We were late. The flight had been delayed, but they'd kept the poor thing up for our inspection. My wife tried to coo and tease the bald tiny three-month infant in her arms. I smiled. Could the little pink blob see yet? Don't gawk at the helpless thing with a silly face, I wanted to tell my wife. The baby'll be scarred for life. The kid's tiny hand reached up, probably to block the teasing face, and Sarah smiled at me nervously.
Fuck. I hated quaint family gatherings.
The brat was crying and now screaming and my wife, awkward, tried to rock her quiet. The kid cried harder. Smart kid. I wanted to laugh. Sarah was useless with infants, children, anything domestic. Why was she pretending so hard? When in Rome . . .
Becky, whose eyes, I'd noticed, had never left her new daughter, quickly walked to my struggling wife.
"There. There," she said, picking up the bundle of bad news. "Mommy's here honey. Shhhh. Mommy's right here."
Sarah looked up sheepishly, hands empty. Hands now clasped in her lap.
The brat gurgled a little, let out a long fart and started to quiet down. Sarah stared in discomfort at the display.
"When are you two gonna start a family?" Bob, my cousin's husband, asked, grinning.
I shrugged and grabbed another handful of red pistachios. "We--"
"Very soon," Sarah said, defiantly.
I looked at her. Very soon? What the fuck are you talking about? Very soon, my ass. You haven't wanted a kid since . . .
"That's great!" Bob laughed. He grabbed his can of beer, tilting it to me, splashing a bit on the table. "Here's for the best. Let me know, if I can give you any pointers."
I smiled at him. Fucking construction dirt-ball is going to give me pointers. What a world we live in! I know, I know, now especially, after 9/11, we're supposed to bend over backwards in gratitude in our appreciation for the beefy brutes that comprise the working class-firemen and police, and construction and what not-but it would be so much easier if they simply kept quiet. Fine. Rescue and defend, bulge and belch, but don't talk, don't try to tell us anything. Not if you want anyone to respect you.
Oblivious, he downed his beer in a couple of loud gulps and reached for another.
* * *
Sarah stifled a moan as a I pushed harder against her clit, buried, burning, balls deep inside her. My cock jerked violently, begging for release, so I held myself still, feeling the blood pounding in my ears.
I looked down at her red, sweaty face, at her expansive, matted dark hair. This was Sarah's domain. Few could compete with her.
I slowly pulled out, trying to ease the tension and she sighed. I held myself aloft, barely touching her, my cock-head surrounded by her thickly haired, swollen cunt-lips and she opened her eyes and smiled up at me.
I studied her, trying to guess her thoughts, but couldn't.
I strained forward. I shoved it all back in, swiftly and she gasped. I held myself in her.
"Don't do that," she whispered, after she'd caught her breath. "You're going to wake everyone up."
"So?" I whispered, slowly pulling out and then slowly pushing back in.
"So." she gasped. Slowly in, slowly out. "So. Your cousin might think we're nuts."
Becky, I smiled. My cousin. Over a year since I'd seen her. Shit. Over a year since I'd been back to the old home town. Wouldn't have come back except to see the baby.
Slowly in, slowly out.
"They'll think we're trying to get you pregnant." I whispered, reaching to tease one of her hard brown nipples.
I felt her stiffen underneath and we were silent holding each other. My rigid, unbending, hardness was lost. I could feel myself, still somewhat erect, but floppy. She felt it, too.
"Do you think we should?" she asked.
"I don't know," I replied.
She nodded and I could hear her breathing had returned to normal. It was over. My erection was gone and I gently pulled out and rolled off her, chilled, sweaty.
"It's not that I don't want to," she began, after a couple of minutes.
"I know," I nodded, looking up at the dark ceiling of the strange bedroom.
"It's just not time, yet, you know?"
"Yeah, I know."
We held each other and she fell asleep. I studied the ceiling and the grisly fake wood fan slowly turning in the night.
* * *
As the only child of my father, the remaining members of dad's large clan focused obscene attention on me the next day at the party. The old man, dead for more than two years, had been the oldest of five sons, the head of the family. In a fucked up way, never asked for, certainly not wanted, the dignity seemed to pass to me. My youngest uncle was only six years older than I was and the other three kept pushing beer and nasty food in my direction all afternoon.
You see, the old man had dragged them out of the Ozarks, after the war, out of Arkansas, out of trailer, white trash. He had brought them to Chicago, had started the construction company that still bore their name, the company they and most of their sons still worked for. He had made them lower middle class, and relatively wealthy, and they were grateful.
