Chapter 3

"Kevin!" she barked at me, her voice concerned. "Wake up!"

"Huh?" I started, reluctantly opening my eyes. I was drenched in sweat, particularly on my chest, where Becky's warm body had been lying. My hair was matted to my face and my balls ached dully. I didn't know how long I'd been asleep, but it had been a while. I was no longer stoned. My mind was slightly groggy from sleep and the aftermath of marijuana intoxication, but when I'd drifted off after Becky had sucked me to my second orgasm, I'd been peaking, at the pinnacle of my high. The absence of any remaining intoxication meant that at least two hours had gone by since then.

"Are you awake?" she asked, still naked from the waste down. She was sitting up next to me Indian style. Her pubic hair was matted and exuding a strong odor. Her skin was as moist with sweat as was my own. Her eyes showed mild concern.

"Yeah," I finally said, locking my eyes onto her slit. I couldn't help it, I was fourteen. My dick, reacting to the visual input, began hardening immediately at the sight.

Becky, seeing where my eyes were glued, slapped playfully at my head. "Would you take your mind off my pussy for a second." She giggled. "We've been asleep for hours! It's almost two o'clock!"

"It is?" I asked. That got through a little bit. That made it nearly three and a half hours since we'd left the farmhouse.

"Yes." She nodded. "And Daddy's gonna wonder why we were out so long. We're usually not gone for more than two hours."

"Oh," I said, still staring at her pussy. Her lips were no longer swollen, nor was her clit. None-the-less, those two lips were the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. My cock had been inside of them! I had fucked her! I was no longer a virgin! I felt myself stiffening as I pondered doing it again.

"Oh?" she asked, shaking her head and standing up. Near the stream the two horses were still standing obediently, lapping at the water now and then, not paying us the least bit of attention. "What do you mean 'oh'? We need to come up with a story for why we were out so long. Christ!"

She suddenly put her hands to her shirt and pulled it over her head, tossing it to the blanket. She began undoing her bra. She stopped, staring at me. "Well?" she demanded. "Are you going to get up, or what?"

My dick, unconcerned with such things as Uncle John and his thoughts on why we'd been out for three and a half hours, was quite 'up'. In fact it had become quite turgid as I watched Becky undo her bra, freeing those glorious tits.

She tossed her bra to the blanket, near her shirt and the jumbled mess of her shorts and panties. Standing there naked she noticed for the first time the state of my cock. Her eyes widened. "My God," she proclaimed. "Are you getting all horny again? We're about to get majorily busted, about to have the horses taken away, and you're getting horny? Are you crazy? We need to get cleaned up and get the hell out of here. If we're not back at the farm in the next twenty minutes we'll never leave that house again! Now quit staring at my tits and cunt, get your clothes off, and get the hell in the water so we don't smell like we just fucked each other!"

With that she turned abruptly and marched into the water. I watched her ass jiggle as she entered. I then stood and removed my shirt. When I was naked as she was I followed her into the water. It was pleasantly warm, refreshing, and I began to submerge myself.

"Don't get your hair wet," Becky warned, scrubbing herself with her hands. "He'll know we'd been swimming and he'll be forced to wonder what we were wearing while we were swimming. Just get clean and then get out so we can dry off and get dressed.

"Okay," I agreed, moving towards her, still completely unconcerned about my Uncle's reaction. I was watching Becky rub herself across her tits, through her dark pubic hair. My dick was now straining.

I came up next to her and took her in my arms, feeling her warm, wet flesh pushing against mine. It was the first time I'd been completely naked against her.

"What the hell are you doing?" she yelled as I began pawing at her tits, making the nipples stand up with my caresses. "We need to get out of here!"

I pulled her to me and put my mouth to hers, thrusting my tongue between her lips. My hand dropped down to her butt, feeling her firm cheeks. I ran my hand between them, squeezing the pulsating flesh.

"Kevin!" she yelled, breaking the kiss. "We don't have time to..."

I interrupted her with another kiss, pushing my body more firmly against her. She protested physically for another ten seconds or so and then her arms went around my neck, pulling me tighter, her tongue began to duel with mine. Her wet, bare tits pressed into my chest, the nipples hardening.

