This story is an official entry in the 2007 Literotica Winter Holiday Contest. It is the you the reader through your votes who will decide the WINNERS. So please take the few seconds required and cast your vote when you get to the end of this story.
WARNING: This is an incest category story which features sex between consenting adults (a male 18 yo High School senior, his 21 yo cousin and his mother, a 36 yo Librarian). If this bothers you please click away. To everyone else, ENJOY!
“He’s an absolute asshole Aunt Bridget,” were the first words I heard when I barged into the kitchen after I’d got home from football practice.
“Hi mom,” I said with a big smile as I reached to grab a couple of cookies from the pan that had just been pulled from the oven. It was their aroma that had drawn me unerringly to the room. After giving mom a quick kiss on the cheek I turned to Rosie and asked with a twinkle in my voice, “Got a kiss for your favorite cousin beautiful?”
“No!” Rosie said emphatically.
“Charlie!” mom wailed, “Not before dinner.”
“I’m starving…and you’re such a good mom…and beautiful too,” I answered as I popped one of the still warm chocolate chip cookies into my mouth and then took mom in my arms and danced her around the kitchen table.
“Your crazy,” my smiling mom said happily.
“They think they’re so smart,” Rose complained, then added, “and I mean you and your kind Charles Andrew Lyte.”
“My kind?” I asked.
“All of us?” I asked laughing as I moved from mom and grabbed Rosie’s hands.
“Yes, and don’t do that,” she ordered as she struggled to escape me.
“Bad day?” I asked as I spun her around. “Nice hair by the way,” I added as I looked admiringly at the thick bright red strands of hair that had somehow appeared among her long, almost waist length mane of dark, thick lustrous black hair since I’d last seen her at breakfast.
“You like it?” she couldn’t help asking.
“Gorgeous cuz, simply gorgeous,” I enthused as I gently touched one of the red strands that were bouncing down and over her breasts. “Hot Chicago artist babe, sooooo sexy,” I said then gave her a wolf whistle.
“Well, most men are assholes,” Rosie amended.
“Honey, language,” mom chided.
“So what happened today to put you in such a wonderful mood Miss Rosie?” I asked with a pronounced southern drawl.
“My art apparently isn’t ‘representational’ enough for our brilliant instructor Mr. Crandall,” Rose said in her most sarcastic tone.
“But I thought that was the point,” I interjected bravely, knowing one wrong word might bring down her wrath on my head. Rose saw Mom and I as ‘artistic philistines’ who couldn’t possibly appreciate the subtlety of modern art. Having spent the last twelve years in the foothills of Tennessee it was inconceivable that we could be anything but ignorant of ‘abstract or other non-representational’ art. Even though mom had spent most of her youth in Chicago and had studied art history at college!
“He’s incompetent…a second rate has been who’s never had a show outside of redneck country,” she raged, totally ignoring my words.
“Maybe they feel you need to master the human form dear,” mom offered, “before you…”
“Naked tits,” she interrupted, but then quickly amended it to “naked breasts” when she saw mom’s frown. “Men Aunt Bridget, they just want everyone to draw naked women.”
We heard a non stop lecture on art for an hour as we ate dinner but we made no complaint. Rosie Williams, the daughter of moms elder sister, who’d come to live with us in September, simply by her presence among us had made our lives more fun. I really didn’t give two hoots about conceptual or abstract art, but I could listen to her talk about it for hours. Quite simply she was interesting. Her energy, her passion simply forced you to be more interesting, more involved.
And after knowing her all my life, of having spent at least a couple of weeks every summer at the family cottage with her, it was just since she’d come to live with us that I’d belatedly discovered just how hot she was. Like as in sexy hot. At a horny eighteen years of age I’d suddenly found myself living in the next room to a twenty-one year old, free wheeling artsy type who all my friends found exotic and alluring.
She stormed off to her ‘studio’ after dinner, the loft in the old barn she’d converted into a working space, her ‘atelier’ as she called it.
“Go and talk to her Charlie,” mom instructed as we washed and dried the dishes side by side.
“Maybe you better go mom,” I said, not sure if I wanted an evening of my tempestuous cousin.
“I’ve got the quarterly Library Board meeting tonight sweetie,” she answered as she draped the drying cloth over my shoulder.
Thirty minutes later, after mom had left for her meeting and I’d showered, I wandered out to Rosie’s hay loft ‘atelier’ where, after climbing the ladder, I found her standing hunched over her easel, a frown on her normally smiling face. She also seemed to be mumbling under her breath.
