82 Nights with Christine Pt. 01

Author's Note: This story is a bit of a slow-burn to start; it gets raunchier as it progresses. It's centered around an evolving dominance & submission dynamic between a young man and a younger futa. It contains incest (very distant cousins who've never met), but that's not a major theme -- the characters are more roommates than relatives.

This is my first story, so any constructive feedback is appreciated. If there's interest, a Part 2 is planned.

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To whom it may concern: I have chosen here to publish excerpts from my son Noah's private journal. Although I feel a responsibility to protect his privacy -- and though the thoughts and events relayed in these passages are, of course, of the most sensitive and intimate nature -- at length I've decided that my greater responsibility is to the wider world. Males and females everywhere should read it and draw their honest conclusions.

- Dr. Anna Steltzer, PhD

June 1

Ok, I guess I'm doing this. Dr. Morgan told me I should try keeping a journal as part of my therapy. I don't really want to, but she's been good for me so far, and right about a lot of things. And I said I would, so, here we are.

I guess it is a good time for this sort of thing. I've got a few months to kill with absolutely nothing to do until I go back to school in September. Meanwhile I'm feeling about as useful as a wet fart just living at home with my mother, not working, still on leave from my fellowship program, and falling further and further behind. I'm 25, the plan was to have my master's degree in the rear view mirror by now. I mean, Mom had her doctorate at 25, and a really choice tenure-track position sewn up at 27. She swears she's not disappointed, but she has to say that, and she's a lousy actor. Well, shit, Mom: I'm real sorry I rolled neurochemical snake-eyes and had to drop everything while my meds got sorted. That was so selfish of me. God damn.

I don't know. She means well. And it's her insurance that's paying for my Wellbutrin, which is what makes it possible for me to bear her patronizing bullshit with such good humor. Must remember to cut her more slack.

June 5

We picked up Christine from the airport yesterday and she'll be staying with us for the rest of the summer. So far it looks like the most interesting thing about her is that she's the reason I'll be sleeping on the couch for the next few months. Ha-ha.

I actually expected that she WOULD be interesting. I've never met a futa before! I knew we had a branch of the family living in the Empire and that Mom kept in touch with them, and apparently she's my very distant ... cousin? By marriage? Actually it sounds like she might technically be some kind of distant aunt if I've got the generations right, but I never got a great explanation and it doesn't even matter. She's 18 years old and a stranger and she's getting my room.

Now, I thought it would be cool to meet her. Like I said, never met a futa before, but futa political & social structures are relevant to what I want to study when (if) I get my career off the ground. I took some classes as an undergrad, and it's fascinating stuff. The Futa Empire starting out as a ruthlessly expansionist bogeyman, but settling down into a titular "empire" that's really just an ordinary member of the global community. The Empire's early days as a brutal apartheid state. Its subsequent transition into a basically humane democracy (even if non-futas aren't quite first-class citizens). That crazy, futaphobic propaganda that spread everywhere, like futa semen acting as some kind of addictive mind-control drug. It's all such juicy material for research.

Anyway, Christine. She landed some Big Deal internship at a tech company I've never heard of here in the city before she starts college back home, and Mom offered to put her up for the summer. She must have a pretty good head on her shoulders, but so far she's one of the most boring people I've ever met. She even looks boring. She's pretty enough, or could be, but mousy as hell: about two inches taller than my 5'9" (short for a futa), blocky unstylish glasses, messy brown hair down to her shoulders, jeans & hoodies for her wardrobe, etc. I really don't care if she wants to look like background scenery, but she acts like it as well. No conversation, monosyllabic answers, awkward pauses: that's the Christine experience. She won't even make eye contact -- if you do accidentally catch her looking at you, she darts her eyes away like she wishes she could disappear. I guess I was expecting the futa stereotype: brash, socially dominant, inappropriately lascivious. Not that I'd want to live with that, either, but this girl is tedium in sneakers.

So, that's my new roommate for the next three months. It's gonna be, just, so awesome.

June 9

...

In other news: breakthrough! Sort of. I'm finally able to get more than three words at a time out of Christine. Which is good, since we're actually spending a lot of time together.

