tagLesbian SexMy Cousin, Lucy

My Cousin, Lucy


I know why I did it. I wanted to shock her, maybe disgust her a little; push her buttons ... and envelope. That's why I sat down beside her and said, "You have bigger breasts than I do," and I squeezed one of hers, hard, through the heavy cotton nightie that stopped mid-thigh. Instinctively, she turned away, trying to pull her breast from my fingers so I let it go and went to bed.

But I'm not being entirely honest. There were other reasons why I wanted to feel her breast, a lot of them, all of them a little troubling to me. Let me explain them, in no particular order.

One. She seemed to carry her breasts really low, like a matron, as if pulling them up would result in too much volume. I wanted the satisfaction of confirming that her boobs were the saggy type, far more saggy than mine. I might have been right.

Two. I wanted to turn our relationship to a more sexual direction. We were on a two week car trip across the country, with my father and mother in the front seat. Lucy and I were enrolled in the same west coast college; my parents looked on the drive as a kind of 'rite of passage:' some bonding time before I had to knuckle down and get serious about my life. Lucy is my cousin, my mother's sister's child — and a casual friend since we were babies. At the last moment she decided to join us. So, my thinking was that because we were going to share a hotel room for about two weeks (my dad had some business to conduct along the way), our time together would be a great opportunity to find out more about her ... and myself.

Three — my greatest motivation. I wanted to find out what the touch of her breast would do to me. I'm pretty sure I'm a lesbian. Why only pretty sure? Because I've had no sexual experience of any kind. None. Except for the rape, so when I touched Lucy's breast, I was really concentrating on what affect it would have on me; what it would mean to me and that's what I was processing as I lay on my bed in the hotel room — with my fingers in my pussy.

I've been masturbating on and off for years, but never very well, mainly because I've never got off from my imaginations of a man's kiss or touch and the thought of a guy shoving his pole in me made me shudder. But the thought of girls didn't do much for me either, mainly because, like everyone else on the planet, I'd been taught that lewd thoughts about the same sex is a taboo, so at 19 I have been pretty much a sexual hermit and I'm now in big need of a coming-out party. I was determined Lucy was going to be that party.

That's one of the reasons I didn't bother disguising what I was doing in the bed next to hers. Even Lucy, who I suspected knows less about sex than I do, couldn't miss what I was doing to myself but just in case I thrashed at my fingers more vigorously than usual and I let out the odd moan, which to my ears I hadn't yet perfected. When my orgasm finally came, it was brief, superficial and no help in satisfying my burning curiosity as to whether or not I'm a lesbian. But the touch of her breast still lingered on my sticky fingers and as I slipped into sleep I knew my challenge for tomorrow would be to feel her breast unencumbered by her thick nightie.

So, how does one girl go about feeling another girl's bare tits? There are probably countless approaches I could have used but I chose the one I knew best: to be brazen. I've been pushing Lucy around since we got out of the cradle so my direct approach wasn't foreign to either of us.

As I had done the previous night, I sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, but this time I put my arm around her back with my hand gripping her shoulder while I quickly brought my other hand up under her nightie in a full-frontal grope and with a grip on her breast I tried to hold her tight but she was shruggling, protesting and trying to twist away so I forced her onto her back where I concentrated on her breast, feeling the sharp sexual jolt between my legs.

"For God's sake, Janet, what on earth are you doing?" The panic in her eyes and voice would have been comical had I not known the feeling myself.

"Just lie still for a moment, I just want to feel your breast." But my words had no effect, she continued to struggle so with my hand still squeezing her tit I leaned on her, pressing my weight into her. "I just want to feel your tit for God's sake. What's the big deal?" But it was hard to get much sensation from my fingers because my own rib cage was pressing on the hand that was pressing her breast. "Just stay still for a moment, just a moment. I just want to feel you. I have a reason. A good one. I'll tell you about it when I'm done." This didn't make her relax but she did stop struggling so I took my weight off my hand, cupped her breast with my palm, feeling her sticky heat for a full minute and feeling the throbbing between my legs and before I let her loose I vowed that my next move, tomorrow, would be to suck her.

I was back on my bed again, and again, like last night, with my fingers in me when I said, "I was at a friend's place two months ago. At a party. I was leaving, went to a bedroom to get my coat but when I did someone slammed the door shut, pushed me onto the bed, pulled up my sweater and bra and quickly sucked both my breasts, then my panties were off and I felt a face pressed between my legs. I was struggling, of course, but I was pinned at the hips and when it was over she got up threw my panties at me and left. She was younger than me and smaller." I hesitated, not for effect but because I wanted to remember the moment. "It scared the life out of me. I was shaking all the way home. I thought of calling someone, but what could I say?" I pushed my fingers deeper into me and spread my cream against my walls. "The next morning I found out that the panties she had thrown at me and I had put in my purse weren't mine. They were hers." I hesitated, this time for impact. "I threw them in the garbage ... and about an hour later pulled them out again. They are yellow, nylon, cheap. On the third day when all the fragrance was gone I washed the last of her away and when I did I knew I wanted her to do it to me again. That's when I began to see myself as a lesbian. That's why I held your breast last night and tonight: I wanted to know what the feeling would do to me." I deliberately left it there, then I added, hoping that I was tantalizing her, "Sorry. I just had to know."

