Tumblr Cousin
Chapter 1

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Consensual, Reluctant, Heterosexual, Incest, Exhibitionism, First, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Petting, Pregnancy, Safe Sex, Slow,

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - When Bob went home from college at Thanksgiving he knew there would be visitors for dinner. What he didn't know was that they would include his cousin, Cassie. He hadn't seen her in years and she was all grown up. She looked really familiar and it puzzled him until he realized he'd seen her more recently than he thought. It turned out he'd seen her on one of the Tumblr blogs he frequented because he didn't have time for a girlfriend. It also turned out she didn't know that picture was out there.

I know you’re supposed to start out a story or book with some memorable sentence that grabs the reader’s attention and won’t let go. But the truth is, there isn’t anything special about me or my situation that is memorable or attention grabbing.

Well, to be honest, there were plenty of things that happend that were memorable now that I’m older, but none of them had happened yet. It might seem a little jumbled around, because I’m going to tell some of this from my present perspective, and some of it as it happened back then. It’s hard for me to keep them separate, so forgive me if the ‘voice’ changes back and forth. One of my friends is an English major and he looked at this. He pointed out the voice issue. But I’m not an English major and for all I know no more than five or ten people will ever read this. So you get me like I am.

When this story started, I was a junior in a five year mechanical engineering program. I had no girlfriend because I didn’t have the time it takes to both keep a girlfriend entertained and study. And while you may have coasted through your first years of college, I had to take courses like thermodynamics and fluid dynamics, where you study the way fluids interact with everything around them. Did you know air is a fluid? I didn’t either. Scientifically speaking it is, though.

Anyway, just about the only respite from studying were holidays, when I got to go home and get a good meal.

And maybe some sex, too.

I know that sounds counter-intuitive, since I said I didn’t have a girlfriend. But when you have no girlfriend, you can ask any girl out who you want to, and take things just as far with her as she’s willing to go. And some of the girls you went to high school with, and who didn’t go off to college, and who didn’t get married, tend to think a college guy is sexy. I’ll also admit to kicking up my heels at school now and then. Coeds are willing to go quite a ways these days. You can only go so far, though. It’s an old song, but it’s still true. Girls just wanna have fun... you know? At least some of them. Enough that I get my dick wet once in a while. Not very often, mind you. Girls do want to have fun, and that means going to concerts and on dates and out to eat, as opposed to hopping in bed for thirty minutes of sexual calisthenics and then watching your boyfriend study for four hours.

So now you understand why I didn’t have a girlfriend.

Besides, most of the time I could handle things by myself, if you know what I mean. In some senses, masturbation is quicker, easier, cleaner, and safer than the real deal.

And it turns out that my masturbatory habits were more important than I would have believed. You’ll understand that in a little bit, but for now I’ll just keep going so you don’t have to jump around. For now let’s just say most of my orgasms were self-induced when I felt the need to bust a nut.

I used visual aids, of course. What guy doesn’t? And my favorite source of visual aids was the incredible array of Tumblr sites on the web. They are literally countless, at least from the outside of a monitor. There isn’t enough time in the day to look at all of the sites, even if that was your job.

If you’re not familiar with the service, Tumblr is a website that lets you array your collected pictures in an archived format, meaning as sort of extra big thumbprint pictures. Then, if a viewer clicks on the thumb, it expands to a full sized picture. Tumblr has all sorts of visual blogs, running the gamut from nature scenes, to animals, to clothing, to hats, to whatever someone wants to collect.

And a lot of people collect pictures of naked girls.

They collect pictures of naked guys too, of course, and transsexuals, and every other stripe of sexual being. But all I was interested in were the girls, and I had a collection of pictures that never failed to produce a boner virtually on demand, and then aid me in making that boner wilt.

My favorite kind of Tumblr picture was the kind where the girl was posing, meaning she knew the photographer was about to take a picture. It’s very popular for girls to take pictues of themselves in the mirror, in the privacy of her own home. Those girls aren’t actually posing for another live person, though, who is standing right there, taking the picture. There are hundreds of Tumblr blogs where people use telephoto lenses to take candid shots of people on nude beaches and stuff like that, but I like it when a beautiful girl is looking at the camera... displaying herself to a separate photographer... me.

