When I was born, my cousin Pauline was 19 months old. When I was 18 months old, we moved from my Dad’s home town — London — to my mother’s in Yorkshire, and Pauline and I grew up together over the next few years, almost like brother and sister.
For several years, from me being quite young, the whole family, my parents, my younger brother and I, Pauline and her parents, and another Aunt and Uncle would go on holidays together to the Yorkshire coast. My brother, seven years younger than I, was spoiled rotten and so Pauline and I had a common cause — a uniting point, so to speak. We bonded on these holidays like brother and sister in our feelings towards my brother.
I went to an all-boys grammar school, where I was in the “remove stream”, which misses out a whole year of school, and got you to your “O” levels a year early. Being younger than most, I left school with my A levels just days after I turned 17 and joined an international company as a management trainee, on an exposure scheme where I worked in different cities for several months at a time, and did college for two terms a year.
I went home every few months, for fleeting visits, but for some reason never seemed to catch my cousin. We actually went two years without seeing each other, although I got regular reports from Mum.
The summer I was 19, and had lived away from home two years, the family invited me to join them on their usual vacation on the coast. So I went, kind of dreading two weeks with my younger brother and the parent generation – of which my own parents were the two youngest. What made it not so bad was that Pauline, now 20 and engaged to be married, was also going to be there.
What a transformation. Pauline had become a gorgeous young woman. in the two years I had not seen her. It was like like Hans Christian Anderson’s Ugly Duckling. She had very womanly curves in all the right places, her hair was styled, and her make-up was always just right – never too much.
She was definitely no longer a girl – and I was smitten. I quickly developed a crush on her, and I really wanted to have a relationship with her. But despite dropping hints, she wasn’t interested in looking at me that way – all she prattled on about was her fiancée , who I knew. He had been the lead singer in a local popular pop group before I left town, and of course, she was the one that landed him. Seeing her now, that was hardly surprising. But to her I was still the “little cousin'” – and so I began to plot ways of trying to get her to notice me…
We were all leaving the beach to go back to the bungalow for lunch. Mum asked me to go over to Pauline and tell her we were leaving. She was standing against the railings of the sea wall, on a corner, where the rails curved back because of a beach access slope. She had her hands on the railing, either side of the corner, and was wearing a sleeveless summer dress with thin straps. Under each armpit was a big triangular space…. If I could reach through and round, her breast would be right there….
I walked quietly behind her, reach under her arm, and put my hand on her breast. For a brief second I could feel its firmness, and its curve. And then she turned and slapped me!
“Don’t ever do that again or you will really regret it!” she said vehemently, staring at me.
“I…..I…I just came to tell you we are all going back for lunch….” I stammered.
“Do that one more time, and you will never eat lunch again.” was her response as she stormed off. She probably never heard my mumbled apology.
And I never did it again. Fortunately she didn’t ignore me for the rest of the holiday, and I left to go back to the South and college afterwards, but the feel of that warm firm breast stayed with me, especially alone in my bed.
Years passed, and my grab of her was never mentioned. She married the lead singer, then divorced him, remarried, and had a son. And in that time, following college and my training, I too married and had two kids, and then moved my family to Canada. During the years before we left the country, Pauline and I visited each other’s families, and my wife and I knew her second husband quite well before he acted like a fool and she divorced him. Just before she divorced him was when my family moved to Canada. She, of course, continued to have men in tow, some married, some not, according to my Mum. And through those years that clumsy grab of mine was never mentioned, but every time I saw her, the image of her up against that railing in the sun-dress came immediately to mind, and the crush continued.
A couple years after moving to Canada, when I was 38, my father died suddenly. Mum really wanted me to come home for the funeral and offered to pay my fare, so with the help of our corporate secretary a round-trip compassionate grounds ticket was acquired and off home I went. I took the underground from Heathrow to King’s Cross and the train to Yorkshire. Pauline met me off it, with a hug and a chaste kiss, and drove me to my Mum’s. That was Thursday afternoon, and the funeral was to be Tuesday, so I was actively involved in planning the service, making phone calls, and seeing Dad — with Mum and my brother — before they closed the coffin. Generously, my brother and his wife lent me her car, so at least I was mobile.
