Beside The Seaside

It was a gloriously warm day in late August. I had taken a gap year of sorts, working at my father's ship chandlery, and now I was taking a break at my aunt's beach house, prior to commencing my first year at university.

My aunt was an architect. Her beach house was a show piece. She had designed it for herself. Yes. But she had also designed it to demonstrate to prospective clients that it was possible to have a casual getaway in Britain that would work all year round. In the summer, the western side of the house, the side that looked out across the beach, opened right out. On the afternoon in question, I was sprawled on a sun lounger, under the broad veranda, wearing just a loose pair of cotton shorts and my favourite well-worn Sebago Docksides boat shoes.

Had I not had my nose in a book and my ears filled with Steve Gadd (and friends) 'Live at Voce', I might have heard the car arriving. But I had my nose in a book. And I had Steve Gadd and Co blaring from the award-winning beach house's artfully incorporated Bose speakers.

'Ronnie Cuber.'

'Ronnie Cuber indeed,' I told my older cousin Mia who had suddenly appeared at the foot of the sun lounger, wearing a loose white dress that was doing very little to conceal what she was -- or, apparently, wasn't -- wearing beneath it.

'How are you?' she asked.

'Trying not to think too much about the fact that all good things come to an end, and soon I shall have to return to my books and do some serious work.'

Mia laughed. 'It was always thus,' she said. 'If there were no winter, we wouldn't look forward to summer with such enthusiasm.'

'I suppose not,' I allowed.

'I think I'll get myself something to drink,' Mia said. 'Can I get something for you?'

'Umm... a cold Stella might be nice,' I told her.

'One cold Stella coming up.' As Mia walked past me, she paused, just briefly, held two fingers to her lips, lightly kissed them, and then reached out and tapped them -- again, just briefly -- on my cheek.

When Mia returned, with two bottles of cold Stella Artois, she handed one of the beers to me, and then drew up a stool and sat beside my lounger. 'Cheers,' she said before taking a ladylike swig.

'Cheers,' I echoed. 'I... umm... wasn't expecting you. Was I supposed to be?'

'No. It was a bit of a last minute decision. I hope you don't mind.'

'Oh, not at all,' I told her (which was more than true).

'I remember when you purchased those shorts,' she said. 'Barcelona.'

'Barcelona indeed. I had flown in from Toronto, on my way back to UK. Marko had gone down with the flu, and I had the opportunity to crew for Zeb in the Augustine Cup. Unfortunately, while I made it to Barcelona my luggage went to Gatwick.'

'But you got it back.'

'Eventually.'

Mia took another sip of her beer and then stroked my shorts. 'They've certainly aged nicely,' she said with a little smile.

She was right. They had aged nicely. They had aged very nicely indeed. The fabric had started out quite crisp -- as is so often the case with cotton. But, after a few trips though the washing machine, it was now delightfully soft -- soft enough for me to feel Mia's fingertips running over my growing cock. Should I mention something? Or should I just let Mia realise what was happening and beat a discreet retreat in her own time?

'Touch wood, I've never managed to get parted from my luggage,' Mia said. 'Did the airline recompense you? For the inconvenience.'

'Can't remember,' I told her. 'But I don't think so. I guess they would argue that they hadn't actually

lost

anything. They knew exactly where my luggage was. It just wasn't where it was supposed to be.'

And then Mia stroked my shorts again. Only this time she continued 'off piste', and allowed her fingertips to run gently off the softened cotton fabric and across the bare skin of my upper thigh. And she looked at me and smiled. And then her fingertips headed back uphill until they reached the loose hem of my shorts. 'Yes,' she said. Although yes what was not immediately clear. Not immediately. Until, that is, her fingers disappeared inside my shorts to where my growing cock was waiting.

And then the world slowed to a crawl. My cock became harder. And Mia's fingers came slowly closer. Was she going to go all the way? Or was she just teasing me? My cock had its own thoughts on the matter. And, as it turned out, it was not wrong. She was going all the way.

Mia's fingertips reached the tip of my cock. And still she kept on going. I waited for her to wrap her fingers around my shaft, and I was not disappointed. 'Nice,' she said. 'Yes.' And then she was gently teasing my stiff cock out into the open.

A hand job perhaps? A hand job from my sexy older cousin? I could but hope. But, no. She put down her beer; let go of my stiffening cock; stood up; and raised the almost translucent skirt of her almost translucent white dress. And then she spread her shapely legs slightly and gently dragged an elegant finger along the valley between her already-glistening fur-covered cunt lips. 'Ready?' she said.

Ready for what I wondered.

And then she straddled my cock and lowered her warm, wet cunt. Yes. Who would have thought? Who could have predicted?

At first, her cunt engulfed just the tip of my cock. It felt... well... wonderful. Of course. And then she paused. But only for a moment or so. 'OK?' she said.

'Better than OK,' I assured her. 'Very much better than OK.'

She laughed; raised herself until my cock was on the verge of escaping; and then she lowered herself again. Just slowly. But this time she engulfed my cock completely.

'Oh, fuck, yes,' I told her.

And she nodded. 'It has taken us long enough,' she said.

'To be honest, I thought perhaps you may have been out of bounds. You know... off limits.'

