This is what happens.

You got an old woman living alone in a far older house in a tiny northern town. The house has been in the family forever. The old lady has enough intelligence and taste to care for the roomsful of good taste she inherited. Then she dies.

Guess what happens.

One guess, baby.

That's right.

It's instant family-reunion time.

There's the funeral and stuff, but even I didn't come up for that.

The old house is sold and contents up on the block. Us rats arrive in unison to pick the skeleton clean. Between us we hired out both of the U-Haul trucks on the local lot.

It's a full house, like back in the good old days.

Me and Lydia and our two boys. Mom got Dad to come along. Sally, my baby sister, and her husband Hank, rode up with them. Our older brother didn't think too highly of old furnishings; the sister between us was stuck down in Florida pretending she could stake her claims over the phone. And then, presumably, leave transport of said booty to one of us! Rosemarie was getting the beat-up vinyl recliner from the late '70s with the attitude she was carrying. Maybe we'd toss in the rubber doormat.

What actually did happen was this: I got to meet Mom's first-cousin Jim--and his wife Mary--for the second time in my life.

I got to meet them the first time when I was fourteen.

Mr. and Mrs. Charme had four daughters comparable in age to the lot of us. They too spent a week or two every summer up at Grandma's. But only the once, finally, did the twain to meet. Mostly, before and after, they lingered like some mirror ghost family, the proof of their presence always that either they'd just left, or they would arrive immediately following our departure. We'd scour the house for clues, seeking any hint of these other kids who had slept in our beds, played with the same old toys we did, hid in all the same places we had, did-- surely!--much of the same things we always did. We never found a sliver of evidence; Grandma had a thorough house-cleaner.

The one time our visits overlapped, my family slept in a motel for the first week, though of course we were otherwise constantly over at the house. Our presence, we hoped, a hint to these usurpers to hurry up time so they would leave and we'd get the second week in the familiar beds.

I was, as noted, fourteen, and though I was pathologically shy back then, it was not to the extent that I didn't notice this houseful of beautiful girls. Abby and Barb, the two oldest--bracketing me a year each in age--had long straight hair well down their backs, which really was my ideal of feminine beauty at the time. I couldn't even talk to them. They both had the makings of real breasts. Gwen, the baby, was naturally too young for me to notice, except when she was being particularly endearing. Kara, the third girl, was actually the one I interacted with the most. She was gregarious, just on the cusp of passing over into that hormonal standoffishness. I was of course the boy closest in age to her. Her hair was cut just above her shoulders and didn't lay down. Maybe she sensed the competition with her older sisters for my attention.

There is no point in emphasizing any of this. The familial lines were drawn, and a week wasn't near enough time for the two camps to much merge. All I really remember is several times Rosemarie and Sally and I dragging out the croquet set, and Kara stepping in to join us. Her foreign presence keeping the game from disintegrating into the usual family brawl.

I knew that Mr. and Mrs. Charme would be coming; they, along with Mom and Dad, had booked rooms at the same motel of lore--the one in town that was part of a national chain, hence clean. This visit, it would be us kids who would have the run of the house. There would likely be enough bedrooms to go around, with the kids' kids parked in sleeping bags on the livingroom floor. I didn't know which of the long-lost cousins would be there; Mom wasn't sure either, though she did hint darkly that Abby hadn't even been notified. She was married with a huge brood, but her family was part of a larger "Family"--some sort of unnamed cult--and the Charmes had decided it didn't make much sense to let Abby share in the spoils since it'd all be immediately turned over to the "Father" or "Master" or whatever head-honcho.

Barb showed up with her husband Bart and their three kids. My memories of her seemed to have been false. Maybe she had seen a full flowering, but the bloom was definitely long gone. The skinny girl with a cute butt and nice tits had aged badly. Probably she'd just been in a marriage-long ugly-competition with her ex-college-football-player spouse. The kids looked alike, and all had names beginning with "B".

