Visiting My Cousin

Ken Jennings and I (Brian Davidson) used to be almost inseparable when we were kids. We lived near each other and my dad and his mom were brother and sister and were each other's favorite siblings. The sister-in-law and brother-in-law aunt and uncle were friendly and fun so our families often got together. While all six cousins were close (three for each family) Ken and I were the closest.

As almost always happens, Ken and I eventually grew apart, mostly as a result of geography since Ken's family moved two thousand miles away when we were both eleven. We were both forlorn for a year. We eventually got used to it, still communicated when we could and got together for three family reunions before we both went off to college. During our college experiences on opposite coasts we kind of lost touch.

Since Ken was still single, with a good amount of vacation time saved up, even though he lived two thousand miles away he was able to attend my wedding to Carol a year after Carol and I graduated college the same year. In fact, he was even one of my groomsmen, and arrived a week before the wedding. It was great to re-connect with him; he stayed at my parents' house since the wedding was in the city we had grown up in the first eleven years of our lives, so I saw him often the days before the wedding.

I was sure that Carol was the love of my life. She was good looking, fun, smart, and had no difficult personality quirks or issues that I was able to discern in the three years we dated (two in college, one afterwards). She liked to have a good time but wasn't wild or a persistent flirt, and wanted to ultimately have kids and a picket fence life, just like I did.

Ken and Carol seemed to get along just fine, until after our bachelor and bachelorette parties, each two days before the wedding. Then Ken seemed stiff around her; since I had so much to do in the final two days before the wedding I never asked him about it.

************

Unfortunately, things with Carol didn't work out. In a situation way too cliché to be considered real after we had been married for two years I got sick to my stomach at a professional football game one Sunday in autumn and left before halftime to return to our two bedroom apartment. I found her in our bed with Jeremy, one of her co-workers who I had met a couple of times. Since I was already queasy the shock of seeing them put me over the edge and I could tell that I was going to throw up. Once I realized that I directed my vomit toward the two of them as they were in the middle of fucking missionary style.

The first upchuck hit Carol - who had had her eyes closed - right in the face, and got part of Jeremy's arm. The second volley hit Jeremy in the side and back of the head - he hadn't yet turned to face me when he heard Carol scream. The third stream hit them both, and ended their little sexual tête-à-tête.

If I hadn't been so sick, both from my stomach issue and seeing who I thought was the love of my life fucking another guy in my bed, I might have found it funny - or done some more physical damage to one or both of them. Instead I just collapsed on the floor wishing that I could die right then. I think that I even passed out for a little while, although I did hear a scurry of activity and a series of "Oh shit" s and some crying or yelling (I couldn't distinguish between them given my condition at the time).

After an indeterminate period of time I got my complete faculties back, and stood up. Neither Jeremy nor Carol could be seen. I took off my clothes, which I also had gotten some barf on, right in our bedroom and left them on the floor next to the puke-painted bed. Then I went into our second bathroom and took a shower and then climbed into bed in the guest bedroom, again wishing that I was dead.

I was physically and emotionally drained and fell asleep at roughly three o'clock in the afternoon and didn't wake up until seven Monday morning. Even though my stomach was now settled down enough that I could have worked, I called in sick and took the day off because emotionally I was a basket case.

Fortunately, Carol wasn't in the house Monday morning. I moped around for a few hours, collecting some of my clothes and accessories and putting them into a couple of suitcases, with the intention of finding someplace else to live. We only had six weeks left on our apartment lease and obviously I wasn't renewing it - I'd advise the landlord of that once I felt a little better.

About ten a. m. my cellphone rang. Caller ID said that it was Tiffany, Carol's maid of honor at our wedding and someone who I got along with well, even though I thought that she was immature for a twenty five year old. "Brian here," was my stellar greeting.

Tiffany didn't beat around the bush. "Brian, Carol is here and she feels terrible."

"Why is that, Tiff?" I replied. She didn't like to be called "Tiff" but at that point in time any friend of Carol's was an enemy of mine.

"Uh...well...you know...uh...because of yesterday," she stammered.