This could be a mistake I thought bursa escort to myself as I watched her hands fly angrily across the sheet of drawing paper that seemed ready to take flight from its precarious position on her stand.
“That doesn’t look very representational cuz,” I ventured carefully.
“Who asked you?” she snapped angrily back without raising her eyes from her drawing.
“It’s very good though,” I added, this time with a cheeky teasing tone in my voice, as I moved to stand at her shoulder where I stood pensively looking at the black blob she had created.
“Shut up you,” she ordered as she grabbed the drawing and threw it to the floor where it joined five or six previous efforts.
“Is this one a man or a woman,” I teased again as I picked one of her rejected efforts from the floor and peered at it dubiously.
“Ha, ha Charlie. Backwoods, redneck boy all of a sudden becomes the fucking New York Times art critic,” she complained but we both were smiling now. “It’s male,” she finally added after she’d given me a few seconds to study her drawing. “And it’s upside down Mr. Expert,” she said as she turned it in my hand.
“Of what species?”
“Oh that’s a good one Charlie,” she answered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Maybe you need a model to inspire you…you could try to capture my magnificent physique,” I offered as I gave her my best Charles Atlas pose.
“Sure Arnold,” she scoffed.
I quickly peeled off my t-shirt and comically went into a weightlifters posing routine. “God Rosie, what artist wouldn’t want to paint this body? C’mon, try to get your hand around these biceps,” I challenged as I flexed.
Laughing and shaking her head she poked me in the chest with her paint brush, splattering my left nipple with black paint.
“Hey!” I protested as I jumped back out of her reach.
“So you think you could be a model do you?” she asked and then after seeing my nod added, “Well, take of your pants then and stand over there.” Then she turned and headed back to her easel.
“Nooooo way,” I said to my cousins back. And yet, the truth was, the second she’d said the words I’d wanted to. I’d wanted my older cousin to see me naked…to see IT.
“Mr. Shy,” she said derisively as she set a new piece of paper on her stand and then turned and faced me.
“It has nothing to do with shyness dear cousin,” I answered as I hopped from foot to foot in front of her, my excitement obvious.
“If you’re worried about…you know…size…” she started slowly, a new raw huskiness in her voice, drawing out the words provocatively. “I can always make it biggggger,” she finally added with a sexy laugh, the challenge clear.
“It’s big enough,” I shot back as I felt the red blush spread across my cheeks.
“Is that what sweet Ellie May, your pretty little southern belle says,” Rosie asked in a syrupy southern accent.
“What?” I stammered, knowing my face was as red as a beet.
“You know, that pretty cheerleader that follows you around everywhere. The one with the bouncy blond hair and the large, bouncy…” Rosie stopped in mid sentence as she cupped her own breasts to demonstrate her meaning. “I mean she has seen it, hasn’t she?” she asked, still using the Southern drawl.
Finally regaining a little of my composure I answered, “Southern men don’t talk about things like that…we’re gentlemen. I know that someone from Chicago may not have encountered one before…”
“Yeah right Charlie…like all those gentlemen we saw in the infield at Talladega,” Rose countered in a tough Chicago accent, evoking the memory of the weekend just a month ago when she, mom and I had spent an afternoon watching a car race among a couple of hundred thousand drunken race car fans. It had been Rosie’s suggestion to go of course, her desire to imbue herself in ‘Southern Culture’ as she mockingly described it so that her paintings would reflect the ‘redneck milieu’ she now found herself in.
“They were drunk…NASCAR fans…that’s different,” I protested.
“Remember those six gentlemen who unzipped themselves in front of your mom and poor innocent cousin and fifty other women and started peeing…”
“OK. OK…I’ll do it,” I capitulated, knowing there was no point in trying to win any argument with my crazy cousin. I knew we’d still probably be arguing at midnight if I didn’t take off my pants. Besides I wanted to see her reaction. My cock was filling!
“Besides Charlie, you’re not a Southerner,” Rose added, wanting to get the last word in.
“I’ve lived here most of my life,” I answered as I turned away from my cousins prying eyes as I unzipped and then pushed down my jeans.
“Yeah but you were born in Chicago,” she said, but then quickly asked as my pants pooled around my ankles, “Why aren’t you wearing any underwear?”
“What?” I asked as I turned and faced her.
