Wet Hot American Cousins

Last night I had this absolutely delicious dream about fucking my cousin, and fucking him hard. In it, we were sitting on a couch in a room I didn't recognize (but in the dream I knew it was in some family member's house), and something was said and suddenly his hand was reaching in between my legs, pushing up under my skirt, fumbling to push back my panties, and then there it was – rubbing against my lips, pushing in, funneling in wanting to find that special little place between, and he was just about to when...oops, the door opened and my mom walked in. and the hand was pulled back and I pulled a pillow onto my lap, and for the rest of the dream, everyone seemed to know something that I knew but thought I didn't.

So I have to wonder where such a funny dream comes from, and I say funny because it is funny, and it's been on my mind since I woke up. The other funny thing is that I had the dream around 8:14 this morning (I woke up in the middle of it because the cat jumped on the bed) and I curled up around my pillow and went back to sleep. And the dream continued (maybe it repeated) and then I dreamt other things, but when I woke up woke up around noon, it was still in my head and it's been there all day. It's not the sort of feeling I would expect either. It's this naughty, fun little feeling that has been in my head and between my legs all day long. I turned on music this afternoon and was dancing around the apartment while I cleaned, and it's hot so I was only wearing a mini skirt and a bikini top. And while I danced, while I rubbed up against the door frame – the wood sliding between my breasts and between my legs – I was thinking about him. I was thinking about the next time I'd see him (probably not for awhile), and how I wanted him to notice the curve of my breasts, the curve of my ass, the way my stomach looks when I'm naked. I want him to imagine that when he looks at me, and it will make me smile. And he's my cousin, and this is all crazy.

I remembered later that he has a girlfriend now, and I thought about how I wished he didn't, or if he did, I wished he'd think about fucking me too. I wonder if he thinks about fucking me. I wonder if he notices the sexual tension between us or if it's just me. I think he must because I'm pretty good at reading those types of things usually. But then again, this is new territory. This is cousin territory.

So today, as I've been awake, cleaning and going about my day, I've been thinking about all the moments we've shared in my head. It's not shared moments in the sense that I share moments with a close friend. We don't share moments, and we aren't close and I've always put it down to age difference (he's 33 and I'm just about to tip 21), but now I have to wonder if that's the real reason. Or are we not close because underneath the hello-goodbye hugs and the few words we exchange in between, we really just want to fuck each other's brains out? And what would they all say if they found out?

Now I have to dissect all those moments like an 8th grader to think about what they mean. It's funny, now, to think about those hugs. His brother always gives me big bear hugs, big paternal hugs because he's so much older than me and there is a very older cousin-younger cousin vibe that passes between us. But him – there are no bear hugs there. His hugs are always there, but they aren't paternal and it always feels like he is inwardly pulling away. Is he pulling his hips away? Should I push mine in? What would I do if I pushed against something hard?

And then there are other moments. The way he gave me this sidelong, inquisitive glance the day we played that word game in the kitchen at his brother's house, and they all drank beer (I was, of course, at 18 too young) and when the word was spit, I said swallow and they all looked at me in surprise, and at the time I didn't think to look at his face. But later on, as I slid out the door, I caught that look floating across his eyes as he turned his head towards me. Did I unmask it that day, with such a blatant form of sexuality that was surprising to all of them but inspiring to him? Did I hurtle myself from that young cousin to a young woman with hips and breasts and lips and this reeking sexual identity that other friends have told me I put off? Is it there around family too? I've never thought to notice.

At his sister's wedding, he was a little drunk and I was wearing a tight purple dress and a flat stomach and long, toned legs and a pair of heels, and I'm sure he'd never seen me like that. He called me over, loudly, wanted to tell me that his friend wanted to know how old I was – was I old enough? That was the real question. And I laughingly declined the request. I was, in fact, old enough (19) but I had a date, a boyfriend, a loving one, and I wonder if I actually tossed him a saucy smile as I hip-swung away or if that was only in my imagination. Who was actually asking the questions there? Who was disappointed?

