Chapter 2

The day after she'd jacked me off to orgasm, I didn't have a chance to be alone with her until well after lunch. We had our morning chores to do and our mandatory bible study period, all performed with the oversight of Uncle John, who sat at his desk for the most part, preparing his sermon for the following Sunday. I was nervous, ashamed, uncertain, a variety of emotions assaulting me throughout the morning. I could not get a read on how Becky felt about what had happened between us. Her demeanor around the house, in the presence of her parents, was cool and emotionless, as it always was. Did she hate me? Would she never talk to me again?

Finally, after the last lunch dish was put away and after the kitchen table was wiped and after the kitchen floor was swept and mopped, she turned to me, offering a slight smile. "You ready to go for our ride?" she asked.

I looked at her face, which was still devoid of emotion. Becky would make a good poker player. "Sure," I answered. "Let me go get my hat."

California's Central Valley is a miserable place to be in August. During my three-week stay in Wheaton, the lowest daytime high temperature we experienced was 94 degrees. That was a particularly cool day. The average was closer to 98 and there had been two days where the mercury had peaked at 104. I was from Seattle where the hottest summer day rarely got much above 80 degrees and though I'd been to Wheaton before it had always been around Christmas when the weather was pretty much the same as Seattle's. I had never experienced oppressive heat like that before. It sapped the strength right out of you, leaving you drained and headachy. Becky had found it necessary to teach me basic heat precautions when we began having our daily rides; knowledge that the valley residents apparently were taught from birth. I had been completely unaware that this sort of heat could make you very sick or even kill you if you weren't careful. She taught me to always wear light colored clothes; shorts and white T-shirts were the best. She taught me to always wear a hat while exposed to the sun, explaining that it's glare on my unprotected skull could fry my brains. She taught me to always take water or Gatorade along and to drink it frequently, before thirst established itself. And, most important of all, she taught me to always wear some sort of sunscreen when I went outside in the sun for more than forty minutes after 11:00 in the morning. She'd punctuated this last instruction with a horror story of the time, when she was twelve, that she'd neglected to do this and had received a second degree sunburn on her shoulders and neck which had blistered and eventually resulted in an overnight stay at Wheaton Memorial Hospital for rehydration and pain control. But Becky, being Becky, was able to find a bright spot even in that. "They gave me some Demerol in my IV," she told me, nostalgia in her eyes. "Talk about a killer high."

Our normal routine was to apply the sunblock to our bodies in the kitchen, covering all exposed areas of skin before we went out to saddle the horses. Today, however, when I opened the pantry to get the family size bottle of sunblock that usually sat there, it was gone. I turned to Becky, who was behind me, to see if she'd already retrieved it. She had her backpack in her hands but no bottle of sunblock. I opened my mouth to ask her where it was and she held her finger to her lips, hushing me.

"We're going out for our ride now Daddy," Becky called towards the living room where Uncle John was still copying passages out of his large, leather-bound bible.

"Okay," he said absently. "Have fun. Did you two put on your sunscreen?"

"Yes Daddy," she lied, causing me to raise my eyebrows. What the hell was she doing? Did she want to get me sunburned so I could experience the killer high of Demerol also? It seemed a high price to pay. I gave her a questioning look but she just nodded towards the door that led outside. She opened it and stepped out into the afternoon heat. I followed her, closing the door behind me.

As we walked towards the barn I asked her why we hadn't put our sunblock on.

She glanced over her shoulder nervously, her eyes probing the windows of the house. "Because," she told me, "I thought it might be kind of fun to, you know, put it on each other." She smiled a little. "Just to make sure we don't miss any spots."

Apparently she wasn't mad about what had happened the previous night. It sounded like she wanted to do more. My dick began hardening already at her words. "Good idea," I told her, deadpan. "We wouldn't want to miss any spots now, would we?"

As we saddled up the two horses, she asked me, "Kevin, you're not, uh, mad or anything about what we did last night, are you?"

I looked at her, a sexy fourteen year old dressed in cotton shorts and a Central Valley Bible Camp T-shirt. Her breasts swelled the shirt nicely, stretching the blue letters and curving the fish emblem. I could see that her nipples were hard, visible through her bra and the shirt. I remembered what those breasts had looked like, had felt like last night and I felt dizzy all over with anticipation of seeing/feeling them again. "No." I shook my head. "I liked it Becky. I liked it a lot. I was wondering if you were mad at me."

She smiled. "No," she told me. "I'd never been so turned on in my life as I was last night. Not even with Mary Ann." She dropped her voice a little. "I played with myself last night after I went to bed. I thought about what we did and rubbed myself off and I came so hard, I almost screamed."

"Oh God," I moaned, feeling myself pulsating in my pants. I'd never known before that mere words could almost make you shoot in your pants.

She fastened the last hitch on her saddle and then came over to help me; I would never be as fast as she would in many ways.

"Let's do it," she told me when David's horse was saddled.

