[MF] An awkward encounter with my cousin

I know I missed the boat on all the cousin-fucking stories that blew through here a while back, but to be perfectly honest, my own story seems downright *quaint* when compared to a lot of the ones that have been posted, in that no actual sex occurs. Much like my last story, I suspect this one is unfappable, but maybe everyone will at least find it interesting.

Sorry to disappoint off the bat – I promise, the story does include a somewhat *sexy situation* or I wouldn’t post it here. I’d be lying if I said that I was 100% into it (this is my cousin, after all), but certainly the moment has ingrained itself in my mind as thoroughly confusing – one of those moments that regularly becomes buried in your subconscious, resurfacing at strange or inappropriate times, like when your grandmother gives you $20 on your birthday and you suddenly have to sit on the couch with a pillow in your lap. It wasn’t *you*, Grandma, it was my *cousin*.

Hmm, not better.

If your curiosity is sufficiently peaked, I’ll get to it. I had just graduated high school. It was my last summer of freedom and fun before I went off to college, where I would never see most of my stable crop of friends again. I opted not to work any sort of job those three months to maximize my relaxation. Being lazy had never been so amazing, though it often left me shy of funds to do things like eat out with buddies. Playing videogames on a couch and Dungeons and Dragons around a kitchen table have minimal costs when you’re a freeloading kid, so I had plenty to occupy my time.

The downside of so much free time meant I had no excuses when my family wanted to drag me to neighborhood events or visitations to particularly boring extended family, so I had no sway when my uncle invited us out to a lake house he had rented out for a month to vacation with his family. He only invited us out for a week, and as an adult the concept of a week vacation at a lake house sounds *amazing*, but as a kid all I knew is that this place had no TV and my parents had pre-warned me not to stuff my face in a book for the whole week and actually go outside and *interact*, so I was the very picture of the grumbling, shambling teenager who complains of boredom despite being out in the wilderness where entertainment is a mere nature hike away.

Things were double bad when I arrived because my cousin had recently been dumped, and she was alternating between livid and depressed. Having to tiptoe around her was unpleasant – moreso because she was so much older than me and I assumed she’d handle herself better. My cousin is a good solid eight years my senior, so we’d never had a real relationship. I was excited about going to college, but college was already old news for her. She was an adult, with adult concerns.

She arrived a day after my family, and my aunt confided in me that they’d been inviting her for almost two weeks just to try and get her out of the funk she’d been in. She tasked me with trying to talk to her, to get her to have a good time, which seemed impossible to me because every time I got around her she bristled and became, for lack of a better word, kind of a bitch. Condescending, rude, just all around off-putting.

I don’t know what possessed me to do this, but I took a few hours one morning, sitting at an old typewriter in a side room, and wrote my cousin a short story. To date I cannot remember what the story was about, but I tried to make the theme something about perseverence through trying times. It wasn’t very long, maybe seven or eight pages, but I stapled it, rolled it up and tied a piece of twine around it, and then left it on the bed she was sleeping on with a note that told her I knew there was nothing good to read in the lake house so I wrote a story for her.

It’s important to note that nothing about this was romantic. There were no undertones to any of this that would suggest I had a thing for my cousin. I’m pretty sure the story I wrote her had a crime investigation featuring *murder* in it, so it was also not in any way about love. It was just a peace offering – something to get her to stop being such a sourpuss to ME, so at least I could have somebody to be miserable and bored WITH.

It worked. Shockingly well. She came and found me out by the dock and gushed over how much she loved the story. “You should publish stuff!” she kept saying. “You’re going to be like Stephen King, this is so good!”

I took all this with a grain of salt, because for every Stephen King there’s ten thousand pretty decent writers who get lucky if they land a gig writing books of interesting facts to read on the toilet.

But I was appreciative of the fact that she wasn’t going to be rude anymore. She was immensely sweet to me that entire day and well into the next. The way she gushed about my story, I half expected her to start passing it around to our family, but she kept it entirely to herself, which was all the better for me, as I don’t share the fiction I write very much and prefer it that way.

Towards the late afternoon the following day my cousin started looking depressed again, but at least she wasn’t angry and bitter. I caught her crying in her room, but she didn’t yell at me or ask me to go away. She just wiped her tears and asked if I needed something. It was sad, so I walked over and gave her a hug.

My dad and uncle demanded I go fishing with them a short while later, and I begrudgingly accepted. I hate fishing – or rather, I hate fishing with my father and uncle because they spend the entire time jawing about “good old boy” nonsense from their youth. Now that I’m older, I understand why we repeat the same stories over and over again, but in my youth it was just painful to hear something I’d already heard twenty times, so we were barely out in the boat for an hour before I politely asked if they could just drop me back at the dock. They were annoyed by this request but they hadn’t caught a damn thing so it wasn’t like I was keeping them from some giant score.

As the boat approached the dock, I saw my cousin come out to sit on the edge, wearing a bikini. This surprised me because it was way too late to go for a swim and the sun was already busy going down. My uncle eyed the outfit disapprovingly and told her she was going to be cold, to which she reminded him that it was late summer in Texas, and the concept of “cold” flew out the window back in June.

