Dear Diary

I hadn’t seen Cousin Jake since he was twelve and I was ten. What a brat he was. A naughty brat. He teased me, and okay, I liked it. I guess I was pretty bratty too. I guess I kinda teased him too. Some of the teasing was kind of naughty, I suppose. But now he’s in college and he’s staying with us for a few days before heading out to Mount Rushmore for some kind of volunteer work. Probably taking tickets. I don’t imagine he’ll be climbing the Presidents like in that Hitchcock movie.

I was surprised Jake gave me a diary as a high school graduation gift.

“Penmanship is a lost art,” he said.

“Right,” I said, “so what am I supposed to write?”

“Your innermost secret thoughts,” he said.

Right. So I’m up in my room and he’s in the guest room right across the hall, and no matter how hard I try I can’t keep from thinking about him, wondering if he’s thinking about me. Like maybe he’s thinking about me and touching himself. Maybe he’s sitting in the plush chair that matches mine and his hand is on his cock, and it’s so big and strong, and he’s stroking it, stroking faster and faster, and, oh gosh, suddenly he’s coming, shooting his cum cream so high and far...