Chapter 3

My sister and my cousin stayed in contact after that Thanksgiving holiday, and among other things, I was a frequent topic of conversation. That sounds pretty harmless, at least to a guy, but guys don’t understand the nuances of what I just said. One of the female social patterns men don’t pay much attention to is the one where two women talk about one man in particular.

For a guy, it’s relatively simple. If two guys are talking about a particular girl, the conversation might very well go like this:

“Hey, what do you think of Cindy Patterson?”

“Cindy? I’d fuck that in a New York minute. You thinkin’ of trying?”

“Why not? All she can say is no, and maybe I’ll get lucky and get my dick wet.”

Now I know I put that in crass language, but down deep inside that’s really what’s going on in that conversation, regardless of the actual words used.

Now women, at least according to what I’ve heard, do basically the same thing, but go about it in a much different way. They might make mention of his shoulders, or butt, or muscles, but they go deeper than any raw, physical (biological) attraction they may feel.

An analogy for this is buying a shirt. A guy will look at the shirt, think, “I like it,” find the size he’s pretty sure fits him and take it to the register. A woman will find three shirts she likes and then examine them to make sure there are no snags in the weave, or irregular button holes, or whatever. Then she’ll try them on in various sizes. If one of those shirts doesn’t meet her every expectation, then it goes back on the rack. During this whole process she’s deciding in what social setting she’ll wear this shirt. It might be just fine for a picnic in the park but she’d never dream of wearing it on a date where the eating will take place in a restaurant. This is why women have many more clothes, in general, than a man does.

Women do the same thing when looking at a man. A man might, after careful evaluation, be fine to have as a friend and confidante, but she’d never dream of sleeping with him. Likewise, a man might make her panties wet every time she sees him, but she’d never dream of actually establishing a relationship with him.

And when women talk about men, this kind of complicated decision-making process is employed in great depth.

All this is a long-winded way of establishing the background for you to understand about how, while I was sending short, tame emails to Cassie about things in general and nothing in particular, I was being examined by two women to see if there were any snags in the weave or irregular button holes... or whatever. And guys, if you think your sister doesn’t engage in this kind of intimate discussion about you with her friend... or cousin... you’re wrong.

Had I been privy to these hours-long discussions, I’d have been astonished, to put it plainly. My sister, of course, had been around this “shirt” for more than a decade of time in which she had the cognitive ability to see and understand my actions. Many of them perturbed her, but she was around me enough to really know what kind of man - person - I was deep down inside. She knew I wasn’t mean, or cruel, or perpetually angry. She knew I had an instinct to help someone who needed help, instead of just standing by and watching to see how things turned out.

Basically, she knew I was a good guy. She was glad I was her big brother. She liked me!

Of course she couldn’t just tell me all this. That was secret, female-only knowledge that I had no need to know.

Then again, I wasn’t inclined to tell her I thought she went beyond cute to being a killer babe, and that I worried all the time about what the guys she went out with were trying to pull or, worse, getting away with. I wouldn’t tell her I was jealous of her ability to pick up subjects in school with an ease that was almost contemptuous, or that I thought her homemade brownies were the best I’d ever had. I’d never compliment her on her sense of color relationships, or the music she liked or the clothes she wore.

And I’d certainly never tell her that, after that hug where her soft breasts crushed against my chest and I smelled her hair... that I got a little stiff in my pants when I thought about it.

Lest you think this is all about Lori, I’d probably never have mentioned any of those kinds of things I thought about Cassie to her, either.

And the supreme bit of information I would never have said to either of them (or any guys I know, for that matter) was that, when I laid down in bed at night, and started stroking my erection, coaxing a soothing load of semen from my balls, my thoughts flickered between imagining it was Cassie’s hand doing the stroking... or Lori’s.

Pretty pervy, huh? Sure, I know you can marry your cousin in most states, especially a second cousin, but she’s still family. It would still be considered incest in those families. It’s socially acceptable incest, but it’s still incest. So wanting to bang your equally gorgeous sister isn’t that much worse... right? Maybe wanting to bang your sister is incest, and wanting to do your cousin is just incest-ish.