Sarah, my princess, was hard for them to take. Everything about me was hard for them to take. I was almost forty, had been married for more than ten years and still had no children. But worse, I was a professor of all things, a professor of history. I irritated my four uncles and their sixteen children. I may have even irritated one or more of their thirty some odd grandchildren, but I'd never taken a poll. Through it all, for good or bad, but mostly bad, I was still, in their eyes, heir to the head of the family, the man.
Redneck primogeniture should not be quickly discounted.
I walked along the hot concrete of Bob's new pool. Little cousins once removed were splashing and screaming their delight in the hot, muggy summer air. I shook my head, imagining several floating face down, having drowned. No one was watching them. All of the adults had better things to do, like compare new watches or sunglasses or boob jobs.
Sarah was lying back on a plastic, meshed lawn chair in a pleasant summer dress, reading a book. Anyone who walked passed her, stared, shook their head and went on. I laughed. That a girl. Take it easy. There are plenty of women here more than ready to get that grill going, to serve the food, to make their men happy. She looked up to see who'd blocked her sun and smiled up at me. I knelt next to her.
"Having fun?" she teased.
"So many kids," she said.
"My family breeds well."
She laughed and then stopped.
"About last night," she began.
"Forget about it."
She nodded and was silent, as we both turned to watch the kids doing their insanity in the pool.
"I could go off the pill next month," she said, not looking at me.
I shook my head. "Baby. Let's talk about it, later. At home. Okay? This is too fucked up here."
* * *
I was lying on my back, eyes closed, trying to digest the two hamburgers and something called a bratwurst I'd wolfed down. I didn't feel well. My intestines turned and twisted, made strange noises and pleas, trying to get used to the intrusion of the too rare, too much meat. Never again, I promised, myself. Never again. I tried not to belch.
I looked up quickly. Raining? I heard a hearty laugh.
"Got you," a girlish voice said, giggling, water dripping off her and onto what had been until now my dry, white shirt.
I struggled up, trying to get out of the way, but she laughed some more and started shaking her body over me, drenching me.
I gave up and let it fall.
"Aw. Don't be such a party-pooper," she laughed.
"Shouldn't you be helping your sister with your new niece?" I asked her.
"The baby's asleep and Becky's enjoying the water," she said, pointing towards the pool.
I shook my head. Jesus. Hard bodies. These two sisters. Only three months after giving birth to her third kid and Becky looked fine--hell, more than fine--in her blue one-piece. Her younger sister now standing over me looked like an Olympic athlete. Long, muscular thighs and broad back and . . .
"What is it?" she asked.
"Nothing," I sighed, lying back down on the wet lawn chair.
"You were checking out Becky's body," she laughed, teasing.
I looked up at her.
"I know," she continued. "I know. I find it hard to believe myself. Three kids."
"What do you think of this?" she asked, fisting her hands against her firm waist to show off her goods.
I laughed. What was I going to say? 'Come sit on my lap, young lady, and tell your cousin all about it?'
"Hey," she kicked my leg. "I'm not joking. What do you think?"
It was, of course, lovely, a little leaner than Becky, but quite similar. I had good-looking cousins, solid Scotch Presbyterian stock. Let's see. Becky was the oldest of . . . yeah, four kids was probably 30 or so. That would make this little darling about twenty, maybe a little older.
"How old are you?" I asked.
She kicked my leg again.
"I can't believe you. I'm your first cousin and you don't even know how old I am? I thought you were supposed to be really smart."
"I'm not. How old are you?"
She shook her head and finally said. "Nineteen."
"You going to school?"
"I'll be a sophomore at Northern Illinois University this fall."
I nodded. University? God, anything could be a 'University' these days. What a joke.
"That's great," I smiled.
We were silent. I wanted her to leave. There was nothing else to talk about. But, more relevant, all these hard-bodies were making me horny. I wanted to find Sarah and get lost for a few minutes.
But she didn't budge, staring down at me.
"We all think you're a stuck-up asshole," she said, matter-of-factly.
She kicked my leg again. "It's not funny," she lectured. "You don't talk to us, you never visit. I mean, and your wife . . ."
My laughing stopped. I sat up. "What about my wife?"
"She doesn't like us. I think she makes fun of us."
"My dear, I think you're confusing being different for stuck-up and having little in common with another person as hostility."
