The Truth of Memory

We never lived close to each other but I would still call us good friends.

We shared a lot of similar interests and points of view and even though Shane was several years older than me—a significant thing when I was younger, less so as the years went by—she seemed to really like spending time with me.

Her slightly advanced age meant she had just crested the horizon of some life's more formative events and she was happy to share insights and details of her experiences. Almost always with an eye towards exciting me, I'm sure.

Because we were cousins who lived a thousand miles apart we would only ever see each other during school holidays as one or the other of us would travel with our parents and siblings to our respective cities for the chance for our families to catch up and visit.

During the visits we would spend most of every waking hour together and for period of a week or so every year, we would become best friends. Sharing secrets and Popsicles.

Hairy pussies are one of my "things".

I love them. I am obsessed with pussies, like most men, but if I see one that is hairy—untrimmed, unruly--I just want to bury my face in those luxurious downy folds and lick. And suck.

Not gently either: I want to eat them.

As the years went by, and as we got older, Shane's family and mine would see less and less of each other. There just seemed to be more going on as we graduated and moved onto jobs or university. Whenever we would meet up though, the camaraderie we used to share years before would rekindle again, almost immediately.

One summer afternoon, sitting on the railing of the dock at her family's lake cabin, I was shocked when she brought up an incident that happened between us a few years back. An incident I had no recollection of.

"Do you remember when you asked me to show you 'down there'?" she asked, laughing slightly and motioning with her head towards her lap.

I was stunned because I didn't, and this seemed like something I would—SHOULD—remember.

"Not at all! When was this?!" I demanded.

"In your basement in Eugene." she said.

I definitely remembered that visit—I would have been 18 and she would have just turned 23.

"You and me were hanging out in the family room" she continued, "and we were talking about if we had ever seen a member of the opposite sex naked in real life."

As the sun dappled us through the trees, I stared at my dangling feet, scouring my memory. Trying to bring this conversation to the forefront.

"You said you had never seen a girl like that, so I if you wanted to see mine."

"What?! No way." I said.

I had zero memory of this. There had been flirty moments between us and she used to tell me all sorts of stories about her first boyfriends and the things they would do together, but this?

No way. Impossible.

And frankly, I HAD seen a girl naked by that point, having lost my virginity earlier in the Spring. Why would I lie to her?

And if my memory was correct, why would she lie to me?

"And I said 'yes' to this?" I asked.

"Uh, Yeah! You commented about how hairy I was." After a pause, smiling she added. "And you seemed to like it."

That conversation stuck with me for years. It shook me. It seemed absurd that something so monumental had simply slipped from my mind.

But again, why would she lie? I could only accept that she hadn't and wish that I would someday remember the actual incident with as much clarity as I could the words she used to describe it.

"Hairy." Especially that one.

Both middle-aged and married for a long while now, Shane and I still see each from time to time but with much less frequency.

Years can go by with barely a phone call let alone any actual face-to-face time, but that conversation on the dock still sits with me. And when I do see her, I look at the crotch of her pants—as discretely as possible because regardless of all we've shared, there are unspoken social protocols we follow, almost unconsciously—and I imagine a thick black bush, just below her belly, straining against the flat of her panties.

She lives with her husband in a city that is the exact mid-point between where I live and my sister's home 2 provinces away.

On a recent trip, I called her to let her know my wife Melody and I would be passing through and wondered if she would like to get together for dinner.

"Dinner, forget it! You're staying the night!"

Staying at their place overnight WOULD be a nice way to break up the trip. Superb.

Melody and I arrived at their small town home just before supper. As we dragged our luggage from the car to the cement porch 30 feet away, our two dogs wrapped our legs in a twin tangle of leashes. They were thrilled to be out of the car and were always excited to meet new people. We nearly collapsed at the front door after the effort.

Dropping my bag and shaking my right leg free of Simba, our Pomeranian, I punched the doorbell.

Keith, Shane's husband answered the door. He was a tall, thin man who was very good looking. Slightly older than Shane he had thinning grey hair and twinkling blue eyes. Shane stepped into view wiping her hands on a tea towel.

"You made it!" she exclaimed.