"What about yesterday - you don't mean her fucking some dipshit in my bed while I was at a football game, do you? She seemed to be enjoying herself so what was so terrible about it."

"Uh...well...uh..." Tiff stuttered; she sure wasn't doing her speech degree from college justice. "Uh...she wants to come and talk to you about it but is afraid that you'll be really mad; and maybe I could come too," she continued.

Despite my depression, and the remnants of my stomach issue, I thought quickly. "Sure, Tiff - why don't you and she come over Wednesday night, say about seven. I really don't want to see her before then, so I hope that she can stay with you tonight and Tuesday night."

Tiff seemed surprised by my willingness. "Uh...OK; let me ask Carol." I heard some mumbling in the background and then in a sing-song voice Tiff said "Great, Brian; we'll see you then, and again, Carol is so sorry."

I terminated the call. Now I had to be sure to get a new place and vacate by Wednesday at seven p. m. I took another shower, actually got some white bread toast to stay in my stomach without coming back up, and got on the phone. By ten that evening I had a small storage unit rented and had most of the stuff I wanted from our marriage - which didn't include any wedding photos - or any photos of Carol at all - in the unit. I also had permission to use one of the apartments my company kept for visiting clients Wednesday through Sunday nights, which would give me enough time to get a new place. Of course I never cleaned up anything at the scene of the crime, including my barfed upon clothes, but left everything as it was after I had regurgitated on Jeremy and Carol.

I went to work Tuesday and even though physically I had basically recovered emotionally I was a train wreck; however, my female boss is a hard ass (although really kind down deep) and figuratively put her boot up my ass, so I was surprisingly productive. I took half a day off on Wednesday to move the rest of my stuff and leave my hammered-flat wedding ring on the kitchen table of my old apartment, and to meet with a real estate agent who specialized in apartments. She promised to show me some apartments on Saturday and guaranteed that by the end of the day she could find me a suitable new place.

I turned off my cellphone Wednesday about five p. m., went to the gym and worked out for two hours pumping more iron in a session than I ever had before while fantasizing that each lift was a punch to Jeremy's balls or Carol's face. After working out I went to a diner for a light dinner. When I got to my company's apartment at eight thirty just for fun I checked my cellphone. Four missed calls from Tiffany. I laughed and deleted the messages without listening to them. Monday I had an appointment with a divorce attorney.

To make a long story short I was divorced within six months, never having had to meet with Carol again since the shark that I hired was able to avoid court-ordered marriage counselling sessions by claiming that I was in therapy - which was true as far as my attorney knew. However, my therapy wasn't with a psychologist; in reality my therapy was picking up loose women at bars most Saturday nights and screwing their brains out.

***************

Although I was still basically hollow inside from my Carol experience - one night stands were physically satisfying but weren't worth a damn in healing me emotionally - by the time that I had been divorced as long as I had been married, my twenty eight year old ass had a number of things going for it.

First, while I always had been in good shape physically; I had become a real gym rat and had a six pack and the ability to bench press almost twice my 182 pound weight. I watched my diet and felt better - physically - than at any point in my life.

Second, not having much of a social life except one night stands, and in a job that was well suited to my talents, I had progressed farther, faster, than anyone else in the history of the big company that I worked for. As a matter of fact almost three years to the day since my divorce was final I got a six figure bonus, and was on top of the world.

Third, since I wasn't tied down, I didn't mind business travel and got to see many interesting places and when my schedule allowed it I would stay over a day or two after business was concluded to enjoy the city I had travelled to. On these business trips I sometimes used call girls - who usually were better fucks that one night stands. Since I lived simply at home and had a great expense account and compensation employing call girls was no problem financially. I clearly wasn't ready for a relationship.

*************

I had kept in touch by phone and email with Ken over the years. He expressed condolences for my divorce, but looking back on it his comments denigrating Carol were a little more intense than they should have been since he hadn't seen Carol except the week before, and at, the wedding.

