We never lived close to each other but I would still call us good friends.
We shared a lot of similar interests and points of view and even though Shane was several years older than me—a significant thing when I was younger, less so as the years went by—she seemed to really like spending time with me.
Her slightly advanced age meant she had just crested the horizon of some life's more formative events and she was happy to share insights and details of her experiences. Almost always with an eye towards exciting me, I'm sure.
Because we were cousins who lived a thousand miles apart we would only ever see each other during school holidays as one or the other of us would travel with our parents and siblings to our respective cities for the chance for our families to catch up and visit.
During the visits we would spend most of every waking hour together and for period of a week or so every year, we would become best friends. Sharing secrets and Popsicles.
Hairy pussies are one of my "things".
I love them. I am obsessed with pussies, like most men, but if I see one that is hairy—untrimmed, unruly--I just want to bury my face in those luxurious downy folds and lick. And suck.
Not gently either: I want to eat them.
As the years went by, and as we got older, Shane's family and mine would see less and less of each other. There just seemed to be more going on as we graduated and moved onto jobs or university. Whenever we would meet up though, the camaraderie we used to share years before would rekindle again, almost immediately.
One summer afternoon, sitting on the railing of the dock at her family's lake cabin, I was shocked when she brought up an incident that happened between us a few years back. An incident I had no recollection of.
"Do you remember when you asked me to show you 'down there'?" she asked, laughing slightly and motioning with her head towards her lap.
I was stunned because I didn't, and this seemed like something I would—SHOULD—remember.
"Not at all! When was this?!" I demanded.
"In your basement in Eugene." she said.
I definitely remembered that visit—I would have been 18 and she would have just turned 23.
"You and me were hanging out in the family room" she continued, "and we were talking about if we had ever seen a member of the opposite sex naked in real life."
As the sun dappled us through the trees, I stared at my dangling feet, scouring my memory. Trying to bring this conversation to the forefront.
"You said you had never seen a girl like that, so I if you wanted to see mine."
"What?! No way." I said.
I had zero memory of this. There had been flirty moments between us and she used to tell me all sorts of stories about her first boyfriends and the things they would do together, but this?
No way. Impossible.
And frankly, I HAD seen a girl naked by that point, having lost my virginity earlier in the Spring. Why would I lie to her?
And if my memory was correct, why would she lie to me?
"And I said 'yes' to this?" I asked.
"Uh, Yeah! You commented about how hairy I was." After a pause, smiling she added. "And you seemed to like it."
That conversation stuck with me for years. It shook me. It seemed absurd that something so monumental had simply slipped from my mind.
But again, why would she lie? I could only accept that she hadn't and wish that I would someday remember the actual incident with as much clarity as I could the words she used to describe it.
"Hairy." Especially that one.
Both middle-aged and married for a long while now, Shane and I still see each from time to time but with much less frequency.
Years can go by with barely a phone call let alone any actual face-to-face time, but that conversation on the dock still sits with me. And when I do see her, I look at the crotch of her pants—as discretely as possible because regardless of all we've shared, there are unspoken social protocols we follow, almost unconsciously—and I imagine a thick black bush, just below her belly, straining against the flat of her panties.
She lives with her husband in a city that is the exact mid-point between where I live and my sister's home 2 provinces away.
On a recent trip, I called her to let her know my wife Melody and I would be passing through and wondered if she would like to get together for dinner.
"Dinner, forget it! You're staying the night!"
Staying at their place overnight WOULD be a nice way to break up the trip. Superb.
Melody and I arrived at their small town home just before supper. As we dragged our luggage from the car to the cement porch 30 feet away, our two dogs wrapped our legs in a twin tangle of leashes. They were thrilled to be out of the car and were always excited to meet new people. We nearly collapsed at the front door after the effort.
Dropping my bag and shaking my right leg free of Simba, our Pomeranian, I punched the doorbell.
Keith, Shane's husband answered the door. He was a tall, thin man who was very good looking. Slightly older than Shane he had thinning grey hair and twinkling blue eyes. Shane stepped into view wiping her hands on a tea towel.
"You made it!" she exclaimed.
"It's not like it was much of an achievement," I joked grabbing my suitcase and moving into the foyer, "getting the dogs and our luggage to the front door was 5 times as dangerous as the drive!"
We stood in the kitchen gazing about, taking everything in. I was also taking in Shane who had basically changed not a stitch since we were kids. Pale. Rail thin. Same kinky dark hair half way down her back. Same small, apple-sized breasts she'd had since she was 15.