Of course I know she’s not displaying herself to me. She doesn’t even know I exist. I understand that. But she was displaying herself to someone when the picture was taken. And it’s easy for me to imagine it was me... and that the picture taking was merely a prelude - foreplay, if you will - to letting me touch her and make love to her.

My favorite kind is of a woman with shaved pussy lips that are slightly open, as if she’s already aroused and her pussy is ready for me. She’s willing to have sex. She wants to have sex. It’s not impossible that she could look at me that way too.

My collection has grown during the four years I’ve been surfing Tumblr sites, and probably has a thousand such pictures in it.

Anyway, you didn’t start reading this to delve into my masturbatory practices, so I’ll go on.

It was at this point in my life when my father called me and asked if I was coming home for Thanksgiving. I said yes, of course. The college made that into a four day mini break and I wasn’t about to pass up a chance for that much food and being able to maybe watch a movie or play one of my old video games or something.

“Bring nice clothes,” said my dad. “We’re going to have company.”

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t ask who was coming to visit. To be honest, I didn’t really care who came to visit. Knowing my mother, there’d be plenty to eat, and that was all that mattered.

I guess I still had a lot to learn about myself.


I’d forgotten all about the company by the time I got home. Nobody was there when I arrived, so I took my stuff to my room. I still called it my room, even though, technically, none of my stuff was in it any longer. I had expected my sister, Lori, to commandeer my room when I left, because it was bigger than hers, but she’d lost out when Mom had turned it into a guest bedroom. This was primarily because Mom had gotten all caught up in the Facebook rage and had found a bunch of her old high school friends and they invited each other to visit and all that stuff. I had a Facebook page, but I hadn’t looked at it for months. If you let it, Facebook can take a huge amount of your time, and I didn’t even have time for a girlfriend. My motto is, if it won’t get you a degree, and you can’t fuck it or eat it, then it’s probably a waste of your time.

I know that sounds harsh. You try understanding the art of containing a nuclear reaction that is basically a small star, in three sessions a week for one semester, and then talk to me about my priorities.

Speaking of small stars, my mother was obviously going through menopause, because she had the heat up to what felt like ninety degrees. I sighed. I hadn’t brought home any shorts.

Anyway, as soon as I walked into “my” bedroom, I remembered that we had company coming. I assumed it was another one of Mom’s long lost friends, and that she’d probably want to give them this room. So I went to the basement to see if the fold-out couch was still down there, or if Dad had replaced it with a pool table, like he was always saying he wanted to do.

Thankfully the couch was still there. Even more thankfully, the rolled-up two inch thick egg carton cushion thingy that went on top of the mattress was still in the closet. At least the springs in the mattress wouldn’t poke me all night. And, being a tired college kid, I made up the bed and laid down on it to catch a few zees before I had to act like I was interested in anything more than not having to study until one in the morning.


I woke up to the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs to the basement.

“His car is here,” I heard my mother’s voice say. “He must be down here for some reason. Maybe he’s going through his old stuff. I had Don store it down here.”

About the time I remembered that, because my mother had the heat so high, I had slept like I always sleep - naked - my fuzzy mind informed me that the reason I didn’t feel the sheet covering me was because I had kicked it off while I slept.

And, of course, that’s when my mother and whoever she was talking to stepped down the last step and came into the basement. My mind casually informed me that, for whatever reason, in addition to being naked in front of my mother, I also had a diamond hard boner, the kind that points upward if you’re standing and is in the perfect position to enter a woman’s body. Believe it or not, I wondered, for a few brief seconds, if I had been having a nice dream before being wakened.

Then there were a chorus of gasps of consternation from multiple female vocal cords, and I lifted my head, turning bleary eyes towards my mother, Lori, and a girl I didn’t know.

My mind was muddled enough by sleep that my reaction was slow. I didn’t really think about the fact that I was displaying my engorged manhood to the world in general, and my mother and sister specifically. I just tried to wake up. I hadn’t had time to process any feelings for the other girl.

“Wow!” said the stranger. She sounded like an alto who was trying hard to be a soprano at the moment.

“Bobby!” squeaked my mother in obvious surprise. Lori said “Bobby!” too, but the translation was, “Of course you’d do something gross like that!”

Don’t ask me why, but for some reason what came out of my mouth at that point was, “I go by Bob now, Mom.”