I pulled her towards the shoreline, until we were in less than six inches of water. She allowed me to do this, continuing to kiss me the entire time. I then pushed her backwards, forcing her to lie down in the water and muck. She did so willingly, spreading her legs as I lie between them, my dick searching for a target.

"Remember," she whispered, breaking our kiss for an instant and staring into my eyes. "Don't come in me."

"I won't," I said, thrusting forward and finding her opening.

I slid in easier this time, finding the friction much more pleasant. Soon her arms went around my back and my hips were a blur, slamming in and out of her. I'd done this before. I was now a veteran! Our motions sent water and bottom muck spraying in all directions. She moaned her way through an orgasm and a minute later I felt my own approaching.

I pulled myself out of her, going to my knees before her supine body, taking my cock in hand and spraying my seed all over her legs, pussy, stomach, and tits. The fact that I was masturbating before her, an act I'd sworn that I'd never done before, never even entered my mind.

When I finished she stared up at me a little breathlessly, her eyes shining. "Can we get cleaned up now?" she asked.

I smiled, looking at my white sperm beading up on her body, which was half-submerged in the stream. "Yeah," I said. "I guess we can."

Ten minutes later we were fully dressed and galloping the horses towards the farmhouse. Becky, over the thunder of the horse's hooves, was explaining to me what our story was. I listened carefully, memorizing my lines. I could not help but be impressed by the depth of my cousin's conniving nature. She not only came up with a story that made sense, but she also included multiple side-tracks to it, covering potential questions that Uncle John might ask in reaction to the story. In the fifteen-minute ride she'd drilled my part into me and left me with no time for self-doubt.

As we rounded the last group of trees and headed for the barn, we saw Uncle John standing outside of it, watching for us. Even from a distance we could see, simply by his posture, that he was anxious.

"You ready for this?" Becky asked me as we slowed the horses to a cantor.

"Yeah," I answered. "I think so."

"Just remember," she told me. "No matter what, stick to the story."

"Right."

We rode to him. He was glaring at us as we approached.

"Where in Heaven's name have you two been?" he asked us. "You've been gone for hours!"

We dismounted the horses slowly, feigning exhaustion. Becky began explaining her careful tale.

"I'm sorry Daddy," she told him. "But we were riding over by Smoky Ridge and we came across a bunch of cows that were wandering around by the river."

Uncle John looked at us for a moment, trying to read our faces. "Cows?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"They were Mr. Bradford's cows," Becky explained. "Just drinking out of the river and eating the grass. They had his brand on them."

"Nick's cows?" Uncle John said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes." Becky nodded. "Five of them. They'd gotten out. We herded them back to his fence." She looked at me and giggled. "You should've seen Kevin trying to corral them. It was pretty funny. I guess they don't teach you that in the city."

"I did my best," I protested, trying my best acting. "I never thought it would be so hard to get cows to go where you want them to though. Aren't they supposed to be dumb animals?"

"You were a help," Becky agreed, totally into her fiction. "But anyway, we herded them back to his property and found where they'd gotten out. He's got a section of fence down on his west property line."

"He does?" John asked, seeming to buy the bullshit we were spouting. In fact, on a ride more than a week before, before we'd become intimate together but after we'd began smoking her pot, she'd pointed out a loose section of fence along that particular piece of property. She'd told me that she'd noticed it down the week before I came to Wheaton and had rigged it back into position. A simple, neighborly thing to do. She had not mentioned this fact to anyone since it had seemed trivial and since she did not particularly care for her father knowing where she was in the habit of riding. But the repair she'd made then was perfect for her story now.

"Yes," Becky said, nodding furiously. "About fifteen feet of it. It took us a while but we managed to get the cows back through the hole in the fence. Once they were through we put the barbed wire back up the best we could. It should keep 'em in for now, but you'd better call Mr. Bradford and let him know about it. We didn't have stretchers or anything so he's gonna have to go out and fix the fence or they might knock it down again."

"You got the fence put back up?" John asked, not knowing what to think.

Becky then pulled her piece d' resistance on him. "Yeah," she said. "I cut my hand doing it too." She held up her palm, showing him a superficial scratch that she'd made with her own folding knife. "Good thing I had a tetanus shot last year."