She stared at me. She was upset. "Bullshit," she spat out, finally, and huffed away.
I shook my head, not knowing whether to slap the little retard upside the head or sink my teeth into that tight little ass bouncing away from me. Find Sarah, ass-hole.
* * *
Bob was hitting on Sarah, when I found her.
The rube was trying to get her into the pool. He had on speedos (absolutely outrageous and bought, I was sure, to impress my wife).
I watched from a distance as she was politely, but firmly, telling him to go fuck himself.
She saw me and smiled and motioned to the idiot with a shrug. I nodded and asked with my eyes whether she was okay. She smiled and I made my way to the house.
Take a piss. Clear your head, maybe lie down a little, I thought as I maneuvered around little laughing cousins with ice cream stains on their t-shirts, dangerous toys and graying uncles and aunts I had no desire to notice me.
Inside, the piss felt good (they always do) and I bound up stairs with fresh energy. I would change my wet clothes and go back down and laugh with Sarah about Bob's bulging sun-burned gut. That would be fun. From there, a good night sleep and . . .
I'd pushed open the door to the guest bedroom and before me was Becky, her blue suit off and falling in a wet clump, her hand shaking.
Our eyes met and her baby blues followed mine as they traveled lower to her small, round tits and pink, hard nipples--must not be breast-feeding--her flat stomach, to her hazel-chestnut wet wispy pubic mound, the thick indent of her clearly visible cunt lips glaring back at me. My eyes fixed there for what seemed like long minutes, but it was over in seconds.
I turned around, quickly, muttering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" and walked out, shutting the door softly behind me, hoping not to make any greater disturbance. I wanted to hide, but took a deep breath to clear my head and waited outside for a moment for her to dress in order to apologize in a more formal fashion.
I waited. Silence. Nothing. I knew she knew I was out there, waiting, because I hadn't run down the stairs. I continued to wait. Fuck, maybe she'd fainted. Christ.
I knocked softly on the door.
"Becky," I called in.
"Becky, are you okay?"
I slowly opened the door and saw nothing.
I rushed in. She'd fainted? No. And I heard and then saw her sobbing by the bed, standing, her back to me, still naked.
I took a deep breath. "Honey," I started. Honey? Who the fuck says Honey? Good grief. Get yourself together man.
"Becky," I tried, again, but I saw her waiving me off weakly, her small, narrow ass high and tight.
"Are you okay?"
The crying was ending.
"I'm sorry," she choked.
"Why are you sorry?"
"I," she started, but then started crying again.
This was ridiculous. I walked over to her and stopped. What the fuck are you going to do? Put your arm around the naked lady? Real good, shit head.
"What's wrong?" I whispered.
She turned to me, her eyes red, making no effort to cover herself.
"I. . .I," she began. "Bob hates me."
I was confused, looking for something to toss to her to put on. What the fuck does Bob have to do with this?
"He thinks I'm ugly," she continued, and then sat on the bed, crossing her arms. "He's all over Sarah."
I stopped searching for clothes for her, and shook my head, unbelieving. How incredible.
"Baby, Sarah doesn't like Bob."
"I know, and that's what makes it worse. She's making a fool out of him. Everyone sees it."
She shook her head. "It's not your fault."
"She's a bitch."
I stopped smiling.
"Everyone knows it. Everyone knows she's a stuck-up bitch, but I guess that's why you guys want her so bad."
The second time in half-an-hour my poor wife had been unfairly maligned.
"She doesn't even like kids," Becky continued.
She stood up and faced me. I turned away.
"Look at me," Becky called out. "That asshole hasn't even touched me since the baby."
"I'm going now," I said, starting for the door.
"You think I'm ugly, too, don't you?" she quivered.
I shook my head and heard her sobbing again and then I heard her walking quickly behind me. I turned around and she threw herself at me, throwing little punches at me, hard on the chest and face. I grabbed her hands to stop her.
"Look at me!" she yelled. "Look at me!"
She continued sobbing and I released her hands and held her. Real good, couldn't be better, I thought, looking at our reflection on a mirror nearby. Guy in white shorts, wet shirt, holding naked sobbing woman. His cousin, of course. Who else would it be? Fuck.
I looked down at her and she looked up.
I smiled and then quickly tried to push her off as her mouth, her full, red lips pursed and then roughly touched mine.
"Hey!" I yelled. "What the. .?"
She held on, tightly and tried to kiss me, again.
"Are you nuts?" I hissed.
