Cousin Tom's Visit

This is as always, a work of fiction, I do not condone underage sex and if you are below the age of 18 or if the law in your country forbids reading such material, please surf to a more appropriate site.

As always, I welcome comments, negative, or positive. Please contact me on 510512@hushmail.com

Big hugs to all.

Ken

Cousin Tom's Visit

Chapter One.

My mother had recently died so my partner Stephen & I were spending part of each weekend clearing her house. On this occasion we should have been filling black plastic bin-bags with unwanted rubbish, but instead we'd spent most of the late afternoon going through a box of old photographs.

Some brought back memories, whilst others didn't. Stephen was constantly asking, "Who's this?" or "Where's that?" and I would fill in the blanks where I could, often with just a few words.

"Oh, that's Granny," or "My tenth birthday party."

But then we found one with part of it missing, the edge of the photo had obviously been cut off.

"Well mum you'll recognise, with my sister Sarah standing in front of her, she was about three at the time, then me and my brother David. The two on the right are my Aunt and Uncle, Flo and Bill."

"And whose elbow is that?"

Stephen was pointing to the cut edge of the photo; for sure enough there was a right elbow.

"That belongs to my cousin Tom, you've never met."

"What happened to the rest of him?"

"I cut him off and kept him in my school pencil case."

"And why was that," asked Stephen with a smirk on his face?

"Because I fancied him like crazy!"

"Ooo...," squealed Stephen, "did he have a huge cock, did he fuck you for hours on end, come on, tell me more?"

"Well in answer to your first suggestion, yes he had an enormous cock, well to my eyes at that time; I was only eleven, which means the answer to your second disgusting suggestion was 'no.' But, at that time I thought he was pretty hot, and before you ask, yes we had sex of a sort. My first real experience if you must know. Years later I would stuff his photo down my pants next to my cock, I'd be at high school all day with a semi-hard-on knowing Tom was down there, then I'd wank and cum all over him, in the end the little photo disintegrated."

"And you were just eleven, what a little perv you were. Now then, give me the details, go back to the beginning and give me every last cum soaked drop."

"Who's the perv now? But if you insist, so, are you sitting comfortably? Well then let me begin."

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It was the early 1960's; David and I were sat round our kitchen table whilst Sarah played on the floor with some pots and pans. Mum was in the hall way on the phone.

"OK, OK," said mother putting down the phone, "you can stay the night at Ian's."

My younger brother David had just got his own way, ten minutes earlier it had been a different scene.

"Why is it always me that has to give up my bed? It's never Ken."

"Look, for the umpteenth and final time, Auntie Flo and Uncle Bill are in the spare room, you are to sleep in the sleeping bag in your..."

"You always miss out `on the floor'..."

"...you are to sleep in the sleeping bag, on the floor, in your sister's room..."

"Uck!"

"...and your cousin Tom will have your bed. Now they are only staying one night, so please, let's hear no more about it, and just cooperate."

This routine had been heard several times since the visit had been announced. On this particular occasion it ended like this.

"Ian's mum says I can sleep over at his house."

"No!"

"Ian's mum says it's cruel for me to sleep on the floor."

"Tough"

"Do you like being cruel?"

"Love it."

"What if I said that I'll do some extra chores... like...?"

"Come on then, name them."

"I'll, er..."

"Tidy the toys in the cupboard under the stairs?"

"OK"

"Sweep out the garage?"

"Suppose so."

"Done – I'll ring Ian's mother and ask her."

I was intrigued to meet my cousin Tom once again. I didn't really know him that well, but for reasons which will become clear I was interested in having him in my bedroom without brother David even being in the house. Tom was older than me, sixteen going on twenty five my mother said. They lived in Scotland so we only saw them now and then. On this occasion they would be returning from a holiday in the south of England and were breaking the journey home by staying overnight with us.

About a year ago when we had visited them for a few days in Scotland he was always going out and was generally moody and sultry. He reminded me of some movie or young rock `n roll star.

But the reason I so wanted to get to know Tom better was due to a conversation I'd overheard between my aunt and mum. They were having a cup of tea and I was sitting on the floor behind the sofa and I think they had forgotten I was there. My aunt was complaining about Tom, about how difficult he was and that he was always in trouble at school, and that he was smoking and buying beer, and...

"...He's, er, doing things."

"What sort of things," enquired mum.

"Boy things."

"What sort of `boy' things," pushed mum a bit more.

At this point my aunt's voice dropped to a barely audible whisper and I couldn't quite work out what was said, "Well he's obsessed with '...ing'"

"Oh, that's really disgusting," replied mum.