"Right," I replied, leading the mare out of the barn.

We climbed aboard and lit off towards the stream and privacy. Uncle John was standing on the porch as we trotted off. He raised his hand towards us. We raised ours in return, not slowing.

The ride to the stream took about twenty minutes. We talked little on the way, each lost in our own thoughts.

Our clearing, as I'd come to think of it, consisted of a slow-moving portion of the stream surrounded by towering oak and willow trees. It was nicely shaded, meaning the temperature stayed in the low nineties, and the water was warm and deep enough to swim in. We had never done any swimming though, Uncle John would no more have let us go off by ourselves with bathing suits than he would have let us fire up the Pepsi can bong in church. The ground at the streambed was soft dirt with patches of wild grass here and there. We dismounted the horses and allowed them to walk to the stream to rehydrate themselves.

Becky reached in her saddlebag and withdrew a blanket, which she tossed onto the ground by one of the oak trees. I licked my lips nervously as she did this. She'd never brought a blanket before. I wondered just how far things might lead today; something I'd not considered before. Vaguely I realized that she was my cousin and that we should not be doing things sexual to each other, that it was wrong, but these thoughts had no force behind them. The reality and availability of Becky drove them far into the back of my mind. She was a willing female and I was a horny teenager. The big head was shot down by the little one without even a token battle.

She sat down on the blanket and patted the ground next to her, smiling. I'd always sat next to her before without so much as a second thought but this time it felt as if I was crossing over some invisible line, that a conscious decision was required. I hesitated for a second and then sat next to her. She opened her backpack and withdrew a can of Pepsi and the baggie.

"First things first," she said, popping open the can and then upending it on the ground next to her.

We smoked a little more than we usually did, passing the can back and forth and making mundane conversation, much of which I can not even remember now. Finally, when we were both well into the stratosphere, she crumpled up the can and tossed it into a thick bramble of bushes. She stowed her pot back in her pack and removed the bottle of sun block. Her eyes were twinkling.

"Would you mind putting the lotion on me now?" she asked softly.

I shook my head, my mouth too dry to speak, and took the offered bottle of lotion. She spun around on the blanket, so her back was facing me, and lifted the hair off of the back of her neck. "Better start here," she said.

I squeezed a few dabs of the greasy liquid into my palm and then placed it on the back of her neck. Softly, I began rubbing it in, sliding my hands in little circles. Her skin was soft and sensual, especially with the added lubrication of the sunblock. Her hair was silky against my palm, tickling the back of my hand. I dipped slightly below her shirt, onto her shoulders and upper back, feeling the strap of her bra at the far reach of my probing. When she was well greased in this area, she spun around, facing me. She spread her legs, draping her thighs over mine and sliding closer to me, so that her face was only inches from mine and so her boobs were nearly touching my chest.

My breathing had quickened as I felt her nearness, as I felt the soft skin of her upper thighs meshing with mine. Becky was breathing faster also, her face flushed. Her boobs heaved up and down softly with the ebb and flow of her respiration.

"Do the front of my neck," she told me. "And then you can do my legs."

I nodded, speechless, cognizant of the painful erection in my shorts. Quickly I greased her neck, forehead, face. She smiled dreamily at my caresses, enjoying them, closing her eyes as I massaged the liquid into her skin. I then squeezed a generous portion onto my palm and, reaching slightly behind me, dropped my hand to the calf of her right leg, just above her sock.

She opened her eyes again, looking at my face as I began rubbing the lotion into her calf, her knee, and her thigh. Her legs were well muscled, not the least bit flabby, and they were smooth, soft, feminine. They twitched a little as I rubbed them, sliding closer and closer to the edge of her shorts. Looking down I could see a small hint of white peeking out from beneath the legband of her shorts. Her panties, I suspected. An actual pair of female panties that were actually covering a human vagina. And I was seeing it!

"Your hands are nice," Becky told me in a whisper. "I like the way you touch me."

"So are your legs," I returned.

She looked down at my rubbing hand, which was less than half an inch away from the crotch of her shorts. Her skin here was as soft as anything I'd ever felt before and I was entranced.

"Do you want to feel my pussy?" she asked quietly, her voice breaking.

I took a deep, involuntary breath in. "Yes," I told her. "Can I?"

She nodded, reaching down to the button on her shorts and unfastening it. She slipped the zipper down, revealing the white face of her panties in the gap that had been created. She scooted backwards, her legs dropping off of mine and coming together. The bottle of sunblock fell from my trembling hands as she raised her hips and slid off her shorts and panties. She tossed them aside and slid back into her previous position, spreading her legs and allowing me to gaze upon her most secret spot. She had a nest of black hair there, kinky, very similar to that on my own crotch. A pair of red pink lips showed faintly in the middle of the nest. They were swollen and puffy, giving off a sharp, musty odor.

"Touch me," she said. "Put your hands on me. Feel me."