Then there are conversations with others that pop into my head. My aunt once said I was the perfect woman in the world for him – too bad we were cousins – when she was lamenting his age and single status. I thought it was funny at the time because he and I never talked really, only on occasions. Only to laugh at his brother's kids or to communicate family messages: "Your mom told me to tell you she'd be back around four and that you're supposed to go with her to Grandma's then." But this year, we did talk once. It was such an odd thing, you see, because we normally don't and normally not about sex, but we did talk about sex. We were crammed around a table, all of us cousins and I am by far the youngest. By years - ten years, eleven years, fifteen years. Some of them are pushing 40 now, and I'm the baby of the family and I was finally at the adult table. And we were drinking and I could finally have that beer - or lots of them - and he was sitting near me and he was telling me about his sex life.

He was finally dating someone (she was sitting near me at the table too and she was cute and young – a few years older than me – and she had offered to make out with me), and we were talking about how he has sex and how I have sex, but we're not talking about having sex together. Of course not. And then there's that nagging thought in the back of my head every time I know I'm going to be around his side of the family, when I worry about how I look or what I should wear. And I suppose you could put it down to me wanting to come across as successful and smart and asserting the fact that I actually am old enough now. Or maybe you could put it down to the fact that I really just want him to fuck me hard up against a wall, breathing heavily into my ear and running his hands along my sides, my back arching, my hips pushing against his and something hard slipping between my legs.

In my head it would be perfect, and it is perfect right now as I'm imagining this. I could pretend that I don't think these things but that would do nothing to explain the fact that I am wet right now and I know the minute I put down the computer, I'll be reaching for a vibrator. It's all so very clear.

We would be back on that couch in that unknown relative's house, from the dream, and everyone would be downstairs - eating food, chatting away. And there we would be on that couch and I would be in that green little skirt (the same one I put on when I got up this morning), sitting beside you but still a little bit away. Far enough that you'll have to reach to touch me, and I know you'll want to. I can feel it sitting there – it's in the air, it's in your voice, it's in the way you're playing with your hands like you just don't know where to touch them when really you should be touching them all over me, and we both know it. You look at me from the corner of your eyes – a side glance to see how I'm responding, to see if my body is gearing up. I let my leg muscles relax and my thighs drift apart – they're pulling on the skirt fabric and it stretches across my lap. I kick off my sandals, rub my toes on the carpet.

And the strange thing is, we're just talking. We're talking about nothing in particular, about all the boring, little small talk we always make about how big your brother's son is now, how long it will be until they finish the house, how your job is going, how school is going for me (I just have a year left until I graduate), and as we talk, you shift back into the couch, rubbing your back on the cushions, like you're settling in. Your hands are still fumbling with things – the corner of the pillow, the arm cover on the corner. I start swinging my legs back and forth, and my thighs slap together softly each time. You look at them, rub back into the couch again, look again, keep talking. I'm just swinging my thighs together, enjoying the quiet little "thwack" they make when they touch, and then they pull away. I like looking at my body from this angle - I can see its landscape and its layout.

It seems like I must miss something because one moment you're talking and I'm barely listening, more focused on the swing-swing-swing of my thighs with your voice as an accompaniment. And the next moment you have made the reach between us and your hand is right there, your wrist pushing back the skirt and your fingers fumbling desperately to pull aside the panties. Your knuckles graze my lips, then I feel fingertips working their way up, settling on my clit. This time the door doesn't open, like in my dream, and you are up and moving. You are pulling down the panties, and I feel them slide down my calves, resting around my ankles in a silky heap. The skirt is worked up as I slip down, toward you, pelvis slightly raised and I can feel the wetness gathering between my spread legs. You're staring right at it, fingers pulling back my lips and your lips descend and engulf my little clit. I can't resist the moan that jolts from my lips, and my hand flies up to cover my mouth, instinctively because I know no one can come upstairs, no one can come into the room, no one can come but me and I want to come all over your face.

