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My Cousin Angie

Posted by: Age: 13 (then) Posted on: 7 comments
13 likes 1595 views Category: Masturbation Male-Female Tags: fm, incest, tits, petting, grinding, first time

I hung out with my hot cousin Angie at family events, but she was a mystery to me--even after I got to know her better.


In eighth grade, my cousin Angie and I held personal secrets, but whereas mine would be revealed when I scored high enough on the SATs to earn a college scholarship, she carried hers into adulthood. 

School work came easily to me, but it wasn’t cool in our rough neighborhood to stand out that way, so I clowned around in the classroom, played sports to keep off the streets, and completed enough homework to get by.  I used my fingertips to comb my tangled hair.  I wore the same soup spattered Catholic school tie every day until my mother replaced it. I avoided excelling at anything.

Angie, on the other hand, did everything to perfection.  Her fingernail polish looked like it was applied daily. The pleats on her short skirts ran in crisp parallels. She turned in class assignments, days before their due date, encased in clear plastic.  She also had the biggest tits in our class and a serious demeanor that kept everyone away from her.  When guys made up lists of the hottest girls in our grade, Angie scored high, but she had few friends and never went anywhere with boys. 

Angie and I didn’t hang out much together in school, but at family events we were comfortable playing board games or going for a walk after supper. Usually I won at Scrabble; she beat me at Stratego. On our walks, we talked about school—teachers we shared, pedophile rumors about a favorite priest that Angie adamantly believed, kids our age who ran the streets.  True, I lusted after Angie like other boys—especially after seeing her tits stuffed into an outgrown swim suit on Memorial Day—but unlike others, I never tried to impress or tease her. I simply hung out with Angie and fantasized about seeing her naked or feeling her up. 

Looking back, I wonder about events in Angie’s childhood that caused her to keep her distance.  She loved our grandma but despised her mother and avoided her overly protective stepfather.  She kept everything she could control as manicured and orderly as possible.  And then, there was an encounter the two of us shared.

My grandmother lived in a seniors’ apartment building over a garage filled with cars nobody drove after 8:00 PM and storage rooms filled with old clothes and taped boxes.  It was a perfect setting for my older cousins to turn off the lights and play Sardines, a game where a boy and girl would hide and other couples had to find and join them until everyone was crammed into the same space.   

When we first played, on the Sunday before school began, it was exciting to grope around in the dark and hold a partner’s hand, or squeeze into a tight space with a dozen other bodies.  I might just be rubbing against a cousin or a sister, but the contact was intoxicating.  Accidentally running a hand up a girl’s skirt or copping an anonymous feel was exciting, and there were no complaints about it being incestuous.  In fact, we never even acknowledged the game as an excuse to touch each other.  We told our parents we were bored with grownups, and we were going into the garage to play kickball.

The second time we played, at Christmas, Angie chose me as her partner.  She wore a short plaid skirt and a soft blue sweater that revealed the shape of her jutting boobs.  On our turn to hide, Angie led me into a storage room, and we hid behind a stack of file cabinets.  In that small space, Angie stood close enough for me to smell herbal shampoo in her thick dark hair. She breathed warmly against my cheek, and I imagined her body as a hot furnace that sucked all oxygen from the air.  I couldn’t breathe.

 “Angie,” I blurted out as a way to reanimate my lungs. And Angie wrapped her arms around me.

“It’s okay,” she said and rested her head on my shoulder.  I had no idea what she meant by “okay,” but I didn’t care.  Until that moment, Angie and I had barely bumped into one another. Now I was overwhelmed by sensations I’d never experienced.  Her lips lightly kissed the side of my neck.  I felt the weight of her breasts against my chest.  Angie shifted to match up her body with mine, and I backed away, so she wouldn’t feel my hard cock.

“I promise I won’t tell,” Angie said, and she pushed fully against me.  “I promise,” she repeated.

Darkness contributed to a feeling of unreality. My experience with girls mostly consisted of kissing them in shadowy corners at CYO dances, wrestling with my sisters, and playing Sardines.  Now Angie reached down and squeezed my erection as if to verify its location.  Then she pressed her body against me again and moved her hips slowly over my cock to create friction.

Angie and I kissed, and when she opened her mouth to me, I was lost in the sensation.  She grinded against me harder and quicker, but as fast as I was approaching orgasm, I understood Angie sought her own pleasure with me as a prop.  It might sound stupid to say Angie attacked me, but I felt distant from her and strangely disconnected from my own body.  I wondered where she’d gained her experience and confidence.

It was that thought that stopped me from cumming, and I pushed Angie away. 

“Baby,” she said in a strange voice that sounded older than her own. “It’s okay.”

“Yes,” I answered and held Angie’s shoulders at arms’ length. I had an uneasy feeling, but I was a thirteen year old boy, and hormones ruled over vague concerns.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Angie said when I tightened my hold, but it didn’t sound like a protest. I pushed Angie against a filing cabinet and kissed her again.  This time I was the aggressor, and I went for her big tits.  I squeezed them and massaged the soft wool that covered her bra.  Angie moaned and rubbed her pussy harder against me now, breathing deeper. Her arousal had increased, just as mine had.  I reached under Angie’s plaid skirt and explored her ass covered in silk panties.  I conjured a clear image of Angie and me in the darkness, her tongue jammed into my mouth, our desperate grinding against one another, her tits smashed against my chest.   The muscle of Angie’s ass tightened under my two hands, and I wondered whether she was cumming just as I could no longer hold back. 

    “I hate you,” Angie blurted. “Fuck me,” she whispered, and for a few seconds the world went blank, and I experienced my first orgasm accomplished with another person.




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