“Ohhhhhh!” escaped from her lips as her eyes opened wide in surprise.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, instantly aware that I had the upper hand on my fast talking cousin for one of the first times since she’d come to live with us. Christ, in bursa escort bayan my whole life! I slowly lowered my hand towards my three quarter erect penis, then circled its thick base and lifted it up as though I wanted to inspect it.
“No…it’s just that…I mean normally,” she sputtered.
“Normally? You have seen one before haven’t you? I just assumed…you being a big city, northern artist, nude paintings, drugs, wild parties and everything,” I challenged, loving how I finally had Rose on the defensive.
“Of course I have,” she almost yelled.
“How many?” I asked, the teasing tone in my voice now echoed by the grin on my lips.
“Shut-up! What is not normal for your information Chaaaarles, is for an artists model to have an erection. It’s supposed to hang placidly down between your legs…this is art, not some internet sex site. You have seen Michaelangelo’s David haven’t you?”
“Here, you do it,” I offered, still grinning.
“Do what?” she asked suspiciously.
“There’s a button, here, just underneath, they all come with one…you have to turn it…then bingo, I’ll be back to soft and placid,” I said as I approached my cousin, my cock grasped in my hand. She started laughing.
And as I posed for Rose over the next hour our relationship changed forever. As her hands flew across sheet after sheet of drawing paper she slowly morphed into someone else. The strange cousin, three years older than me, someone I’d always liked, who’d fascinated me even while cowing me with her energy and intelligence, became a woman I wanted to possess.
And as she tossed sheet after sheet to the floor it soon became quite clear my dear cousin was only drawing my penis.
“Shouldn’t you try to draw my whole body?” I finally ventured.
“Charlie are you the artist… or am I?” she muttered as she continued to paint.
When she finally called a halt to our session I found I was exhausted and sank thankfully into the old sagging arm chair that sat in the corner of the room. Amazingly my cock had stayed hard almost the full hour I’d posed. “What are you going to do with them anyway?” I asked as Rosie collected the pictures from where they lay on the floor around the room.
“I’m going to show them to Mr. Bloody Expert Crandall,” she promised. “Tell him I got my boyfriend to pose for me before I fuc…,” she said, only just managing to stop before finishing the comment which she just in time realized might not be appropriate. Especially given I was her cousin.
“You’re not going to show them to mom are you? Or tell anyone in your class whose?”
“Why not? Who’s going to be able to recognize you by your cock anyway my little cousin?”
“Would you like to look a them?” she asked, then dropped the pile of pictures of my cock into my lap.
“Yuck…are you crazy?” I answered as I dropped them to the floor.
“I think I did pretty well, especially given I’m supposedly not a representational painter,” Rose said as she held up one of the pictures and studied it for a couple of seconds. “Yes, I think I captured it perfectly,” she said proudly as she held a picture of my penis in front of my eyes.
“Don’t you have any pictures of naked women?” I grumbled.
“No…and you’re too young anyway,” she answered but for just a sec her eyes had darted towards the desk in the far corner of the studio. “And you never answered my question about your girlfriend?” she asked, clearly trying to turn my attention away from something.
“Whether little Ellie May has seen it.”
We teased back and forth for a few minutes before I finally stood and then slowly pulled on my shirt and pants.
And then, just after I took the first steps towards the ladder, Rose blurted out, “Thanks Charlie… you were a good sport and everything…you know, you are my favorite cousin… even if you are a hick.”
“I’m the only one you have,” I said as I turned back to look at her.
“She’s seen it,” I suddenly said, then turned again to go.
She rushed after me! “She haaaaas?” she demanded as she ran in front of me and faced me. “Do you sleep with her?”
I just smiled.
“Charley! Was she your first?”
“Would you like to do this again…I mean have me pose for you?” I asked, ignoring her questions completely.
She looked at me for seconds before nodding her head. “Maybe…I mean if you want,” she finally admitted shyly.
“Next time you should try to get a little more of me into the picture,” I teased as I slipped past her and started down the ladder from the loft.
“Maybe if it wasn’t so big I could,” she said to my back as I walked towards the barn door.
“Hey Charlie,” she yelled just as I was about to disappear into the night, “does little Ellie Mae think it’s too big?”
“Her names Eleanor…not Ellie Mae,” I yelled back as I walked towards the house.
“Is she the only girl who’s seen it?” were the last words I heard from my cousin that night.
Except of course in my dreams. Where, for the first time, Rose became the lead player in an erotic fantasy escort bursa that resulted in my spurting strand after strand of real creamy cum into her imaginary body.