'Because we're cousins? Oh. Is that a problem?'

'A problem? No. Not for me. Is it a problem for you?' I asked.

Mia shook her head. And then she said: 'What if I was your sister?'

'At the moment? No. Even being my sister wouldn't be a problem. But then I don't have a sister.'

'You could pretend. You could pretend that I was your sister.'

'Would you like me to pretend that you're my sister?'

'That might be fun,' she said. 'It would certainly be naughty. Deliciously naughty. Don't you think?'

Mia had a point. Even though I had no sister -- and she, for that matter, had no brother -- for some reason, just pretending to be each other's siblings felt deliciously naughty. And, the more I thought about it, the naughtier it felt.

I read somewhere -- in an online magazine article perhaps -- that, for most heterosexual couples, a satisfactory fuck takes somewhere between four and seven minutes. Or maybe it was slightly longer. But not much longer. I was surprised. That first fuck that Mia -- my cousin/pretend sister -- and I had probably took at least ten or twelve minutes. Several times we both found ourselves ready to throw ourselves 'off the edge' and into sweet oblivion. But we paused. Just long enough. Until we could pause no longer.

'Well... that works,' Mia said. 'We shall have to do it again.'

I nodded. She would certainly get no argument from me against that particular idea. Although I might need a moment or two to recover first.

Even though I had been somewhat ambushed (pleasantly so), I felt that, now that the deed was done, I needed to say something profound. Or something witty. Something to which, in years to come, we could look back and laugh. Or at least look back and sagely nod. But I couldn't think of anything. My brain had turned into one big stupid smile. 'Fuck me,' I said.

'I think I just did,' Mia said. 'Or did you fuck me?' And she laughed again. And then she looked at her watch. 'Pub time?' she suggested. It seemed as good an idea as any. 'Although I should probably put on some knickers,' she said. 'I'm not in the habit of wandering about knickerless -- not in this dress anyway.'

The pub -- aka The Captain's Cabin -- was almost at the other end of the tiny seaside village. Mia and I walked there hand in hand. Things had changed. Mia and I had changed. And without warning, what had seemed like a near-perfect day and had just got even better.

'Was this...? How can I put it?' I asked. 'Was it planned?'

'Planned?'

'Yes. Planned.'

Mia laughed. 'There are some things that are difficult to plan,' she said. 'Sometimes we just have to follow our instincts. As I see it, sometimes we just have to see what happens.'

'And you were happy with what happened?'

'Happy? Oh yes. Very. And I'm hoping there may be more to come.'

'I thought that we might see your mother this weekend, the barman at The Captain's Cabin said to Mia as he mixed us a couple of long glasses of gin, lime and bitters.

'You never know. You might do,' Mia said. 'There's still time.'

'I didn't realise your mother was planning to come across this weekend,' I said to Mia when we took our drinks out onto the stone-paved terrace.

Mia shrugged and smiled. 'I'm never entirely sure what Mother is planning,' she said. 'But it might be fun. She, too, is rather... well... fond of you. She doesn't invite just anyone to use the beach house, you know.'

The gin, lime and bitters was a perfect drink for a warm summer afternoon: thirst quenching yet with a delightful kick. We finished our drinks and then we retraced our steps back to the beach house.

'Ah. She's here,' Mia said, as we approached the house and spotted her mother's car.

My brain was suddenly in two minds. It would be good to catch up with Camille. No question about it, I had always felt that Aunt Camille was rather special. But having her there, at the beach house, was probably going to put paid to Mia and I 'doing it again'. For the meantime anyway. And who knew when the next opportunity would come our way.

'Perfect timing,' Camille said as she greeted both of us with a hug and a kiss that was more that just a familial kiss. 'I'm just about to tap into a bottle of Pinot Grigio. How are you two? What have I missed?'

'We're good,' Mia said. 'We played a little game. Cowboys and Indians. Although without the Indians.'

Camille frowned. But then smiled and nodded.

'And with a cow

girl

in the saddle rather that a cow

boy

,' Mia added.

'I'll... umm... get us some wine,' Camille said.

When Camille headed off for the scullery -- where the wine fridge was -- she was wearing a pair of baggy linen trousers and a light cotton T-shirt. I must confess that, for a woman in her mid-fifties, she was looking fabulous. Then, when she returned with a bottle of wine and three glasses, she was still wearing the T-shirt, but her linen trousers and her knickers (assuming she had been wearing knickers) had somehow got lost along the way. 'That's better,' she said. 'I don't know about you, but I was beginning to get a bit warm.'

Oh well, I guess Mia had had to acquire her flirty style from somewhere.

Camille uncapped the Pinot Grigio and poured three generous servings. She passed one to Mia, one to me, and took the remaining one for herself. 'Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside,' she said raising her glass. And then, after she had taken a sip, she said: 'Mind you, I think I might like it even more if you were to remove your shorts.'

'Remove my shorts?'

Camille nodded. 'Family,' she said. 'And don't worry, Mia and I can help.'

And help they did. But things didn't stop there. My cock was already on the rise and... well... one thing led to another. However, unlike her daughter, Camille's choice of position was doggy. And very satisfying it was too.