"Gomer! That ain't my belly button!"
I was on top of my completely naked and rather pretty 19-year old second cousin Katie, and under her Little Mermaid bedspread. Katie's legs were spread wide, and my throbbing six and half inch cock was just touching the hairy and wet entrance to her vagina.
Was I really going to do it? Was I really going to fuck my second cousin? I was 21 compared to her 19, but sometimes it felt like the difference was more than that.
I looked at her beautiful face and flowing brown medium-length hair spread out over her pillow, which also had a picture of Ariel on it, and smiled. She smiled back in a sexy way, welcoming me. Except for the difference in hair color, she even looked a bit like Ariel.
In an attempt at a Gomer Pyle voice, I said: "Sur-prise! Sur-prise!"
I paused for a second, and then started very slowly pushing my cock into her cunt. Katie wasn't a virgin, and she was already wet and warm, since I'd just gone down on her and made her come—but she was still tight.
I was looking right into her liquid brown eyes as I slowly slid my rock-hard penis deeper and deeper into her young pussy.
Katie's eyes widened as she took me in, inch by inch. She looked as surprised as I felt.
It felt so good I couldn't keep up my Gomer Pyle voice, and instead gasped and grunted a little as my cock was swallowed up by her tight twat:
"Uhn! Uhn!"
My face must have looked funny in my ecstasy.
I was now all the way inside of Katie's warm, wet, and firm vagina. I managed to say, gasping again, and with my faux Southern accent almost completely gone:
"That ain't my finger either!"
"I can tell!" She said in her regular voice, which still had quite a bit of real Southern accent. Katie was still looking a little surprised as my cock throbbed inside of her, but happy.
"How long have you wanted to do that?" She added, breathing a bit heavily herself and smiling.
"For quite a while," I said, and then started very slowly moving back and forth, fucking my second cousin, and watching with pleasure as her medium-sized breasts moved back and forth to the motion.
How did I get to this point, where I was doing so much more than kissing my "Kissing Cousin Katie"?
Let me back up and explain how I had the most sexually fulfilling week of my whole life more than twenty years ago, way down in Alabama.
First, let me say that I know it's a cliche, but there's something to the idea that going to the rural South is kind-of like going back in time. Although the story I'm going to tell took place in the summer of 1991, the small town we were in had a feeling almost like the 1970s. And there were strong webs of the past there stretching all the way back to the Civil War—or The War Between the States, as my Aunt Polly called it.
I had just graduated from an elite state university quite a bit to the North, a full day's drive, but still really in the border South. Somehow the rest of my family had not really kept much in touch with this broken off Southern branch of the family line. But when I'd started college, my Mom had told me to look them up.
After first year I'd finally done it, more out of a sense of duty than of any pleasure. But it happened that I really liked my Aunt Polly and my Cousin Katie. They weren't at all, I should say, trailer trash. In fact, by the standards of their little town they were almost part of the elite. But by the standards of a big city West Coast boy like me, their town was almost a desolate backwater, and their economic circumstances seemed meager.
But what they lacked in money and high culture, they more than made up for in genuine hospitality, good humor, wits, and warmth. They were themselves what Aunt Polly said when describing those whom she liked: "real good people."
That summer of 1991, when I had finally graduated from college, I was feeling somewhat tired physically, emotionally, and even intellectually. I'd learned so much in my five years (yes, five), with my double majors in the Humanities that I was now realizing might be of limited use to me as I struggled to think about what I might do with the rest of my life.
For now, even though it was rather humbling, I was going to move back to parents' house in Southern California and live with them for a year or two while I figured out what to do. I was probably going to get a job, any job, while studying for the GRE and then probably grad school—which, in fact, is what I ended up doing.
But having already gotten rid of or shipped off most of my college stuff, I was now treating myself, if you could call it that, to a cross country drive in the 1986 Accord my parents had handed down to me, sometimes staying in cheap hotels, and sometimes staying with friends or relatives along the way.
My second cousin Katie and Aunt Polly were my first stop. They lived a long day's drive from my university, which is why when it came down to it I usually saw them just once a year. They lived in small town in Alabama, that as I've already said seemed almost phased out of time compared to most of the rest of the country.
As I got close to their house, trying to make my way through their confusing back roads, with my Aunt's detailed directions taped to my dash (navi systems were a sci fi fantasy at that point), I fondly remember the last time I'd seen them, last summer, when Katie was 18 and I was 20.
Katie was a slender lass with dirty-dishwater blond hair, and she'd flirted with me in an outrageous "we're just cousins so it's still safe" way. We had to share a bathroom, and when her Mom was at work the last day before I'd left she'd taken a shower, leaving the door open so, as she said, "the steam would let out," which I noticed was not something she did when her Mom was home.
From the living room couch, as Katie must have known, I could see all the way into the bathroom—sort of, anyway, except for all of the steam. But I have to admit, I positioned myself on the couch pretending to read my New Yorker magazine I'd brought with me at the exact spot where I might be able to see her when she got out of the bath.
Finally, Katie turned off the water, which I could hear trickling down the drain, and could imagine trickling down her body—but darn that steam! Even with the bathroom door open there was still quite a bit of it. Suddenly with the sounds of the slightly rusty sliding-glass shower door being moved aside, one of Katie's legs appeared in the billowing steam, pointed out almost like a ballerina,—perhaps intentionally? An aesthetic effect for me?
I wondered about that as the rest of Katie, more or less, came into view in the misty air. My first shock was seeing her cunt for the first time, which was covered in a triangle of wet hair just a little darker than the hair on her head. Her breasts were small and pointy, almost strawberry-like areolas and nipples. She stood with her legs slightly apart, slowly drying her face, I was almost certain so that I could get a good view while keeping up the pretense that I couldn't see her since she couldn't see me. I kept my magazine held up close to my face so that if she looked I could pretend I was just reading.
But she kept her towel up to her face as she then turned around, and then bent over low down to slowly dry her legs. Oh my god. With her legs spread as she bent over her cunt lips were visible even from here through her fur, in between the rounded globes of her lovely ass. My cock swelled in my brown corduroys to full length. I was trembling.
As she finally finished the thorough and slow drying of her legs and feet, she slowly stood up and started turning around, seemingly giving me plenty of time to hide my face behind my New Yorker, which I did. I tried to concentrate on the story and the car ads, but I kept thinking of Katie's cunt that I'd just seen.
