I stood on the veranda of the cabin wearing nothing but a towel, which covered me from nipples to snatch. Eight or ten decks below, two burly men, each wearing a hard hat, were the only living things in sight on the creaking scow, larger than a football field. They were scanning the side of our ship, checking each veranda for life, especially female life. Their eyes kept coming back to me, trying to see through the Plexiglas below the railing, straining to see my bush from under the towel, fantasizing surely what they would like to do to me.

I watched the vessel, heavy with diesel fuel, pushing up against the port side of our cruise liner. It was held there by the tug boat Lover Girl, a name which seemed fitting under the circumstances. The deck of the scow was strewn with ladders, hoses, lights, tank covers and the like. Around the edges were huge booms, ready to scoop up the drippings in the event of a spill. I had the impression that these ships didn't refuel in the States because of the fear of spills.

Huge black hoses, appearing to be six or twelve inches in diameter, throbbed on the deck of the scow as they carried thousands of gallons of diesel to fuel the balance of our cruise. All I could think of was my lover's cock. It wasn't that big of course, nor was it black, but I love it so when it throbs its own brand of fuel into my pussy – or somewhere else.

To my right, in front of the ship, I could see the downtown shopping area of the foreign island at which we were docked. The streets would soon be crowded with my fellow passengers, racing from store to store looking for bargains. Men would search for Duty Free liquor and their wives for perfume, linens and jewelry. But a few of the couples were different.

Those women would be attractive, thirty-something single mothers, real estate saleswomen, secretaries, teachers. The men would be divorced lawyers or doctors out for a fun time. The women had spent months giving the men each and every one of their orifices, servicing them in unimaginable ways, just as I serviced my lover. The only difference was that my lover is also my husband. The women would be dragging the men from jeweler to jeweler, hoping beyond hope for the hardest substance known, a diamond set into an engagement ring. The men on the other hand, whose hardest substance was a blood-filled cock, spent the time dreaming up excuses about why is just wasn't yet the time. The only fear each man had was that his desperate woman might finally accept the truth, that all he wanted to do was to fuck her blind, and that she would spend the rest of the cruise sleeping on a chair in the cabin.

Directly ahead of me, over the scow and behind the beaches lining the bay, stood a number of luxury hotels, likewise occupied by lovely women and the men using them, the sole difference being that the hotel guests came by air, not by cruise ship. I wondered how gallons of cum they collectively accepted each day, how much anal intrusion, in vain hopes of matrimony.

Noises behind me made me turn my head. Through the open sliding door, the naked girl knelt on the bed, face on the pillow, and ass in the air. Behind her, my beloved, my husband was busy lubricating her with his fingers, stretching her sphincter, exploring the darkness which would soon know, for the first time ever, an invasion of eight inches of aroused manhood. The look on his face was one not of lust but of caring and concern that the pain he was about to inflict would not be too severe.

The girl's breasts hung down, swinging as her body shifted under my husband's fingers. The girl was only fourteen, conveniently my lover's favorite age for the fantasies that he likes to carry out. I on the other hand prefer them a little older. Though her nipples were firm, the fourteen year old breasts themselves had not yet grown to their full maturity. Her ass however was already perfect, whether fully clothed or naked as she then was. It compared favorably with – nay, it outclassed – any of the seventeen or eighteen year old asses gracing the pool on the Lido deck, as well as those thirty-somethings now on shore.

He whispered my name. Like the song from West Side Story, 'say it soft and it's almost like praying.' It was time, his voice said, for me to go back inside the suite, to join them in that brand new experience that the girl was about to undergo.

I dropped my towel and leaned over the railing, giving the two workers – the only people who could possibly see me without the aid of a telescope – a good look at my tits. They began to whistle. I blew them each separate kisses and turned toward the room, knowing that down below they were imagining scaling the side of the cruise ship with knives in their teeth, like old time pirates, and having their way with me. My husband would enjoy watching that, no doubt. I'd probably also enjoy them doing it.

Well, if I have your attention now, maybe I should begin my story.

