Chapter 1: Popping Kissing Cousin's Cherry

Clint Elliston

“Ugh, I can’t believe how much homework Ms. Ayers gave us for math,” my cousin and best friend groaned. She shook her head, her braid of sandy-blonde hair dancing across her shoulders. “Doesn’t she know it’s the weekend, Clint? I don’t want to spend it on figuring out sine, cosine, and tangent.”

I snorted, nodding my head. Melody hated math. “How long until you scream at your homework and then throw it out your bedroom window?”

“I did that once, asshole,” she said, giving me a glare followed up by a light punch on my shoulder. “One time. In the seventh grade. That was ages ago.”

“Or four years. Not that long ago.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll just copy off your homework.”

“What makes you think I know how to do it?” I asked with a grunt.

“Because you don’t want me to fail.” She sidled closer to me, her arm almost brushing mine. My hand clenched. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, holding it.

But we were in public. It was one thing to be best friends with your sixteen-year-old, tomboyish cousin, it was another thing to hold her hand like she was your girlfriend. I couldn’t help staring at the profile of her face as we walked, her nose a small, cute protrusion, her lips pursed. They were pink. Melody didn’t wear much lipstick. But she really didn’t need it. She had a natural beauty even when she wore loose t-shirts and comfortable jeans ... She didn’t wear the tight clothing like the other girls at our school, flaunting her body, wanting all the boys to look at her.

It was why we had been best friends for as long as either of us could remember. We were both sixteen, though I was younger by a month, and we had grown up living next door. I don’t know why our mothers, who were sisters, decided to live side-by-side, but it was hard not to run around with Melody as a kid. She liked climbing trees, playing soldiers, riding bikes, and playing video games. She truly was my best friend.

And then a year ago, things changed. We were in my room hanging out on my bed, talking, doing homework, fucking around and ... we kissed. It was almost accidental. She had turned to me as I leaned in to tickle her, and our lips bumped.

And we didn’t pull away.

Now we were kissing cousins. We made out every chance we had. I wanted to do so much more with her, but we were first cousins. Our mothers were sisters. It was ... wrong. Incest. We both felt it. But we both enjoyed the kissing, the touching, the intimacy.

I felt like she was even more of my best friend after a year of sneaking around. And when my dad died six months back, she was the only one in the family who helped me deal with it. Mom was lost to her boxes of wine, my older sister was just a cunt, and my younger sister retreated even farther into her books. Aunt Vicky, Melody’s mother, tried, but she just made it worse, and my other cousin, Lee, was a brat as always.

But Melody was someone I could talk to, share things with. Hell, I could even cry a bit around her without her thinking I was a pussy.

“So you better do your homework well,” Melody said, bumping her shoulder into me. It was our way of holding hands. We had a lot of little ways of showing affection around other people that didn’t look weird. “Because I don’t want to fail.”

“So, as the man, I have to take care of you?” I arched an eyebrow. “Pretty sexist of you.”

“I enjoy traditional gender roles when they benefit me,” she grinned and licked her lips. It was a deliberate, slow lick.

My heart beat faster. It was her way of kissing me in public. Damn, I wish we weren’t on the sidewalk of our street, our feet crunching on the first leaves of autumn fallen from Mrs. Lynch’s Japanese maple. Why did we have to be first cousins? If she was just the girl next door, we would have fucked already. We could have been fucking for months.

Then I wouldn’t be a damned virgin.

“Fine, I’ll take care of your lazy ass,” I said, a grin on my lips, my tone light.

“Lazy?” She arched an eyebrow then lowered her voice. “I thought my ass was hot, not lazy. You loved it in those panties I bought.”

My grin spread large, hungrily. Recently, she was stripping down to her underwear for our make out sessions. We were flirting closer and closer with going all the way. With crossing that line into real incest.

“I loved it,” I grinned. “Maybe if you want to copy my homework, you need to show me another pair of exciting panties.”

“But you already told me you would. No take backs, Clinton Elliston the Third.”