She was an adult, so it wasn’t like he could command her to cover up her tits. He and my dad gave up on their fishing venture and trudged back up to the house.

I remember being taken with the way she handled that situation and offered to sit with her for a bit. She agreed jovially and we dangled our legs off the dock and watched the sun go down. Were we in a relationship, the setting would have certainly lent itself to romance, but as we were not, I chose that time to ask her questions about her college experience – searching for hints on how to survive it, maybe figure out the right balance of social life and education. I knew my cousin had been more of a party girl than I had any experience with, so I thought she might be able to point me in the right direction.

We talked about this for a while, floating from topic to topic. Dispersed through the conversation were little oddities – things that delved into talk of a personal nature that I was totally unaccustomed to dealing with from my cousin. She asked if I was planning to pursue any kind of athletics, and I told her I wanted to concentrate more on my studies as I’d never been that amazing on the high school tennis team and my brief stint with track had been largely a failure. She clucked her tongue at me and told me I’d better keep up with working out or I was going to lose my definition, to which she squeezed my bicep and then ran her hand over my chest, letting it linger there for a period I can only describe as “too long.”

She was unusually candid. She opened up about her experiences with recreational drug use and drinking, being in a sorority and dating frat guys. She alternately made those years sound amazing and genuinely awful. I’m not sure even she understood how she felt about it.

After the sun set and the lights began to go out in the lake house, she turned to me conspiratorially and asked if I wanted some beer. My own forays into drinking had been fun up to that point so I of course said yes. She snuck back up to the house and was gone for quite a while before coming back with a six pack of Bud. She also had a small bottle of tequila under her arm which she pulled out with a flourish and a giggle, telling me she’d already dipped into it.

“That explains what took you so long,” I said, reaching for it. She pulled it away.

“Who said this was for you?” she asked, the old rude tone in her voice but not on her face as she grinned at me, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. “This stuff is too much for little kids, I brought the beer for you.”

I rolled my eyes but internally was afraid I’d screw up my opportunity to have any alcohol at all so I popped the top on a can of beer and began drinking. So did my cousin. A lot. I watched every swig she took of that tequila with an increasing dread because it seemed like way too much.

“Hey, slow down, I heard tequila makes girls go crazy,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t want to hear you dancing on the kitchen table later tonight.”

She laughed, setting the bottle down finally. “If all I did was dance that would be *light* compared to what I used to get up to in college.” She looked over at me with a goofy grin on her face before continuing, “I used to always suck dick when I’d drink tequila.”

Boom. I went from zero to uncomfortable in ten words. But mixed with that uncomfortableness was massive confusion. I suddenly became way too aware of how close my cousin was sitting to me, and how beautiful she was. Because I won’t mince words, my cousin is a very beautiful woman, in the very traditional sense. If anything about my post history is an indication, I tend to favor woman with a little *extra* in terms of padding. A thicker milkshake, if that’s a politically correct enough way of putting it. My cousin had a flat stomach, toned thighs, and breasts large enough to put a hint of cleavage into her bikini top. She was tanned, with long dark hair and fine features. It’s not surprising that she’d be right at home in a sorority house with other similarly featured women, going on dates with tanned and toned frat boys. She’d lost none of the luster she had in her late teens as an adult in her mid twenties.

Those words echoed through my mind as I attempted to keep my face either jovial or completely neutral. Unsure of how to respond, I simply chuckled and said, “Oh, you,” internally hoping we could change the subject so I could continue drinking my beers and not feel weird.

Instead, my cousin leaned back, that goofy grin still on her face, and said, “I used to be really good at it.”

The swallow I’d been about to take of Bud sounded several decibals louder than it needed to be. I set the can down and shifted slightly. “Sounds like you really liked to party,” I said, still trying to keep my tone light and failing pretty hard. I was too invested in the conversation to pretend like I wasn’t. I both did and did *not* want to know about my cousin’s dick sucking prowess. I was caught up in some legitimate Schrodinger shit.

For her part, she was fairly oblivious to my mood or tonal shift. She began telling me stories of different guys she’d blown, always on tequila. The way she described the guys…they didn’t sound great, I’ll be honest. Try to imagine the boys from the Jersey Shore reality show but with a ’90s lens.

As she told these stories I noted the way she was suddenly shifting back and forth on the dock, her thighs slowly rubbing together. I wasn’t experienced enough to know that she was getting turned on, but I recognize it now as clear as day.

I made a last ditch effort to keep things casual by laughing and saying, “You were totally out of control,” with what I thought was a small, wry smile, but I now realize came across as more of a knowing smirk.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, sticking out her tongue. “I’m a bad girl. That’s what you want to find when you get to college. Look for a girl like me, and you’ll definitely get your cock sucked.” She took another swig from her tequila bottle, and then winked at me as she slowly pretended to suck it, the neck sinking in and pulling out of her mouth.

I wasn’t even coy. I know I sat there with my mouth gaping and looking completely dumbfounded. My cousin laughed, covering her mouth to keep the noise from echoing too much in the night. “Oh my god,” she said in a shriek-whisper. “Your face! Holy shit.”

