Close Cousins

Edited by NaughtyMike

During my freshman year at Hamner College, after I'd lost my cherry on the beach at summer camp, I had sexual experiences with a few guys I met at school. None of those was very noteworthy, except for a VMI cadet named Chad.

Chad's main claim to fame, at least in my book, was that he was always trying to see how long he could hold off his orgasm. You might think that this showed great consideration for his female partners. I think it showed more Chad's intense VMI-honed competitiveness. Not that I was complaining.

Chad's favorite and most effective (but not necessarily his most romantic) method of not coming too fast was to recite the names of the US Presidents, in chronological order- ALOUD. I would say this method was effective. It became even more so when he used it with me, because we would debate over whether he should say Grover Cleveland's name twice, since he served two non-consecutive terms in office. I maintained that it was unnecessary to say the man's name more than once because other presidents who served more than one consecutive term are not named twice.

Chad felt very strongly that naming Cleveland twice established the fact that William McKinley did not immediately follow Benjamin Harrison. This debate delayed Chad's orgasms very nicely. It also delayed mine, and probably yours too, reading about it.

As much fun as I had at college, I was very happy to come home for summer vacation. I'd missed my family terribly. Particularly, I missed my cousins. I have several cousins, but the two I was closest to were Lana and Tristan. They were not brother and sister, but they were both from my father's side of the family. Lana was a year younger than me and Tristan (known as Tris) was about seven or eight years older. I played mostly with Lana as a little girl, but Tris often babysat for us and he was sort of like a big brother to us both. He taught me how to throw a baseball like a boy and later on taught me how to drive so well that I had no trouble in my driver's ed class. As a small child, I'd wanted to marry him when I grew up, until it was explained to me that first cousins can't marry each other because they might have retarded babies. That was a disappointment right up there with finding out Santa Claus was really fat drunk Uncle Harry.

Both cousins were (and still are) extremely good-looking, with dark curls and green eyes. Lana was short and a little plump, with a baby face and freckles, while Tristan was about five-ten and built like a lifeguard, which is ironic because he hated the water. He never went swimming.

Tris had had a few girlfriends in the past, but two years before, he had amazed everybody by bringing a date to his brother's wedding. No, that's not really amazing by itself, but it is when I tell you the date's name was David. After the family got over the surprise, they accepted the relationship with very little difficulty.

During my second week home, Lana, Tris and I got together for the evening at the home of Lana's mom, my aunt Cindy, who was away in Cleveland for the week. She had a swimming pool in the backyard and a finished basement used as a rec room. Lana and I swam till long after dark, but Tristan refused to join us in the water, opting instead to sit in a lounge chair by the pool and watch the moths and mosquitoes committing suicide against the spotlights spaced around the patio while we all talked and laughed together.

We'd all had a few beers and Lana and I got pretty goofy. We started daring each other to do this and that, and predictably we ended up daring each other to swim topless. I undid the top of my bikini and tossed it out onto the concrete deck, but Lana had a slight problem. She was wearing a one-piece swimsuit. She didn't want to take the whole thing off and be the only one totally naked, so I, faithful pal that I am, shucked out of my bottoms and we both swam naked. There is nothing quite like skinny-dipping, as long as the water is warm and the night is dark.

All too soon, thunder rumbled in the sky and we had to get out of the water and go inside. When we climbed the pool steps and stood naked and dripping on the deck, glistening in the moonlight. Tristan leered at us comically and let out a loud wolf whistle. We both squealed and pretended to cover our personals, but we were both flattered.

Lana and I changed into shorts and T-shirts and the three of us went down into the rec room. We sat around on the old couch listening to the radio and drinking beer. Our main topic of conversation was our love lives. Lana was still a virgin and wasn't in much of a hurry to change that, but she enjoyed hearing Tristan and me talk about our escapades. After I'd ingested a sufficient quantity of alcohol, I agreed to imitate Chad's delaying tactic, which they promptly dubbed the Filibuster. I was drunk enough that I mixed up the chronology, added a few of the seven dwarfs and we all laughed like hyenas on speed.