I groaned. My dad was Clinton. I was Clint. “Fine. But ... if you want me to do my best, I need incentives.”

Her grin grew. Her lips were so kissable. I wondered what flavor of lip gloss she wore today. I hoped it was apricot. I liked that flavor on her lips.

We reached our houses, the shade of the giant chestnut tree in my front yard falling over us. The tree’s broad, green canopy covered most of my yard and a quarter of Melody’s. My house was gray with mauve trim—my mother chose the scheme and Dad painted it—and rose three stories, my room in the attic. Aunt Vicky’s house was reddish-brown, only two stories, and smaller.

Dad had also painted it. Aunt Vicky didn’t have a husband or even a boyfriend.

“So, you do your homework, Mister,” she told me, giving me a smile. “I’ll be over in an hour or so.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. I took her hand for a brief moment, giving her a squeeze. It was my way of kissing her in public—she would only laugh when I licked my lips slowly. It was sexy on a girl, but not on a guy apparently.

She licked her lips slowly. My dick ached in my jeans. And then my cousin broke away for her house, and I headed to mine. My mom’s car was in the driveway. I groaned. She should be at work for another two hours. I hope she hadn’t taken another half-day.

She would get fired if she kept doing that. Dad’s death hit Mom hard. Everything was falling apart, and I was the only one that seemed to care.

I entered the house and ran almost smack into Lee, my fifteen-year-old cousin. She and Melody were a year and a few months apart in age. Aunt Vicky had popped them out with the deadbeat asshole she used to date before he took off with another woman. Neither Lee, short for Leann, or Melody knew their father as more than “the sperm donor.” My dad had been the closest thing to a father they knew.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, groaning at the piece of toast slathered in Nutella jammed in her mouth.

She mumbled something that might have been, “Eating.”

“Don’t you have food at your house?”

She ripped the toast from her mouth and stuck her tongue out at me. She may be fifteen, but she acted like she was five. Her black hair was cut in a pixyish bob which only enhanced her bratty, youthful figure. She was slim and had more energy than a crackhead on speed.

“Your food is better, Lint,” she beamed.

I groaned at her annoying nickname for me. “Did you clean up your mess?”

“Nope.” She flashed me a grin then darted around me with swift dexterity, ducking my arm as I tried to seize her and haul her ass back to the kitchen. But she played soccer, and she knew how to dance around a defender.

“Leann, get your ass back here,” I shouted as she crashed through the screen door and raced away from the house laughing. “Dammit.”

“Was that Lee bursting out of here?” asked Zoey, my older sister. She walked down the stairs wearing a tight pair of jean shorts and a halter top that enhanced her already impressive breasts, the mounds jiggling as she came down the stairs, so big and pillowy. I know I shouldn’t stare at my sister, but when she was built like a brick house, it was hard not to. Brassy hair fell about her sultry face, her lips dark-red and looked so plump and kissable.

Zoey had the biggest tits in the family. I know I loved Melody, but, damn, my sister had a body that would not quit. She had just turned eighteen and loved to flaunt her stuff. She sauntered by me, her hips rolling, her exposed midriff tan and sleek.

“How was school, squirt?” she asked, ruffling my hair. “Did Ms. Ayers give you a ton of homework?”

I scowled as I patted my dark hair back into place. I hated when she ruffled it. And when she called me squirt. We were a year-and-a-half a part in age but I was only a grade behind her—a junior That didn’t matter. She treated me like I was a fucking kid. “Yeah.”

“Knew it. Always loves to give a ton of homework on the weekends. Had her last year. The worse.”

I followed her into the kitchen and groaned at the disaster Lee left behind. How did she create such a mess making a piece of toast? “You see this shit?”

“Yep,” Zoey said, opening the fridge and bending over. Those jean shorts molded to her ass. They were so tight, and I didn’t see any panty line. I flushed, my dick hardening Why couldn’t Melody dress like that some of the time. Zoey’s hips swayed as she rooted around the fridge. She bent over more, and I could see a prominent cameltoe, the jean shorts hugging her pussy. Damn. “Ugh, Mom hasn’t gone grocery shopping yet. No OJ.”