A year after my divorce Ken got married to Audrey. It was unfortunate that I couldn't attend but I absolutely had to be on a business trip to Amsterdam at the time; I sent him and his wife a "happily ever after" expensive ornate clock with the engagement photo of the two of them imprinted on it, something that he said that they loved. I never saw Audrey live but from the photo she looked like a fox, although I thought that her frizzy blonde hair and over-done makeup detracted somewhat from her appearance.

Shortly after I received my six figure bonus I had a business trip to the city in the metropolitan area that Ken and Audrey lived in. Following Murphy's Law, however, Ken was himself travelling on business the first three days of my trip; however he would be back in town the last day of my business, and the day I extended my trip. We made arrangements to meet at his house for dinner Friday night of that week, and for me to spend the day with him and Audrey on Saturday before I flew home Sunday afternoon.

I arrived in Ken's metropolitan area Monday early afternoon, before my first business meeting Tuesday morning. I hadn't been laid in a while and expected that there would be some prime call girls in the area since there were several million people who lived there. The doorman - Tim - at the hip hotel I was staying at was particularly friendly and he and I struck up a conversation - I love to interact with the real natives any place that I visit. I had arrived at a slow time, and we actually had a ten minute chat. At the end of it he said - with a smile - "If you have a need for companionship during your stay - for a business dinner or something - let me know." I was quite sure that I knew what that meant.

I saw Tim the next morning. I was straight with him. "Tim, I would really like some affectionate companion. Have any suggestions?" I winked at him and slipped him a fifty dollar bill. When he saw Ulysses S. Grant's face looking back at him he got a wan smile. He pulled out a card with the name "Kitty" on it and a phone number both printed in flowery script, nothing else. "She's married, only part-time, and an independent contractor, and the only one I could actually recommend. If she's not available I can give you numbers of local escort services."

I thanked him and got into the cab he had hailed for me. I didn't waste any time. In the fifteen minute ride to my meeting place I arranged to meet Kitty at my hotel for drinks at 8 p. m. and if we both were agreeable maybe for some quality time afterwards. She was expensive - $1,000 for the night - but since I would have a chance to interact with her for the price of a few drinks and a $100 "appearance fee" before making a decision, I was on board.

Kitty didn't look like any call girl that I had used before. Her shimmering brunette hair was pulled back, and except for some subtle lipstick she had no makeup on. Also her dress was completely understated. I immediately recognized her because of the white carnation above her bountiful left breast. Despite the conservative nature of her dress there was no hiding her great body. I went up to her and introduced myself as John Smith - the phony name that I had given her over the phone and which she obviously knew was fake - and we sat at a table in the hotel bar.

Kitty was personable and within five minutes I knew that she had the "it factor." While her beauty was probably a nine on a ten point scale her sexuality was off the charts. Within twenty minutes I had slipped her $900 in cash under the table - I had given her a $100 dollar bill when I first shook her hand. The hotel exercise room had lockers operated by guest-determined codes, and she put her purse and its contents in a locker after subtly withdrawing three condoms from it. I chuckled to myself - I wondered what she was expecting from me; the most condom fucks I had ever had in a night were two, although bareback my record was four. Before putting her cellphone in the locker she told me that she needed to make a private call - I assumed to her husband based upon what Tim had told me, although we didn't talk about her marriage when drinking. I gave her a keycard to my room and went upstairs to 924.

Kitty arrived in 924 fifteen minutes after I did. I was in my boxers with a drink from the minibar in my hand and one on the desk for her. She smiled, took a sip of her drink, and then immediately shed her clothes and let her hair down. Naked she may have been the sexiest woman I had ever seen in my life. She planted a kiss on my lips - some call girls don't kiss, but hers was zealous - and then recommended a shower while she pulled down my boxers and giggled "Nice aspect ratio, thick, and uncut" as she ran her hand over my three quarters hard cock. "I'm going to enjoy myself."

It was hard not fucking in the shower but she deftly kept me in control while allowing unlimited access to her prodigious yet perky breasts. We had only halfway dried off when she jumped into my arms and in a sultry voice gasped "If you eat my pussy first you'll have the best night of your life." Since I enjoy eating pussy sucking on her clit became the first item on the night's agenda.