JAN – YEARS AGO

I'm Jan. I had what you might call a standard childhood, sexually, that is. I watched a lot of television and saw more and more girls with big tits – I didn't even know the word then - hanging out of their bikinis and pimply guys with clothes on acting stupid around them. Which I guess is what guys have been doing since the beginning of time, because they still do. But I digress. Then I started to rub my cunny – what a yucky word they teach little girls – and play with my clit. There was no special reason to do that, none of the girls in school had mentioned anything about it. It just came naturally and I did it because I enjoyed it. I really, really enjoyed it.

Sure enough, one day Mom walked into my room while I was doing the nasty with myself – her words; I've come to believe that the expression requires two people. Anyway, it was time for the talk about the birds and the bees, only she never mentioned either of those species. No, she started right out with a man and a woman. Cock, cunt, fuck, cum; that's what she talked about. Oh shit, no, not with those words, silly; I learned those later in school. With Mom, it was penis and vagina, it was 'puts it inside her' or intercourse, and it was seed and egg. Well, I guess we still say egg.

Now, the dumb part of her speech had to do with waiting until I grow up, meet some boy, fall in love, and get married. It never occurred to me that Mom must have masturbated when she was my age, but I sure as hell knew that her speech wasn't going to convince me to stop playing with myself. I was going to keep doing it forever, or so I thought, every day, twice a day. And I was going to talk to all the girls at school about it. And that's when they taught me the real words, the ones we use in real life, not in textbooks in Health class.

Well, I waited until I 'grew up' because that didn't take very long. From undershirts to training bra to real nice tits – or so they told me, and yes, I had good reason to believe them – seems from where I am now to have been the mere blink of an eyelash. It was a pleasant feeling, twisting my head to look over my shoulder and see in a mirror what the boys were always staring at, the way my tits stuck out there. I got to that point faster than a lot of my friends, and I could tell that some of them were jealous of the attention that my girls got me from the boys. And from more than one teacher, you may be sure.

After that, it became more than just enjoying the boys peek sideways at my body. I actually started to talk to them, more than 'hello, how are you, how do you like the weather'. Rather, growing up was listening to them, hearing what they thought about real stuff, letting my own hair down just a teeny bit. And those boys fell into a number of different categories, though they shared one commonality. They all wanted to play with my tits.

There were the athletes, with IQs ranging all over the place. They had the impression that a varsity letter on sweater or jacket entitled them to have every girl in the school swooning over them, falling down before them. (That was before I learned about kneeling down before a guy to suck his cock, which had advantages and disadvantages.)

Alongside them were the hunks, the guys with extremely good looks. For reasons that I've never figured out, most of them were among the better students. As with the athletes, the hunks knew that they attracted girls, and many of them were not above making some sort of sexual demand on a girl in return for his paying attention to her.

We also had the usual collection of nerds. These were nice enough, smart enough but simply not exciting. Those were the ones that we girls described as 'I'd rather use a vibrator.'

Lastly, and best of all, there were some boys in school who just 'had it, ' the skill to make a girl feel as if she was the center of the conversation, guys who knew not to talk about themselves and their achievements but rather to ask about hers, about her family, her friends, her hopes. Those were the ones who made me wet, who caused me to change my panties the moment that I got home from school. Todd was one of those boys.

Understand that every boy, in any of those categories, was only interested in getting inside my pants. And when I say 'my' pants, I'm not just talking about me, Janice Michaels, but about everyone in the building with indoor plumbing, students, teachers, lunchroom biddies and probably stray cats. But Todd was the first one to tempt me.

Though I'd seen him around school, he'd made no impression on me until I met him at a church social. We danced, we laughed, we shared a root beer. He walked me home afterwards. I let him kiss me at my door but I stopped him when he tried to give me a little feel. Not that I would have minded, not that I didn't play with my own tits from time to time, but I was smart enough to make him put a little more effort into it, a little more dating. I wanted him to have something to fantasize about as he spanked his monkey later on, as I knew he would.