I wrenched my gaze away before she caught me staring, my dick so damned hard, and grabbed the still-open jar of Nutella. I screwed on the lid. Hard. “She said she would tomorrow.”

“Right,” my sister said with sarcasm, settling on a pitcher of grape juice. She poured a glass and leaned against the counter watching me clean up Lee’s mess.

“You want to help?” I asked as I sealed the loaf of bread with the plastic thingie and put it into the cupboard.

“Not really, squirt.”

I grit my teeth. Everything was going to shit. She wouldn’t sit there and watch me clean if Dad was alive. And he never would have put up with Lee making a mess and not cleaning it up either. He would have bent his niece over his knee and spanked her ass.

Zoey pulled out her iPhone with her other hand, texting while sipping at her grape juice. I grabbed a cloth and wiped the counter down. I hated messes. Things should be tidy. Orderly. Dad always said a house is a reflection of its master. A clean house meant a man who was in charge, a man who kept his family working smoothly, made sure his children did their chores.

Discipline.

And it was gone.

Mom’s heels clicked as she walked into the kitchen, still wearing her business skirt and blouse, her dyed-blonde hair in a messy bun. The roots of her hair were dark-black. She didn’t wear much makeup or did more with her hair than pull it back into a bun these days. She dyed her hair and kept it long because Dad liked it, and she still half-heartily kept it up.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked Mom as she headed for the lower cabinet beside the sink. I tried not to stare at her skirt pulled tight over her ass.

My sister had inherited her brick-house body from our mother.

“Order what you want,” Mom said, her voice tired. She rose, clutching a box of wine in one hand. “I’m too tired to cook tonight.”

“You’re too tired to cook any night,” I muttered. She used to cook dinner every night save Fridays and Sundays. Dad liked home-cooked meals. So did I. Ordering pizza or Chinese or subs got old fast.

Mom didn’t respond as she walked past. “I’m going over to Vicky’s.”

As she walked out, my sister muttered, “I see she restocked on box wine.”

I grunted.

“Buck up, squirt,” Zoey said, ruffling my hair as she passed her. I scowled at her. “You get to pick dinner. Since you’re the man of the house now.”

I hated her mocking smile. “Shut up.”

“See, already taking charge.” She finished her glass of grape juice and set it down on the counter two feet from the sink.

“You going to rinse that out?”

She shrugged. “Need to get to work.”

My eyebrows arched. “They let you work at Dairy Queen dressed like that?”

“They have uniforms for us to wear at the store,” she said, snagging her purse. “One of us needs to get the money to pay for Mom’s wine. Maybe you should man up and get a job?”

Since she turned eighteen two weeks ago, she had gotten a job where her friend, Stefani, had started working. It shocked me that she would even get a job. She was a lazy cow. I grabbed her glass as she sauntered by, staring at her phone.

It beeped and she let out a pleased sound. “Ooh, she’s here.”

The front door opened a moment later. Stefani sauntered into the kitchen, a redhead with a big smile on her face and delightful dimples. She gave my sister a hug as I rinsed out Zoey’s glass. If I didn’t wash it, the glass would just stay on the damned counter all night. My hand clenched on it. If Dad was alive, he would spank Zoey no matter what her age was for doing that.

“And there’s the stud,” Stefani said, sauntering over to me. She wore a tight, short skirt and thigh-high, heeled boots. I smelled her perfume as she leaned against the counter. “How you doing?”

I frowned at her. “Same as when we shared World History today.”

It was Aunt Vicky’s class. She taught history at our high school. Not that her being my aunt caused her to cut me any slack. I had taken classes taught by her before, and she made sure I didn’t half-ass my homework, not wanting to show any nepotism. The irony of that sucked.

“Your hair’s ruffled,” Stefani said, leaning against me, her breasts straining the belly shirt she wore. I could see the outline of her nipples.