It was nearly picturesque, this extended family of ours sprawled out across the wide front porch of the old family house, spilling down the steps and out onto the lawn. The kids playing a noisy game of croquet with the same goddamned set from when we were kids. Gwen wouldn't be able to show, it transpired, because she was under lock and key. She, it turned out, spent her life completing programs, vacillating between programs; PhD programs, on the one hand, rehabs on the other. And she was currently under lock and key. I got up and went inside to get a glass of water, having tired of Barb's gleeful use of the phrase under lock and key. When I returned, Mrs. Charme was boastfully explaining why Kara likely wouldn't be coming; Barb's face was in a pouty shadow. I'd missed most of the gist--something about how Kara was fabulously successful in some trans-global high-glamour corporation. How they'd left messages at the hotel suites she maintained in Paris, New York and Singapore.

Just then a yellow cab came rolling down the street, slowing up considerably the closer it got.

A yellow cab? In this town? There wasn't a yellow cab company within a hundred miles. The closest yellow cab was in the nearest significant city, about 150 miles away. Which also happened to be the only city within half a thousand miles to boast an international airport. As the taxi pulled to a stop directly in front of the house, I could see from the lettering on the medallion on the door that my guess was correct.

"Oh... my... gawd," I dead-panned, "isn't this just exciting? Someone famous has come to see us!"

No one knew whether to laugh or not.

"Or else," I shrugged, "someone famous got some very bad directions."

As the chuckles wore away, I turned to Lydia, amazement all over my face. "Don't tell me you gave this as the delivery address to Ed McMahon and Dick Clark? Hallelujah! The family manor is saved!"

Lydia gave me a squirrely look, but I let my train of thought roar down the track.

"Can you see inside? Do they have that cardboard check the size of a mattress? Maybe it's in the trunk."

"Don't bed on it," Lydia slyly slipped.

The porch was a chorus of hoots and groans.

I narrowed my eyes to look at Lydia. "You owe me one."

She nudged an elbow in my side. "I'd say we're even."

Right at that point, the passenger door opened. A foot slanted out to the curb. The foot became leg, and more leg, more leg, then even more leg. The matching foot poked out, at a slightly different angle; it too anchored an endless leg.

The figure that emerged wasn't exactly tall, nor did she really have unending legs. She just happened to be wearing a skirt so short that, given an inch or two less of fabric, would have done no good at hiding the juncture of these pair of legs.

"Kara!" the Charme side of the family sounded.

Kara gave a great false grin, a tiny wave, then turned back to the taxi. She bent over retrieving something out of the backseat.

It was nearly a full moon at midday.

She returned, slipping the strap of a small travel bag over her shoulder.

Lydia leaned over to me and murmured, "Why look, it's your cousin the jet-setting slut."

"Oh hush!" I whispered back.

She suppressed a giggle. "Certainly more interesting than your cousin the cow."

I slapped at her knee. "Be nice."

The cabby never got out of his seat, so since it was like he wasn't really there, there was the chorus of Charmes badgering Kara about how she managed to get him to bring her all the way here.

"Well, of course he started grumbling immediately. All that parochial," she made her voice gravely low, "I don't leave the city limits shit."

"What did you do?" Barb asked fascinated.

"I tossed a Ben Franklin into his lap and told him to shut the fuck up and keep driving. I had to give him directions the whole way. At any rate, I doubt he's unhappy. The fare was astronomical, but nothing compared to the tip. He'll be back in the city before his shift's half over, and already he's made the best week of his life."

"How... " Barb fairly stuttered.

"Expense accounts, darling," Kara brushed it away with a shrug. "They're simply mahvelous."

"Though probably not as mahvelous as the cabby's view up her skirt," Lydia continued for my benefit.

"Well, you likely pegged that right."

"She probably blew him on the drive over."

"Oh, stop it."

By that point, with a squeal of tires, the taxi was history.

Barb leapt to her feet, "Oh my god--Kara! He took off with all your luggage!"

Kara's eyes didn't leave her sister's form. "No he didn't."

"But... but... but surely that tiny shoulder bag isn't all you brought."

"Yes it is."

"But... you couldn't possibly fit everything you need into that!"

I had yet to utter a word within Kara's hearing; even so she flashed an unnerving smile at me before turning back to answer Barb, "Oh, I'll just go out and get whatever I really need." Kara paused to consider her words, canting her hip. "And whatever I want," she added.