My gaze drifted down...
I didn't care in that moment if I was being inelegant, I was curious: would I be able to see a noticeable bulge in the tight crotch of her jeans?
I couldn't. Not with any certainty, anyway.
Breaking out of my reverie I looked around-The others were chatting about renovations and didn't notice my perving in the slightest.
After we ate we spent a couple of hours catching up, sitting on the couch talking like we'd all seen each other last week, not 2 years ago.
It had been a long day though and Melody and I agreed that an early bedtime might facilitate and earlier departure.
"Not too early though," I said "this is still my vacation and I want to sleep in a little. And get a bit more time with these two."
"I've got work first thing," said Keith rubbing his neck. "I'll be up and out of here by 5:30."
"Damn... Well, I guess it's just us three then," I said looking at Shane who smiled sweetly, sipping her tea.
________
Despite my wanting some extra sleep I was awakened at 7:00 AM by the dogs snuffling along the side of my body—a cute but not so subtle alarm telling me that I needed to get up and get their breakfast's going. I got the same treatment at home every day. So much for vacation hours.
Melody and I got dressed and headed upstairs.
Shane was already up too-maybe because of Kieth's early departure for work-and coffee was on.
It smelled great and made the early morning canine-wake-up-call a bit more bearable. I couldn't help noticing that she wore flannel pajamas that looked loose and comfortable. They also gaped maddeningly in different spots as she moved around the kitchen: bending over to pick up something from the floor or reaching across the counter to retrieve the butter for her toast. Just enough to see a glimpse of her pale skin but not enough to really see anything of consequence.
Melody poured coffee into her travel mug and gathered the dogs things together in preparation for their morning walk.
I quickly polished off what was in my cup and rose to get my shoes on so I could join them.
"No, no—stay, honey" Melody said, laying her hand gently on my arm. "We'll probably be leaving shortly after we get back anyway. You two should take the opportunity to visit."
I looked at Shane who shrugged happily.
"Great! Thanks, sweetie."
Melody headed to the door, the dogs swarming her ankles.
"Have fun," Shane called after them as they slipped into the sultry morning air.
The door snapped shut and I was suddenly very aware of how quiet it was in the house. No TV. No radio. Just the ticking of the clock above the stove and a typically mysterious expansion/contraction squeal--it is a sort all fridges seem to emit no matter where they are or what brand.
I stood on one side of the kitchen island, Shane on the other. She looked up from her coffee at me but didn't say anything.
"Look," I said. "there's something that has been bothering me for a long time. And I want to ask you about it. Is it cool to talk, you know, openly—about everything—like we used to?"
"Of course!" she said. Her manner was matter of fact and supportive, just like always. It made me relax. A little.
"A long time ago," I continued, "You told me that you had once shown me your pussy. In my basement. In Eugene."
"OK..." she said.
"Do you remember that?"
"The telling, or the doing?" she asked with a little laugh.
"Both, I guess," I chuckled.
I was sweating. It was July but that had nothing to do with this rise in temperature. It felt like something was emerging here.
That something was suddenly on the line.
"Well, I remember the telling—that was on my parent's dock about twenty years ago or so, right?"
"Right," I said.
"And I do remember 'the doing' as well. Is this what's bothering you? That I did that? I am so sorry if something we did made you feel uncomfortable or confused or whatever."
"No, no," I said. "I don't mean it like that. I'm just...frustrated."
"Frustrated? In what way?" she asked.
Taking a deep breath, I paused.
"Well, if something like that happened to me, you know, I'd like to remember it—vividly if possible." we both laughed at that.
"And I don't. Not at all."
"You remember nothing about it?" Shane asked.
My heart was a hammer.
"Well, I uh, remember—when you told me about it—and you told me that it was really hairy and that I liked that."
Her checks flushed noticeably as she raised her chin towards the ceiling, acknowledging the memory more deeply
"Ahhhh, right. OK."
She laughed that little laugh again but there was embarrassment couched within the amusement now.
Taking another breath, I went on. It was now or never...
"So...like I said, if that kind of thing happened to me, I would like to remember it. Like, have a mental picture of it. That I could uh, you know, call up. For use later?"
She shifted in her seat and the flannel top of her Pj's gaped invitingly.
Narrowing her eyes she asked, "Whaddaya mean 'for use later'?"
She couldn't be this dim.