The next two dates were at the movies. Oh yeah, I let him squeeze my tits while we kissed, but I made him keep his hands outside of my blouse or sweater. He wanted me to rub his cock – from outside – but I figured that tit would keep him quiet for a while. Of course, what he really wanted was to whip it out and have me suck on it until he could cum in my mouth, but he would have settled for plain old rubbing. Too bad, Todd. Until...

We were at a party in his friend Billy's basement. Billy's parents weren't home. We had four couples there. Todd and I had one couch, Billy and some Asian girl had the other and the two remaining couples squeezed onto separate oversized lounge chairs. The evening had started out with bright lights and loud music, but after a while it became dim lights and soft music. I could smell weed in the air and while I didn't indulge directly, I was enjoying the second hand smoke. Todd and I were necking; he was working my tits and still trying to get me to put my hand on his cock.

As we kissed, I was watching the three other couples. Stuff was going on there that I had never experienced. The two couples on the lounges were dry humping – yes, I knew what that was – and Billy and his date were stretched out on the couch, the girl on top. Billy's hands were playing with her tits, such as they were, Asian girls being somewhat slimmer or at least less busty than Anglos. He started working on the buttons of her blouse and soon had it wide open. She shrugged it off her shoulders and lifted her hands, one at a time, so that it would fall off of her arms.

Todd in the meantime had one hand under my sweater, around my back. I felt his fingers briefly and then my bra was open. Across the room, Billy was doing the same thing with his date. I've always wondered where boys learn that one-handed trick. Do they learn it from their sisters? Wow, maybe from their mothers? That would be kind of too much to imagine. Or maybe it's just inborn, instinctive, in their genes like breathing or blue eyes or jerking off. In any event, I've never met any guy who couldn't do that trick without the least bit of fumbling.

For the first time, I felt fingers other than my own caressing my nipples. And I enjoyed the sensation. I sat up, pulled my sweater over my head and dropped it onto the floor, along with my bra. Leaning forward, I let a tit fall into Todd's open mouth and felt him begin to nurse. From the lounge chairs, one on either side of me, I heard the sounds of stereophonic slurping, the unfamiliar yet unmistakable sounds of mouths sucking cocks.

Zipper sounds came from the couch opposite, drawing my eyes. Billy and his date were opening their jeans and letting them fall to the floor. His shorts followed, as did the girl's panties. I had never seen a live, erect cock before. I didn't know whether or not to be impressed but I was. When the girl dropped onto the couch and threw one leg over the back of it, I knew that I was about to be treated to the sight of real live fucking.

Three of the boys in that basement were about to cum, in one opening or another. The fourth had my nipple in his mouth and surely did not want to be 'odd man out'. But I wasn't ready to take Todd's cock into my mouth, much less into that sacred opening between my legs. Yet what could I do without appearing to be a ... what? Sissy? Scardy-cat? Prude? Or worst of all, a cock-teaser?

I sat up, zipped open Todd's slacks and pulled them down. His cock popped out through the fly of his shorts. It looked to be about the same size as Billy's. I wrapped a hand around it and began to stroke it, hard, fast, up toward his stomach. My eyes never reached his face, concentrating instead on the slit in the middle of the crown and the little fluid oozing out of it. I thought that he might be smiling but I learned later that his eyes were closed. Either way, I soon felt his cock harden, heard him gasp and felt his shaft throb. One, two, three and then a weak fourth spurt, not making it past the waist band of his shorts.

From the other couch I heard moaning. I looked and saw Billy on top of the girl, his cock inside her, reappearing and then disappearing again inside her. The sight made me hot but then again, my date was temporarily uninterested in sex for the time being.

I escaped the evening with mouth and pussy still virginal, though my right hand had lost its purity.

BILL

That 'Asian girl," as Jan called her, and as she later learned, was my cousin Joy. Her mother and mine were sisters. Through some strange quirk of biology, neither was able to conceive a child. My parents worked through the Church and soon found a young pregnant girl willing to give up her child (me) for adoption. Mom's sister and her husband took a different tack, travelling to Korea to pick up Joy for adoption.