It turned out that the visitors my parents had invited to Thanksgiving dinner were Tom and June Austin and their daughter, Cassie. I remembered them vaguely from previous family reunions I’d been to. Our extended family, or at least most of our extended family, had a reunion every two years. Because we were scattered all over the place, reunions were held in a different part of the country each time. They lasted a week and were held near some tourist destination, like Six Flags, or Disneyland, or a national park or whatever.

I had loved reunions in the past. That’s because when we all got there, the adults did their thing and us kids were turned loose to do whatever we wanted as well. When you’ve got 200 people coming to a reunion, that means there will be forty or fifty kids to play with. And in that particular setting, the prohibition against playing with kids of other genders or age ranges just wasn’t there. It didn’t matter how old you were... you got to participate in whatever was going on, if you wanted to. The relationships were complicated and once you got past uncles and aunts, which pretty much meant any adult, everybody else was usually just addressed by putting “cousin” in front of their name.

June Austin, as I understood things, was my dad’s first cousin. She was Uncle Joey’s daughter. Dad called him Uncle Joey, and so did I. I actually had a real uncle named Fred, but he was my mother’s brother. Don’t ask me how, but I was able, somehow, to rationalize calling my real uncle Uncle Fred, and my great uncle, Uncle Joey, and feel like I was making perfect sense.

Cassie, the girl my mother had brought downstairs while looking for me, was my second cousin. I knew this because it had been explained to me (at a reunion) that because Cassie and I shared the same great-grandparents, we were second cousins. The lesson had gone on to explain the difference between a second cousin and a first cousin once removed, but that made my head hurt. It still does. I’m convinced that’s why the entire Victor clan all call each other by the generic name of cousin. If they didn’t, then trying to figure out the actual relationships would use up the whole week.

Rather than talk about types of cousins, though, let’s talk about Cassie. I called her a “girl” but that’s probably because I had missed the last three reunions, and the last time I saw her she was eleven or something. She was the same age as Lori and they had been fast and true friends at all the reunions. When I had seen her last, she was at that stage of female development when it’s obvious she is female, and yet she has no traditional female attributes. She had been, quite literally, flat as a board, with no hips, and long, coltish legs. She’d almost always had her hair in pig tails, since that kept it out of her face while hiking or swimming or climbing rocks, all of the things us kids traditionally did at reunions.

Basically, I remembered Cassie as one of my girl cousins, younger than me.

She was still younger than me, but believe me, she wasn’t a girl any longer.

The little girl with pigtails was still an inch shorter than me, but that put her at five feet eleven inches, instead of the four feet she’d been the last time I saw her. Further, her board-flat chest had somehow mushroomed into twin mounds that brought to mind my sister’s Barbie Dolls. She was wearing a dress when they walked in on me. It fit her rather well, which accentuated those breasts and then hung in little ripples from hips that swelled outward from her thin waist, revealing quite a bit of her legs. The last time I’d seen those legs they’d been knobby-kneed, with scratches and bruises on them. Now they were long, and smooth, and I was a little shocked because, like a stab of lightning from the clouds, I wondered what they’d feel like wrapped around my body.

And I don’t mean in terms of two kids wrestling and goofing around.

I was so shocked by the changes in my cousin that I echoed her own comment by saying “Wow!”... and with what I’m sure was the same level of amazement that her own voice had held. I shouldn’t have been so surprised, being in the learning and thinking business, because Lori had filled out over the years and looked two or three years older than she was. Lori was a babe, but of course I’d never have told her that. She had been a brat for most of my life and always would be. Shows you how little a learner and thinker comprehends, at least when it comes to something other than physics.

“Bobby!” my mother gasped again. Whether that was because I was naked, or because there were seven inches of excited-looking manhood standing up from my loins, or because I was in better shape than the last time she’d seen me, was unsure. I had started working out while I studied, both because I needed to tone things up, and because that kept me awake. If you read a few pages and do some exercises and then read a few more pages and then do more exercises, it keeps your metabolism going and you’re less likely to doze off.

“Hi, Bobby,” said Cassie. A deaf person could have heard the interest in her voice, and my mother’s head swiveled like a target-seeking radar dish.

“He’s your cousin, Cassie!” she snapped.