At that time as far as adults were concerned I was a bit of a goody-two-shoes, the sort that `butter-wouldn't-melt-between-his-alabaster-thighs' type, but oh how I longed to be a bit like Tom. Someone who smoked, drank beer, got into trouble at school and did something disgusting that ended in `...ing.'

I talked to my primary school friends about what could this `...ing' thing be. It was a bit like playing `I spy' that we used to do on long car journeys.

"I spy with my little eye, something disgusting that ends in `...ing.'

"I know," said one of my friends, "pick-ing your nose."

"And eat-ing the bogies," added another.

"Kiss-ing the girls," suggested a third.

But the answer that got us all talking came from little Billy.

"Oh I know what that is, my two older brothers do it all the time, it's called wanking and when mum catches them she always says, `that's disgusting!'"

Now, along with another word – fucking – we all pretended that we knew exactly what they meant, this wanking and fucking. I certainly didn't completely understand but I wasn't going to let on to my friends – I'm not sure if they fully knew either. I also knew that it was completely taboo to ask mum or dad.

Like most kids we talked as though we knew it all and bit by bit got sexy information – some accurate, some not. "Poufs,' I gleaned, "did it up the bum with another bloke, but with a girl..." Well I knew after hearing that explanation that I must be a `pouf' for there was no way I could do that to a girl.

Billy gave us more information telling us that wanking was like playing with your dick to make it go hard. Some of my friends thought this awful, but I knew that I liked playing with mine, and sometimes with other boys' too. I also knew, but didn't ever dare say to anyone that I like to touch and explore my, hey, at the time I could hardly dare say the word, arse hole. Did this make me a `pouf''? My granny had a `pouf,'

"Get the `pouf' out from behind the door," and I would be invited to sit on it. Mum said the correct way to pronounce the word was `pouf-ay.' I guess I was kinda confused, but, if cousin Tom was going to be playing with his willy – no he was older than me - his must be a proper cock – then I wanted to be part of it, roll on the visit.

On the day in question, they arrived at about half past three in the afternoon. Mum & dad went out to greet them and I stood on the front door step and watched. Whilst mum & dad hugged my aunt & uncle, Tom got out from the back seat of the car. He was dressed in a white tee shirt and black denim jeans. As he stretched, the tee shirt rode up from his waist band revealing a hairy patch above an enormous bulge. I was mesmerised.

"Give yer Auntie a kiss then," I had not noticed them come up the path.

"Oh, hello," and I gave her a quick peck on her powdery cheek'

As he passed my uncle patted my head, "My, you've grown."

Now there was only Tom and I left outside. He remained by the car looking into the distance. As he slowly turned round I could not take my eyes off his bulge. He slowly walked towards me stuffing his tee shirt back into his jeans. He kept his hand inside his jeans, "Where's the bog?

"Uh?"

He waggled his hidden hand, "The bog, the loo, the toilet?"

"Oh, er up the..."

"Ta, need to piss." As he squeezed passed me I was convinced that his left hand deliberately brushed against the front of my thin cotton shorts.

I was left in a dream on the step. "Shut the door, you're letting the cold in," came my Dad's voice. I did as I was bid and made my way to the foot of the stairs. I heard the toilet flush and Tom reappeared. Slowly he came down the stairs; once again I stared, this time in total astonishment. He reached a couple of stairs above me and stopped.

"That's better, been needin' that for miles." I pointed, unable to speak. "What's up," he added?

I pointed again; Tom came down another stair towards my outstretched finger, "Tell me." he whispered.

I pointed again this time almost touching his jeans, "Your zip, it's..." It wasn't just undone it was completely wide open. I had a full view of his white underpants protruding from his jeans.

"Oh," he feigned surprise, "how stupid of me, must have forgot." He slowly pulled his zip up, "In you go, see you later." He patted his now enclosed bulge, looked at me and asked, "There now, is that better?"

If I replied I can't remember for as Tom passed me he continued hugging his crotch and flicked a finger backwards and forwards over my unnoticed erection, "What's this then?" He then sucked on the finger before pressing it to his lips in a gesture of silence. He left me and entered the sitting room.

"Where's Ken," asked my mother.

"Just sortin' himself out," replied my cousin.

A moment or too later I entered the sitting room. With an extra three to seat there were insufficient chairs. My aunt motioned for me to squeeze in between her and my uncle on the sofa. Mum and Dad had their usual armchairs, the two little ones were on the floor between everyone but Tom had sat in the far corner of the room as far away from the group as possible, and from then on he wasn't spoken too, nor did he join in any of the conversation. He stared into space and generally looked surly and moody. I began to realise that in the company of adults he acted differently to when alone.