I'm still on my usual schedule of staying up till like 4:00 AM every night and sleeping late every day. (Dr. Morgan -- and my mother -- have each concluded that this is a self-destructive habit. Brilliant analysis, ladies, don't know how you ever figured that out.) Christine apparently has the same habit, plus she's jet-lagged, and she can kinda make her own hours at work. Since I'm camped out in the living room where I sleep, she and I are falling into the habit of staying up together and watching TV every night.

This turns out to be not so bad, because Christine is simply an enormous geek. Her knowledge of pop culture is pretty much encyclopedic: movies, TV, anime -- VERY into anime, which is not my thing, but she's shown me a couple that actually look interesting. She's filled with cool trivia about basically anything we watch. You can tell she's still fighting the impulse to cover her face and hide, but that actually works out well because she's not constantly blathering while we're trying to watch. All in all, I have to admit she makes a pretty good TV-buddy. Plus, weirdly, since no one else is able to get complete sentences out of her, it's kind of flattering that she chooses me to talk to. It's like a skittish cat suddenly curling up in your lap. It's cute, and bizarrely endearing.

Still kinda pissed that she took my room, though.

June 12

Fun night with Christy yesterday. She's still learning how to socialize like a normal human, but she's getting better and, kind of, opening up with me a little. I get the impression she's actually starting to look forward to our nightly Netflix Time. If I'm being perfectly honest with myself, I guess I am too. I'm realizing how socially isolated I've been this past year, and just zoning out in front of the TV with someone who's not my mother is like, "Oh yeah. Friends. I remember now: friends are good."

Anyway, last night she wanted to catch up on one of her anime shows, which was fine: she's got good taste, I usually like whatever she puts on. This one was about a teenaged futa in high school who's in training to control some kind of robot suit that the government uses to fight ... monsters, or something. Demons? It's anime, I don't know. But the funny part was that there's a romance subplot, and apparently the kinds of shows they make in the Empire can get a little ... steamier than ones we have here. So, one minute it's a twee high school/giant robot show we're watching, and the next there's this straight-up sex scene where our futa heroine is plowing the guy she's been courting on a discarded gym mat. Ha! They didn't show penetration, but they sure showed everything else. It was basically soft-core porn. And the futa even looked kinda like Christy -- it was pretty amusing. I glanced over at her and she was blushing, fidgeting, looking like she was trying to get the couch to swallow her whole. I recognized that uncomfortable feeling of watching a sex scene with your parents in the room, and, Christy being Christy, she was of course feeling the most intense version of that.

I figured if I acknowledged it she might feel less self-conscious. Also I really, really wanted to tease her.

I put on my best fake-concerned face and said, "Why, Christine! You're looking a little verklempt! What's going on? Is something making you uncomfortable? Whatever could it be?"

Holy shit. She went from blushing to beet red, snapped her head around away from me, and, I swear to god, she hiccupped. It was fucking hilarious.

"Wait, is it the TV? The sex scene? Is there something about SEEE-ee-EEEX that makes you uncomfortable? Say, I hadn't noticed before, but that futa is sporting a HUGE erect co-"

Before I could finish, she wheeled back around toward me, grabbed the throw pillow next to her, and launched it at my head as hard she could.

"STOP!!!"

I thought for a second I'd actually pissed her off, but then I could see, covered by her hands, she had a big, goofy grin plastered on her face. I chuckled, and she broke into laughter.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck you, man," she said, still laughing.

"Language!"

It was really nice seeing her loosen up. After that it was a relaxed, almost chummy evening. A couple episodes later there was another sex scene; I'm sure she was still a little uncomfortable, but if I just shot her a playful glance she'd start giggling.

June 15

I had my appointment with Dr. Morgan this morning. I filled her in on what I've been up to lately, but since (as usual) there isn't a whole lot new to report, that pretty much means we had a long talk about Christine. I guess it's not surprising that she was happy to hear I made a friend. And I also guess there's no point in denying that Christy is in fact a new friend. I explained to Dr. Morgan how I was ambivalent about all that. I mean, this is basically a kid we're talking about here, not even in college yet. It's not that I'm worried about doing her harm; it's just that I feel like a big fucking lame-o buddying up with a dorky, immature teenager when I'm (supposedly) a mature, capital-a Adult. It's kinda pathetic, no?