"Goodness," he said, stepping closer and examining the wound. "Are you all right?"

"Sure Daddy. It's nothing. It hardly bled. But you better call Mr. Bradford pretty soon. I wouldn't want his cows to get out again."

"Of course not," John said. "Good work you two." He patted me on the back nearly hard enough to knock the wind out me. "So what do you think about your first roundup Kevin?"

"It was a lot of work," I said, keeping an expression of weary sincerity on my face. "We don't do things like that in Seattle."

"No," he said with a grin. "I guess you don't."

I then took a chance. "It must've been God's will that we happened along at that time."

From the corner of my eye I saw Becky's eyes shoot towards me for a moment and then return to the perusal of her father. I could tell that she was fighting hard to suppress laughter. Her hand came up to cover her mouth.

But John beamed at me, as if he was seeing Jesus Himself in my teenaged face. "I think maybe it was," he said. "You must take things like this as a sign."

"Really?" I asked, my face showing intense interest. "A sign from God?"

"Yes," he said, nodding enthusiastically. "The Lord works in mysterious ways. You must always be on the lookout for His guidance." He turned to his daughter. "Rebecca, you can take care of the horses can't you?"

"Huh?" she said, still fighting down chuckles. "Oh, sure Daddy."

"Good." He nodded. "I'm proud of both of you. Especially you Kevin. Let's go inside and discuss the ramifications of this event together." He turned and began walking towards the house.

I glanced for an instant at Becky. She was chortling softly and waving me towards the house. The crisis had passed.

Aunt Mary came home from her mission of comfort and gossip retrieval in time to make dinner for us. Uncle John delighted in telling her about how I was starting to see the signs of God at work. She beamed at me along with her husband. I kept my eyes well away from Becky's face during this discussion. I knew that if I looked at her, made eye contact with her, I would start braying hysterical laughter. God's will manifested in loose, fictional cows. What an idiot my Uncle was. Even at fourteen I could see that. I began to fully understand my father's drive to get out of this place, this family. I could see how even a hot war in Vietnam was preferable.

After our evening chores were completed, as Uncle John watched a baseball game on television and Aunt Mary sat on the couch knitting a comforter, Becky and I went out to the porch. "To enjoy the sunset," she'd told her father. Actually we just wanted to talk in privacy.

The evening was muggy and warm, the air still and tinged with an ugly brown haze. Becky had told me once that the haze was smog that had drifted over from the Sacramento area. Mosquitoes buzzed around us, desperately wanting to feed upon us but kept at a distance by the repellant we'd sprayed on ourselves prior to leaving the house. That was Wheaton for you. Sunscreen during the day, mosquito repellant at night. Only in the mornings did you not have to put some sort of chemical on your body in order to survive.

We sat on the porch swing and watched the sun sinking below the horizon, turning the brown haze into beautiful hues of orange and red. Becky looked at me for a moment and then started laughing. "God's will?" she chuckled, slapping playfully at me. "You're a fuckin' master Kevin. Jesus. I almost lost it when you started spouting that shit."

I shrugged, admiring her body in her shorts and T-shirt, remembering what it had felt like naked against mine. I couldn't wait to do it again. Now that I'd had a taste of her, I was insatiable. "It was the first thing that came to mind," I said, sliding a little closer to her. Maybe I could feel her up a little? "He bought it, didn't he?"

"Oh fuckin' aye he bought it," Becky nodded, eyeing my creeping suspiciously. "You pushed exactly the right button." She gave me a stern look. "Just ease on back over to your side of the bench." She told me.

"What's the matter?" I asked, hurt. "Don't you want to be next to me?"

"More than anything," she said sincerely. "But they're right inside the house. We have to be very careful. If they suspect that we have so much as kissed each other, we'll never be allowed to be alone again. You'll just have to wait until our rides. You can do that, can't you?"

I sighed. "I suppose." Already I was adding up how many days I had left here: nine of them. That meant nine more encounters. Only nine! I had never thought that I'd be wishing to stay in Wheaton beyond what I'd already been sentenced to.

"And there's one more thing I need to talk to you about," she said, lowering her voice a tad. "When we do it, you can't put it in me anymore if we don't have a rubber. I can still get pregnant you know, even if you don't shoot it in me."