She and I grew up together, living next door to each other in attached houses, what they call Bronx Italian construction. Our mothers used to joke about bathing us together, but they stopped that kind of talk when Joy and I reached puberty. I guess that they figured talking about such stuff in front of the children would give them ideas that our parents thought maybe we weren't ready for.

But I'll bet that you can guess where this part of the story is going, can't you?

In my experience, though I can't claim to be an expert, most Asians are either fat or thin, with not so many of them in the average zone. Even if I'm wrong, the point of this is that Joy was on the thinner side. Nevertheless, she did grow enough tit to make me realize that she was in fact a girl. This was at a time when my hormones were beginning to rage, and I was flogging my log continuously, or so it seemed. Now, when a guy is going to jerk off, he prefers some kind of visual assistance. We start with maybe one of the department store catalogs that may have three or four color pages of women's bras and panties. If one of those is not available, I'd settle for a black and white newspaper ad, but those stores do not run underwear ads every day.

Then I'd progress to the Swimsuit edition, which is really stupid for a sports magazine but I guess it helps them sell that issue. Finally, every once in a while I'd get my hands on a nice hardcore DVD and whack off until my cock was sore.

But sometimes none of the above was available, and all I would have would be my imagination. In some of the stories that you read on this website, the guys would fantasize about their mothers as they jerk off. That wasn't for me; my mother was just my mother. What did work for me was thinking about some of the girls from school, especially those with the real big tits. And then I finally began to notice my cousin Joy. It wasn't her tits, actually, though I did notice them, but her nice tight ass in a pair of jeans and her pretty face.

When I started thinking about Joy, when I'd cum, I pictured my creamy sauce splattered all over her face, dripping down her cheeks. After that, she became my favorite (mental) target, though she never could possibly replace visual stimulation, especially DVDs. My masturbation fantasies about Joy included shooting my cum onto her tits and shoving my cock into her mouth or twat. I never thought about fucking her in the ass, but I eventually did it. Fucked her ass, that is, not just thought about it.

Still, she was my cousin, and while her inspiration drew much cum out of my balls, I knew that I would never get to touch her. Happily, once in a while, I'm wrong, for which, curiously enough, I have to thank the City Building Department. As I said, our parents had bought two houses next to each other, planning to connect them. When they applied for the permit to punch a hole in the basement walls to put in a door, they were told that the walls between the houses were not to be breached because that might allow a fire to spread. Ah, serendipity.

When Joy's parents decided to take a seventeen day cruise, the absence of a connecting door made it impossible for them to leave Joy alone in her house. She had to come over to our side and stay in the guest room. Isn't fate wonderful?

It was her second night in our house. I had spent the day trying to peek down her blouse, look under the bottom of the guest room door and sundry other ways to satisfy my prurient interest in my lovely cousin. All to no avail. That evening I knew that she was in the basement family room, watching TV. I waited until my parents went to bed and then walked downstairs, hoping at least to see her in her pajamas, without a bra, not that she absolutely needed a bra. She was on the couch when I opened the door. She touched a button on the clicker and said "Hi." I sat on the couch next to her, but not touching.

"What are you watching? The national news?" I asked her.

She looked at me sideways. "I just changed it when I heard the door. Wanna see what I was watching?"

I shrugged. She pressed a button and the screen filled with writhing naked bodies, one male and one female. My mouth fell open and I turned to look at her. She had a big grin on her face and sat back to watch. I too watched, speechless, but my mind was racing. My cousin watches porn? Does she do anything more than watch? How can I find out? I sat watching as I tried to figure out my next move.

The scene showed the girl sucking on the guy's cock; I was mesmerized. My cock grew quickly as I watched her head bobbing up and down on his meat. My hand fell into my lap and I slowly rubbed my groin, almost unconsciously. Joy looked at me for a few moments and then put her hand on top of mine. I stopped rubbing, realizing what I had been doing. My cousin removed her hand from my lap and then returned it, only this time underneath my own. Her fingers slid into the opening of my pj's and took my engorged fuck stick into her control.