Your tongue is working in deeper, moving in slow, wide strokes, curling up the sides of my lips, and I can feel your tongue relax. It is not so hard now – like you're lapping up all of my cum in big, long strokes and each one is its own little climactic moment. Your tongue moves up, up, up and my pelvis moves up, up, up, and then you pull away, start over again, and the sensation floats back to the bottom even as my hips descend too. My clit is on fire, and the little sounds keep working their way from my lips, little mews, little moans, little gasps and then a long moan, a serious moan, and you lean in as if prompted. Your tongue turns into lips, latched onto my clit, and the strokes become a suck, like you are pulling my clit right into your mouth. My hips, my whole body comes with it, and your hand grips my thigh, steadying me, then crawls up. Your fingers tickle my skin as they dip down, but they don't stop where I thought they would. Instead, you slide me down a bit further, letting my muscles loosen, and your fingers slide around the curve, feeling for my asshole, pushing against it for moment before they come back and effortlessly glide into my pussy.

Your fingers take over, reaching as far as they can inside, while your mouth, your head pull back. When you press your lips against the soft skin of my thigh, I can feel beads of sweat along the top of your upper lip and the hint of stubble scratching along below. You are resting on me, and I can watch the conflict on your face – you're not looking at me, but you're asking if this is okay, if this is what I wanted. I've slouched down, and now I struggle to sit up. I reach out and put a hand on your shoulder, and the touch makes you jump. You lift your head and catch my eyes, and even if I wanted to say no, I couldn't. The next thing I know you are pressing your body against mine and your lips are fumbling for mine. They are parted, my tongue searching for yours, my hands grasping the back of your neck, pulling you in further, harder, longer. When we part, we are both looking for air, and while I gasp, your lips go to my neck, your teeth nip at my skin, and as if on cue, my hand dips between my own legs searching for something hard between yours. I find what I'm looking for and start to rub, fast rubbing, as though any second we'll be discovered.

My cousin makes this sound, this guttural moan that erupts out of his torso as it twists against mine, and it's like fuel to the fire. Suddenly I am struggling with the button on his jeans, trying to pull it apart with one hand, succeeding and quickly moving down to the zipper. His hands rip at my shirt, pulling it up to reveal my stomach, and he makes another sound as he looks at it, telling me that all those times I wanted him to notice my body, he had. He has wanted this moment as much as I have, and he has been masturbating to it for years.

His hands slide up, and they are softer than I thought they would be. On his weekends, he works helping my uncle to remodel houses, and I thought his hands would be rough, callused, hard. But they aren't. His finger tips are slipping under my bra, but he gets frustrated, yanks the cup down, leaving one breast resting atop the cup, supported by the fabric, soft, full and almost quivering because I so want to be touched. His hand grabs at it, even as my own is wandering down between his legs, finding his hard cock and pushing, pulling, up and down. He squeezes, and my nipple becomes so erect it almost hurts. My back is arching, but this time because I want my nipple in his mouth. I want him to lick it, pull at it with his teeth, rub it with his tongue, and he recognizes the cue. Looking down, I can see the top of his head, his nose buried in my round breast, and when he pulls away for a moment, my nipple glistens with saliva. I grab for his hand, guide his fingers into my mouth and run my tongue around them. His other hands reaches for my face, cupping one side, and then his fingers are gone and I feel them, wet and sticky, running against my clit, and then my eyes close. Something else is inside of me, not fingers but his tongue, running in a circle around the inside of my vagina. I want to explode, and I want him to explode in me.

I need to tell him this. I pant his name, trying to articulate what I want while I'm floating in this bed of sensation that I need fulfilled. I never knew I needed him before, never knew I needed everything sexual about him, but I know that I do. I am scrambling with his clothes. I need to see his shoulders and his arms and his stomach, I need to see his penis erect and waiting for me, I need to see his cum. He has abandoned me in his own effort to help – pulling his shirt above his head and tossing it aside. I flick away my panties, and they land farther away on the carpet. A speck of bright red in the room. Now I can see him, now I can run my hands across his shoulders, now I can soak my fingertips in his mouth and tug at his nipples. I am reveling in his body, in the sensation of skin when I feel his muscles go suddenly tense. I murmur in his ear, and he places a hand over my mouth. Then I hear it too – a creak in the hallway, someone's weight on the floorboards, and our eyes meet. I can see it in his, and I know he can see it in mine – the pure terror of being caught.