Dr. Morgan suggested -- and I may have to concede the point -- that that's a pretty lousy reason to ice someone out. It's just pride, pure & simple. Christy's an adult (maybe a "lower-case-a" adult, but still), we get along well, and she's smart enough to have an apprenticeship that's more impressive than my own. There's no reason for me to be this reclusive all the time and, based on what I told her about Christine, she thought a friendship would probably be a good thing for her as well, in kind of the same way it's good for me.

Ok: sold. I'm a prideful, self-sabotaging nitwit, but I can still recognize good sense when I hear it. My late nights with Christine the past few days have been increasingly chummy, but I have been keeping her at arm's length a bit. I'll try just treating her like any other person I enjoy spending time with, and we'll see how that goes.

June 16

Yeah, I think Dr. Morgan was right about this one. We had our session yesterday morning, and then last night I wound up having my first meaningful conversation with Christy. I didn't even have to force it, really; once I'd resolved to let it happen, we just naturally fell into an open back & forth. I told her all about the miserable year I've had, taking a break from school. We even talked about Amanda, who, in a strictly technical sense, is still my girlfriend: we've been on a "break" for a year and half while she studies overseas, and we've barely talked at all the last 6 months. Christy helpfully pointed out that it sounds like I'm just single, full stop. Somehow, I think that's something I still needed to hear.

It was nice that she listened, but it was amazing that she opened up, too. Telling her about Amanda got her to talking about her own love life, or lack thereof. It turns out Christy's social life is about what you'd expect from meeting her: a small clique of equally nerdy friends, mostly online, and nothing going on romantically. She clearly feels self-conscious about her inexperience, even more so than she admits. It's hard not to sympathize, especially since it sounds like our offensive cultural stereotypes about futas might not be totally off-base. I mean, here, an 18 year old virgin is slightly unusual -- and maybe embarrassing for a guy -- but it's really not such a big deal. You're shy, or a late-bloomer, whatever. But to hear Christine tell it, in the Empire, a futa who at 18 doesn't have a small stable of rotating boyfriends & girlfriends is positively deviant.

"It's like, if you're not constantly dropping loads into Debbie and Zora and Jeremy, you might as well cut off your cock and give it to someone who needs it. Real neanderthal shit."

She talks about it like she's just resentful of the cultural norms, and she probably is, but it's also not hard to see she's envious. And, shit, I remember what that's like. Wasn't exactly a stud at her age. Anyway, it was nice to talk about this stuff with someone who wasn't being paid to listen.

June 19

Hmmm. I don't know. I feel completely ridiculous pulling some "Dear Diary, oh, what do I do?" shit, but this might actually be a little fucked up.

The night before last, shortly after Mom went to bed and Christy & I settled in to veg out, she warmed up this giant bowl of onion soup in the kitchen, brought it back to the living room, then promptly stumbled and capsized the whole thing all over the couch. "Her" couch, thankfully -- I'm always on the big chaise lounge right next to it. But it was a huge mess: five of the six cushions had to be stripped and the covers thrown in the wash, and the padding underneath was damp and smelled like onions. (We hit it with Febreze and hoped for the best.)

With the couch out of action, I assumed she'd roll in the dinky office chair we never use and take that, or maybe just go to bed early and read. Instead, when I got back from starting the washer, I found her lying on the chaise lounge -- MY chaise lounge. (Seriously, even when I still had my room -- which she stole -- I was basically living on that lounge for the past year.)

"Whoa! No no no, I don't think so."

"Uh-uh! I'm not sitting on that computer chair all night. I'm the guest, I get the good seat."

She was being playful, and I guess I was, too, because as soon as she got up to use the bathroom I stole the lounge back. When she came back I expected she'd just call me a dirty name and sit in the office chair. Instead, without breaking stride, she just walked up and threw herself down right next to me.

"Not a chance! I told you, I'm taking the lounge." She was giggling, clearly pleased with herself and having a great time. Was she drunk? Whatever. At this point I figured, fuck it. I wasn't about to flee, so if she wanted to share the lounge ... yeah, whatever. It's not like we had to spoon or anything, it's a roomy piece of furniture, maybe 3.5 feet wide. That's why I like it.