"What?" I asked, shocked. "A rubber? Where in the hell are we going to get a rubber? Its not like I can go into the drug store and buy some."

Becky smiled. "I would have thought you'd have more faith in me than that by now," she said. "I have a plan. Today is Friday. Tomorrow we'll just have to do without, you know, the big event."

"You mean we can't do it tomorrow?" I was bitterly disappointed.

"We can't do the grand finale," she said, reaching over and giving my hand a sensual squeeze. "But we can do some of the other things we've learned." She licked her lips lasciviously. "But on Sunday, that's when we're gonna score the rubbers."

"Sunday?" I asked. "That's church day."

"Exactly. And it's fitting, if you think about it. God's will even."

I laughed about that for a moment and then asked, "but how?"

"Well," she said, "let me explain operation acquire condom to you."

She began to talk.

Saturday was a good day. We finished our chores early and went out for a long ride. We smoked her grass, got pleasantly stoned, and then spent about two hours experimenting with various ways that two teenagers could pleasure each other without actually making vaginal/penile contact. I licked her pussy for more than forty minutes, listening to her careful instructions on what felt good and what did not. I gave her several orgasms with my tongue and another with my fingers. She sucked my cock for more than thirty minutes, experimenting with various techniques and pressures, eliciting instruction from me on the finer points, and finally taking a monstrous load down her throat. We took a shot at anal sex but were forced to abort the attempt due to lack of lubrication and severe pain on Becky's part. After washing my cock off, she sucked it once more for me, putting all of her new found knowledge to work and bringing me off in less than five minutes. We cleaned ourselves up and headed for home.

As we moved the horses along at a gentle walk, both of us sweating in the heat but also basking in the afterglow of multiple orgasms, Becky asked me, "are you ready for your big acting debut tomorrow?"

I made a sour face at her. "Sure," I said. "I'm just a little embarrassed at what I have to fake. I mean, are you sure there isn't another way?"

She looked at me, offering her cynical smile. "Oh sure, there's lots of ways I can think of," she said. "I could matchstick the tires on the car making him have to stop for air. I could drain out some of his oil so that the warning light comes on and forces him to stop for oil. I could siphon out the gas and make him have to stop for that. I could do a lot of things but you still have to have an excuse to go into the bathroom and the more details you add into a plan, the more likely it is something will go wrong. Trust me, this is simple and it will work. Just remember to start playing it up about a half-hour after breakfast. But don't play it up too hard or Mom will make you lay in bed all day sipping chicken soup." Her eyes gleamed. "I have better plans for you later."

"And you're sure they'll fall for this?"

"Please," she said mildly. "Whenever I fake an illness I always fake one based on fact. I have a copy of a medical book in my room just for such occasions. I research extensively before putting anything into practice. This will work, believe me. It's the exact, textbook definition of irritable, food oriented, gastroenteritis that I've given you. If you follow my script you could fool a fucking doctor."

"I'll take your word for it," I told her. "But it's still embarrassing."

"You'll get over it," she said, offering me a sexy smile. "Probably about the time we leave for our ride with those rubbers in our hands. Just think, you'll be able to shoot off in me."

My dick stiffened a little at the very thought, which brought me to a subject that I'd been dying to bring up with her since the first night she'd mentioned it.

"Hey Becky?" I asked.

"Yeah?" she said.

"Your girlfriend Mary Ann. How come you've never introduced her to me?"

Becky looked at me knowingly, probably reading my very thoughts. "Why do you want to meet her?" she asked. "Are you thinking about watching her eat me out and suck my tits? Or do you maybe want to try and fuck her too?"

"No no!" I protested, shaking my head strenuously. "I was just wondering. I wasn't thinking about anything like that."

Becky chortled. "The hell you weren't." She gazed at me. "But I'll tell you what. Maybe a little meeting can be arranged before you leave." She nodded. "Yes, I think that would be very interesting."

Sunday morning promised to be another hot, miserable day in Wheaton. By the time Aunt Mary served us breakfast, which consisted of fried eggs, sausages, hashbrowns, and toast, the mercury had already climbed well past eighty degrees. I stuffed Aunt Mary's food into my mouth voraciously. Whatever else she was, that woman could cook.