Lydia hadn't missed that carnivorous display of teeth. She'd never been a huge fan of affection in public, but she nuzzled my ear so intensely I thought she was trying to suck out my brains. "I bet she does," she breathed.

Mr. Charme was up stomping his foot and smacking his hands. "That's my Kara! You always were a real go-getter."

"Maybe at times," Lydia spoke into my ear, "but I figure her for more of a go-gettim type." Lydia waited for Kara to glance our way, then slapped a proprietary arm around my shoulder. "Looks like I better lock you in a cage for the duration."

"Lydia, would you quit being so evil!" I muttered out the side of my mouth.

"Good in the face of evil."

Well, I've never been one to prey on other people's fears, but I spent the rest of the day eagerly awaiting bedtime. In this age of preventative medicine, I thought I was guaranteed to get a damn good dose of an anti-stray inoculation. Indeed, after I reached over to turn out the bedside lamp, I was ready for action. I cuddled up behind Lydia, parking my erection in the groove of her ass. She responded by wiggling those lovely soft cheeks back against me. I couldn't think of a surer sign that all systems were go.

But then she reached back and patted my hip, gave a big sigh, murmuring, "I know we just got here, but I can't wait to get back home. Back in our own bed. Without so many other people all around." She gave her bottom a single thrust back at me as a sort of punctuation point, clarifying her meaning. Before I could think of a suitable line of disagreement, Lydia's breathing shifted, into that short ragged rhythm, signifying that behind her closed lids her eyes were darting about, seeing things that I would never know.

This is what happens.

Breakfast had barely begun when suddenly the universal plan began to form. Of course, the County Fair was on, and we'd all drive over and spend the day there.

Hell if I was! That damn fair had been the bane of my childhood. I was an adult now--I didn't have to go if I didn't want to. You can't make me, you can't make me, you can't make me!

I could live off my memories of the stupid fair for the rest of my days. It is best not to overestimate the fun to be had at a fair when the largest city in the county numbers only a few thousand people. Barns full of hams and briskets still on the hoof, lowing and grunting. Flat fountain drinks full of ice in dirty dixie cups. The Rollercoaster of Death that looks about one busted bolt away from living up to its name.

My plate started the stack of dirties in the kitchen. From there, I went quickly to the cellar. It was a damp dark earthy-smelling place that'd terrified me as a child. I hid down there, listening to the sounds of everyone moving about the house, getting ready to go. Finally I heard Lydia calling out my name as her hard-soled shoes clomped through the rooms.

"Down here!" I yelled out.

"Where?"

"In the cellar!"

"What are you doing down there?" the door squealed open.

"Fighting off the Daddy Longlegs," I replied, knowing that would keep her from coming down the steps.

"We're all ready to go."

"I'm sorry. I came down here to check out the furnace and water heater- -I've gotten a bit tied up. You all just go on without me. Hate to miss the fun, but if I leave now I'll forget what I'm doing."

Just like a kid, I squeezed my eyes shut and crossed all my fingers. I have this mechanical aptitude that made my lie perfectly plausible. But I didn't dare believe that I'd be let off the hook. I didn't want to jinx myself in the silence that followed.

"Okay," came the long sigh at last. I pumped a fist in the air! "Suit yourself. We won't be back 'til late afternoon, so you'll have to fend for yourself at lunchtime."

"No problem. Have some fun for me, okay?"

"Okay." A bit frosty in the tone.

"We'll go out to Lucky's Steak House for dinner, okay?"

No response.

"And I found a can of 3-in-1 down here, so I'll get those bedsprings to quiet down a bit, okay?"

"Oh, stop it, you," Lydia chortled, shutting the door. I listened to her footsteps leading the long line to the front door, and then the house was quiet.

I prowled around a little more. Some lovely mason jars on a bench, but put to use decades before, and best not disturbed. Several hand-forged tools that I placed out of sight on a high shelf, to be retrieved later.

Then I turned an eye to the waterheater. "Keep working for a couple more days, you hear?" Its gas burner fired up in reply. I barely glanced at the furnace. "It's summer; fuck you."

