Cousins at Christmas

I never really knew my cousin. His family was on the west coast and he couldn't afford a trip home over Christmas, so he stayed with Mom and I during his college break. We'd met a couple of times over the years, but he was older and I was mostly just running around screaming and giggling with all the other little girls at family events. That was all years ago.

I was a little shy when he arrived, but he was kind and funny. Mom made a nice dinner that first night and we all sat around the living room catching up on family gossip. After I went to bed I thought about him sleeping on the couch, just on the other side of the wall and had a hard time falling asleep.

My school hadn't started Christmas break yet, so I was out of the house before he woke up. He was sitting reading something on his tablet when I came home. Mom was working crazy retail hours because of Christmas, so I turned on the TV and we hung out for a while. When dinner time came around, he just ordered some pizza for us and we played Mario Kart on the Wii.

We talked a little, but it was nice to just hang out too. I was also scared I'd say something foolish and ruin the mood, so I just enjoyed the silences. He seemed content with the quiet as well; it felt comfortable and warm.

I got up to change into my PJs and he went back to reading his book. I brought my homework out and we sat on the couch sharing a blanket over our legs. It was hard to concentrate. I kept looking up over my binder at him. Smooth skin, dark hair, nice features. The blanket started getting a bit warm and got even warmer when we would accidentally brush against each others legs. I was worried I was too stubbly from the last time I shaved.

As I finished the last few problems, I decided to give myself a pedicure. I reached for my nail bag on the table behind the couch and started filing and buffing my toenails. I caught him glancing at me a couple of times and realized my nightie was riding a little high, so I pulled it down and continued to work on my cuticles.

His toes were poking out from under the blanket, so on an impulse I grabbed his foot and twisted it around to my lap. He grinned at me a adjusted his position to make it easier for me to work, so I started trimming his toenails. He had nice feet, not too hairy, with the kind of squared off nails you get from using a cheap set of clippers. I cut and filed until they were shaped well, buffed them until the gleamed. He made a contented sigh.

At this point, his heel was between my thighs so I rolled over slightly to capture his foot and changed channels on the TV. He smiled at me, glanced at the TV and went back to his book. I stopped on one of the animated Christmas specials and watched for a while, trying to figure out how I could get his foot closer to my crotch. I settled for inelegantly scooting down and pulling the blanket up to my shoulders. When I stopped the bottom of his foot was resting against my panties with his toes next to my belly button.

I felt naughty, scared and excited. He didn't appear to notice or care, so I settled in to watch the show and enjoy the sensation of pressure against my mons. Eventually he shifted his position, which caused his foot to move slightly, but he didn't pull it away completely. Despite my apparent concentration on Santa and friends, my focus was solely on what was happening under the covers.

I leaned back against the arm rest and opened my legs slightly, leaning one knee against the back of the couch. This allowed me to rock my leg slowly, which caused his heel to rub against my mons. It was heavenly while it lasted. Mom came home eventually, and we both stretched while sitting up straight. We all ate a late snack, chatted for a while and I reluctantly went to bed.

As I lay there I was astonished at my own boldness. I would never have done these kinds of things with any of the guys I knew. I found myself imagining his strong hands touching me as my fingers slid under the edge of my panties. I rubbed until I felt my release coming, then held my breath as I came, hoping no one would hear me writhing on my sheets. My hair was damp by the time I stopped and my panties were wet all the way through.

The next day was the same routine, but I did tell some of my friends about my cousin while at school. I came home excited, but was disappointed to find him gone. I plopped on the couch and started in on my homework. After a while I heard him come in with groceries. He smiled at me and we chatted for a bit as he put things away. He pulled out a pot and a frying pan and started making dinner for us. I came in to help clean and chop, but mostly to be close to him.

Mom was home early that night and was happy with our initiative. While she changed, I set the table and we all ate a nice meal of pasta, veggies and chicken. After eating we sat in the living room for a while, him on his tablet, me on my phone and Mom watching TV. I secretly took pictures of him and saved them for later. He was only wearing a t-shirt and shorts, but he was yummy.