About thirty minutes after eating, just as Becky and I were finishing up kitchen duty, I began to go into my act. When Mary passed by, looking for vegetable oil in order to grease up her iron frying pan for storage, I clutched my stomach a little and grimaced, as if uncomfortable.

"Kevin?" she asked, employing her motherly voice, her eyes searching my face. "Are you all right?"

I straightened up, pretending to shrug off whatever was bothering me. "Sure Aunt Mary," I replied. "Just a little stomach cramp. I guess I ate a little too much today, you know?"

She smiled, reaching for the oil. "Sometimes God doesn't tell us to stop soon enough," she sermonized. "It's understandable."

I smiled back. "Especially with your cooking," I told her honestly.

She beamed at me and went about her business.

Over the next forty-five minutes, while we were getting dressed for church, I made both Mary and John aware that I was experiencing minor stomach complaints. I shrugged off their inquiries each time, stating, as Becky had instructed, that my stomach was simply cramping a little and rumbling. I assured them each time that it was nothing. They expressed concern for my condition and then went about their business.

At nine-thirty we piled into the family station wagon, dressed in our suits and dresses and headed for the First Baptist Church of Wheaton. Services actually began at ten o'clock but Uncle John, as the minister, was always there early in order to greet his congregation. John fired up the gas guzzling, American made, eight-cylinder engine, and began piloting the vehicle into town.

I sat in the back, next to Becky. Our target for the mission was a Union 76 gas station on the outskirts of the town. As we approached it, Becky gave me a furtive look and a barely perceptible nod. I nodded back and reached quietly down with my left hand, between my seat and the back door of the car. Becky had stashed a saturated sponge there earlier. My fingers found it and squeezed it, wetting my hand thoroughly. I looked in the rear view mirror and, when I was certain that John was not looking backwards, raised my wet hand to my face and spread the water there.

Once my face was dripping to my satisfaction I began to groan lightly, clutching my stomach. Uncle John and Aunt Mary, hearing my cries, both looked back at me. They saw my wet face and the look of misery I'd manufactured and their eyes showed immediate concern.

"Kevin?" Mary asked, turning in her seat. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I said, breathing heavily. "It's nothing."

"You're all sweaty," she said. "What's the matter?"

I gulped, as if suppressing information. But finally I said, "my stomach feels funny." I looked forward, seeing the orange and white gas station sign approaching. "I need to, you know... ?"

"To what?" John demanded. "What's the matter?"

"Can you uh..." I panted, "stop at that gas station for a minute?" I pointed up ahead. "I have to, you know, go."

"You can't wait until we get to the church?" John asked.

"No," I groaned, feigning pain and doubling a little. "I don't think I can."

"John!" Mary proclaimed, alarmed. "He's sweating! You'd better stop."

"Okay," John nodded, speeding up a little. "A little stomach problem. Will you be okay?"

I groaned again, doubling over more. He spun the car into the parking lot and I made a big show of fumbling with the door lock and finally exiting the vehicle. I trotted, stooped over, towards the men's room on the side of the building, ripping open the door and slamming it behind me. In Seattle, such a door would have been locked, had it existed at all, but in Wheaton they were a little more trusting of their fellow man.

The bathroom was nothing short of disgusting. It appeared not to have been cleaned in the better part of a year and the smell was nearly enough to make me puke. The toilet was clogged with old feces, waterlogged cigarette butts, and damp, disintegrating toilet paper, the water line approaching the rim. Illiterate graffiti covered every available surface, including the toilet seat. But my target was there, just as Becky had promised. It was a condom machine offering four different varieties, mounted just behind the toilet.

I reached into my pocket and retrieved the packages that Becky had given me earlier that morning. They were quarters from her piggy bank wrapped lovingly in tissue paper so they would neither clank nor make a noticeable bulge. I began feeding them into the machine, choosing the unlubricated Trojans. They popped out of the little slot at the bottom and I stuffed them into my suit pocket, getting twenty of them in less than ninety seconds. I figured that would be a sufficient supply for my remaining time in Wheaton. Becky had assured me she had a suitable hiding place for them. I believed her.