Maybe it was because as I spoke the words I was obviously masturbating, but she didn't say anything, not until the next morning at breakfast after I asked her, "Did I gross you out?" Though we had been up for an hour, showering and getting ready for the day, we hadn't spoken.

"Are you a lesbian?" She didn't take her eyes off her butter-less toast.

"I don't know," I said, trying to sound cheerful, "I think so ... probably, maybe, but I don't know for sure." That's when it hit me: "Can you do me a favour?"

"A favour?" She was looking up at me now, totally perplexed and really nervous.

And then it all seemed so blissfully clear; there was absolutely no way she could refuse. So I took my time, almost savouring my words. I told her about how 'troubling' the 'rape' had been to me and how it had opened up so many unanswered questions about my own sexual identity. Then I told her about my greatest fear: I was going to college and I didn't even know who I was. "I mean, who do I date? Men or woman? I don't even know. Shouldn't I at least know that before I step on campus?" Then I played the card that I thought would be the clincher: her own sexual ambivalence. I knew she had to be at least as sexually confused as I was, probably a lot more: though she had a good body, all the vibes she put out where entirely sexless. "I mean, how lucky are you? You know who you are, you know how you feel, sexually, that's why I think I can turn to you." I gave her my most vulnerable, pleading look. "Would you let me, you know, sort of learn about my sexuality by ... ah, looking at you, ... touching you?"

Then I changed the subject. I didn't care about her response. I only wanted her to know why I would be taking her clothes off tonight. And anyway, with her jaw sagging as it was, she didn't look like she was in any condition to speak

I had gotten to her, that couldn't have been more obvious, even my mother, who was absolutely clueless about anyone else's feeling, noticed it when she joined us a little later. "Is something the matter, Lucy? You look almost like ... you're stricken."

Terrified was more like it; I could see it building all day: she was increasingly edgy, stiff, distracted — in short, she was a mess. I could only imagine what was going on in her mind. But I knew what was going on inside mine: now that I had laid out a plausible excuse, my initial thoughts were that at the first chance I would tear Lucy's clothes off and ravage her, that's what I wanted to do and it wouldn't have been too far out of character to do it; I had been more or less bossing her around for years. But I'm not an absolutely insensitive jerk. I liked Lucy, sort of, and as I thought about her — and believe me that's what I was doing all day — it began to occur to me that SHE could get something out of this experience, too, something really useful to help her come to terms with her own sexuality. I didn't think she was gay but at least after I had finished with her she would know a little more about her body, and maybe even a little of what she liked done to it, never mind that it would be by another girl. So, with my mindset shifted to include a constructive experience for both of us, I encouraged her to eat up, happy that my parents, who were out on a business evening, couldn't see their daughter and niece heading to bed — at 7:52.

But we weren't both heading upstairs with the same enthusiasm. I felt like I was herding Lucy and she couldn't have been more miserable. She tried to speak in the elevator but I think her mouth was too dry for words and I had to take her arm in the hallway, otherwise it may have taken her an hour to walk the fifty feet or so to our door. And I didn't let her go when I swiped the card, either; I was afraid she might bolt.

And there we were, in the room with the door clicking shut behind us. "I really appreciate this, Lucy." I said this even though she had almost run to the window to cower behind her bed.

"What are you going to do?" Her voice sounded like a terrified child.

"I've never looked closely at a woman's body before or felt it. I appreciate you letting me ..."

"I haven't either but that doesn't mean I want to," her terror was mounting.

I tried to be calming, "I have to get in touch with my sexuality before I get to college, Lucy, surely you can understand that. I know you're probably experienced, you know how you feel, you know about sex but I don't. By looking at your body, by feeling it, that will go a long way towards answering some of the questions that, these days, are positively dominating my thoughts. I mean, I have to know! Am I gay, am I a lesbian or not?"

Her terror-schtick was starting to wear a little thin on me. Sure, this was going to be a little awkward for her, for both of us but she wasn't in any danger and that's what I told her. "You'll be doing me a favour, Lucy, a favour I'll always appreciate, so come here."

My logic was obvious and sincere and I guess she saw that because even though every fibre of her being was recoiling in horror, she edged from around the bed but so slowly and reluctantly that I helped her cover the last few paces by pulling her towards me, gently but insistently.

"OK, I've thought a lot about this," I said, showing a lot less enthusiasm than I was feeling, "I want to take your clothes off. That will tell me something, don't you think? I mean if I start taking them off and it doesn't do anything for me that should tell me something, shouldn't it?" This innocent, questioning approach was already grating on my ears but I thought it would be easiest for her so I ignored my inner censor and reached for the buttons of her shirt.

