded by a thousand brightly colored books. Oh. She blushed furiously as she scanned the titles, hoping that she didn't see anyone she knew. She selected five books, and brought them to the front desk with her head down. She could imagine the librarian looking at the covers and laughing at her. Little girly-girl likes her love books. Hahahahahahahaha! The librarian simply checked the books out, put them into a plastic bag, and thanked her for patronizing them.

Lucy discovered a lot about herself from that initial batch of books. One, she got excited every time she read about sex, which was funny, since some of the horror novels she'd read contained sex and it honestly did nothing for her...except annoy her – get back to the vampire! When she was finished reading a certain scene, she would feel warm all over...and hot between her legs. If a scene was really good, her underwear would dampen. From these books (and online research), she learned that this was called "being wet" and happened when a woman was "horny" (per ). The same site defined "horny" as when a person feels "intense sexual desire." Okay. That made sense. Two, she wanted to do the things they did in those stories. The idea of "gentle lovemaking" with someone she "deeply loved" made her heart pound.

But who did she deeply love? No one, really, at least not in that way.

Then, one warm August night, she was sitting in the bathroom and reading a romance novel by flashlight when she heard footsteps approaching. Panicking, she leapt off the toilet and dove into the shower, pulling the curtain closed just as the door opened. Whew, that was...

The light snapped on, and Lincoln crossed to the commode. He was dressed only in his underwear. Maybe it was because she was just reading a highly sensual scene, maybe it was because she was already turned on, but when she saw his chest and his quivering stomach, his muscular arms and legs, the faint outline of his, uh, member in his briefs, her breath hitched and wet heat pooled in her loins. She watched, wide-eyed and panting, as he slipped down his underwear, and his virial masculinity sprang free. Lucy's eyes widened at the sight. It was long and thick and beautiful, with a crowned head and a pulsing vein running the length of the shaft.

Lucy's heart stopped and she sucked her bottom lip in as he held himself over the toilet. A yellow stream issued from his tip, and while urine was decidedly not sexy, she flashed back to all the sex scenes she'd ever read where the man "erupted" and filled the woman with "molten love." Is...is that what it looked like when a man "finished"?

It was beautiful.

When he was done, he pulled his briefs up, flushed the toilet, and turned. Lucy watched him go, his shoulder blades flexing under his warm flesh, his underwear clinging tightly to his butt. She took a deep, shivery breath and tried to calm her racing heart. Her mouth was dry, his stomach in knots. The heat between her legs was so great that it made her dizzy.

Lying in the bathtub, in the dark, Lucy masturbated for the first time, and when she climaxed, she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from letting out an earth shattering scream.

She decided something that night.

She wanted to have sex.

With Lincoln.

Lola Loud sat at her vanity and smiled at her reflection. It was a wide, toothy smile that lacked warmth or authenticity. It was fake. Painted on. She sighed and turned away from the mirror. She enjoyed pageants, she really did, but sometimes it was hard to smile for the people, because you didn't feel like smiling, and when you don't feel happy, how can you look happy?

Usually, being on a stage in front of dozens and dozens of eyes, feeling them crawl across her body, the spotlight warm against her skin, Lola was really happy. She could have a terrible day and be in the worst mood ever, but stepping through that curtain and knowing everyone was watching her melted her stress and worries away. Lately, however, even that failed to excite her, because there was one person whose attention she wanted, whose attention she craved, but did not get...at least not enough of.

His name started with 'L' and ended with 'incoln.'

Lola had always valued Lincoln's opinion of her over everyone else's, mainly because he was a boy, and Lola wanted boys to think she was pretty, and if he thought she was pretty, then other boys would think she was pretty. He was, like, a representation of all boys (representation was a word she had recently learned in history class – no taxation without representation!).

But he was also Lincoln. Sweet, goofy, caring, gentle, thoughtful, handsome Lincoln, and she wanted him specifically to think she was pretty and to watch her and to pay attention to her. Though she would never say so out loud because it sounded mean (even for her), Lincoln was her favorite sibling after Lana, her twin...and sometimes, he was her favorite period. What he thought meant everything, and having his attention, his eyes and mind firmly on her was...well...was what she wanted more than anything.

Only getting his full and undivided attention was difficult. She had nine sisters who were constantly getting in the way, not to mention Clyde, Lincoln's best friend, and Ronnie Anne, that floozy who had a crush on him but was sooooo big and bad she couldn't admit it. Poor Lincoln was always being pulled in a million different directions, and he had precious little time for her, which made her sad. She needed Lincoln's attention.

Over the past few weeks, she had been going out of her way to get it with mixed results. This past Sunday, she held him hostage for nearly two hours playing tea party, and the whole time he looked very bored. That hurt her feelings, and she finally released him. The next day, she was reading a fashion blog online when it hit her: Boys like it when girls wear skimpy clothes. Of course, duh! Every time they were at the mall or the grocery store and a girl passed by in short shorts and a halter top, both Lincoln and their father paid attention. The female body was like catnip to boys.