Unlike most call girls, Kitty came with the intensity of an epileptic fit within three minutes of my tongue first touching her over-sized clitoris. I was having fun so I ate her to another orgasm before allowing my cock to fulfill its craving. Surprisingly she came as hard the second time as the first, although it took much longer - four minutes instead f three (ha, ha).

After her second orally-induced orgasm I sucked on her tits for a while. Then in a gravelly voice she announced "My turn." The woman really knew how to suck cock, but neither of us wanted to waste a load in her mouth, so she rolled a condom on my cock and then mounted me and rode me like a Rodeo champion. I thought for sure I'd burst the condom I came so hard.

Adding mightily to her recognizable assets was the pillow talk after she got off me and pulled and tied off the condom after our first fuck and tossed it into the wastebasket with the flair of Seth Curry shooting a three pointer. Her pillow talk wasn't heavy; it was both fun and interesting. I probably enjoyed it as much as any pillow talk in my entire life. Periodically her hands seemed to be checking the status of my balls and dick, and at one point her face lit up and she clapped her hands and said "Goody; Spike is ready" She's apparently into personification since she named my dick after knowing it only a short period of time. She did a little more cock sucking and testicle massaging - while I tongued her clit, something she told me no John had ever done after a fuck before - and soon I was pumping for all that I was worth in the doggy position while I manhandled an ass hemisphere with one hand and twisted a pencil-eraser-hard nipple with the other.

After by far the two best condom fucks of my life she fell asleep in my arms. I knocked off another piece of ass - again remembering the condom - in the middle of the night, the first time I had a nightly trifecta with condoms. The one in the spoon position in the middle of the night was even better than the first two - hard to believe, but true.

We had a load of laughs at breakfast the next morning. She put away blueberry pancakes like she was a truck driver who had been on the road for twelve hours straight. My teasing her about it simply got me a wicked smile. "Great sex always makes me hungry" she chuckled before stuffing her face with another forkful.

I was so enjoying Kitty that I did something unprecedented; I asked her for a repeat that night. "If you take me to dinner and dancing I'll only charge you $500," she snickered. "I really enjoyed myself last night."

"Deal," I quickly replied. "Can you come by at 6:30 - and make a reservation at any restaurant you want."

I got a steamy kiss goodbye.

My dinner and dancing date Wednesday night could not have gone better. By 7 o'clock I no longer remembered that I was with a married call girl; it felt almost like a romantic date. After another three spectacular condom fucks that night I barely remembered my name. Of course at breakfast Thursday morning I asked her if she could spend Thursday night too. "Yes, but we have to talk out an issue first."

"OK," I expectantly said.

"I'd love to go bareback tonight; but we have to have a level of trust. I've never done that with a John before, and I'm sure that it makes you uncomfortable since I'm a call girl. I don't know if you'll believe it when I tell you that I'm 100% clean - but I trust you and will believe you if you say that you are."

My dick and emotions were screaming "Yes" while my brain was saying "No." I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't pulled my tie to move my head next to hers and whispered in my ear "I guarantee heaven when you explode your hot cum while my tight muscular pussy is squeezing your thick uncut cock."

"OK," I meekly replied, sweat already glistening on my forehead just thinking about it.

"Let's have a quick dinner, see a short movie, and then get down to it," she smiled.

That is what we did - only we didn't make it through the entire movie. I started fondling one of her tits and she started squeezing my crotch, so after only 45 minutes - I couldn't tell you what the movie was about - we were hailing a cab.

Thursday night was one I thought I could only dream about - not one that would actually become true. Kitty outdid herself - she jacked everything up to another level going bareback. When I woke up the next morning after having deposited three loads in her pussy, one in her ass, and one on her chest after a titty fuck - my all-time record - I was delirious with ecstasy.

At breakfast Friday morning, though, I not only had a sore dick, but I was in a funk. Here was the first woman since my divorce that I wanted a long term relationship with and she was not only married, but a call girl - although I again thought of neither of those two things while we were trying to fuck each other senseless the previous night.