When things calmed down a little, I asked Tristan how he and David were getting along. Tris made a vinegary face and told me he and David had "agreed to see other people." I asked "So are you seeing other people?" He said he wasn't and added that he wasn't so sure he liked guys much after all, although he still found some of them attractive. It was pretty clear he didn't really know himself what he wanted.

Teasingly, I asked "Well, how about girls? Do you find them attractive?" Whereupon, my favorite boy cousin turned to face me, looked me right in the eye and said, making an effort not to slur, (he'd made some impressive inroads on the liquor) "Tonight I am finding YOU VERY attractive, Amy Rae." Then he took hold of my chin, leaned down and French kissed me right on the lips.

Lana squealed and giggled, as she is prone to doing even when she isn't drunk. At first I was startled, but quickly recovered and returned the kiss. Kissing-wise, on a scale of one to ten, Tristan was a nine. He'd have been a ten except for the beer on his breath, but I shouldn't fuss about that since I surely tasted the same way.

The kissing got progressively more heated and I soon found myself almost horizontal and nearly crowding Lana off the couch. My shirt was pulled up and Tristan was sucking on both my nipples alternating between the two like a slow speed wiper. I noticed something a little odd in his breast-worshipping technique. Whereas most guys handle the whole breast, rolling/kneading/squeezing, Tris kept his attention focused entirely on the nipple. My guess is he was not used to having more than a nipple to work with. He didn't have any doubts about what to do with a pussy though. His hand was down my shorts and panties and I was getting quite a clitty massage from my cousin.

I sat up and suggested we move someplace else if we were going to continue on in this manner. I'd been looking across the room at the old pool table. It had been a fantasy of mine to fuck on a pool table, but up to now I'd never been near one when the situation was right. I might never get another chance like this, even if it was my cousin.

Tris and I moved over to the pool table and I laid down on it. Just in case you are thinking of trying it out, by all means go right ahead, but I am warning you, those things are not kind to your back and the felt gave me a rash in place I didn’t know I had.

Lana was giggling and weaving all over the place as she wandered to the stereo to look through the tapes. While Tristan was wrestling my shorts off me, she selected a tape and turned it on. It was Aerosmith's "Walk This Way." You know that song. It's the one that says the best kind of lovin's a sister and a cousin.

My flowered panties hit the floor on top of my shorts, and Tris ran a finger over the shaved mound between my legs. He chuckled quietly. "What's the joke?" I wanted to know. He came around beside me and dropped his own cutoffs, which he was wearing commando-style. And lo and behold, he was as shaved as I was! He had about eight inches, and what a friend of mine called a G-spot curve. Lana busted out laughing and said "You're perfect together! Nobody will get whisker burns!"

I was hoping real hard that Tristan wasn't going to want a blow job. If he asked me, of course I would do it, but I had a small hang-up about putting my mouth on anything that had been in some guy's ass. I need not have worried. A BJ was never mentioned. Instead, Tris pulled me down on the table so my legs were well over the end and he bent over and started licking. I don't think he was too experienced in pussy-eating, because he was all over the map and didn't have a very good rhythm. It wasn't bad though. He licked and kissed all over the outside of my muffin, like he was enjoying the smooth soft hair-free skin. I spread my legs farther and he took the hint and stuck his tongue up inside me. He kept his tongue stiff and moved it in and out and in a clumsy circle. It didn't feel bad but it wasn't really doing much for me. Time for another hint.

I said "Hey, Tris" to get his attention and reached down and tapped my clit with my index finger. He got that hint too, and started working his tongue over the magic button. He did a little better there but still kept his tongue too stiff and flicked in one direction. I said "Look, just relax, if you relax your mouth it'll be more fun for us both and you won't get tired so fast." He made an effort and it got better. I laid back and closed my eyes, rocking my hips up and down to help keep him in a rhythm. He started moving his tongue in different directions too. He denied it later, but I am quite sure he was spelling out his name. The letter S was most pleasurable for me. I found myself wishing his name was Sassafrass Sussex Sessions.