As long as everyone else was going to be gone, be away, kept out of my hair, I decided to go exploring. Mostly I was keen to glean the scraps of Grandma's life. The artifacts. The pictures and letters and documents and kept objects of tiny size but enormous significance. The stuff of which the rest of the lot would glance at briefly-- huh! - then toss in the trash. Such loot--I best remembered from the prowls of my last visit ages ago--was to be found in her bedroom, the top drawers of her highboy, the very bottom of the lowboy's big drawer. Tucked in little boxes in the corner shelf piece. Drop the leaf of the secretary. Boxes buried under blankets on the upper shelf of the walk-in, windowed, closet.

The door to grandma's bedroom was ajar. There was no reason not to push through it boldly.

This is what happens.

When I entered the room, there was only one thing to notice. The door gave a squeak, and then there was another little squeak. Kara, apparently fresh from the bath, wrapped in a towel, was lying on top of the white chenille bedspread. Actually, she was lying on top of the towel as well, herself having come unwrapped. And she wasn't really lying flat; her legs were drawn up, knees having slammed together the moment I walked in the room. Her hands were clamped between her thighs, the elbows awkwardly bent inward so the upper arms sort of hid her breasts. She was as modestly covered as a naked woman can get.

She had to have known though that a cushiony hint of her sex was visible--she had to have known because I stood there gawking at it.

I should have turned my head. I should have averted my gaze. I should have blushed and mumbled a few sorry words. I should have turned and sidled out of the room. I should have done all this, and doubtless I would have done all this, but right at the moment I was about to do all this, Kara's knees began to separate. With a groan, her legs opened like a drawbridge. To allow passage of a tall-masted ship, no doubt.

Her fingers, trapped in the act, remained exactly as they'd been at the moment I bumbled into the room. Then they shifted, spreading the lips of her pussy as if I wasn't already enjoying a grand view.

Oh, I still should have done this or that, but by then I was physically incapable of walking out of the room. The smell of Kara's well- exercised cunt struck me, literally, causing my knees to buckle. I pitched forward, falling; fortunately the bed was between me and the floor. And fortunately the spread of Kara's thighs was there to cushion my head.

Her pussy wasn't just inviting, it was an invitation. I was raised by high standards of etiquette, so I decided to RSVP immediately.

I am not an unscrupulous person. There were certainly some mighty moral issues to grapple with in regards to the situation. I got all the grappling that needed doing out of the way in about two seconds flat. And then I parked my face between Kara's creamy thighs, darting my tongue out for my very first taste of her.

Her cunt was worse than a jumbo bag of Lay's potato chips. But Kara didn't complain about the way I gorged. Though after a head-crushing orgasm, she did pull my face up to hers, bathing me with sloppy kisses as my cock slid in to replace my tongue.

This is what happens.

It went just like that. I wasn't intent on penetration. Hell, I was still half-heartedly grappling with the ethical consideration of having my face smeared with the juice of a pussy not my wife's. But when Kara dragged me up the front of her, there was that slight bumping; then my cock glided effortlessly all the way up inside her.

Even Kara paused, surprised by this quick intrusion. But then she pivoted her hips, tilting me down in even deeper as her legs spread wider, then bent down at the knees to cross against my back.

"Gotta hand it to the big guy, though," she laughed. "Not only does he know exactly what he wants, he sure isn't shy about getting it."

I was startled by the lightness of her tone, but found it delightful and followed. "What are you talking about? I was just coming up to give you a little kiss," I slid out a little in approximation, "but then your cunt sucked me right up inside of you." I thrust back firmly.

Kara swiveled her pelvis in answer, returning a pleasant gesture. "I never said I was any different. What Miss Pussy wants, Miss Pussy gets." Her cunt squeezed and began milking my shaft, the muscles moving in inward ripplings, her cunt truly sucking my cock in deeper. She surrendered a chuckle, gazing directly into my eyes. "There's no denying that. There's no denying Miss Pussy and her needs. Miss Pussy wants to make big Mr. Cock feel so-o good! So let's fuck like nuts, and let no one be the wiser."