“I mean Bob,” said Cassie, poised on the steps like a dancer, ready to leap into the void. “Sorry,” she added. “It’s really nice to see so much of you.” Her hand flew to her mouth and I could see her blush clear across the room. “I mean see you again,” she gasped.

Lori had been staring at her, but suddenly she giggled. Her eyes turned back to me and I saw interest in them, too. I figured that was because she was trying to figure out a way to turn all this to her advantage. I ignored her and gazed at Cassie.

I lay there, trying to look like some statue Michelangelo might have carved. I never even felt the slightest urge to cover my groin with anything. Instead I felt myself flex my pecs and almost burst into laughter because of it. She was gorgeous, and just then I didn’t care how cousins were supposed to feel about each other.

“Get dressed!” said my mother, snapping at me this time, instead of Cassie. “Our company is here.”

“Do you need any help?” asked Cassie, her voice high and a little breathless. If anything, I got even harder.

“No, he does not!” said my mother. I was shocked, not by what she had said, but the way she had said it. When she’d snapped at us both, her voice had been all mom, and she’d been talking to two kids who needed to be disciplined. But that last comment had come out with something suspiciously like suppressed laughter in it. I wouldn’t know until almost five years later that she was remembering a scene very much like this from her own youth.

I had the insane urge to grip my boner and sit up casually while saying, “Be right there, Mom.” One hand even moved a little, whereupon my mother turned, grabbed my cousin, and spun them both away from me. Lori looked back over her shoulder as she followed them. She grinned and it ruffled me because it wasn’t her signature evil grin. It was more like a conspiratorial grin.

I got out the “Be right there,” but by then they were out of sight.

“Wear something nice!” came my mother’s voice. “Dinner’s almost ready.”


I may have made it sound like my mother was a prude, but that’s not true at all. She’s actually been the more liberal of my parents. I knew what women looked like long before my peers, most likely, because my mother is a bit of a nudist, around the house. Not that she goes around naked. A lot of the time she wears a bra and panties like they were shorts and a T shirt. But if she goes to bed and then wants a drink of water, or something else from the kitchen, she’s quite willing to go get it naked. My father, on the other hand, is always fully dressed in either street clothing or pajamas. I’ve never actually seen him naked.

The point is that, by the time I got my clothes on and my tie tied and my hair combed and got upstairs, my mother was already over what had happened. She was bustling around, and I suddenly realized she had been wearing the apron she had on when she’d brought Cassie downstairs. I happened to walk into the kitchen about the time she was taking a bowl of mashed potatoes to the dining room. She shoved them at me and said, “Put these on the table. You look nice.”

Dad and Cassie’s parents were in the living room chatting away. Our house has a big archway between the living room and dining room, so whatever is going on in either room is fully visible in the other. Cassie and Lori were standing by the window, talking about something outside, probably Lori’s car, which she’d just gotten a few months before. In the light coming through that window, I realized Cassie’s dress sparkled, like it had glitter in it. As I thumped the potatoes on the table she turned to look at me. I saw just a hint of color make her high cheekbones get pink, but she didn’t say anything.

“It’s good to see you again too,” I said. “You guys want to come help?”

Lori said, “No,” but Cassie smiled and left the window. I took her to the kitchen and said, “What’s next?” whereupon my mother, seeing who I had brought to help, scolded me, reminding me that Cassie was a guest. I reminded her that Cassie was family. Meanwhile, Cassie picked up the basket of hot rolls and took it to the dining room. Mom gave up.

“Use all those muscles I didn’t know you had and get the turkey out of the oven,” she ordered.

I grinned as I complied. It was nice to have my muscles noticed... even if it was by my own mother.


Dinner was completely normal. At reunions, there is almost never any reticence or timidness, except among the very young, and even they figure it out within an hour or two. Rather, everybody greets each other like long-separated good friends, intent on catching up as quickly as possible so that they can get down to good old-fashioned gossip and chit chat about the world in general, and how it affects the Victor clan in particular.

So there was almost no tension around the table as we gathered and Dad said grace and we sat down to eat. I say almost no tension because Cassie didn’t look at me very often, and she didn’t enter into the conversation with any real zeal. She and Lori were sitting next to each other and did a lot of head-together type communication.

Of course one major topic of conversation was my schooling. When you go into a field that is made up almost completely of technical components, and are learning terms that the general public never uses in casual conversation, and then you come home and someone says “So what did you learn at college this semester?” it’s really almost impossible to describe it in anything but the most vague way. More than once my dad has said, “So, are you learning anything?”