When I exited the bathroom my face was clean and I put on an expression of relief mixed with mild embarrassment.

"Are you okay?" John and Mary asked in unison as I resumed my place in the car.

"Much better," I told them, slamming the door. "I don't know what came over me."

"Probably something you ate," Mary opined, searching my face for signs of lethal infection. "It happens sometimes. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I think so," I told her with shaky confidence. "I feel a lot better now."

We continued our drive. When John and Mary were looking forward I held my hand near my lap and gave Becky a thumbs-up signal.

I exhibited no further symptoms of my "stomach ailment" neither during the long, boring, mindless church service nor on the ride home. Aunt Mary diagnosed it as a simple case of "indigestion" and let it go. Becky and I did our afternoon chores and then went off for our ride as usual.

The condoms were not quite what I'd expected. They were easy to apply, you simply rolled them down the length of your cock, but when we tried actual penetration we encountered our first problem. They were unlubricated condoms. My cock slipped about a half an inch into her wet pussy and then stopped hard, going no further no matter how hard I pushed.

"Come on!" Becky begged. "Put it in! Fuck me!"

"I'm trying!" I cried. "It won't go in!"

After some simple experimentation we figured out how to lube the condom with saliva (hers). Once I was inside of her the going was much easier. She seemed to enjoy herself but I noticed a distinct difference between fucking her this way and fucking her sans condom. The sensation was not quite the same, less intense somehow, though the actual gripping of her tight pussy was unchanged. But it was nice to blast off my load while still thrusting inside of her.

When we finished I pulled off the rubber and tossed it into the stream. We watched it float downstream until it disappeared.

"I liked it," Becky told me when it was gone. "I like the way your body feels when you come. You get all tense."

"You do too," I told her, leaning my face forward and kissing her. Our tongues met and a second later my wet dick was regaining life.

We broke our kiss and Becky looked at it. "Again?" she asked, putting her hand on it and fondling it back to complete stiffness.

"We have nineteen more rubbers to use," I said seriously.

"Well let's get to work."

At the dinner table that night the subject of Timmy Wilson dominated the talk. His body was due to arrive at Sacramento Airport at 11:30 the next morning. From there it would be transported to the local funeral home for viewing prior to the funeral which was scheduled to take place the day after that. Uncle John, in combination with the funeral home owner, was heavily involved in all aspects of the planning. He would officiate at the services, for which a marine honor guard was flying in to give the traditional salute.

"We have to leave the house by 9:30," John was telling his wife, "so we can drive down to Sac with the Wilsons in time for the plane." He shook his head sadly and said, for perhaps the hundredth time, "awful business, just awful."

"Will there be news cameras there?" Mary asked. "At the airport?"

"I imagine there will," John said solemnly.

"It's just horrible how the news hounds people when such a tragedy happens." Her voice was stern but I could see in her eyes that she was excited at the thought of appearing on camera with her husband. I would have been willing to bet my remaining condom supply that she would spend an additional hour or so on her hair and make-up.

"How long will you be gone tomorrow?" Becky asked casually, as if she couldn't stand the thought of them absent from the house for long.

"Probably most of the day," John said, stuffing a huge piece of roast beef into his mouth. He continued to talk as he chewed. "After we take the body to the funeral home we'll have to stay for the viewing of course. I'll have to stay late planning the funeral and so forth, but I imagine Mom will be able to come home in time to fix you two dinner."

"Oh," Becky said thoughtfully, her poker face firmly attached. "That's good."

"Will you two be able to find your own lunch?" Mary asked.

Becky glanced at me for a moment. "Oh, I imagine we'll be able to put a few things together."

Later that evening Uncle John was regaling me with yet another of his lectures. He was somehow equating the American armed forces with those fabled Christian soldiers from the hymn. It seemed what we were really fighting for over in Beirut was Christianity and the godly way of life. He assured me (as if I was worried about it) that our brave fighting men would be ultimately victorious over there and that religious freedom and God would prevail. He of course had no way of knowing that in about two months a man even more fanatical on the subject of God than he was would blow up more than two hundred of those Christian soldiers and that shortly after that, they would all be pulled out of there, leaving the place to the wolves.