Mom eventually went to bed and I yawned as well, but I had no intention of going to sleep. After Mom was gone, I got up and changed into my pajamas, this time a silky satin top and loose satin pants. When I got back to the living room he was sitting with the blanket over his legs watching some video on his tablet.

I plopped down on the couch and he grinned at me with a cute half smile. Then he reached down to his backpack and pulled out a small vial, opened it and began to rub his hands quickly back and forth. A light scent of sandalwood filled the room and he took one of my feet in his warm hands. I pulled the blanket up over my other leg and slid down to be closer to him.

He smoothed the warm oil over my feet and began to firmly work out the ball, arch and heel. I felt like I was turning into a puddle of goo. I shut my eyes and let him do whatever he wanted. He started with one foot, moved up to my calf and worked out knots of tension I didn't even know I had.

When he finished with one foot, I rolled over on my stomach, keeping the blanket over my waist. He worked the other foot over and finally put down both feet to focus on the calves, working them together at the same time. His hands were warm from the friction and his strong fingers left a tingling ache. While he was concentrating on my calves, my right hand, which was underneath me, slowly moved to the waistband of my PJs. I carefully slipped my fingers into my panties and drew lazy circles in my wetness.

He was working his way past my knees, pushing my loose pajama legs up out of the way. When he reached my thighs, he stopped to get more oil and I bit my lip to keep from moaning when he started again. No one had ever touched me like this before and the tempo of my fingers increased involuntarily. I hoped he didn't see what I was doing, but at this point I was past caring. I had to bite into the couch pillow to remain quiet at the last.

He continued to rub long strokes from my thighs to my toes for some time while I carefully pulled my hand out of my pajama bottoms. I was so utterly spent that I must have fallen asleep. The next thing I knew was that he was carrying me to my bed. I curled up in his arms and put my cheek on his chest. He kissed my forehead after he put me in bed, covering me with my blanket. My last memory was the hallway light going out as he went back to the couch.

I awoke startled. I had a moment of disorientation, then remembered what happened the night before. I touched my forehead where he kissed me. What the hell was I doing?

I resolved to stop before I lost control of myself and did something I'd regret. I went to school, focused on my work, ignored my friends, forcing stray thoughts away. I would not give in. I arranged to go Christmas shopping with some friends to avoid being alone with him. I ate dinner at the mall and bought a few small items for gifts. I stopped by to see Mom where she worked and waited until she got off so we could go home together.

We arrived home to the lovely aroma of a pot roast. The house had been cleaned and dinner was on the table. There were flowers in a vase on the table and a pie cooling on the buffet. I felt bad that I left him to do all this by himself while I was out shopping and avoiding him.

Dinner was amazing. The conversation pleasant and amusing. There seemed to be no indication of tension, sexual or otherwise. The apple pie was delicious. Afterwards, we returned to the living room and played Wii bowling. Mom yawned. I yawned. We all went to bed... damn. Why was I so mad?

The next day I found out why I was mad when my monthly visitor made its appearance. I took ibuprofen, dragged my butt through the day, staggered home and arrived grumpy and crampy. I took a shower because I always feel icky, put a diaper sized pad in my granny panties and put on a flannel nightie at 4 in the afternoon.

He asked if I was okay and, despite my embarrassment, I told him. He nodded, but made no other comment. Mom was working late again, but I didn't have to worry about anything happening, so I just played with my phone and watched TV. The cramps got worse and I was moving uncomfortably when he asked if he could do anything to help. I laughed. He said he knew something that might help if I would let him touch my stomach. I felt a little butterfly in there at the thought, but I felt so uncomfortable, so icky, that I'd agree to almost anything to get some relief.

He went to the bathroom and got a towel, the heating pad and a pillow from my room. He made me lay down on the carpet on my side, with my knees pulled up. Then he put the pillow under my head and had me hug it. He knelt down at my lower back and got the sandalwood oil again, warming his hands up. It already felt better just lying this way, but when he lifted my nightie and began to massage my stomach I could have wept. It was a firm, but gentle kneading of the lower stomach, which seemed to suspend the cramps almost immediately.