Holy shit, I thought, my cousin is giving me a hand job. I closed my eyes, ignoring the sex on the screen and concentrating instead on the real live caresses that I was then undergoing. My free hand went around her shoulders and slid into the top of her pajamas. She was braless, as expected. Her young breasts were soft, spongy, but with hard nipples crying out for tweaking. She leaned against me and we watched the two actors, each of us deep in our own thoughts. I turned and kissed her, and her tongue forced its way into my mouth. Forced, I say, as though I really tried to keep it out.

She rubbed me for no more than a couple of minutes before she stopped and began to unbutton her top, tucking it between the seat cushions. I stood and shucked my bottoms, leaving me with nothing on except a bathrobe. She stood with me, dropping her own bottoms. I'd never seen real bare snatch before, shiny pink lips surrounded by wisps of black fuzz. If I hadn't already been hard, that would have done the trick easily.

When I sat down, she pushed me farther, stretching me out lengthwise on the couch. Her head moved into my groin. There is no way to describe that exquisite feeling when a warm, wet mouth was wrapped for the first time around my cock. What I mean is that it was the first time for my cock; as to her mouth I didn't know – at the time.

In reality, the excitement was not as much from her mouth as from her tongue, washing my cock, pushing as though she was trying to force her tongue into me through my piss slit. But as quickly as she had taken me into her mouth, she pulled away. Instead, she wrapped a hand around my guy and began to jerk me off while at the same time taking my nut sac in between her lips, sucking and washing them too.

And then she did it. She let go of my balls, took my cock back inside her mouth and suddenly shoved a finger up my ass. I blew my load instantly, throb after throb of cum transferring from cock to stomach without seeing the light of day. It felt like a gallon of cum spurting out of me, though my brain – later – told me that it had to have been no more than the usual amount that I would catch in my palm.

I lay there catching my breath as Joy's warm exhale spread over my groin. Then she stood up and stepped onto the couch, one foot on either side of my head. All I could see, or at least focus on, was a pair of legs that seemed to go on forever, topped by a beautiful cunt.

"Holy shit, Joy, where did you learn that stuff?" I asked.

"You don't need to know, Billy," was all she said.

Then she started to sink down toward my face. I knew what she wanted. In my twelve or so years, I had spoken to enough guys, read enough online, seen enough DVDs. She expected me to eat her out and I knew that I had fucking well better do it or I'd never get near Joy again. But I'd heard too much about the fact that pussy smells like dead fish and the idea of eating it scared the shit out of me. As her center of sex came closer and closer to my face, I wondered if I could hold my breath long enough to make her cum and get off of me.

Who was I kidding? In all the years that I've been linguing cunnus, only rarely have I ever had to wrinkle up my nose. And even then, once I've endured that first sniff and started to suck on the woman's clit, it's been a non-event. But back then I didn't know, and as with everything else in the world, many times you're scared of what you don't know.

Nowadays, you couldn't keep my mouth away from that lovely female opening, of any size, shape, color, smell, anything, unless you put a gun to my head. Though maybe then, I'd offer to share it with you!

Joy's tunnel of love had that indefinable aroma that I've come to associate with sex and that is never, never objectionable. As her damp box touched my lips, I began to lick her slit, to tongue fuck her as best I could, and to suck on her young clit. She clamped her thighs over my ears and began to hump my face like a bronco rider.

Much as I was enjoying the ride, and the taste of her twat, her moaning and the thighs against my ears made it impossible for me to hear the basement door open and close. Someone was watching us from the top of the stairs. I couldn't see it; Joy could.

Whether it was the expert ministrations from my tongue – the possibility that I prefer to consider – or just her overall excitement, it didn't take long for Joy cum noisily. She continued to sit on my face as I sucked up the last drops of fluid from her pussy. Soon she raised herself off me a few inches. Then...

"Open your mouth, Billy."

"What for?" I asked.

"Because I have to pee," she said.

"But..."

"It tastes fine, Billy. Trust me," she said.

"How do you know?" I asked.

She didn't respond directly. Instead, "Think of all the wonderful things that'll happen to you if you do this for me."