"What's wrong?" she smiled. "Never been kissed by a real woman?"
Oh brother. This was fuckin' Jerry Springer now. Total psycho-melodrama. I shook her off me and she laughed, letting herself fall onto the bed.
"You are an asshole," she said, opening up her thighs. "That's such bullshit. Cousins? Like you even know me." She reached down and rubbed herself, her almost bare cunt-lips lewdly parting, moist.
Neat. My cousin is going through a fucking breakdown in front of me. Terrific. I saw her finger disappear inside her blood red slit and she moaned. She looked up and smiled as I continued to watch her.
"Don't you want to stick it in here?" she groaned, shoving another finger inside. "You want a baby? You and that hag want a baby? I'll give you a baby. That's all I'm good for, anyway," she groaned.
I could hear her fingers slurping in and out of her slit. My mind was screaming; get the fuck out of there. Go. Leave. NOW! She would win. It would be a crass rationalization, unjustified and unwarranted, but she would win. I would prove to her by walking out that I was a pathetic twit and that Sarah was looking for a real man, like her Bob.
"Come on," she taunted. "Get that pencil dick out or can't you get hard anymore from all the ball-busting your bitch gives you?"
She was getting into it. I felt myself hardening. No. Get the fuck out of here, my mind tried, one last time.
I could smell her now, see her juices drooling on feverish fingers. Good God.
I was erect.
And here's the problem. An erection takes on a mind of its own. And that direction is not multi-dimensional or layered. No sentiment, whatever. An erection has a single, unforgiving purpose.
I pulled down my shorts and underwear.
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears and, without thinking, simply feeling, felt myself falling onto her. She felt it too and opened her eyes. Surprised, finally, horrified, she tried to push me off, but I pinned her arms back.
"Don't," she whispered, terrified. "I was only teasing."
My cock wasn't, and I felt it snake its way between her warm, slick thighs. She tried to close herself to me, but I forced her legs open with my knees and pushed forward. Her sopping fingers were still inside her. I could feel her trying to cover herself more completely. I tried to pull her hand out. She wouldn't relent as my cock-head pushed harshly against her wet fingers.
"Get your fingers out of the way," I hissed.
She shook her head.
"Your cunt is mine," I told her and pushed myself in lower, under her fingers.
She screamed, her fingers still in her, and I quickly covered her mouth. Fuck her fingers, fuck her cunt, my cock told me and I shoved in, heard her muffled yell, felt her fingers scraping my topside and delicious, tender wet warm tightness underneath.
I held myself deeply inside her, tightly against her hand and looked down at her teary eyes, and whispered, "I'm going to take my hand off."
She nodded and took in a huge breath of air as soon as my hand was off her mouth.
"Take your hand out," I continued.
She nodded, again, trembling, and I felt her fingers pulling out, scraping against me. I felt her cunt quickly adjust itself and wrap it's hot moist muscles tightly around my jerking , drooling cock.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" I asked, slowly pulling out.
She shook her head, turning away.
"You sure?" I asked, slowly pushing in all the way.
"Please don't," she whispered and then moaned as I hit bottom. Pull out slowly, quietly and then another harsh thrust. Another moan, another thrust. And then, as I watched her biting her lower lip, her face blushing red wildly, almost like a robot I quickly pulled out of her, my cock slapped hard against my stomach, and then I stood grabbing for my clothes. Real good. I could hear her breathing, smell the heavy aroma all over. You raped your cousin. Five more seconds and you would've spewed it all in her. Terrific. Two headed kids in nine months.
I laughed to myself, couldn't help it, shaking, desperately trying to put my underwear and shorts on. That's what probably happened in Arkansas way back when. Lots of in-breeding. This between Becky and I was probably a daily occurrence in the old-country. I put my shirt on. Becky and I were simply engaging in the little dance our great- grandmother and her brother, but our great-grandfather, had done eighty or so years ago.
"It's my fault," I heard her say as I was about to step out of the room.
I turned back and saw she was getting dressed too, composed, unemotional.
I walked out closing the door behind me.
* * *
The party wound down early, almost everyone leaving before eleven, so many good-byes and hugs and punches on the arms and slaps on the back and "Come more often," and by 11:15, the time that normal parties just started out East, no one was left in the house, except Sarah (whom I'd just left in the guest bedroom), Becky, her two small boys (in their room), the baby (in the nursery), me and a very passed out Bob in his favorite chair in the living room.