She wasn’t wearing a bra.

Damn, why did I have to be surrounded by women I couldn’t do anything with? Sexy women. Melody, Zoey, Mom, and even Stefani. Zoey would kill me if I made a move on her best friend. And Stefani knew it.

She was a cocktease.

“I like a man with mused hair,” she purred, her voice growing husky. “Makes them look ... dangerous.”

I took a deep breath. “Cool.” She was just fucking with me. Right? The way she spoke, the way her green eyes burned as she leaned into me, the scent of her perfume.

Melody should wear perfume.

“We need to go, Dandi,” Zoey said. Don’t ask me why my sister calls her friend Dandi. Or why Stefani called my sister Yunie.

“Right, Yunie,” laughed Stefani, pushing away from the counter. “Got to go make those mad bills.”

She hooked my sister’s arm and the pair strode out. “Later, squirt,” called my sister.

I almost threw her glass to the floor. I hated when she called me squirt. “I’m not a fucking little boy, bitch.”

She laughed. The front door closed.

I put her glass into the dishwasher. It was full, so I added soap and started the load. I headed out of the kitchen and upstairs, my shoes ringing on the hardwood runners. Dad put hardwood floors throughout all the house for Mom when I was ten or so. “Let the women decide on the decorating,” Dad told me. “Then do it for them. Show them you’re handy, skilled. Women like knowing their men are handy. Keep them happy, and they’ll please you, son.”

Fuck, I missed him. I hadn’t even been in his shed in the backyard where he had his carpenter tools since he died. Too fucking painful.

I reached the second floor hallway and crossed it to the attic stairs. My little sister’s door opened, and she strode out, her face staring intently at her Kindle. She was the only member of the family without a smartphone or a tablet. But she had her Kindle eReader. She pushed her glasses absently up her cute nose and then gasped when she saw me.

“Clint,” she groaned, clutching her Kindle to her chest. At fourteen, she was small and skinny, her light-brown hair in girlish pigtails. She just started as a freshman at my school. “You scared me.”

“Don’t walk around with your nose in a the kindle then, Alicia,” I retorted.

She shrugged, turned, and walked to the bathroom, her eyes locked on her book. I sighed. I hardly even spoke to her since Dad’s death. She spent all her time in her room, even eating in there these days. What few friends she did have seemed to have fallen away.

Damn, maybe I should talk to her or something?

I groaned and headed up the stairs to the attic. My bedroom took up half of it, the other was storage filled with cardboard boxes full of Christmas decorations, old clothes, and the usual junk any family accumulates over the years. My door was the one on the left at the top of the stairs. I thrust it open and dropped my backpack when I walked in.

My room was neat, tidy. I liked it that way. My bed was underneath the sloping attic ceiling. I had only the one window, a dormer thrusting through the roof. I could stand up to my full height in it. The walls were painted blue—a project I did with Dad a decade or more ago. I flopped onto my bed, my eyes suddenly heavy.

I should start on the homework. Melody would be here soon, but it had been a long week, a long month.

A long series of months.

I closed my eyes, breathing slow, and didn’t fight the nap pulling me down into sleep.

Melody Samuels

I pulled on the tight tank top, shivering at how it molded to my breasts. My nipples were hard. It was so obvious I wasn’t wearing a bra. That made me both nervous and excited to go over to my cousin’s. No bra. Maybe ... I would show my tits to him. And he could touch them directly. Not through my shirt or bra.

Direct contact.

That sent an excited warmth through my pussy as my hips shook. I was scared of taking this step. There was only one place our relationship was heading—sex.

I so wanted to have sex with Clint. To make love to him. To have him as my first man. Our relationship was forbidden, doomed. We were first cousins. I was practically his sister. We could never be together openly. It was even illegal. But ... damn if he wasn’t such a sexy, young man, growing strong just like Uncle Clinton had been. Dark hair, broad shoulders, muscular figure, and that strong jawline...