Generally, the best way for an engineer to answer a question like that is to explain how cavitation works, and why it is important when it comes to designing a propeller. Or something equally fascinating. Basically, it only took about ten minutes before everybody was ready to move on to some topic other than what Bob was doing in college.

“How about you, Cassie?” asked my mother. “How does it feel to be almost finished with high school?”

“It’s exciting,” said Cassie. Her voice was soft and mellow, not at all like when she was younger. “It’s kind of scary too.”

“What are you going to do after high school?” asked my father.

“Go to college, I guess,” she said. She didn’t sound too excited about that.

“What will you major in?” asked my mother.

“I don’t know yet,” said Cassie.

“I’m going to major in elementary education,” said Lori, apparently feeling left out.

And that started an argument, because Cassie’s mother said nobody should have to declare a major until they’ve got at least two years of college completed, and her father insisted that it was a waste of time to study anything that wasn’t going to directly affect your chosen field. My dad helpfully pointed out that a liberal arts education was what made you an interesting person to be around, no matter what your job was. My mother complained that school took too long, and when you actually got into a job, the owner retrained you for that specific job anyway.

I’ll be honest. Cassie and I spent most of the meal just listening.

And peeking at each other when we didn’t think the other was watching.

I know I make this sound like I’d never seen a hot girl before. And yes, I was four years older than she was, and was in college, and she was jail bait, not to mention being my cousin. But that wasn’t it. I mean she was hot. No doubt about that. I don’t know if she had elfin eyes back when, but she did now, with high cheek bones and long dark blond hair that fell just past her shoulders. She didn’t have on a ton of makeup, but her face drew my eyes. Not to mention those fabulous breasts, hidden under her dress.

But that wasn’t it either. What I mean is that my eyes kept going back to her face, mostly, because she looked familiar.

I know, I know. She should have looked familiar. She was my cousin, and I’d spent weeks with her in years past. But she didn’t look familiar because she looked like a grown up version of the cousin I remembered. In fact, she didn’t look like a grown up version of the Cassie I remembered. There was just no comparison to that memory.

But she did look familiar.

And it was driving me crazy.


It was as I lay on that bumpy fold-out couch, thinking about how much Cassie had grown up and fondling my erect-again cock, that it came to me. Except what came to me was impossible. Having stared at Cassie’s face all evening I got the feeling that I’d seen that face in one of the Tumblr blogs I liked. There are many types, as I said before, but the ones I especially liked were the ones where the girls look young and fresh. Sure, an experienced twenty to thirty-something woman is interesting. But her nudity is something many men have observed. Many men have received that welcoming look and climbed between her experienced thighs. It’s just impossible for me not to think about that when I see an “older” woman. MILFs are the same way. But girls who look like they’re eighteen or younger can be imagined to be virgins, or at least un-jaded by men who have taken advantage of them and broken their hearts.

It’s not that I’m a pedophile. Not at all. But remember that only a few hundred years ago girls who were fourteen or fifteen entered the world of sex when they were fourteen or fifteen and that was considered to be entirely normal. Men were turned on by girls that age back then and no mere few hundred years of evolution has changed that attraction since then.

Anyway, it occurred to me that I’d seen Cassie in one of those Tumblr blogs, except that was ridiculous. I know what I just said about young girls on those blogs looking young and fresh but the fact is that all those girls posed for somebody. And they posed intentionally, assuming it wasn’t a voyeur type situation, like the paparazzi seem to love so much. It’s a complicated fantasy because you want to believe this is the very first time she got naked for something like this, but you know, at least on a theoretical basis, that she wouldn’t be posing like this if she wasn’t at least a little bit experienced.

And that was the problem with Cassie. It was impossible for me to imagine she was experienced enough to have been in that situation. She wasn’t a vamp. Other than that brief moment when she’d shown interest in me as a naked cousin, she hadn’t sent me any signals of any kind that might suggest she was a naughty girl sometimes. Her parents were straight arrows. That was clear. They were white Anglo-Saxon protestants, pillars of their community, Republicans, who would never allow their daughter to get into a situation where someone could take a photograph of her in all her glorious naked beauty. Of course there are millions of selfies out there, most taken in bathrooms, but I didn’t favor those. Those didn’t match my fantasy because there was nobody else there with her, taking the picture. So I didn’t think I’d seen her in something like that.