"It's not like it was much of an achievement," I joked grabbing my suitcase and moving into the foyer, "getting the dogs and our luggage to the front door was 5 times as dangerous as the drive!"

We stood in the kitchen gazing about, taking everything in. I was also taking in Shane who had basically changed not a stitch since we were kids. Pale. Rail thin. Same kinky dark hair half way down her back. Same small, apple-sized breasts she'd had since she was 15.

My gaze drifted down...

I didn't care in that moment if I was being inelegant, I was curious: would I be able to see a noticeable bulge in the tight crotch of her jeans?

I couldn't. Not with any certainty, anyway.

Breaking out of my reverie I looked around-The others were chatting about renovations and didn't notice my perving in the slightest.

After we ate we spent a couple of hours catching up, sitting on the couch talking like we'd all seen each other last week, not 2 years ago.

It had been a long day though and Melody and I agreed that an early bedtime might facilitate and earlier departure.

"Not too early though," I said "this is still my vacation and I want to sleep in a little. And get a bit more time with these two."

"I've got work first thing," said Keith rubbing his neck. "I'll be up and out of here by 5:30."

"Damn... Well, I guess it's just us three then," I said looking at Shane who smiled sweetly, sipping her tea.

________

Despite my wanting some extra sleep I was awakened at 7:00 AM by the dogs snuffling along the side of my body—a cute but not so subtle alarm telling me that I needed to get up and get their breakfast's going. I got the same treatment at home every day. So much for vacation hours.

Melody and I got dressed and headed upstairs.

Shane was already up too-maybe because of Kieth's early departure for work-and coffee was on.

It smelled great and made the early morning canine-wake-up-call a bit more bearable. I couldn't help noticing that she wore flannel pajamas that looked loose and comfortable. They also gaped maddeningly in different spots as she moved around the kitchen: bending over to pick up something from the floor or reaching across the counter to retrieve the butter for her toast. Just enough to see a glimpse of her pale skin but not enough to really see anything of consequence.

Melody poured coffee into her travel mug and gathered the dogs things together in preparation for their morning walk.

I quickly polished off what was in my cup and rose to get my shoes on so I could join them.

"No, no—stay, honey" Melody said, laying her hand gently on my arm. "We'll probably be leaving shortly after we get back anyway. You two should take the opportunity to visit."

I looked at Shane who shrugged happily.

"Great! Thanks, sweetie."

Melody headed to the door, the dogs swarming her ankles.

"Have fun," Shane called after them as they slipped into the sultry morning air.

The door snapped shut and I was suddenly very aware of how quiet it was in the house. No TV. No radio. Just the ticking of the clock above the stove and a typically mysterious expansion/contraction squeal--it is a sort all fridges seem to emit no matter where they are or what brand.

I stood on one side of the kitchen island, Shane on the other. She looked up from her coffee at me but didn't say anything.

"Look," I said. "there's something that has been bothering me for a long time. And I want to ask you about it. Is it cool to talk, you know, openly—about everything—like we used to?"

"Of course!" she said. Her manner was matter of fact and supportive, just like always. It made me relax. A little.

"A long time ago," I continued, "You told me that you had once shown me your pussy. In my basement. In Eugene."

"OK..." she said.

"Do you remember that?"

"The telling, or the doing?" she asked with a little laugh.

"Both, I guess," I chuckled.

I was sweating. It was July but that had nothing to do with this rise in temperature. It felt like something was emerging here.

That something was suddenly on the line.

"Well, I remember the telling—that was on my parent's dock about twenty years ago or so, right?"

"Right," I said.

"And I do remember 'the doing' as well. Is this what's bothering you? That I did that? I am so sorry if something we did made you feel uncomfortable or confused or whatever."

"No, no," I said. "I don't mean it like that. I'm just...frustrated."

"Frustrated? In what way?" she asked.

Taking a deep breath, I paused.

"Well, if something like that happened to me, you know, I'd like to remember it—vividly if possible." we both laughed at that.

"And I don't. Not at all."

"You remember nothing about it?" Shane asked.

My heart was a hammer.

"Well, I uh, remember—when you told me about it—and you told me that it was really hairy and that I liked that."