So that's how we spent the next few hours, lying side by side, watching TV. I was pretty self-conscious at first. Was this inappropriate? Would someone who saw us there think I was being a dirty old man? She's a girl -- well, not a girl of course, but feminine and seemingly vulnerable -- and a lot younger than I am. But, I figured, it's just kind of a slumber party; we're dressed in boring sweatpants and the like; I date girls and she's a futa; and she is family. Kind of. (Not really.) So it eventually stopped bothering me ... but it's been a depressingly long time since I had this kind of close contact with anyone, and I was very aware of her thigh pressing up against mine the whole time. That's what made me feel like a creep: not the contact, but rather noticing the contact.

BUT, all that said, truly, none of that was noteworthy: her couch was out of commission so we shared the lounge, and then I did some neurotic overthinking. Totally normal.

What DOESN'T feel totally normal is this: that was two nights ago, with the spilled soup. Last night, with her couch once again dry and clean and available ... she did it again. Without comment or fanfare, like it was the most natural thing in the world, she chose to lie down beside me on the lounge. Like that's just her seat now, that's just what we do. She seemed quite at ease with the arrangement. Again, I was acutely aware of it all -- her thigh pressed against mine, her warmth, the scent of her. But this time it was a lot harder to convince myself I was just being neurotic.

This is hinky, right? And Christy seemed different -- nothing overt, nothing I could call her on. It felt a little like, instead of just chatting, she was chatting me up. More solicitous, more eye contact. And maybe it was my imagination running away with itself -- honest, maybe it was -- but to me she looked different, too. She looked more put together: her hair was a little neater, I thought I saw a little more makeup. And instead of the sweat pants or pajama bottoms she's usually wearing at home, last night it was gym shorts. They weren't "sexy" gym shorts, but obviously they're more revealing than what we usually see from her.

And she shaved her legs, which I know because at one point I looked down and thought to myself, "damn, nice legs." I'm really hoping this is all in my head, especially because ... she is cute, and I do like hanging out with her. And I'm attention-starved. And she's too young, and technically family, and living with me. And I'm into girls, not futas, but I enjoyed her attentions. And I'll probably look forward to sharing the lounge with her again tonight.

Jesus, not only is she flirting with me, but it's working. Just fucking shoot me. I don't know. Maybe I'm making too much of this. I do that sometimes. Hrrrm.

Oh, right. Ha. One more thing: this morning after breakfast, Mom made a point of giving me a heartfelt "attaboy" for the way I've welcomed Christine. You see, clearly, that poor bashful young thing needed help socializing in her scary new environment, and Mom's noticed a wonderful change in how engaging and confident Christy is now compared to how to she used to be. All thanks to me. Sigh. Yes, mother, I've noticed a change too. Yes, she does seem more confident. How wonderful it is, in every single respect. Well, that immature kid is hitting on your 25 year old son, her cousin.

But don't worry; I know exactly how to handle this. Ha. Ha ha. God damn it.

June 21

Dear Diary,

Fuck.

The Good News is I wasn't just being delusional about Christine. Also I think I may have fixed the situation. The Bad News is that, before I fixed it, we actually kissed last night -- made out a little, to be precise. Great job, Noah. Bravo. I'm 25 years old. She's 18, emotionally stunted, and socially isolated ... so we got tipsy and had a little make-out session in my mom's living room. You creepy old man. Jesus.

In my defense it wasn't a plan. I'm still not even entirely clear on how we got there. We were back to sharing the lounge for the third night in a row. I've never seen her drink before, but Christy had a few beers. She claimed that back home teenagers' drinking is totally normal -- which, maybe, but I noticed she waited until we were alone to start. Whatever, I didn't call her on it. I wasn't gonna drink with her, but then she just started bringing me one whenever she'd go to get another round for herself, already opened and with a chilled glass ready to go -- she made it pretty hard to turn down the drinks (which now I'm thinking may have been the point).

Anyway, I'm sitting there three beers deep and working on a fourth. Christy's next to me, maybe a little closer than usual, and she's looking pretty darn good again. Her hair was neat for once and pulled back in a cute little ponytail; gym shorts; and I what I have to assume is the only non-baggy t-shirt she owns. She's always covered up in such a way that I've never really looked at her body, but she turns out to be pretty goddamn fit. Thin but toned. And it sure looked like she's been hiding a deceptively nice rack under all those hoodies; I don't know from sizes, but healthy C-cup at least.