The problem was that I couldn’t figure out any other way she could look so familiar. I’m not talking about her looking like some girl I knew and had seen recently. I was quite sure I’d seen that face within the last month or two and, since she was in high school and hadn’t visited any colleges, I hadn’t seen her on campus.

The only other women I looked at were in those blogs.

I don’t know about women, but men fantasize easily. I was tired and she was hot and it didn’t really matter at that point where I’d seen her. Or who I thought was her. I just visualized her in that dress, offering to help me get dressed and, because that involved her stuffing my erection into some kind of pants, which might result in an accident, she insisted that she needed to take her dress off first so I wouldn’t get it soiled.

That’s as far as I got before I erupted with a groan of satisfaction, hastily imagining Cassie under me willingly and loving it.

I know. It’s sad. But fantasy was all I had time for at that point in my life.


The next day was more of the same, catching up and lots of talk, with the addition of going out to the cemetery to look at old gravestones of long-dead relatives. Victors had lived in our town for generations.

Cassie and Lori ended up beside me as we walked along between grave markers. I’ve always felt odd whenever I walk through a graveyard because I’m walking on top of the graves. There is no path to avoid that. I suppose that would be considered a waste of space. Cassie didn’t appear to mind. She was obviously walking with me, but not talking to me. That changed as the adults stopped and gathered around a stone that showed a lot of age.

“So... what’s college really like?” Cassie asked.

I glanced over at her. Lori would be eighteen in a couple of months, and I knew Cassie was roughly the same age, but she looked much older. It was pretty hard to think of her as a “girl.”

“You go to class and then in the evenings you study,” I said.

“I thought there was lots of partying at college.”

“There is,” I admitted. “But not in my track. Engineers don’t have time to party. I spend three or four hours a day in class and then spend eight more studying. And that’s when there are no big tests coming up. If there’s a test then I study ten or twelve hours a day.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” she opined.

I shrugged. “It’s necessary for what I want to do in life when college is over.”

“So, why’d you decide to be an engineer?” she asked.

“When he kept breaking things and couldn’t figure out how to fix them before Dad found out,” snickered Lori.

“I suppose she’s right in a way,” I answered, frowning at Lori. “I’ve always liked figuring out how things work. It will be interesting work, as far as I can tell. And the money is good.”

“Oh.”

“You have any idea what you want to do after high school?” I asked. I think I was just making conversation.

“None,” she sighed. “The trouble is that there’s no way to know what a real job will be like. Like you and engineering. I have no clue what an engineer does. I don’t know what hardly any adult does for work except for teachers and administrators and my dad. He has friends who he plays golf with all the time and I know what companies they work for, but I don’t know what they do on a day to day basis.”

I half expected Lori to urge her to become a teacher. Lori had wanted to be a teacher since she was in first grade. My sister, however, was uncharacteristically silent.

“Ask questions,” I suggested.

“All they do is pat me on the head and try to imagine me naked,” she said, surprising me with her straightforwardness.

Lori’s eyes got big.

“You think?” I responded.

“Isn’t that what all men do?”

“I suppose they do, at that,” I admitted.

“Bobby!” said my sister. It almost sounded like she was surprised.

“It usually isn’t the other way around,” Cassie said. “Which is why I’m so glad we came to visit you guys.”

“Seeing me in the buff shouldn’t be the apex of your day,” I said.

“It might not have been except... you are pretty buff.”

“Cassie!” scolded my sister.

I thought it was interesting that we were both ignoring Lori. Even more interesting was that Lori didn’t seem to mind, other than to register some outrage now and then. Even that seemed to be of the obligatory kind, rather than actual shock.

“I promise not to tell your mother you said that,” I said.

She bumped my shoulder with hers.

“Thanks for talking to me,” she said.

“Is that what we’re doing?” I smiled.

“Most older guys won’t give me the time of day,” she said. “They think I’m a baby.”

“You don’t look like a baby. Trust me on that,” I said.

“Bobbeeee,” whined Lori.

“Thank you,” said Cassie. I could tell she actually meant that, which also surprised me.

“I’ll try not to imagine what you look like naked,” I teased.

