Touching Angie Part 2

I ran four blocks home in my tight dress shoes, coatless, sprinting across icy sidewalks, a puddle of jism drying cold against my thigh.  After fantasizing about touching Angie’s smooth legs under her short skirts and jacking off to dreams of feeling her up, rubbing her big tits hidden under soft wool sweaters, I had done it! For real!  I had cum, grinding my hard dick between Angie’s legs, and when I got home to change pants, I made myself cum again.   I replayed the scene of clutching Angie’s ass under silk covered panties, and I masturbated in short, quick strokes. Even after sprinting back to my grandma’s apartment and joining my Christmas caroling family, sexual energy coursed through my body.  Angie, who sat beside Grandma, appeared as a cool angel of bare legs and jutting boobs. Only a half hour earlier, we’d kissed in the basement and plastered our bodies together. I kept picturing what we’d done as I stood in the corner of my grandma’s living room, red faced, shirt untucked, and guilty as hell.  While Angie sang with radiant enthusiasm, my older sisters interrogated me.  They wanted to know why I’d disappeared for twenty minutes and returned wearing different pants. “I told you I spilled a Coke,” I said. “Did Angie help you spill it?” Anna said.  She was 14. Theresa rolled her eyes. She was older. Later, at school, Angie and I traded vague smiles and short comments about family members or eighth grade rumors.  I thought of myself as a cursed prince in a fairy tale, one who owned an incredible treasure, but he couldn’t spend it.  If Angie and I weren’t first cousins, we could have held hands at school, made out in movie theaters, and enlisted friends to help us find a private place to fuck.  But then again, if we weren’t related, maybe a slacker like me wouldn’t have gotten close to touching a girl like Angie.  Grandma’s seventieth birthday party was the next family event, and it took place at our apartment.  The grownups insisted that only pizza from their old neighborhood was acceptable, so my sisters were dispatched to pick up the carry-out order from Mario’s across town.  While Anna and Theresa sat in the front seat and argued over controlling the radio, Angie and I sat in the back awkwardly looking out the window. For the trip home, Theresa dropped a pile of pizza boxes onto our legs and smirkingly ordered us to “keep them warm in your laps.” Under the pizza boxes, I took Angie’s hand and held it as the car filled with aromatic garlic, pepperoni, and cheese. We sat with interlocking fingers and looked out the window at boarded up store fronts and gray apartment buildings.  We seemed frozen in place, and I felt sad, wondering whether I’d ever get another chance with Angie. Then she slipped my hand under her skirt and held it between her bare thighs. I was shocked and excited. In the front seat, Anna and Theresa whispered, but they couldn’t see how I moved my fingers upwards to the place where Angie was damp and fragrant.  Hidden by pizza boxes, I began to rub Angie over the silk panties I remembered from Christmas, but she halted my rubbing and pressed my knuckles into the wet indentation of her silk covered pussy while clamping her thighs together.  For the next few minutes, Angie’s legs clenched and released against my hand that she held locked in place.  I looked toward the front seat to make sure my sisters weren’t watching us, but Angie had entered a different world.  Her eyes were closed and her mouth tightened. Her big tits rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, and I reached over the stack of pizza boxes with my free hand to touch the breast closest to me.  Angie arched her back and almost shook the pizza boxes off her lap when she came.  I leaned forward to catch them, and in that moment I saw Theresa’s eyes watching us in the rearview mirror: my hand feeling Angie’s breast, the arching of her back, my lurching forward to save the falling pizza boxes.