She selected the shortest pair of shorts she had and slipped them on. She studied herself in the mirror, and decided that while they were certainly tight enough, they were not short enough, so she used a razor to shave off two inches of denim. She put them on again, and grinned at herself. Her milky white legs were smooth and pretty. Lincoln would definitely pay attention.

Next, she put on a pink tank top. Sitting at her vanity, she applied a fresh coat of pink lip-gloss and black mascara.

In the hall, she started for the stairs, but Luan popped up in front of her. "Hey, Lola, wanna – uh, why are you dressed like a prostitute?"

Lola shoved her sister aside. "Outta the way, Bozo."

"I always did like clowning around," Luan said, and slapped her knobby knee.

Lola ignored her and went downstairs. Lincoln was lounging in the armchair, his legs dangling over one arm and his head resting against the other. He was reading one of those stupid comic books.

How about you read this instead? she thought as she strutted past him, wiggling her hips and shaking her butt. She looked sexily over her shoulder, and bared her teeth when she saw he wasn't looking: He was still engrossed in that dumb comic.

Sighing, Lola strutted past him again.

He flipped a page.

She balled her fists. Look at me, damn it!

She made one more pass. He still wasn't looking. Apparently she needed to change tactics. "Oh, hi, Lincy, I didn't see you there," she said over her shoulder.

"Hey," he said flatly.

I oughta snatch that thing out of his hand. Instead, she leaned over him. "What'cha reading?"

"Ace Savvy comic," he replied.

"Oh?"

She was so close her nose was almost touching the top of the book. Finally, he glanced up, and recoiled with a strangled cry. "Hi!" she said.

He looked up her up and, his chest rising and falling. "Uh...n-nice outfit," he said.

"You like it?" she asked, striking a pose and putting her hand on her hip. "It's something I just...threw together."

He nodded. "It looks...uh...nice."

"Thank you," she said, and cocked her head. He nodded and slowly lifted the comic, blocking out his cute, freckled face. Oh, no you don't! Thinking fast, she hopped into his lap. He jerked and let out a breathless umph. She "accidentally" drove her elbow into his stomach, and he slightly rolled, making a space just large enough for her to slip into. "Ahhh," she said. Next to her, Lincoln held his stomach and tried to catch his breath. "Whip out that comic and let's read it."

Lincoln coughed. "You ruptured my spleen."

"Oh, quit being dramatic," Lola said.

Lincoln rolled off of the chair and crashed to the floor, where he lay facedown...and still.

Lola leaned over. "Uh, Lincoln?"

She didn't rupture his spleen, but ever since then, he had been avoiding her. How, oh how, could she get his attention?

Stupid Japanese hunk of crap, Lana flashed, kicking the plastic tire of hers and Lola's battery powered Jeep. Pain exploded in her foot, and she let out a high-pitched cry, bending her knee and hopping on one foot. "Ow, that hurt!" she cried, limping over to her workbench and leaning against it. She sucked a hissing gulp of air and let it out through clenched teeth. She threw a dangerous glance over her shoulder: The Jeep was sitting in the middle of the garage, all pink and frilly and mocking. She could imagine it laughing at her in a high-pitched, squealing voice. "Screw you!" she hissed, and bent to rub her foot.

Lana loved working with her hands. Carpentry, mechanics, the works. To some people that stuff might have been work, but to her it was a hobby, a passion even. That didn't mean she wanted to fix that stupid Jeep every five minutes because it kept breaking down, though. If it wasn't one thing it was another. Cracked rear axle, wiring issues, tires popping off when you were driving and causing you to flip over. "Where'd you get this thing," she asked her father once, "the landfill?"

That earned her a day's grounding.

It was true, though! The Jeep was a piece of garbage.

Presently, she went over to it and knelt. "Alright," she said, grabbing a screwdriver, "I don't like you, and you don't like me, but unless you wanna wind up on the curb Monday morning, you better roll over and think of England."

That was a phrase she read in one of Lucy's books...the ones she kept hidden under her bed. Lana found them one day when she was playing indoor football with Lynn in the hall and the ball bounced into Lucy's room and space between her box spring and the floor. Lana crawled underneath to get it, and in the process she bumped into the box and a book fell out. Lana picked it up to put it back, but the cover caught her attention. A muscular man with long, flowing blonde hair held a woman in his arms. He was wearing a white frilly pirate shirt that revealed his bulging pecks...she was wearing some kind of pink dress. In the background, a city burned. CONFEDERATE DESIRE the title read. Huh. Lana liked to read every now and then, and something with a whole city burning up had to be cool, so she tucked it into her overalls and crawled back out.

It was a pretty good book. Lots of war stuff: One dude got hit in the leg by a cannonball, and it came off. There was one part where this English woman who was a prostitute had sex with this big, ugly, smelly Confederate general, and it said she just "laid back and thought of England." Lana supposed that meant she didn't like it. She did like having sex with the dashing Confederate colonel: They did it during a rainstorm in the mud, and Lana read with wide eyes, a faint stirring in her stomach. Whoa.