“Bobbeee,” groaned Lori.

I finally acknowledged my sister.

“You, either, Lori,” I teased.

Cassie looked over at me and her face looked as old as the rest of her did.

“I don’t mind if you do that,” she said.

“Who are you?” yipped my sister, staring at her cousin.


While we were having our little chat I got to look at my cousin without it seeming odd, and when I did that déjà vu feeling of having seen her niggled at me. It niggled at me so much I decided to put the naughty theory to rest.

When we got home I said I had to do some studying and repaired to the office my dad kept at home. Mom objected, saying it wasn’t right to ignore our guests. Uncle Don said to leave me be, because I was trying to make something of myself. Then he started off on how decrepit young people were these days and I was able to escape.

I booted up the computer and, from memory, put in the address of one of the Tumblr sites that popped into my head: petits-seins-naturals.tumblr.com/archive. That one turned out to be one mostly involving beaches and naked women sunning themselves. I liked it because there were a lot of family shots, with daughters in them. I know every woman who poses for a naked photo is a daughter, but it’s a lot easier to think of a teenager as a daughter than a woman in her thirties. That said, I can’t help but wonder what the fathers of these women must think about when they see their little girl offering her pussy (theoretically) to any man who happens to surf to her picture. I put in another address and started scanning thumbnails, going backwards in time. There can be thirty or so pics per page and if you don’t look at each one you can gloss over something, so it took me some time to decide, after going back three months, that this wasn’t the blog I was looking for.

Four blogs later (yes, I know it’s sad that I’ve memorized the web addresses for at least five porn sites) I was at: sexiestyounguns.tumblr.com/archive when my eyes stopped on a picture that had five girls in it. It appeared to be a slumber party and Cassie was in the direct middle. All five of them were as naked as the day they were born.

I clicked on it and the picture filled the screen, making it much easier to examine the faces. There was no doubt about it at all. It was Cassie. Or her twin sister, which I knew she didn’t have one of. Her hair was even done in the same style it was in at our house.

I spent probably thirty seconds just staring at her face in the picture, and only then did I let my eyes slide down to see what her body was like. I had just observed she was shaved bare and that her split rose higher on her mons than usual when the door to the office opened and the actual person whose picture I was staring at breezed in.

“Your mom says dinner is ready,” she said.

I looked over my shoulder, which made me lean far enough that she saw the screen. She went so pale I thought she was going to pass out and drop to the floor, but the more important issue was that I needed to get that picture off the screen. I turned back around and moved the mouse, stabbing the cursor onto the red X that would close out Firefox.

“Shit!” she panted, as if she’d just run a mile. “Where did you get that?”

She sounded genuinely upset in a way that was completely at odds from the smiling face of the naked girl who was her alter ego. I sensed something was amiss.

“Please don’t tell anybody!” she pleaded, not letting me answer her question. “I don’t know how you got that but please, please don’t tell anybody. I’ll do anything if you promise not to tell my parents.”

I spun around in the chair and held up a hand to silence her.

“Calm down. I’m not going to tell anybody.”

“But how did you get that?” she moaned.

“We’ll talk about that later,” I said. “Right now they’re expecting you to drag me to supper. So take a deep breath and calm down and drag me to supper.”

“Okay,” she said, at which point it was clear she was much younger than eighteen. Gone was the cool exterior she tried to show the world.

“Deep breaths,” I said, staring at her chest. It occurred to me that might not help, so I looked up at her face. It was clear she’d seen where I was looking.

“Nobody’s supposed to know about that,” she whined.

“Cassie!” I snapped. “Don’t fall apart or someone is going to want to know why you did. We don’t want to answer questions about that. Deep breaths. Calm down!”

I have to give it to her, she did get control of herself. Her breathing slowed as color leached back into her cheeks. She turned and went out the door in front of me and by the time we got to the table she looked more or less normal.

“If you have to do that much studying I don’t think I want to go to college,” she said, brazenly.

“You’re not going to be an engineer, Dear,” said her mother.

“How do you know?” shot back her daughter.

Apparently Cassie dealt with fear by striking out. But teenagers are expected to be a little surly and strike out, so it didn’t matter.

“Who wants to say grace?” asked my mother, changing the subject adroitly.

Ten minutes later, eyes down, Cassie was just eating her food.

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