Perhaps it would be better to describe her now while she still had some protection and describe the sexy bits later — if there are any. Lucy could never be described as good looking. She isn't but she definitely has a mysterious quality about her that is going to serve her well in the future — by her middle years she could very well be striking in a very sexual way. But she sure isn't there yet.

She has very thick, naturally curly short black hair that frames an almost triangular face with high cheek bones and pointed chin. So far so good; it's the rest that lets her down, though, as I've said, it's been improving of late. Her long nose, arching eye brows, wide, thin lips and round, deep-set black eyes made her a fairly ugly child but she has been growing into those features and now she isn't ugly so much as, well, intriguing-looking.

As for the body, though she does her best to hid it, it's one of the reasons why I've had my fingers in my pussy the last two nights, our first two of the two week trip, which, I should mention, has also factored into my approach: I have a lot of time to get out of her what I want so I've decided not to risk scaring her off with too aggressive an approach. She is about my height, 5'8", about as slim as I am but with narrower hips and a much better ass. I may have better tits, I don't know yet, but hers are bigger and lower, as I've said — and I hoped to find out that they sag. Her legs aren't any better than mine, which I've always liked, mine, that is.

In many ways, by describing Lucy I've just described myself. We could never be confused as sisters but no one would be surprised to learn we're related. I'm dark too but where her face is triangular, mine is oval, dominated by impossibly straight, impossibly white teeth (money talks) and soft brown eyes that give me a kind of girl-next door quality which has been really useful in hiding my rather demanding, somewhat bitchy personality.

In describing her's, I've already described my body type; what I haven't described is why I've found myself in this mess. I have a strong personality, certainly strong enough to have developed a functioning sexual identity by now but I've spent six years in hospitals — for reasons that are none of your business, and when I wasn't there I was entombed in girls' schools with a result that there are whole areas of my character that have yet to be develop, that's why I'm looking forward to college and that's one of the reasons why my parents are driving me there: they're trying to give me a soft landing before my cram course in life in the real world.

If you want to get to know me, I can allow that in a word, a hyphenated word: for a lot of reasons, some of them good, some bad, I'm one of those who has been 'over-protected' and when your dad's as rich as mine, protection is pretty easy to come by.

And Lucy's protection was beginning to open. Both mornings on the road I've tried to see her nude but she's way too modest for that: she undresses and dresses in a locked bathroom; I haven't even seen her in her underwear but I'm starting to see it now: her bra is purple, that much is clear and I'm just about to see how full it is.

Maybe it was the build-up of the day or even the glimpse of the bra but when her buttons were half undone and I could see her bare skin, her cleavage and the top of her bra, when I could hear her breathing, feel her breath, when my fingers, always so confident, began to shake, that's when I knew the absolute truth: I am a lesbian and my moan was my admission.

After the moan came the fear.

I had long suspected but never knew for sure that I was gay — so I had never thought it through: but now, in this instant, I knew I was a lesbian and in that instant I knew that my life was now as excluding as it was including, more so, far more so because I now knew I would never live the life of my own expectations, nor the expectations of others — I knew this the moment I heard my moan and it scared me, I think it was the awful uncertainty wrapped up in my new reality — I wanted to think it through, to understand what my new world might mean.

And it was her fear, too, she was positively rigid with it, that's why I said, "Look, I just want to see your body, OK? I'll leave your underwear on, just let me see your body. Please."

She didn't relax, not a bit but she didn't fight me either and in a minute when she stepped out of her pants and stood awkwardly before me in her purple bra and white panties I sat on the edge of my bed and just stared at her, my first sight of another woman's near nakedness. "You're gorgeous," I said, breathlessly, and meaning it. It was the luxurious curves that first caught my eye, her femininity: the swell of her breasts, the inward arc of her waist, the rounding of her narrow hips, the elegance of her parenthesized thighs and the tantalizing slope of her mound ... and her smell — though we were almost two feet away, I could feel myself drawn to the scent from her armpits and crotch and I would have gone to them, too, but I made a mistake, I glanced up at her face and the sexual pleasure that was shuddering through me in hot spasms met the cold face of fear and, once again, I was forced to rely on words: "You have a really beautiful body, Lucy," but when I reached out and touched her hip, she flinched. "Just another minute, OK? Will you turn around?"

She did, quickly, as if by turning she was half-way to escaping and I sat back to more easily study her. Her panties had bunched a little in her crease which made a pretty bottom all the more spectacular. And her back seemed surprisingly strong and toned, as if she worked out, which I doubted. But there was no doubt she is gorgeous, as gorgeous going as coming and I leaned forward and lightly dragged my fingers across the slick nylon on her cheek but she flinched again so I took her firmly by the hips, turned her around and pressed my face into her belly for just a second before releasing her and, getting to my feet, I kissed her lightly on the cheek and stepped away, "Thanks, Lucy, I really needed that ... and I need a drink, too."

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