I knew it was wrong the moment he kissed me, and probably even before that too, but I couldn't help myself—and I kind of didn't want to. Maybe there was something in the air, or maybe I could blame the alcohol, but I'd be lying if said that hadn't always been an attraction between Scotty and me. Growing up it had been a playful one, and because we lived on opposite coasts and were nearly three years apart, it never mattered. When we saw each other—usually at family functions—we'd laugh and joke around, maybe even flirt a little bit, but that was all.
And it could never be more than that because not only was Scotty older than me, but we were also related—second or third cousins—something like that. (His dad is my dad's first cousin, so however the family tree thing works is how we're related.) But I'd always secretly crushed on Scotty, and would often check him out. Why wouldn't I? Just because we're related doesn't mean I don't have eyes. All the girls check him out, especially when he takes his shirt off or comes in from a run. Scotty's tall, like 6'2", gorgeous, has a great body with rock-hard abs and a smile to die for. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending how you look at it—it seemed that whenever we were together it was somewhere hot with a pool, and he'd be walking around in board shorts with no shirt like ninety percent of the time. It was nice to look at, but sometimes made me a little uncomfortable with how much I enjoyed looking.
If Scotty wasn't my cousin I'd be in love—or at least lust. And I think Scotty knew it, and he always flirted with me, complimenting me on how I looked and whatever I was wearing, especially if it was a little too little. The flirting sometimes went overboard—Scotty would slap my ass when I was wearing a bikini or I'd call him my boy toy while riding on his shoulders in the pool—and it felt weird, but we both knew it was harmless and we'd never go further.
This particular family function was a religious, coming-of-age celebration for one of Scotty's nephews (his older brother's kid). Our family tended to make big deals out of everything, even things that didn't need to be, and that was never more evident than when it involved Michael. He was Scotty's older brother, and the first born of our generation along the family tree, and because of that he was treated like he walked on water and could do no wrong. I never understood the obsession with Michael—from my viewpoint he was just a self-obsessed jerk not smart enough to hold the position as future family patriarch—and the only one who seemed to agree with me was Scotty. When we were together we often talked about the insanity of it all, and then laughed about it.
This event was one of the few held in the cold, at a hotel resort complex in Pennsylvania, about an hour north of where my dad grew up in Philadelphia. While most of Scotty's family events were held closer to home on the west coast, but when Michael was promoted to run the Philly office of my dad's company he and his family settled in there.
It was cold and snowy, so it was a good thing the hotel was top of the line and there were things to do, because otherwise it would have been incredibly boring. However, most of our time was taken up by "events" that were scheduled. We had a dinner Friday night, a church service and then a luncheon Saturday, followed by dinner and a party Saturday evening. Brunch was scheduled for Sunday but not everyone would stay for it. I would have given anything to get out of it, the whole thing. If we weren't suffering through awful food—totally vegan, all the way...if you liked anything else you were beneath the hosts—then we'd be listening to that self-righteous, pretentious a-hole (Michael) preach about how great he and his family are, and how terrible the rest of us are.
After church Saturday morning and then the lunch service I'd had about enough. (At least during lunch I was able to sneak a few glasses of wine, and by the time I left I was more than a little tipsy.) The only redeeming thing about the first twenty-four hours was the hotel room, which was one of the nicest I've ever stayed in. It was huge, with a balcony overlooking the entire courtyard, an amazingly comfortable bed and a bathroom to die for. It had a jetted jacuzzi tub large enough to swim in, a glass-enclosed marble shower and heated floors. And the best part? It was all mine. Even though I had only recently turned eighteen—or because I had recently turned eighteen—my dad let me have my own room, and it was four floors away from his. It was private and wonderful.
Once I was able to sneak away from lunch I went upstairs, stripped off the dress I wore for church and slipped into the hotel's bathrobe. It too was luxurious and comfortable, and I would have easily been able to fall asleep inside that thing. Our next event—dinner and a party—wasn't scheduled for another four hours, leaving plenty of tim to veg; I planned to spend it lying on the couch watching TV and ordering something decent from room service. (I thought about checking out the minibar and adding to my buzz from lunch, but didn't want to have to explain that bill to my dad.)
Before getting into what happened between Scotty and me, a little background on me. My name's Lauren, as I said I recently turned eighteen (almost two weeks before that weekend). I'm an only child and I grew up in upstate New York (about forty minutes from the city) with my dad. My mom died when I was two, and I don't really remember her much if at all. But I've lived a great life. I have a lot of friends, have gotten to travel and have enjoyed myself. I've never "acted out" but never really needed to; my dad tried overcompensating for me not having a mother by letting me do basically whatever I wanted. I never experimented with drugs, and not with alcohol until later, but I did start sex a little too young. (A shrink would probably say it was because I didn't have a mother I started having sex when I did, but nonetheless I was reasonably experienced by the time I ended up in that hotel room.)