Bitch! Cunt! I suddenly realized that I had fallen for the age old trick of the drug pusher. The first weed is free, the first snort of coke is free, the first needle full of H is free. After that, you're hooked, ready to do anything for your drug, commit any crime, submit your body to any indignity for your next fix. And so it was with me. I was instantly addicted to Joy's service of my cock with her mouth and tongue, instantly addicted to the sweet taste of her pussy. And if I didn't comply with her demand, they would be lost to me forever. (By the way, don't lecture me that weed is not addictive. I mention it merely as a metaphor.)

I opened my mouth. What other choice did I have? Joy sank her pussy down onto it and the warm liquid poured out of her. Though it didn't taste like champagne – not that I knew what champagne tasted back then – or even lemonade, nor was it particularly offensive. She emptied her bladder into my mouth so quickly that it was difficult to swallow it all, and some of the urine ran down my cheeks. I did manage to drink down most of it. All I could think about was that it wasn't my favorite libation, I had survived it, but I could never tell any of my friends the price that I had paid for a blowjob.

"Who taught you that anyway, Joy?" I asked. She didn't answer, but a deep bass voice behind me spoke.

"I did, son."

My head spun so quickly that my neck began to hurt. There was Dad, standing at the top of the stairs, his bathrobe hanging open, giving me my first ever view of his cock in arousal. He continued to speak.

"Thank you for getting your cousin all ready for me. Now why don't you go on up to bed? And remember, what your mother doesn't know won't hurt her."

Joy's voice piped up. "Can't he stay and watch us, Uncle Jack? You might teach him something. And besides, when you're finished, he may be ready again."

My head spun around again, then back to Dad. It felt as if I were watching a tennis match. Dad considered it and, walking down the stairs, nodded. I was torn between excitement and revulsion at the idea of my Dad fucking my cousin, the one who had just blown me, the one whose pussy I had eaten and whose piss I had swallowed. Excitement won out.

They ordered me to a chair to sit and watch. Excited though I surely was, nevertheless I felt a little sad. Oh, watching him fuck her would be fine, or whatever they meant to do, but when he began to taking Joy into his arms and kissing her, sticking his tongue down her throat, I began to feel sorry for my Mom. Fucking, yes; kissing, no. Weird, huh?

Dad dropped his robe and stood there, his hard-on the equal to any I had seen on porn films. Joy flopped onto the couch, stretched out and spread her legs. Her fingers spread open her lower lips to show her pink welcome mat. When Dad lay down and suspended himself over her, she took his cock and guided it straight inside her. It slid in without difficulty. She moaned like a DVD actress as he pounded her without slowing down.

Even as I held my own cock, trying to coax it back to fullness, I began to wonder about cousin Joy. What was Dad supposed to 'teach' me, as she had mentioned? Any animal can practice its reproductive skills, instinctively. 'Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it.' I knew from gutter talk that there was something called foreplay, getting a girl hot and wet before fucking her, but Dad had done none of that. Joy's cherry was obviously past history. Had Dad taken that, or was his admission merely to having taught her mouth pissing? Who had taken her virginity? Was it Uncle Steve? Listening to her moan, I came to the conclusion that Joy was an exhibitionist.

Holy shit, she would be fun to take to parties! But first I'd have to lose my own virginity, which seemed to be what she was talking about when she mentioned me getting ready again. Son of a bitch, my cock was already hard again. And when Dad grunted and I saw his cum begin to ooze out of Joy's wetness, I knew that it was time for sloppy seconds.

He stood up and turned toward me. His face glowed with satisfaction, that same look that I knew I had whenever I would cum after jerking off. My eyes dropped to his cock, glistening almost with the streaks of his own recent cum as it began to shrink.

"Clean me off, son." I heard the words, even understood them, but still I couldn't comprehend them. My father was asking me to take his cock into my mouth! Of all the things I might have imagined when I walked down to the basement, that would have been the farthest from my mind. I was a normal healthy and horny boy. My goal in life was – and is – to fuck girls, not to suck cock. It was unimaginable.