Funerals bring all sorts of people out of the past woodwork of your life, and Dad’s was no different, but me having come back from Canada made me the focus of a lot of the conversation. The reception was held at home — sandwiches courtesy of the ladies of the church, of course. Eventually everyone left and there was just Pauline, Mum and I. Because of the sandwiches, Mum didn’t want any supper; Pauline had been too busy being the hostess to get much to eat, and I had talked to so many people I never got chance to put food in my mouth. Mum suggested Pauline and I should go out for dinner.
Pauline jumped at it, pointing out that what had been her elementary school, and our joint Sunday School, was now an Italian Restaurant, and of course she knew the owners! So we agreed to take a couple of hours break to freshen up and meet at the restaurant around 7.
When I got there, Pauline was already there. And how she looked immediately reignited the crush. Not only was her hair and make-up perfect, but her blouse nicely hugged her breasts, and as she stood up so I could see her, I could see she was wearing a skirt with five big buttons down the front. It kind of flared, like the skirts of her teens, when they were held out by petticoats, but it was obvious there were no petticoats under this skirt. She was a 40 year-old teenage-looking sex symbol, and she was my date. And I could see the admiring and attentive looks from several of the other male diners, and, seeing the women they were with, I could understand their jealousy.
We had a slow and pleasant meal (with no dessert), reminiscing on the days we were in Sunday school there, and later days when I played the piano for the hymns, until a little after 9, she invited me back to her house for a night-cap. Her son would be in bed asleep, but she didn’t like to leave him too late into the evening on his own. So I followed her back, even though I knew the way.
She checked on her son and then went into the kitchen to get the drinks. Entering her front room, I took off my tie and put it in my jacket pocket, then slipped off my shoes and jacket and sat in an arm chair, facing the sofa she sat down on, but a good ten or twelve feet away. Sipping slowly, we reminisced about early days — church picnics with fancy dress competitions, how she still had a picture of a 5-year-old me dressed as a cowboy and sitting on a pony, and her standing by dressed as an angel. The summers we had had at the coast bungalow, with Dad building fabulous sand castles. How, in grammar school days, she and a few of her friends talked my Mum into letting me be in the school Shakespeare play — Macbeth. I could tell, 20 years later, that I was still in love with her.
I lit a cigarette, and as casually as I could, asked if she remembered me grabbing her breast some 20 years before. There was a long pause, and I drew hard on the cigarette. Finally, a one-word answer. “Yes.”
Another long pause, then she asked “Why did you do it?” While I worked out how honest I wanted to be, or how brave, I took a draw on the cigarette, and then said “Do you really, honestly, truthfully, want to know?”
I looked across the room, right into her eyes, and after a moment, she said “Yes, but it must be honest and truthful.”
The cigarette was half gone. I looked from it to her, and said “I could say it was just a prank, that I just wanted to feel your breasts. But really, it was because I fell for you. I fell in love with you, and I was jealous of Tony, that he was getting to marry you. And there you were, a 20 year-old drop-dead gorgeous young woman, and I fell for you, and you didn’t seem to notice.”
Another draw on the cigarette. I lowered my eyes, between embarrassment, guilt, and a touch of fear. After a final puff on the cigarette, I started to stub it out in the ashtray. Then she asked “Do you still feel like that about me?”
A pause…. “Yes”.
“After all this time? Even though I am 40?”
“And for a lot longer yet” I replied.
“I see,” she said, looking down at her own lap.
It is funny how the mind remembers things, sometimes at the right time, others at inopportune moments. I had had a Latin master who loved Julius Caesar. We had read Caesar’s diaries in Latin — Boy’s Own Paper type stuff. In Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar he writes: “There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries.” And I instantly knew that if I took this flood, I was going to have an affair with my cousin. And if I didn’t – there would be no second chance, no refloating the boat, just shallows and miseries.
I was across the room in a couple of strides, sitting next to her, putting my left arm around the back of her shoulder and drawing me to her. She was still looking down and so I kissed her gently, almost chastely, on her forehead. It was no more than two seconds.