Life went on. Mom went to work every day and Rose and I went to our respective schools. Yeah, there was something new between Rosie and I, an electricity just below the surface that was threatening to explode every time I saw her. That I knew she also felt. We saw it in each others eyes every time we ran into each other. Just waiting.
But for days it stayed below the surface. In fact, it wasn’t until at dinner almost a week later when mom inquired how it was going with Mr. Crandall that the subject arose again.
“Oh I did some stuff he liked,” Rose answered nonchalantly, then smiled innocently at me across the table.
“You did? Pictures of people?” mom asked, surprised her niece had given up so easily.
“Parts of people anyway,” Rose answered her with a straight face. “He thought they were quite good,” she added just as I felt her bare foot slide up my leg.
“How nice dear. Can I see them?” mom asked.
“They’re at school…he wanted to keep them. Oh and by the way Auntie, it turns out he doesn’t just want us to draw naked women.”
“That’s nice,” mom answered. Rose had stretched her leg and her foot was now strategically placed between my thighs.
“Apparently he’s homosexual…I think he’d prefer pictures of naked men,” she said with a girlish giggle, then gave me a sweet smile.
“You gave your pictures to a homosexual?” I gasped.
“A lot of these artistic types are gay Charles, there’s nothing wrong with that, its perfectly normal,” mom instructed.
“Christ, no wonder Rosie never has a date,” I muttered.
“I have all the dates I want my little high school cousin,” Rose said angrily, then flicked her foot and gave me a good shot in the nuts before pulling it away.
Two days later, on a Saturday, when mom had driven over to visit a friend in Memphis for the day, I climbed the ladder into Rosie’s studio.
“What do you want?”
“I didn’t know you were here,” I said, acting surprised. “I thought you were gone,” I lied.
“What, you wanted to get your pictures? I told you, I gave them to Mr. Crandall.”
“I was going to look for the naked woman ones,” I said with a leer.
“There aren’t any Charles,” she denied but her eyes again betrayed her when they quickly glanced towards the desk. I also couldn’t help but notice she’d tacked one of my penis pics right above her desk. I sat down in the comfy, saggy armchair in the opposite corner.
“You didn’t give him that one,” I said, pointing across the room.
“I’m working,” she said.
“Representational or abstract?” I asked as I sat back in the chair as if I was ready to spend the afternoon.
“I’m busy Charlie.”
“Can I watch?”
She didn’t say anything for the next five minutes as she worked on her painting. From where I was sitting I could only see Rose and not the work she was creating. I simply said nothing, content to wait her out. “Well, do you want to pose?” she finally asked impatiently.
“Do you want me to?”
“Well…I did have an idea for a picture…you, posed in the light, a farmers straw hat on your head…” she admitted.
“Naked?” I interrupted.
“I saw it as…yes…but if you don’t want to,” she stammered, “I mean I could put you in overalls. It’s just that”
“Hey its okay, I’ll do it.” She knew I wanted to show it and I knew she wanted me naked. I quickly shucked my shirt and shorts and then let her lead me to the open double doors where she posed me in a shaft of sunlight that was flooding in through them.
“I should pose you with a pitchfork of hay in hand,” she said smiling, clearly happy I was there.
“Yeah right, naked farmer in the hayloft, real realistic cuz,” I teased, loving the feel of her eyes on me.
“With an erection again,” Rosie mocked complained. “Maybe I should hang some hay from it.”
“Ha, ha. And the erections not my fault.”
“Then whose fault is it?”
“Guess,” I challenged but she turned back to the easel and started to draw as a blush spread on her cheeks.
She called a halt after thirty minutes and then offered to go and get some Cokes for us from the kitchen. Of course I started my investigation the second she’d disappeared down the ladder and was sitting in the armchair flipping through one of the drawing pads I’d grabbed from her desk when she returned five minutes later.
“Those are private,” Rose said, an angry look in her eyes as she stopped four feet from where I sat in the armchair.
I stood and took a Coke from her hand, then walked towards the open doors and held the pad up to the light and peered dubiously at the drawing in front of me. Then scowled.
“What’s wrong with it?” she asked, her curiosity at my reaction to her art overcoming her anger.
“God, I hope the pictures you do of me are better than this. Is this meant to be a woman’s…” I let the word stay unsaid, for even though I’d posed naked for Rosie I was uncomfortable using that word in front of her. Or any of the other words I could think of for it. The ones me and my friends might snicker at in the locker room but never say in front of a girl. Rosie quickly proved she had no such hesitation.