I was flabbergasted, enough that I lost control of my reasonable faculties and the next words that came out of my mouth were pure Id: “Fuck, I bet that feels so good.”

I regretted it as soon as I said it for the look on my cousin’s face – a mix of shock and a cloudy, drunken want. Even at my age I could see she wasn’t thinking straight, and I knew I wasn’t either. I stammered a bit and she sat herself right next to me, wrapping her arm around my torso, and just said, “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, I understand.”

I sighed a bit and let some of the tension go out of my body. I was acutely aware of her heavy breast pressing into my arm. I stared straight ahead out at the water, my mind spinning as fast as it ever has, trying to make sense of what was going on and figure out if I wanted to leave or to *press something* that I wouldn’t be able to take back.

I think, in hindsight, she was having that same conundrum, and if so, I know exactly where each of us landed on the issue, because as she sat next to me, her arm gripping me tightly, she leaned forward and kissed me on my neck. “You smell good,” she said.

“Thanks,” I replied, my own brain still whirling. It crashed when I felt her other hand come to rest on my thigh. It should probably go without saying at this point that I had an erection that could have knocked a home run out of Wrigley Field. I’m a human being and I’d just endured a beautiful woman talk about blowjobs for nearly thirty minutes while occasionally touching her thighs. The fact that she was my cousin quickly ceased to be important.

At least, that’s what I thought up until I felt her hand rest on the head of my cock, throbbing urgently down the leg of my shorts. Something incredibly strange happened in that moment. First off, I stifled a groan. It was just too much. I’d felt ready to explode for far too long and having her soft hand suddenly wrap around me there almost made me cum in my boxer briefs.

Almost.

Because the second thing that happened was the subconscious eqiuvalent of loud klaxons, firing off every synapse I had at my disposal with a single, unrelenting warning: “COUSIN! COUSIN! COUSIN, HOLY SHIT, COUSIN, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK C-O-U-S-I-N.”

Have you ever masturbated and right in the moment of your orgasm your brain pulls a mean, awful trick on you and substitutes something absolutely heinous for the very nice thing you were just thinking of? Suddenly that model’s beautiful face is gone and for whatever reason you just thought of a bowl of rancid mayonnaise, or a pile of worms, or whatever unsexy and unsettling thing that might pop up. You still have that chemical euphoria that comes from orgasm but it’s so tainted that you now need to take a break from the very *idea* of ever masturbating again.

In this case, I didn’t achieve that chemical euphoria, I was just held in a sort of abysmal stasis. My body wanted to cum, but there was that pile of worms. That’s not sexy. That’s terrible. I don’t want that. NOPE.

And my cousin didn’t make it any better. Her hand squeezed my bulge several times as she continued her soft kisses to my neck. She leaned up to my ear and said, with a strangely uncertain tone, “Um…it *does* feel good.”

“What?” I asked, a million miles away.

She hesitated for a second, pulling back slightly but leaving her hands where they were. I wondered if the spell was broken, but then she barrelled full steam ahead. “My mouth,” she replied, but at that point I could hear that uncertainty in her tone growing. “It…guys say it feels really good, when I do it.”

This was the moment of truth for me, I knew. All I had to do in that moment was be even the tiniest bit suave. To say something confident, along the lines of, “Why don’t you show me?” or “I’d love to experience that for myself.” Hell, I probably didn’t need to say anything. If I just looked at her, my eyes betraying the weird and uncontrolled animal lust my body and brain were fighting each other over, I suspect I would have had my cousin’s face in my lap, which is a concept that I still can’t wrap my head around to this day.

However, this is what actually happened:

I bolted upright, causing her hands to let go of me and her to fall backwards. So far backwards that she nearly fell off the dock. Like, she did a full somersault backwards and one leg went off the dock. I grabbed her arm and pulled her forward and the strange dancing scuffle caused her to get a splinter on her inner thigh, dangerously close to *the zone*. Without even thinking I said, “Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I’ll help!” and then reached to grab it, causing her to snap her thighs shut, trapping my hand and just making herself hurt more. The whole time she kept saying, “It’s okay! It’s okay! Everything’s okay!”

But it wasn’t okay, because my hand was trapped and I could, for the first time, feel the dampness between her legs, which caused me to have a minor freak out and yank my hand away which – good news – also managed to rip the splinter out, albeit in a manner that was probably more painful than plucking it with a pair of tweezers.

We sat for a moment.

“It’s pretty late,” I said.

She agreed, quickly, and said she’d clean up the dock and that I should just go to bed. Cold sobriety held us both in a dark embrace.

I didn’t sleep that night, and the next day my cousin didn’t say *anything* about the night before. I didn’t either. To date, neither of us has acknowledged it. She is now married with two kids – I think her husband is great. But they live in a separate state and I rarely see them, and when I do see them, I go out of my way to ensure I am never, ever alone with my cousin again. Do I think those events could ever repeat? No. Fuck no. But it also never occurred to me that they could possibly happen the first time.

So what do I know?

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/6h8cxg/mf_an_awkward_encounter_with_my_cousin