All our life, Pauline has been able to demolish me in a few words; to be the older, mature one, and make me the childish, younger, immature one. She did it again. “After a 20 year crush, I was hoping for something more… passionate,” she said.
My right hand gently took her chin and tilted her head up and towards me. I kissed her, much longer this time, full on the lips. After a few seconds her lips parted, our tongues touched, caressed, twisted around each other, penetrating each other’s mouths. My left arm pressed her against me and my right hand used the back of my fingers to gently brush her neck. We finally came up for air. She smiled. “Getting warmer” she said.
At that railing, almost 20 years earlier, my right hand had grabbed clumsily at her right breast, from behind, under her arm. Now, this time, my right hand slid gently down her neck, the finger tips gently brushing the modest opening in the neck of her blouse, before sliding, oh so gently, over her blouse and on to her left breast. My thumb rubbed across her breast, feeling the top edge of the half-cup bra she was wearing. We kissed again. Our tongues danced again, the kiss went on long enough that my hand was able to caress her breast, rub the nipple and then start to undo the buttons of her blouse. It pulled her blouse apart, and explored her body — her tummy, her breasts, her neck. I pulled away and gently, with my eyes fixed on hers, removed her blouse completely. Somehow, I slid off the front of the couch, bringing her with me, and laid her on the thick rug in front of the sofa. She reached up and undid my shirt and I shrugged it off behind me.
Another kiss, this time with her nails teasing and scratching my back. I explored her bra. It fastened at the front! The type where you push the two sides of the catch towards each other, and then slide one part upwards. The type of catch designed for one-handed blind unfastening, and it turned out that I had not lost the knack.
The half-cups fell away. I broke the kiss and found her right nipple, licking it, teasing it with my tongue and then drawing it into my mouth so I could suckle on it and then tongue tease it. She moaned and I felt her nails dig into my back. My mouth licked its way across to the other breast and repeated the treatment.
After several minutes of kissing, caressing and sucking, she pushed me away a little. “We can’t go all the way, especially as you are still married.” she said.
“But we can go as far as you want,” I said, “and I will respect your boundaries when stated. ‘No’ will be a stop.”
“I see… You really want me, don’t you?”
“Yes, but not enough to hurt or disrespect you. Just know, if we do go all the way, it’s because I have always loved you, and if we don’t, I will still love you. Now stop talking and kiss me.”
We kissed, passionately, for a long time. Long enough for me to find and undo the clasp on her skirt’s waistband, and long enough to slowly unfasten each of the five buttons. Long enough to unfold the two front panels, exposing her legs had I been able to see them. My tongue in her mouth created a very restricted field of view.
All this time, she was flat on her back on the rug, with me lying next to her on my left side and her right arm under me. Hence my right hand had been free to handle her skirt. Now, my free right hand was able to find her knee nearest to me, and start to gently work the finger tips up the inside of her leg, still kissing her and tongue-wrestling.
I knew from conversations Pauline and her husband had had with my wife and I years before that my cousin could not stand pantyhose, so it was no surprise to find she was wearing thigh-high self-supporting stockings. Of course, what made that obvious was the sensation of touching bare skin on her thighs. And still no barriers to further progress.
As my fingers slowly climbed her leg, with the merest touch of my finger-tips on her bare flesh, I could feel her gently wriggling against me, and her moaning into my mouth. And then a hand grabbed my cock through my trousers. No big squeeze, but a firm enough grab.
I also knew that my cousin was not a fan of panties. It became a necessity to know if it was a panty or panty-free night. My fingers continued upwards, and the tongue dance continued. I decided that the time had come to return my mouth to her breasts so that if she wanted to call a halt, I could not be blamed for stopping her.
I nibbled gently on a nipple and was rewarded with a moan. My middle finger found the edge of a bush of pubic hair. No panties! Slowly my finger travelled into the bush, along the lips, until it found the hood of her clitoris. Her legs parted, and my middle finger caressed her clit as she heaved and wriggled and moaned alongside me. My middle finger teased, circled, rubbed her clit, and then other fingers joined in. Her lips were rubbed, parted, and her pussy was gently entered. I slid down the rug until my mouth was alongside my hand, and then I licked her clit. Her hips lifted a good 6 inches into the air, and I immediately thrust a couple of fingers deep into her vagina. As my fingers searched for her g-spot, my mouth sucked her clit into it, and my tongue teased her. She was bouncing up and down and turning her head from side to side and moaning.