For a moment we share this knowledge that we want what we are doing, but we're cousins. And the family is downstairs, and they don't know what we want. Our eyes feel out each other's faces for a weighty few moments. I'm looking for that wrinkle of concern, a crease near his mouth or his eyes that might tell me this isn't worth getting caught for. That we should spring up and hastily pull on those shed clothes. But I can't find it, and I am delighted and terrified at the same time. He is studying me so earnestly, I know he is searching for the same thing. When we don't find it, we lock eyes, hold our intermingled breath and wait. Another creak in the hallway, and neither of us wants to get up, to give this up. We'll put our clothes back on and walk back downstairs, and he'll be quiet all night and everyone will think he's in a bad mood, and I'll be quiet all night and no one will notice because I'm always quiet around this side of the family. And all night long my pussy will ache and tremble and plague me until I give her what she wants. But what she wants is right in front of me, right now, and I don't want to move. He doesn't either.

Luck is on our side as the tread moves away, back downstairs, and his back muscles relax, his arms encircle my waist, and he pulls me forward, off the couch and onto the floor. I bump onto the carpet, my pussy already gravitating toward him. He is up now, standing above me and I watch as he pushes jeans off of his hipbones, and they crumple to a heap around his feet. He steps out of them as I stare at his thighs, stare at his crotch. His penis is protruding from his boxers, struggling to push its way to the light and he seeks out my eyes again, asks a silent permission to take them off and I give it by sliding my own hand toward my pussy. I rub my clit vigorously as I watch the boxers fall to the floor. From this angle, his penis looks larger than any I've ever seen and I want to grab hold of it, push it deep into my pussy until I scream and lick the cum from its edges. Instead I wait.

We are both patient creatures, he and I, and now it is almost unbearable. Slowly, he kneels before me, teasing me with his erect cock. My tongue is pressing up against the back of my teeth hard, wanting to escape my mouth, and suddenly I can't wait any longer. I lock my arms around him and pull his penis toward me, catching the head with my lips and taking it into my mouth just enough. My tongue rolls in circles around it, and I can feel it pulsate with each motion. I suck as though he is candy and I have an insatiable sweet tooth. I hear my saliva as I pull at his penis with my mouth. I rub my tongue along his little slit until he erupts with a tiny but deep noise. I want to tease him. I want him to know I want him and that he should want me.

I have the urgent desire to pull all of him into me, to engulf all of his penis with my body. I lick my palm and cup its base. I start to work back and forth and find my body rocking back and forth with the motion of my hand. My knees rub against the carpet but I don't notice. Working his shaft, I pull the rest into my mouth, deep and hard – one long, fulfilling stroke. His body shudders, his knees sink in and he catches himself, rights himself. I pull back then plunge in again, feeling his head graze the back of my throat. Saliva is dripping from my hand, dripping from his cock as I pull back once more. This time, I work from the outside, long, hard licks on his shaft, starting at the base and dragging my tongue all the way up. I work around his penis, and now he is starting to get impatient. His head pokes at my lips, begs for entry and I grant it, taking him in ever so slowly, letting him push back and back until I am holding his long, hard cock in my mouth – sucking slowly and massaging with my tongue. I can taste cum in my mouth, but he hasn't orgasmed yet. He is waiting, fighting to control, and we are waiting for the same thing. His fingers explore me as my tongue explores his cock. They trace the line of my neck, my shoulders, rub at my breasts, tickle at my nipples.

I can feel my wetness dripping onto my leg, and the urge to feel him inside of me is too strong. I can't wait. I pull my mouth away, my face wet with cum and saliva, and we are frantic. He scrambles to join me on the floor, his strong hands grasping my knees and pushing them apart. My pussy is right there in plain view, tilted upward as though on display - pink, wet and urgently awaiting his cock. I hold my breath, not moving, as he leans toward me. My whole body is tense, anticipating his penis slamming into my pussy. And there it is – a firm nudge against my clit, sliding around, back and forth, teasing me until my pelvis is rising from the floor out of sheer desire and impatience. He slides down, toys around the lips of my vagina, comes back up. I am breathing hard, urgently, my hands pulling at his hips, his thighs, and right as I reach for his cock, he plunges.