Her final words rang like a clear bell. I mean, I was in too deep to really salvage myself. Things were past the stage of redemption. Oh, and by the way, honey, I fucked my cousin but it's okay: I pulled out halfway through, cleaned up, and never got to come. So... how about a blow-job for being such a good boy? I promise I'll be real quiet.

But then Kara began rattling on like a long passage in a stream-of- conscious novel.

"God, this is as good as that second time, that second summer when both our families were up here together. Was that the very next year? or two or three later? I forget exactly. Except that I was so struck by you. And you barely noticed me. Do you remember any of that part at all? For days I followed you around like a puppy dog. I didn't even really know what I wanted. It was like swooning over a cute boy on a t.v. show. I was certainly used to that. But this was so much more different. My whole life was different, my whole body was changing. What was there about you? I never made the connection. Between you and why I was always so wet down there. Why every night when I changed into my pajamas the crotch of my panties were so damp. I thought I was starting. Mom had given me The Talk, and I knew I would be becoming a woman soon. But there was never any blood. It wasn't until Barb and Abby began teasing me about having hot pants for you that I finally understood. The tingly feeling I kept having. The a woman secretes lubrication from health class.

"But I know you remember that afternoon when we were all playing Capture The Flag. And you slipped, then I tripped, and I landed on top of you. I kept lying there on top of you. And then I started pressing myself ever so slightly against you. Your eyes got so big, but not as big as your penis. How you tried to cover yourself up when I finally scrambled off. Your hard-on went away, but it came right back when the game was breaking up for dinner, when I trapped you behind that old maple tree in the side yard and snuck against you for that kiss.

"And that night you will never forget. How I managed to lure you into slipping out and joining me on the little back porch after everyone was asleep. I sat out there waiting with an old blanket. I was so nervous. I didn't believe you'd actually show. And when you did, the sight of you had me instantly wet. You knew what was going on and you were going to be so wise as to not let it happen. But you didn't count on me. I felt so powerful, seducing you and showing you my charms. I gave myself to you. You took my cherry out on the back porch, staining the blanket for good. At first it hurt, but soon it felt very nice indeed. I won't pretend I had an orgasm that first time, but god I was nearly delirious when I felt you explode up inside me.

"After that night, all the pain was over; there was nothing left ahead but pure pleasure. I pursued you, not that you were ever hard... except in the right place. After having fucked my tight little pussy once, you couldn't get enough of me. You were so easy. Every chance we got, you crawled on top of me and I slid beneath you, like right now, fucking each other crazy."

Kara groaned her way through an enormous orgasm. I was gritting my teeth trying to just hang on. She quieted down for a few minutes with the big smile. But quickly she got us going again. Her cunt bunny- fucking my cock. There was no way I'd last to give her another blow- out. My lord! And that was her m.o. There were slim fingers between us, squeezing a ring around the base of my cock, a whole hand gripped down in the sticky jungle at our juncture. Fingers juggling then stroking my balls. A stray from who knows which hand tracing the rim of my anus, a circling motion begging further invitation.

My mind was a haze of genuine confusion as the moment stuttered, shifting between faux-past and present, slipping in and out of fiction. Kara certainly had me convinced.

She sure had exploded from the inside out, her cunt still rippling down then up my shaft. I was what again? Sixteen? Just a step away from the sexual prime of my gender of this species. What else could I do?

This is what happens.

My balls came to a sudden massive boil. There was but the one release valve.

I began pumping what's known in legend and lore as a copious load into her waiting cunt.

I was churning that butter.

Kara held me belted in and there was no going but forward. Humping her clit against my pelvis. I had to be out of the special sauce for the moment, but tell that to my cock: it was still jumping away inside her. By then, I was beginning to think she wouldn't make it. Slamming my limpening self back up inside her, I was surprised to feel the squeal, the exhalation. With a low moan sucking in air, Kara crested. She crashed with abandon, her cunt rippling so violently the soft stub of my sex was quickly spat out.

We lay there like that, rolled on our sides face-to-face, giggling and touching at each other as the orgasmic edemas of our brains slowly subsided.

"So," I shrugged her a little smile as I let a finger trace the outline of hers. "Did you... really? Back then... think about this?"