Her checks flushed noticeably as she raised her chin towards the ceiling, acknowledging the memory more deeply

"Ahhhh, right. OK."

She laughed that little laugh again but there was embarrassment couched within the amusement now.

Taking another breath, I went on. It was now or never...

"So...like I said, if that kind of thing happened to me, I would like to remember it. Like, have a mental picture of it. That I could uh, you know, call up. For use later?"

She shifted in her seat and the flannel top of her Pj's gaped invitingly.

Narrowing her eyes she asked, "Whaddaya mean 'for use later'?"

She couldn't be this dim.

"Like, If I'm masturbating and I need an image of a hairy pussy to help get me off, that incident would be something I could recall and it would really, um, do the trick,"

The blush deepened.

"Well, I guess that sucks that you don't remember then, huh?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "But maybe..."

"Maybe what?" she asked, and as she finished the question her lips stayed slightly parted. My eyes were drawn to the opening. Seeing a wet line of white where her teeth rose just above the swell of her lower lip. The blackness beyond looked thick with heat.

In as controlled a rush as I was able, I blurted out, "Maybe you could show me now—just a little—like, the top of your bush or something. Then at least I'd have that."

It was like her shoulders squared slightly and she was sitting up just a fraction more straightly.

"You wanna see my bush?" she asked just the smallest hint of coyness.

Frankly, if you didn't know her as well as I did you wouldn't probably even notice it was there, because she remained businesslike. Pragmatic.

I swallowed.

"Yes."

She got up quickly from her stool. The sudden release of energy was shocking and exciting.

"Come 'ere." she said as she led me into the living room.

She positioned herself in front of the couch and turned with her heels against its edge. The sofa was set against a large plate glass window looking out onto the cul de sac they lived in. The vertical slat-blinds were 3 quarters of the way closed.

"See? We can see out but people on the street can't see in."

She was right.

"This way you can watch for Melody. Then she can't surprise us while you're getting your look."

She grinned and I checked the window to make sure I could see enough to make sure we were safe. Not that I would have stopped this if it looked like we weren't!

I was standing about 5 feet away from her and was already rock hard in my pants. She lifted the front of her pajama top a few inches and hooked her thumb in the waistband of her pants. I could see the small, soft swell of her stomach.

She paused and looked up at me.

"Are you wondering if I'm still as hairy?"

Fuck yes!

"Yeah, kinda."

She smiled. "I'll let you be the judge. Though I don't know what you'd be comparing it too since you 'claim' you don't remember seeing it last time."

"I absolutely do not-" my words were cut off completely as she tugged the elastic of her bottoms down just enough for her thick hairy scruff to pop above it.

We stood there locked in place. Both of us looking down at her crotch and the 2 and a half inches of her dark pubes on display.

"What do you think?" she asked after I stood there not moving or saying anything for a minute or so.

"...It's pretty fucking hairy."

She laughed. Then I laughed, but only for a moment.

"You know what I want?" I asked.

"What?" she queried.

"Context."

"Meaning?"

"I mean, all I see is some flannel and your hand and the top of your pubes. It's not a complete picture, you know?"

"So...what then?" she asked.

"Look, pull your bottoms down the rest of the way and sit on the couch."

She looked skeptical.

"I don't know," she said, "this seems to be going a bit further than I would have expected."

"Please?" (I tried to keep the beg out of my voice and mostly succeeded)

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and turned her face away from me a bit.

"Yeahhhh...um..." Her voice was full of uncertainty and reluctance and to my horror, her waistband was creeping up-I felt like she might call this off right now.

"We'll do it quick. Just sit, let me have a look and it'll be over. BAM!—just like that!"

She looked back at me. Studying my face and I don't know what she saw there but suddenly she had yanked her bottoms completely off, tossed them aside and sat down on the couch before I really knew they were gone.

She tucked her pajama top up and under and there she was: my cousin-naked from the waist down and sitting right in front of me.

I didn't look at her face, in her eyes. I looked straight at her crotch without any modesty and stared. I wanted her to know I was looking.

"That's good. Now spread your legs," I said.

The tremors that threatened to give away my desperation previously were gone and I didn't look up, not even an inch. Almost instantaneously, she did it. But only about half way.

"Wider, " I said.