Sometime later, after the usual pleasantries, immediate gossip and cups of tea, Mum informed everyone that she intended to feed all the kids at around five o'clock as the adults were eating later with some other friends that they had invited over.

"Och," said my uncle in his Scottish accent, "wull be havin' a wee bit oh a pairty then."

"That'll be graand," added my aunt.

At this point cousin Tom looked up and asked, "So I'll be joining the grown ups in the evening?"

"The way you are behaving I'm surprised that anyone wants to feed you at all," commented my uncle, "no, you will eat with the rest of the children at five."

"I'm not a fucking child, I'm..."

"LANGUAGE – how many times do we have to go through this, if you can't moderate your language you can go and sit in the car.

"Oh, piss off, I'm going out."

He got up from the corner and moved towards the door.

"Where out," continued my uncle?

"Out, out!"

And with that he stormed out, slamming the front door behind him. My uncle went to go after him, shouting, "You come back here this instant!"

"Piss off," came the distant reply.

There were a few moments of embarrassment from the adults, they looked at the floor, they shuffled their feet, they muttered `tut, tuts.' My younger brother looked shocked, but wow, I loved it, this was great fun. Swearing was NEVER EVER heard in our house, and talking back to parents was unheard of. I wondered what would happen next. Mum was the first to break the tension; she got up to leave, "I've got a few to things to see to in the kitchen."

"I'll come and help," added my aunt.

"It must so difficult dealing with teenagers," suggested Dad.

"I'll wring his fucking neck when he comes back," snarled my uncle.

"You lot," said Dad looking at us three, "out to play – now!"

The rest of the afternoon and early evening passed without incident, and Tom never returned. I think my aunt and uncle were relieved not to have him around. The three of us ate at five o'clock, my brother left around six for his sleep-over at his friend's house and my sister went to bed at her usual time. I was allowed to stay up a bit later until their friends arrived, but eventually just after half past eight mum said, "Well I think it's time for you to go to bed, leave the bedside light on for when Tom returns."

And so I went to bed, I hoped Tom wouldn't be too long thinking I mustn't fall asleep. I also hoped he hadn't already done the 'wanking' thing. I quickly got ready for bed, 'teeth & tiddle' was our bedtime mantra and then into my pyjamas.

As instructed I kept the bedside lamp on and lay waiting in anticipation by playing with myself. I did not have long to wait, for about twenty minutes later I heard the front door open followed by the clenched teeth voices of my aunt and uncle down in the hall.

"Where've you bin...," "Wait till I get you home young man I'll 'ucking kill you," Bed, now!" My teenage rebel was approaching.

Only seconds before I'd thrown the blankets back to admire my erection, I quickly pulled them back and feigned sleep, Tom came in. He smelt of fish 'n chips and cigarettes. I wriggled in excitement.

"You awake?"

I glanced in his direction and tried to sound teenage & cool but my positive `Uh-huh,' still sounded childishly feeble. From my angle his bulge was very prominent, he grabbed it roughly and said, "I need a piss."

'Again,' I thought. I lay there listening through the open doors to him pissing and imagining how it looked. I thought about joining him for a joint pee as I would often do with my brother or school friends, but no, I lay there listening intently to the long, heavy piss, loving the deep rumble sound as it hit the water and imagining the size of his cock. Eventually the toilet flushed.

He came back in, closed the door and leaned against it, I glanced up, the zip of his jeans was undone and again there was the glimpse of bulging white cotton.

"That's mine then," he asked pointing to the other single bed? I nodded.

The room was at the back of the house and overlooked the garden. There were two single beds side by side, separated by a bed side table. In the corner opposite the door was an old fashioned dressing table, the sort with a large tilting mirror. I occupied the bed nearest the door.

He walked round, passing the foot of my bed, glanced in my direction, "You playin' wi' yourself?" My hands, cupped over my cock were tenting the bed. "Little wanker," he added. My mind raced at hearing that word, 'Me a wanker,' I thought, 'Wow!!'

I said nothing but continued to watch him. He stood with his back to me looking into the mirror. I could only see the reflection of his face and noticed that was observing me as much as looking at himself. I allowed my hands to cautiously resume their playing with my dick.

Tom remained facing the mirror. He checked his biceps, first flexing his left arm, then the right whilst the free hand felt the hardness, then smoothed over the muscle.