I was getting close to coming when Tristan stopped abruptly and said "Are you sure you want to go all the way?" I said "Yes, yes, YESSS!" Lana giggled. "Doesn't sound like she's too sure!" Tris flipped her off. I lobbed a cue ball at her but missed. I stayed on my back and Tristan joined me up on the pool table, which swayed just a little at first but then stood steady as he settled down on top of me.

I wrapped my legs around his hips and we were off. This was the first time I'd had a G-spot curve in me and the sensation was not like anything I'd experienced previously. I'd tried in the past to find my own G-spot, using instructions I'd read in women's magazines, but my fingers are not long enough and I could never get much stimulation there. Now however, I was getting some of the feelings the articles had talked about.

Okay, just one of the feelings they'd talked about. The feeling that I needed to pee. I knew this was normal, but I kept waiting for it to turn into something else. I began to enjoy it more, but there were no fireworks. And as five minutes of hard pumping turned into ten, it became apparent that we had a problem, Houston. Tristan wasn't reciting any presidents' names or counting backward by sevens from one thousand, but his orgasm was definitely delayed. First, I told him to stop for a minute and relax, which he did. After a break we started up again. We kept at it. And at it. And at it. And also, at it. No payoff.

I tried everything I could think of to help. I moved hard and fast with him, I laid still as a statue. I kept my eyes open and looked into his, I closed them. He sucked on my nipples, I sucked on his. (He liked that a lot. Not all guys do.) I ran my fingertips down his spine light as feathers. I dug my fingernails into his back. Nothing. Still good and hard but no end in sight. And that stupid pool table was killing me.

Suddenly I saw Lana wobbling toward us. She stood by our heads and tapped Tristan on the arm. He turned his head to look at her and she whispered something in his ear that I couldn't hear. He made a go-on head motion and she moved around to the bottom of the table, behind him, and commenced to fondling his balls, which must've been pretty full and tight by now. Tris picked up speed and I thought for sure Lana's magic fingers were going to have him coming in no time. I didn't know she had another trick up her sleeve. Peering at her over Tris's right shoulder, I saw her step back and deliver a sudden and quite loud slap to his right ass cheek. I had an advantage; I saw it coming and he didn't. He yelped and jerked forward and she slapped the other cheek; then the other again.

And what do you know? He pulled out of me, stood up and sprayed what felt like a gallon and a half of scalding hot come-juice all over me. I have never seen so much at once. I was splattered with it from neck to thigh and a good portion landed on the table. Tristan apologized instantly, brushing back some of my hair to keep it out of the mess, and said he did it because he'd forgotten to ask if I was on birth control. I assured him I was and he leaned over and started licking the come off me, sucking it from my nipples and working his way downward.

Lana beat him to the finish. She pushed him aside, stood between my legs and before I could stop her she fastened her lips on my clit and gave two long hard sucks that finally brought me the orgasm I'd been building toward all evening. After the spasms finally stopped, I just laid there with my arm over my eyes to block the light for a few minutes. Then I got up to help Lana clean the goop off the felt, but before we did that, I got her to undress and take my place on the table. Both Tris and I stared at her plump breasts as she doffed her top. They rested beautifully on her chest. I didn't waste any time. I sucked once on each pretty rose-pink nipple and then went right between her chubby thighs. I held aside the puff of soft dark hair and saw, for the first time, that Lana had a rather long clitoris. It was not dick-like, but it was prominent, and therefore, easy to get to. I gave it ten licks and she came quickly and quietly, with a little spurt I might add.

Tris had collapsed on the couch and was out like a light, so I put a blanket over him before Lana and I settled down on futons on the floor. We all slept like logs that night and in the morning we agreed the night was a once-in-a-lifetime treat that we had all enjoyed. Several months later, Tristan called me up at school to invite me to his parents' Christmas party. I accepted and asked if I should bring a date. "You can if you want to," he said "I am."

"Oh yeah? Who's it?"

"Her name's Kimberly, you don't know her."

I thanked him again for inviting me, said I'd see him soon, and said good-bye. I smiled as I hung up the phone. Who says conversion therapy doesn't work?

Author's note: I'll give you a blow job if you can name all the presidents in chronological order. No fair looking them up. I will know if you did. And also let me know how you would handle the Grover Cleveland problem.