All this would have been academic if either my sister and cousin hadn’t been in almost daily contact, usually via Skype, not to mention texting, or if I hadn’t actually sent Cassie an introductory email in which I apologized for ruining her day by splaying myself naked on the pull-out bed downstairs and having - I believe I called it “a happy dream” - just before my mother brought her down there.

Her response was: “I hope some guy has those kinds of dreams about me some day.”

Sounds like a come-on, right? But women don’t (necessarily) think that way. A teenage girl is beset by doubts of all kinds, among them how desirable (or un-desirable) she is to the opposite gender. She worries about her hair, and her nose and her breasts, and her ass and her eyes and that mole just above her left nipple. She worries about everything and, quite often, assumes she’ll be the last one chosen to dance with. And, I am told, this applies to all women, including the popular ones and supermodels and even Playboy Bunnies. Chief among her concerns - again I am told - is that the man she ends up with will be a good one. She sees good ones, but quite often they are already taken or unavailable for some other reason. Such as him being eight or ten years older than her.

So Cassie’s intent, at that time, wasn’t to tease me or suggest I was welcome to dream about fucking her brains out. She was just expressing a real wish that... someday... a guy would find her attractive.

I, of course, sent her an email saying she had nothing to worry about because there were probably a thousand guys already dreaming about her every night.

Again I must mention a difference between women and men. If a young man is told, “There must be a thousand women dreaming about having sex with you every night,” his response would be, “Outstanding! Line them up and get me three dozen oysters!” A young woman, on the other hand, feels good about it, is happy that so many men are interested in her, but would only ask for a list, to see if the man she’s interested in is on it.

And of course, at least when it’s a teenage girl, when a man tells her something like that, she assumes he is also dreaming about her.

Which... I was.

Sounds simple, right? Had there been good, open, honest communication between Cassie and myself, it would have been simple. But there wasn’t. Had I lived at home, Lori might have given me hints that Cassie was much more interested in me than I realized. But I wasn’t living at home.

Which is why nothing much happened until there was another family gathering at our house for Christmas.

Except that, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, my sister and cousin talked for hours about what it might be like to explore that erection they’d both seen for such a short time when my mother unknowingly exposed them to it back in November. They talked about “one like that” but they both knew which one they meant.

I mentioned the incest angle briefly, but more needs to be said. I assume you, reading this narrative, are not involved in an incestuous relationship, and that you’re probably not even interested in doing something like that. We are told, growing up, that such thoughts are not healthy. Everybody knows incest is a no-no.

I’m proof, however, that the general proscription against such desires is not universal. I’m tempted, based on the fact that I am otherwise just as normal as the day is long, no different than hundreds of other guys I know, to think that incestuous thoughts happen much more frequently than responsible adults would like to admit. Nobody admits it, or even talks about it, but I think it’s there.

Of course I didn’t have any plans to pursue the thoughts I was having, and I think that’s the usual situation when someone secretly has little fantasies about someone they aren’t supposed to have those little fantasies about. If it were allowed, though, I think incest would be a lot like the recent coming out of the LBGT community. It was hidden away in secret for hundreds of years, but when the social climate was right, they all came out proudly. They even have parades!

Then there is the fact, as will be revealed shortly, that I wasn’t the only person in the Victor clan who was having naughty, taboo fantasies.

The November visit of Cassie and her parents to our house had been an “unscheduled” one, meaning it wasn’t a general clan gathering. Christmas, however, was one of those times of year when there was a sort of regional get together, with ten or so families, for a pot luck kind of meeting that lasts all day. The responsibility for hosting that is rotated among the brothers and sisters, the sons and daughters of the patriarchs and matriarchs of the family. The older folks did their part over the years and now it falls to their offspring to make such gatherings happen.

This year the reunion was hosted by Uncle Joey and Aunt Tracy, who live in Colorado. They rented a place that is an equestrian tourist destination in the summer time, which then rents out part of that space in the off season just for gatherings like ours. There was a lodge with a huge fireplace in it, and the owners would throw in a series of sleigh rides for an extra charge. It was cold and clear and beautiful, a great place to meet with old friends and catch up on what was going on.