Through the mirror he glanced toward me. Was he checking that I was watching him? Of course I was, he was I thought, gorgeous.

He continued, next putting his hands on hips and twisting his torso one way, then the other. Then he used both hands to caress his body, neck, shoulders, chest, stomach, thighs and bum before returning to what I presumed was his bulging cock.

I wriggled on to my elbows to get a better view. Tom observed me and this time turned, looked straight at me, and then noticed my stiff dick pushing up the blanket.

"Am I keeping you from something," he asked nodding in the direction of my dick?

"Uh-uh," I shook my head; he walked towards me and sat on the edge of the bed; my heart raced. He twirled a finger in a circular movement just above my little tent before lightly poking the tip.

"That's the second one I've seen you have today, and I bet there has been more, little wanker!"

I smirked at the thoughts rushing through my frantic brain. Tom did not smile back but sat looking at me intently. I froze, waiting to see what might happen next.

Finally he got up and went back to the mirror, kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks. Then turning to face me, and with great deliberation he slowly began to twist and turn slowly removing his tee-shirt & jeans.

The kids at school had talked about `strip-tease,' was this one? The top button of his jeans was already open then the zip was taken down a little, pulled up a little, pulled down a bit more, up & down several times, rubbing his bulge with each action, finally it stayed down. Then carefully folding over each front triangle of denim he fully revealed his white briefs which he gently rubbed. He stroked his bare stomach with both hands before bit by bit sliding a hand inside his briefs. His eyes never left my gaze as he fondled himself for what seemed like ages. He pushed down his briefs a little way to reveal a bush of thick, black pubic hair before sliding his hands upwards taking the tee shirt with them stopping just before his nipples.

Whilst one hand kept up the tee shirt, the other rubbed his taut stomach & twirled & twisted his pubes.

He continued this, swapping hands, sometimes diving within his briefs sometimes revealing a nipple which he would tweak.

Suddenly and without warning he pushed his jeans to the floor, flipped his feet free and whilst bending over pulled off his tee shirt.

He stood up, now only dressed in his white cotton briefs, relaxed his stance, and then to my utter amazement starting leaping round the room in his briefs pretending to be a monkey.

I giggled as he leapt on to my bed, bouncing up and down, then stopped and with his feet either side of my legs, arched backwards, beat his chest with both fists and in a sing-song voice yelled,

"Ah-ha-ah-ha-ah, me Tarzan, you Jane!" I screamed in delight.

A male voice from the foot of the stair cut through our noise, "I don't know what's going on up there but pack it in now!"

Tom, towering above me, stood still, placed a silencing finger on his lips, and in one stride crossed over to his own bed, slipped under the covers, reached back and switched off the light.

My floor show was over.

I lay there listening to the sounds below, relieved to hear the lounge door close.

Silence.

Then, a whisper, "Jeez, it's fucking freezin' in here."

Now it has to be said this was the time before duvets or central heating were the norm and Mum's blankets were on the thin side.

"Is it always this cold?"

"Uh-huh."

"How do you and your brother get warm?"

"Cuddle."

"In one bed?"

"Uh-huh."

Silence.

Then, another whisper, "How old are you?"

"Eleven, nearly twelve."

"Old enough to make a serious decision?" His voice suddenly serious.

"Uh-huh"

"Sure?"

I tried to find my voice but my "Sure," came out more a croak than the definite decision he was waiting for. I knew something was about to happen, this was no prank, no childish fumble in the dark; no `I'll show you mine, if you show me yours,' no `let's see who can piss the furthest. This was serious stuff.

Silence.

"Would you, er, cuddle me?"

My lips were dry, my heart raced.

Again a whispered whisper, delivered with great precision, "I would like you to, to cuddle me, and I think you, I'm sure you would like to, er, cuddle me."

I knew there and then that the word 'cuddle' had implications far beyond its simple meaning. I knew that if I allowed this 'cuddle' I was agreeing to whatever happened next. This was the decision he was waiting for but also this was what I knew I was waiting for. What I hoped would happen, and deep within my burgeoning sexuality what I longed for.

But what next, was he to join me, or was he inviting me? I waited.

Silence.

"Well?"

And then I knew, knew it was me who had to join him, of my own free will.

"You know if you're not sure...'

I threw back the blankets and got out of bed and stood between the two beds, waiting. Even in the increasing darkness I could tell that Tom glanced up at me.

"Sure?"

I slipped in to join him. I had made my decision, I had made my bed and now I had to sleep in it.

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Go to Chapter Two