Anyway I was finally relaxed and comfortable when a loud knock on the door startled me. My first thought was to ignore whoever it was, that they'd go away, but when they kept knocking I had no choice but to see who it was.
"What?" I asked, opening the door with an angry gnarl."
Jeez, what's your problem?" Scotty asked, pushing his way inside. "Were you in the bathroom or something?"
"No, I was just relaxing. What are you doing here?"
"My dad's looking for me. Says I have to do something with Michael and I don't want to. Do you mind if I hide out here?"
"I was going to take a nap, but whatever! I guess you can stay." I liked Scotty's company and all, but wasn't looking for any. However, I'm a nice cousin. "Want some popcorn?"
"Sure, but I brought something better..." he teased, a mischievous grin on his face.
"Oh yeah? What?"
Scotty opened his jacket and showed me the bottle of wine in one pocket, and tequila and vodka on the other side. "I grabbed these from the party when the bartender wasn't looking. Wanna have some fun?"
I was still feeling a little tipsy from the wine at lunch, and didn't want to be totally wasted in front of the family later, but needed something to get through this godawful weekend. "What the hell! But I don't wanna get too trashed."
Well, that idea lasted about as long as the bottle of vodka did. Scotty and I started with that one, finding some juices in the hotel's fridge to mix it with, and finished it in about half an hour. I didn't even realize how drunk I was until we were taking turns chugging straight from the tequila bottle and the room was spinning. I knew it was stupid, and that there was no way I'd be able to hide it, but didn't care anymore. I was relaxed and feeling good, and then Scott surprised me.
Drinking too much alcohol can do a lot of things to you. You get silly and stupid, and sometimes say and do things you otherwise wouldn't. Once we were both fully drunk and couldn't drink anymore, we lay down together on the couch to watch TV. Scotty was on the bottom, me on top basically using him as a pillow. Neither of us had spoken in a few minutes and I wondered if he had fallen asleep. Then out of the blue he says: "You have really nice tits, Lauren."
"What?" I asked, turning my heard around to face him. "Thank you, but what?"
"I said you have really nice tits. I can see them." I hadn't been paying attention and the top of the bathrobe had come undone, leaving my boobs almost completely exposed. I had nothing on underneath except panties, and from Scotty's angel he could probably see them too. Had I not left my panites on he would have seen everything.
"Oh yeah?" I said. "They're kind of small, but I like 'em. Glad you do too."
"Can I touch them?"
"What?!"
"Can I touch them. You know, like feel them with my hands and play with them a little bit?"
Scotty and I always had a little bit of a flirtatious relationship, but we never crossed that line. In my sober mind I might have freaked out—although secretly the idea of him touching my boobs excited me—and told him no, but when I opened my mouth different words came out. "Um, sure, I guess. Have fun."
And he did. Scotty reached his hands under my bathrobe, moved it to the side and began massaging my breasts. I closed my eyes, forgot he was cousin and just let him go. It was incredible. He squeezed and pinched them, rubbed and massaged them. Scotty obviously knew what he was doing. It wasn't long before I took my arms out of the bathrobe to give him better access, and now I was almost completely naked except for a thong and part of a bathrobe covering my private areas. It was incredibly erotic, and if Scotty had been anyone else I'd have been all over him by then.
"You're really good at this," I said.
"Lots of practice," he said laughing. "Wanna see what else I'm good at?"
"Okay."
We switched places, Scotty climbing on top of my and pushing me down on the couch. The bathrobe stayed on—covering down below at least—but my boobs remained free. He began with his fingers and hands, tracing around my belly button and working his way up my stomach, boobs and neck; then he started kissing me. It should have felt weird, but it didn't, and we were having fun. His tongue and lips caressing my breasts felt amazing, and then when he put my nipple in his mouth and bit on it I gasped. He did it to each of them, and it felt like heaven. Finally Scotty worked his way up farther, kissing my neck and cheek, then he went to kiss me...on the lips, like a real kiss. And then he stopped, freezing in place. We looked at each other, neither sure what to do or say, and then I leaned in to him, he leaned toward me and our lips met. His tongue slid inside my mouth and found mine, and we began playing and enjoying each other.
From the minute he kissed me I knew it was wrong; every fiber of my being knew I shouldn't be doing this, not with him. But as I said I couldn't help myself, and got lost in him.