I wiggled my hips, wishing I owned a pair of tighter jeans to show off my curves. I know he liked tight jeans. He couldn’t help but look at Zoey whenever she pranced around in her tight jeans or shorts, flaunting her cameltoe. I loved teasing Clint whenever I caught him looking at his older sister.

Damn, why did my best friend have to be my cousin? Then we could date. We could make love. We could hold hands and kiss and hug and not care who saw us.

I grabbed my apricot-flavored lip gloss and applied it. I smacked my lips, tasting the flavor—it wasn’t my favorite, but Clint loved it—and capped it. I took another breath, my stomach twisting. I was showered, freshened up, and sexy. I couldn’t date Clint, but I could hang out with him. Be with him.

I wanted this to last for as long as it could.

I stepped out of my room and passed my younger sister’s door. It was half-opened, revealing the chaos that was Lee’s room, her bed unmade, clothes lying strewn across the floor, a frilly pair of panties dangling from the edge of her desk. No music blared, so she wasn’t at home. It was Friday, which meant a date night for most girls, but probably not for Lee. I bet she was at the park running. She liked that.

Girl had too much energy.

Voices came from the kitchen. My mom and Aunt Cheryl sat on the bar stools talking at the kitchen island, a glass of white wine in my aunt’s hand. A box of cheap wine set beside her. She took a long sip as my mom stroked my aunt’s arm.

“Hey, Aunt Cheryl,” I said, streaming through the kitchen.

My mom glanced up and her eyebrows lifted. I blushed, feeling so self-conscious of the tight top I wore. “That’s new, honey.”

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “Picked it up last weekend.”

“You heading somewhere? A date?”

“Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just heading next door. Clint and I have schoolwork to work on.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Aunt Cheryl said, her cheeks red. She lowered her drink and pressed down on the spigot on the side of the wine box. Liquid splashed as she topped off her glass. “How long are you staying?”

“Probably late,” I shrugged. “We’ll eat dinner, watch some bad movies or something. I might even just crash there.”

“Oh, that’s cruel. Making your cousin sleep on the floor when you could just walk next door,” Mom said.

“Oh, Clint wouldn’t mind,” Aunt Cheryl said. “He’s a gentleman like his father.” She took a long drink of her wine. “Just like him...”

I squirmed. It would be so easy for Clint and I to take that final step in our relationship, to cross the line from harmless kissing into love-making. No one in the family would bat an eye if I was up in his room all night. We had spent our entire lives running around together. I had slept in his room, and he had slept in mine, so many times. I pushed away that thought, my cheeks burning, and asked them, “Well, um, what are you two going to do tonight?”

I needed to get the conversation away from me sleeping over with Clint just in case someone became suspicious of my tight top and no bra.

Mom glanced at the wine glass in Aunt Cheryl’s hand. “Oh, soak in the last rays of sunshine by the pool, I think. Probably talk.”

They talked a lot lately. Aunt Cheryl was drinking too much wine. Sometimes she ended up sleeping over, passing out in Mom’s bedroom. Maybe we should have an intervention or something for Aunt Cheryl?

“Well, later,” I said, squirming. It was too intense in here. I headed next door. I hoped Clint liked my tank top.

Clint Elliston

“Son, I’m disappointed in you,” my father said.

It wasn’t how I expected my dream to start. “Sorry, Dad,” I shrugged, not sure how I knew I was dreaming. It just ... felt like a dream.

We were in the kitchen. It was a mess, like Hurricane Lee had done her worse. “Things are slipping through the cracks, Son. Your mother and sisters are not doing their part. What did I tell you about a clean house?”

“Discipline, Dad,” I said. I was aware I was dreaming, so why was this what I was conjuring up? Why not a hot girl? Or Melody? Or Zoey?

Or Mom?

“If you want to get laid, your cousin is more than willing,” Dad continued.

“What?”

“Melody. Girl’s had a crush on you since you were kids. Everyone knows it. And about your crush on her.”

“Everyone?” My cheeks burned.

“So why haven’t you made your move? She’s ripe.”