And then the climax hit her. Suddenly her vagina was really wet, her breathing was shuddery and loud, and her moaning stopped. Finally, after she lay quietly for a few minutes, she said “If you don’t take your trousers off I will rip them off and you will have a problem explaining that to your Mum, and to your wife.”
I rolled onto my back and slid trousers and briefs down. Conscious of her nudity apart from her stockings, but also of the unromantic nature of socks, I took them off too. I rolled towards her, and lay between her legs. My cock was a guided missile, and with a small movement of each of us, the tip found its way between her wet lips, and I slid slowly and tenderly into her. Gradually the movement increased, her legs wrapped around me, the stockinged feet rubbed my ass, and I rocked back and forth on my elbows. My climax should have been accompanied by an explosion of music, but it was memorable anyway. An explosion of a different type. After a few minutes of hugging and kissing I rolled off her.
I lay on my back with my eyes closed, and after a few moments, felt her hand gently grasp my cock. She stroked it a few times and then kissed the tip of it. Her tongue ran little circles around the head, and then I felt the warmth of her mouth engulfing my cock, bit my bit. I have a decent sized cock, around 8″ or so, but she managed to slowly swallow all of it so her lips were into my pubic hair. One hand started to play with my balls, the other found a nipple and pinched it. She kept going until I started to moan and to warn her that I was getting close. All of a sudden, she stopped.
“Finally,” I thought, “we’ve hit the barrier.”
But, no. Suddenly she was kneeling either side of my hips, grasping my cock from behind her, and it was being directed oh so slowly into her pussy. She settled all the way down, leaned forward, and said “Kiss me.” I was in no position to argue. She rose up and down on my cock, edging me several times, before finally timing it just right to drop down on my cock from maximum height just as I exploded.
I’ve seen the bucking broncos at the Calgary Stampede, and I know why they buck, but they had nothing on me right then! My hips thrust up to meet her and we were carnally united. Eventually I lay still and she rolled off and lay alongside me. After a long pause, I got up for my cigarettes. “You know”, I said, trying to be funny, “the three best things in life are a drink before and a cigarette after.”
She smiled. “Better make that a quick cigarette or you might miss number 4.” Needless to say, I didn’t smoke the cigarette all the way to the filter.
“Lie on your back,” she ordered. I did, and she placed her knees either side of my arms, facing my feet, and then lowered her pussy down to my mouth. As my tongue reached out for her, she leaned forward, lifted my cock and started to suck it. Lifting her head after a few seconds she said, “Let’s see if we can come together, but not just yet” and started the most exquisite, tortuous sucking and licking I have ever experienced. I have never experienced such a long 69 in my life, before or since, but it did give me plenty of time to play with her breasts. Every time I thought I would have to come, she edged me off and slowed me down.
Now my memory of her younger breast in my younger hand, brief as it was, may have been the subject of many masturbations, but the feel of her grown-up but still firm breasts in my much more experienced hands while being 69 tortured for so long finally produced the most mind-blowing climax of my life, and it was about 1 second before hers.
I’d like to say we made love all night. I would love to say we ran away together. But alas…..
The next time I saw her was two days later when she drove me to the train, and I received a chaste hug and kiss as we parted. I started to say something but she put her finger on my lips. “You said you would stop if I said ‘No'” she said, “and this is ‘No’.”
The second time we met was after my divorce, when I took my new wife-to-be to England to meet my family, and a third time was at a birthday party Pauline organized for me on the same trip. A trip to England on my own to visit Mum for a week saw us have dinner again, but her third husband was too sick to join us, and he died not too long after. Our last meeting was at my mother’s funeral.
Each time, a chaste hug and kiss. No mention of that one night, now over 30 years ago. And this – now much older – man still has a crush on her. And memories.