She moved her feet apart further and placing her hands on her knees she spread her legs as wide as they would go.

The tendons on her inner thigh stood out in relief and her feet came up off the floor so she was on the tips of her toes.

The black thicket of her snatch was darker than the hair on her head. It grew in a sprawl from the the edge of her inner labia out to the crook of her thigh, and a little beyond. Her skin was pale white but where the hair was thickest, I couldn't see even a hint of it peeking through. Her legs were shaved close.

Now I did glance up, and she was staring right at me, a slightly sardonic smile playing across her lips.

"Is this what you wanted? What you've been thinking about all these years?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Have you seen enough?"

I almost couldn't think. There was danger here, and a desire I had barely ever felt before, but it seemed like my mouth knew where we were going before my mind did.

"Hook your hands behind your knees and pull your legs up to your chest."

Again, she didn't protest or question, she simply scooted back a bit so she could rest the upper part of her shoulders against the back of the couch and did as she was instructed.

I loved that she was being so compliant. Maybe she was enjoying it—the power and the effect her wanton exposure was having on me.

Gazing back down, the first thing I noticed was that the movement made the lips of her cunt split apart, revealing the soft folds inside. An obscene slickness clung the hair and her inner folds. A small pool of clear liquid quickly gathered at the place where her lips converged above her perineum.

My eyes flashed from her matted sex to her face for a moment.

"You like this," I said, "you like showing yourself to me like this, don't you?"

She looked from my face down to her pussy and said nothing.

"DON"T YOU?!" I said. This was turning me on easily as much as it was her and I was getting carried away a bit.

"Yes." was all she could manage.

Her breath was coming more quickly now. I could hear it as plainly as I could see the arousal between her legs.

"Good. Because I like it too. Obviously." I gestured to the front of my jeans and ran my fingers along the length of my shaft, making it strain against the tough fabric.

She looked at my crotch and her breath hitched in her chest.

"I'm going to kneel down so I can get a closer look at your horny little cunt—do you want that?"

Her reply came slower than I would have liked.

"Yes." she said, but that wasn't going to cut it at this point—I needed this to go to the limit with every exchange.

"Yes, what?" I demanded.

"Yes, it's OK," she replied.

"No-say what you want."

"I want you to kneel down so you can see my pussy better."

I sank to my knees in front of her, unconsciously rubbing the front of my jeans, my mind a jumble of filthy possibilities, my mouth spewing an almost incoherent sentence as the sexual heat of this situation threatened to overload my consciousness "This is what you want isn't it? You want me to see, I bet you want other people to see too, don't you? Filthy fucking cunt!"

Her hole clenched and released. Almost as if it was answering for her.

I shuffled forward to the point where I could actually smell the syrupy pungence of her excitement.

Fuck, I wanted to lick it so bad but that might be a step too far. I couldn't risk anything that might slow the momentum of this but I definitely couldn't take much more of it either. I was going to have to take care my erection and soon.

I had been careful not to let my gaze drift too far south as I was examining my cousin's pussy.

The think I most wanted to see—the thing I was most afraid to ask for-was her asshole, but I wanted to see it in a very specific way.

"Do you want to see my cock?" I asked

"Yes."

"Do you want to see it squirt?"

As I said this I looked up to her face to catch her reaction. She threw her head back slightly and closed her eyes. And though I now knew that she wanted it, without any doubt, she answered anyway. "Yes-Oh my fucking God!"

"OK. I need you to do one last thing for me. I'm going to let you look at my cock for a second then you need to do what I say, OK?"

She wet her lips, "Yes." No hesitation this time.

I stood up on unsteady legs and started to undo my pants.

"Sit forward," I said and she let go of her knees and slid towards the edge of the couch cushion.

"I want your face close to my cock when it comes out. Don't look away. Just look. That's it, OK?"

"Yes." Then barely audible, "fuck"

I paused as she settled in, face about a foot from my crotch. Then I quickly pulled my underwear away and down. My stiff prick caught on the waistband then sprang up and slapped my stomach. Her head jerked back ever so slightly but I could feel the adrenaline dump run though her. Just as I'd asked her, eyes never left my cock. Maybe they couldn't.