He rubbed from the top of my panties to just below my breasts, careful not to tickle or cause me to tense up. His knees at my back kept me from sliding away and the fact that my knees were raised kept all my muscles loosened. The knot of tension in my stomach melted away under his sure fingers, then the warmth started spreading again going from an ache to a need.

I whispered, "Please. Your fingers, please." and he seemed to know what I meant and what I needed. He placed the towel behind me and rolled me onto my back, still massaging with his right hand. He wiped his left hand off carefully, and pulled a small blue and white tube out of his bag by the couch. He rubbed some of the clear lotion on his fingers and then rubbed them together to warm it. Then he lifted the edge of my panties and slid his gooey fingers down as I moved my legs apart to give him access.

It was a bit of a shock to feel someone else do something that only I had ever done, and knowing that I was not clean bothered me. Then his slick fingers moved my hairs apart and slipped into me, my whole body shuddered. He began to trace around, between my lips, and I arched my back towards him. He slipped a single finger all the way inside me as his thumb put subtle pressure on my furry mons.

His right hand continued to massage gently, his finger kept a constant pressure, as if lifting from inside. His thumb began to circle around on the outside. The tempo was slow, easy, little more than a massage. Then the thumb slipped just inside the wetness, enough to tease, then back out. Over and over again, not hurried or insistent, he brought me closer and closer. This was not sex, this was some kind of healing release.

My eyes were screwed shut, my arms tight around the pillow still. My breath came is clusters; three quick breaths, hold, two more quick breaths, hold. Small noises escaped me without my ability to control them. Until finally, without much movement at all, I cried out. His hands never stopped. The single finger inside me seemed to lift me slightly, and a sudden rush of liquid seemed to pour out as the release raged for one moment, two, pulsing and pulsing until I was left exhausted, weeping quietly on the floor. Empty.

He gently removed his left hand from inside me, and with his right gently touched my hair and face. The scent of sandalwood was stronger and I opened my eyes. He was looking at me with a smile, bent down and kissed me on my lips. It was a closed mouth kiss, soft and warm. Then he got up and went to wash his hands in the kitchen.

I could not move for a while. When I did he was back to help me up and walk me to the bathroom. While I sat on the toilet, he started the shower to get the water hot, and then left me there. When I was clean again, I walked out to the living room. There was a cup of chamomile tea next to my place on the couch. The heating pad was on and warm, so I sat down and placed it over my stomach. I could think of nothing to say.

He was reading his tablet again and drinking his tea. I just watched him. Every so often he would raise his left hand to his lips. I realized he was breathing in the scent of me still on his fingers. I smiled, shut my eyes and went to sleep.

I woke up when Mom came home and found us both sleeping on the couch. She saw the heating pad and knew what was up with me. She smiled, touched my hair and nodded toward the hallway to my room. After I got up, she tucked a blanket around him and turned off the lights in the living room.

I sat in the dark for a long time, listening to the heater rumble and the soft snores coming from the living room. My mind did not seem to work; I couldn't formulate coherent thoughts as my attention fluttered from one thing to another. There was a silly grin that kept appearing until I realized I was doing it again and banished it away.

My body was no stranger to me and I assumed I understood the limits of my own sexuality. However, I had woefully underestimated what a partner brought to the experience. Part of it was my experience with the bumbling advances of the boys I'd known so far. I now realized there were nuances to the experience that I'd barely considered, particularly regarding scents, pacing, the electric touch of smooth skin; all intensified what had until now been a fun, but solitary adventure.

I lay back and considered what would happen now. Before tonight he'd been largely unaware of my rich fantasy life surrounding him. Now even my body no longer held many secrets for him. I didn't know how he'd act around me or how I should act around him. Since we were cousins, our extracurricular activities should be forbidden, but if anything our family connection made him feel safer. Mom would definitely not approve. Until I got off the cotton pony it was a moot point anyway, so I closed my eyes and enjoyed a wonderfully cramp-free night of sleep.