My schedule required me to drive there myself, instead of going home first and riding in the car with the folks and Lori. The roads were in good shape, having been plowed either repeatedly or recently and I had no trouble finding the place. I drove on a little lane that weaved through snow-covered pastures enclosed in neat board fences. There was smoke coming from the chimney at the lodge and a whole series of barns that stretched off to the forest that surrounded the place. I could see packed-down trails that I would find out was where the sleigh rides happened.

When you walk into a room filled with maybe fifty or sixty relatives who haven’t seen you for five or six years, the greeting is effusive and physical. I got hugs and handshakes from a bunch of people while people who had been youngsters, the last time I saw them, peered at me. Little ones who had no idea who I was ignored me and kept running around playing whatever game they’d decided involved a lot of running around.

There were two exceptions in terms of those prior-youngsters I mentioned. They were Cassie and my sister. Both of them came to me smiling and gave me hugs. My sister kissed me on the cheek, which was surprising. Then, however, they went back to the table they’d been sitting at with three or four other cousins closer to their age.

I was a bit of an anomaly in terms of being the only twenty-one-ish descendant present. I had probably half a dozen cousins my age, but they either hadn’t wanted to attend, or were in other regions at the moment. So, basically, once the initial bombardment was over, and three or four of the men had interrogated me about college and my plans afterwards, I was left to my own devices.

That was fine. The food at these things was always plentiful and delicious and I was, after all, a starving college student. I was filling my plate when Lori sidled up beside me close enough that our hips bumped. I looked over at her. Her hair was in a long pony tail, that kind that rides high on the head and bounces around a lot. She looked good.

“You’re growing up,” I said, for reasons I didn’t think about at that moment.

“You said that last time you were home. How much could I have grown in one month?” she asked, giving me an impish grin.

“Enough that I have to ask how many hearts you have broken since I saw you last,” I said.

“None.” She shrugged. “You know how Mom always says it’s a bad idea to have a serious boyfriend until I get to college.”

“Yes,” I said, getting a spoonful of lasagna, “but I also know how often you disregard parental advice.”

“Ha ha,” she said, reaching for a handful of pigs-in-a-blanket. She popped one in her mouth and chewed.

“Actually, broken hearts are no fun,” I said. “I’m glad yours is intact.”

“I guess,” she said after swallowing. “It makes things difficult sometimes, though.”

“Why is that?” I asked, forking a piece of roast beef from a crock pot to my already crowded plate.

“I get horny just like anybody else,” she said.

I almost dropped my plate.

“It would be nice to have a boyfriend to take care of me,” she went on.

I was frozen. I’m sure my eyes were as round as the plate that suddenly felt heavy in my hand.

“Don’t drop it!” snickered Lori, reaching to steady my plate. “You’re the one who said I was growing up, remember?”

“Yeah,” I managed. “You just caught me by surprise. The Lori I know wouldn’t say something like that to me.”

“Well duh,” she said. “I’m not the same Lori you used to torture so happily.”

“What are you two talking about?” asked Cassie as she arrived beside Lori. She looked at me and gave me a shy smile. “Hi,” she said.

“I was just telling him I wished I had a boyfriend to help when I get all horny,” said Lori, as if that were the most natural thing in the world to announce to a cousin.

“Really?” Cassie’s eyes got round, too.

“I think it shook him up,” said Lori.

“And you’re surprised at that?” Cassie smiled.

“I don’t know,” said Lori, eating another pig in a blanket and then trying to speak around it. “He’s been gone a long time and he never writes to me, so I don’t know who he is anymore.”

Cassie gave her an odd look, but then picked up a plate and began to choose something to eat.

Lori swallowed and then looked up at me.

“We want to go on one of the sleigh rides. Will you go with us?”

“You and Cassie?” I asked, with no little wonder that my sister wanted my presence at all, much less for something like that.

“Yes,” she said. “There might be bears.”

I smiled. “Bears are hibernating right now,” I said.

“Famous last words,” said Lori. “So, will you?”