Lana knew what sex was: Lisa took it upon herself to explain it to her younger sisters in excruciating detail "So that you may identify inappropriate behavior" and "realize when someone is attempting to assault or otherwise molest you." From what Lisa said, it was smelly, sweaty, and gross...Lana liked it. It wasn't until she read Confederate Desire that she actually felt...well...desire. Whenever it rained, she would look longingly into the yard and imagine rolling in the mud with someone and sigh.

She didn't know when she began thinking of Lincoln as that someone. There was really no one "moment" she could point to. She just started to notice how cute and nice and amazing he was. One rainy day, as she stared out at all that mud, she imagined her and Lincoln rolling in it, all naked and dirty, and her heart bounced. That sounded fun.

Presently, she slid under the Jeep and went back to work, only she wasn't focused, she was thinking of Lincoln. Lisa said "sexual functions" don't "mature" until the onset of puberty, but she was wrong. Lana was acutely aware of the heat between her hips, and when she thought of Lincoln on top of her, doing to her what the rebel colonel did to the British hooker in Confederate Desire, a shiver ran down her spine. Only...whenshe thought about doing it with Lincoln, it wasn't gentle like it was in the book. It was rough and tumble, like a fight. Something about being dirty and sweaty and rough really made her knees quiver.

She jabbed herself with the screwdriver and cried out. "Goddamn it!" She punched the Jeep's undercarriage, and pain snaked up her arm. "That's it!"

She slid out from under, got to her feet, and glared at the Jeep. "Stay broken, then! Last time I help your ass!"

Inside, she found Lincoln sitting in the armchair and playing a video game. He was hyper-focused, his brows knitted and his lips pursed. Her heart sputtered and she froze. Should she talk to him? Should she walk away?

"H-Hey, Linc," she stammered.

"Hey," he said.

"What'cha playing?"

"Space Wars 20."

"Ah." On the screen, a spaceship exploded into a million pieces, and Lincoln groaned. Lana flopped down on the couch and watched him play, stealing sidelong glances at him, her tongue unconsciously running along her bottom lip. The spot at the juncture of her thighs panged.

Soon, Linc-o, she thought with a grin, we're going to reenact a Civil War battle...

Lisa Loud stroked her chin thoughtfully, her lips scrunched to one side. On the computer screen before her was a complication of videos, each a tiny box containing an interaction between Lincoln and one of her sisters. Here was Lola strutting back and forth in front of Lincoln while he read a comic book, completely unaware; there was Lana looking at him and licking her chops like a hungry dog, and there was Lucy under her covers, her head thrown back and her breaths coming in quick gasps. Three girls, ages 6, 6, and 8, displaying lustful desires that they by all rights should not be feeling. Lisa tapped her index finger against her lips as her eyes darted from one box to the next. Peculiar.

She wasn't too surprised. Something told her that sexual feelings could develop in her sisters at an earlier age than normal. Her parents obviously had strong libidos, so it stood to reason that their proclivity for sex might be passed down to their children just as easily as Mom's blonde hair and Dad's brown eyes. She studied her older siblings for signs of this, but, amazingly, she found none...at least none beyond what is normal for an adolescent or teenager. Lincoln had recently discovered the joys of masturbation and did it at least once a day, more often twice: Once after school and again before bed. Lori was sexually active with Bobby. Luna was not a virgin (she told Luan about a boy she slept with after a concert). Luan was known to touch herself, but not with any consistency. Lynn masturbated quite frequently. Leni...well...Leni certainly noticed "hot guys" on TV and in public, but she seemed to have the same sex drive that Lisa herself had: Nonexistent.

Lisa could certainly appreciate physical beauty, but she did not feel desire. The thought of sex did nothing for her either way. It did not repulse her, but it did not excite her either.

This lack of libido did not disturb her. She understood that while she might have the mind of a forty-year-old scientist, she had the body of a four-year-old girl. It did disturb her that she had yet to experience sex, as it was such a monumental milestone in human development. The idea of innocence and virginity being tied together irritated her, because she was certainly not "innocent" or a "child" even though she technically was the latter. It also annoyed her that sexual intercourse was tied to "growing up," as if one cannot be an adult until they've done it. She dismissed these notions, but deep down, they bothered her. She wanted very much to shed herself of her cumbersome virginity and move past that step in life. She had never given the matter much tangible thought until she noticed her older siblings lusting after Lincoln; the one sided sexual tension was so thick you could cut a slice off and lay it on a plate. Now, she was beginning to see Lincoln in a new light; he would make a fine...subject...for an experiment.

Setting that aside for a moment, she watched her sisters and sighed. Lola, Lana, and Lucy were all very obviously interested in him, and it would only be a matter of time before conflict arose. Petty conflict agitated Lisa, and she resolved to head this off at the pass.

She would call a very special sister meeting.