The next morning I woke to the sound of a shower running. Since it was a Saturday and the start of my Christmas break, there was no reason to get up. I glanced at the clock and realized at this point Mom had already gone to work, so there could only be one person in the shower this morning. Now I had a reason to get up.

I barged into the bathroom noisily claiming the immediate need to pee. I heard him chuckle from behind the shower curtain. The toilet was near the tub, opposite the sink and mirror. I sat on the closed toilet and leaned to look into the tub through the gap around the shower curtain.

He was standing facing towards me with the water behind him giving him a misty halo. He was smiling, damp hair down in his face and water dripping off his chin. His penis was fully erect and covered in soap; I believe I caught him mid-wank because his hand was still slowly moving up and down his shaft. Being the first penis I had seen outside of a web video, I was struck by how thick and solid it appeared.

He noted my attention and turned around to wash off the soap giving me a chance to watch the water drip down his back, butt and legs. When he turned around again, he moved close enough for me to touch him, which I admit I was mad to do. Now that the soap was gone, I was able to see his slightly hairy cock and balls more clearly. I'd seen pictures, of course, and heard the various descriptions of balls and sacks, but when I touched them I was amazed to see how accurate the description really was.

The skin was paper thin, crossed with thin veins, and the balls seemed to pull and stretch the sack down. The skin was incredibly soft; as soft as my own inner lips, and seemed to be able to pull and stretch into any shape. I lifted his balls in my hand and they seemed heavy, pendulous things, larger than almonds, but smaller than eggs. I noticed when I actually touched them, he leaned against the wall and held onto the towel rack.

I ran my hands up his shaft and noted how smooth the skin was, and how firmly stretched it appeared. There were larger veins running all around it, but they made it seem strong and robust somehow, rather than knobby or ugly as some I'd seen pictures of. The head was like an angry purple mushroom and appeared very rough, but when I touched it gently, it was more like a fine sponge or foam rubber toy.

I looked up into his eyes. He was smiling a kind of strained smile and I could see his need very clearly. "Show me," I said. He took my left hand and showed me how to cup his balls, how to put pressure on the base of the shaft with my fingers while moving his balls gently around the palm of my hand. He took my right hand and showed me how to grip gently, moving the skin itself against the harder interior of the shaft. He showed me the softest spot, just on the underside, where the shaft meets the head, how I could slip my thumb up and down there. He showed me how to keep the tempo steady, but to vary the pressure a little with each stroke.

At some point he lost the ability to show me anything beyond his pleasure as his breathing became uneven. I kept a slow, steady tempo and he began to rock his hips in anticipation of my movements. It was a little like a dance and I began to stop thinking about it mechanically as my own arousal prompted me to try variations of my own. I was overcome by an impulse and leaned forward toward his shaft. Without breaking my rhythm I stuck out my tongue and licked him like an ice cream cone; one slow lick in that soft spot where the head met the shaft.

At once my hand pressing at the base of his shaft sensed a movement; almost a vibration. He groaned out loud and now practically hung from the towel rack with both of his hands. Seeing this reaction, I tried it again, this time licking from the soft spot around the edge of his head. A clear liquid began to leak out of his hole as he quietly moaned, "Yes". I leaned forward to taste the liquid and lightly dragged my tongue through it. It didn't taste bad, not too different from my own slick wetness that I had tried on impulse a few times.

That thought made me aware of the mess I was currently sitting in as my own arousal and menstruation mixed together. I slid to the edge of the toilet seat so I could stimulate myself a little against it. I timed my own motions with his hip movements and for a while lost myself in the moment.

He began to take more labored breaths and I opened my eyes so I could see the final result of my efforts. I noticed his balls were no longer sitting loose in his sack; they seemed to be pulling up towards his body. The clear fluid was now pooling on the top and dripping down his shaft, making my hands slide more than his skin. Finally, the fingers I had pressed firmly against the base of his shaft detected a twitch, then a flurry of pulses which seemed to move up and become stronger until the shaft pulsed rhythmically and ejected white, ropey strands of cum through the air to land on my hair, face, robe and floor.