It was hot and I couldn't sleep. When I crawled under the sheet on the couch an hour earlier, I had stripped down to nothing but my boxers. But now I couldn't find a comfortable position. I lay on my back, the sheet pulled down to my waist with one leg bent at the knee protruding from the sheet. I was nearly naked, but I was still uncomfortably warm.
It was about the minimum amount of my body I could cover with the sheet and still be decent. Not that being decent mattered all that much. I was the only person sleeping in the living room of the big old Charleston antebellum mansion. Everyone else in the family had been assigned a bedroom, or at least a share of a bedroom. Actually, I was probably better off than the others. They may have had a bed, but it was likely ten degrees hotter upstairs.
It was late July of 2010 and the whole extended family was in town because my great grandmother, who owned this old Georgian pile, had recently passed away at the age of 102. I had only met the old gal once, and that was when I was less than a year old, so I had to take peoples' word about her.
I was here principally because my mother had insisted that we attend the funeral. When I objected to joining her on the trip, my mother had reminded me, "Andrew, your great grandmother was very rich, and the trustees of her estate are going to have a lot of discretion in deciding how to sprinkle the money around the family. It's important for us to show up and make a good impression." My mother and I lived in California, while most of the rest of the family still lived in South Carolina. I guess we were what you call "estranged" from our family. But now there was money at stake—or so my mother thought.
As I lay there battling the demons of humid heat and insomnia, my mind did just what the mind of any twenty-year-old male would do in such circumstances. It turned to sex.
Meeting Flo
I had met my cousin Flo that afternoon for the first time. First cousin, second cousin, third cousin twice removed? I didn't have a clue. What I was sure of though was that she was drop dead gorgeous. Flo was probably ten years older than me. With the three-inch heels she wore she nearly matched my six-foot height. Her face had
classic beauty—high cheekbones, a light, smooth complexion, a pair of big, round brown eyes, and small pouty lips. You could just lose yourself in those eyes. She had long, thick, strawberry blonde hair that hung with a soft curl to the top of her breasts.
And her breasts. Oh such breasts! They were full and round, covering much of her chest. It was all I could do to pull my eyes away from those gorgeous breasts and look her in the eye as she shook hands with me. It's one of the hardest things men have to do sometimes—looking a beautiful woman in the eye when your every fiber wants to stare at her tits.
Below those gorgeous breasts her body tapered to a narrow waist perched atop full hips. She wore a floor-length skirt that covered her long legs. It draped so that you didn't have to use your imagination to see the shape of the globes of her ass. I couldn't see her legs, of course, but my imagination filled them in as long and tapered.
When she shook my hand, hers was warm and soft, and as she withdrew it, her fingers lingered ever so lightly on my palm, the faintest caress, or so I thought. Then she was gone, dragged off to meet other shirttail relatives she probably didn't know.
At dinner she and I had been seated at opposite ends of a large table, so conversation was out of the question, but I was sure at one point in the evening that we made eye contact, and she smiled this very soft and still very warm smile that said . . . Well, I don't know what it said, but in my twenty-year-old mind I was sure it was good.
As I lay there in the heat, my raunchy imagination conjured up Flo standing before me slowly stripping her clothes off as I sat before her in an overstuffed chair.
In my fantasy I was fully dressed including coat and tie. Flo wore the same long dress I had seen her in when we had met and a sheer white blouse that buttoned nearly to the bottom of her throat. I could easily see the white lace bra that encased her beautiful breasts through the diaphanous blouse. Her long hair was coiled atop her head, a change from our actual meeting.
As I watched, she released her hair and shook it out so that it fell on her shoulders and almost down to her breasts. She pushed her hair out of her face and back over her shoulders. Then looking at me with a soft smile she released a button and then a second button on the blouse, disclosing just the barest hint of cleavage. Then another button. Now I could see the top of her lacy white bra and the swell of her breasts. My cock began to stir beneath the lightweight, gray wool slacks I wore.
Pushing an errant lock of her blonde hair out of her face, she cocked her head and smiled again as she toyed with the next button on her blouse as though asking, "Shall I?"