Kara snorted. "Oh, get real! I was what? Maybe thirteen? Maybe some girls are advanced for their age, but not me. I hadn't even started my periods. My tits were like a boy's. All I knew about my pussy was what a weird way to have a pee-hole."

"Whatever the road, what a nice destination."

"Hmm!" Kara giggled. "That was just my cunt talking. Extemporaneously. Nice stuff, though, huh?"

"Can't argue that!" I rejoined.

We snuggled some more, Kara sort of humming against my neck. Then she pulled her head back to look me fully in the face.

"Mmm, I certainly didn't expect to get laid on this trip. And definitely not by such an expert cocksman," she grinned.

"Ohhh," I began modestly, honestly, leaving my commentary at that. I could feel the blush creeping. "If anything, I was, uhm, inspired."

"I mean it. That was grand. Let's do it again."

"We-ell, oka-ay," I tried to keep the future wide open.

"No, I mean like right now!"

I could help but agree with that. At least technically. There were those stupid physiological constraints that kept my response to just a smile.

"Oh that," she quickly guessed, cradling my sticky spent cock like a hatchling. "No problem there," she gave a gentle squeeze. Kara leaned in to whisper something in my ear. Or so I thought. The tip of her tongue danced on my earlobe, then darted out so fast and far I thought it'd come out my other ear. She pulled away laughing, caressing the wilt of my bloom again. "I'll take care of this situation. I have a Miracle Mouth."

Kara really was attempting the impossible. I wasn't some teenage buck with balls producing millions of sperm a minute. Sure, I could remember suffering, throbbingly, through math classes in school so dull I should have fallen asleep, except there happened to be a girl sitting in front of me, a girl I didn't find at all attractive but who had washed her hair with a shampoo the scent of which fanned the flames in my brain.

Sure, I could remember that, but that was just memory. While here I lay well past my sexual prime, thinking of my kids, thinking of her sister's kids, her sister and my sister and her sister's husband and my wife, my parents and hers, and how at any minute...

Kara lifted her head, giving it a toss that didn't quite get the hair out of her face. "I just love tasting myself on you. The taste of me and you mixed together."

One plus one... it's the simplest arithmetic. And by god I felt my extremities go numb as the blood concentrated itself elsewhere.

Even Kara got a surprised look, bent back down to work, suddenly finding her mouth absolutely filled with cock.

She sat back on her haunches looking terribly pleased. "Time for more fucky-fuck." She scooted up then practically jabbed me back inside of her.

She rode me at her leisure, gazing down at me with the smile of a saint transformed into marble. She was Cleopatra, gliding along the Nile. Then she turned into a bitch, full flesh and of this age, teasing me, teasing my cock with her cunt. Bringing me up just to let me down.

She allowed herself a long, voluptuous orgasm, then continued playing me. But by then I was nearly delirious. I hugged her hard down against me, and, before Kara could react, I rolled us over so that she was on her back again.

Kara's legs spread wide, but her eyes narrowed to slits. "Fuck me hard, but watch out: I bite!"

This is what happens.

I held her wrists down over her head as I fucked her. I tried to smother her mouth with lips and tongue, but then she slipped to the side and tried to bite me. She did bite me.

So I bit her back. Kara liked to be bitten almost as much as she liked to bite. We snarled at one another as I started to slam in and out of her in earnest. She got her hands free and then we were wild animals, rolling around the vast plain of the bed. Her legs started out spread toes pointing to opposite heavens; now the toes still didn't agree, but her legs crossed at the calves, locking me against her. Kara humped right back at me. The sloppy wet slurping of sex against sex.

The two of us banging away, steel striking against flint. Then the spark that erupted as a supernova. A double one. While reeling between the spurts of my cock, I was vaguely aware of Kara screaming, the Grand Canyon echoing of a woman in the midst of complete pleasure.

Then we were like two tissues crumpled up into one ball. The bed was so warm; Kara was so warm. Kara was so soft; the bed was so soft. Both Kara and her bed smelled so nice. My brain chemicals were in an overload of the happy mode, and my eyelids were weighted with lead.