This is a longer story and one I really loved writing, so I hope you enjoy it, too.
There were times then when I wish he hadn't come at all. It would have saved me from the torment, saved me from listening to him breathe at night in the bed beside me, his occasional unintelligible sounds as I lay awake listening to him keeping me awake. Smelling him there, warm. But he did come and it changed my life forever.
My mother had said, “You're both eighteen now so I don't have to worry about entertaining you, right?”
“I get it. You don't have to worry.”
“And be nice to him, Josh. He's been through it, right?”
That I agreed with. My uncle had been awful at the end of the marriage. He wasn't violent, but he was mean and vindictive. He had left in a storm of rage and a bitter divorce began, hence Stewart coming to live with us. To get out of the way and have some peace. He was going to finish his school year in Brighton.
But I was worried. Of course I was. It wasn't as if I didn't know Stewart, but we only saw each other once a year or so. He lived in Edinburgh, we were in Brighton. It wasn't that far, but far enough. Our mothers were sisters and despite being close, they didn't see each other very much either.
I liked Stewart and we got along, although he was more about rugby, less about films. He was taller and darker and more bulky, despite having been a slim, bony boy only three years before. We both had been. I had grown, become hairier, but I didn't fill out as he had. I was more like the long-distance runner to his wrestler, I suppose.
When he came into our house after taking three trains to get to Brighton, he seemed exhausted. His face was pale and he hadn't shaven nor, I assumed, slept. He tried to grin at me, but it was a pale version of his usual serene face. His dark hair was longer than the last time I saw him, hanging almost to is shoulders in unkempt waves. He seemed like one of those impossibly beautiful boys in a pre-Raphaelite paining. We share one thing: our eyes. Our grandmother's eyes, I had come to realize. Deep brown, almost black, with long lashes.
My gran told us that one of her grandparents – I could never remember which – had been from India, thus the slight tan complexion, dark hair and chocolate-coloured eyes we all had on my mother's side.
As we walked up the stairs to my room – our room, at least of for a while – I could feel something bubbling in my chest. It was a feeling I was familiar with and didn't want at that particular moment. It was the feeling I had for Marco in year eleven. It was that year, because of the torment I was sinking in to, I told my parents I was gay. I had no choice, I had to tell someone.
But Marco had been straight. And Stewart was my cousin. So, in a way, it was the same situation. Doubly so, since Stewart was also straight. I felt a little lake of despair well up in me at the thought that I would drown in longing again.
When we got into my room, Stewart threw his bag down and flung himself on one of the beds. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then suddenly sat up. “This is fucking awful. My dad is a shit.”
I had never liked Stewart's father, so I was glad to hear it. “Yeah...he's something, all right.”
Stewart snorted and shut his eyes, as if he was in pain. Perhaps he was. Then he leaned against the wall at the side of the bed. “Your parents are good, yeah?”
“Yeah. All good. They grouse at each other but they always seem to mend things. I caught them one night on the sofa...I don't even want to say it...”
“Fucking hell, Josh! They were fucking?”
“Oh god no, but I suppose it would have got there if I hadn't come home. Some things you're not meant to see, right?”'
“Absolutely.” He laughed and shook his head, but I could tell he was still sad, still hurting.
We spent an hour or so just talking, catching up with school, plans for Uni, and all that. It was nice and Stewart seemed to let go of something, his body relaxing, his hands not picking at the fabric of his jumper.
After a quiet dinner with my parents where he was polite and gracious, praising my dad's cooking (he does all the cooking, my mum makes the money), after an hour or so of some show about the state of the world or something that my mother likes to watch and makes the rest of us watch as well, we went to bed.
I had shared that room many times with Stewart over the years, but this felt different and it was obvious to me why. In the last year we had both physically reached maturity, we had both filled out and had taken on our adult forms. And I was fully aware of my attractions, to what turned me on. So we undressed casually, but it felt anything but. Relatives aren't supposed to care about seeing each other's bodies, especially men, but I was in agony.
I hadn't come out to anyone but my parents, and some mates at school. They were all very cool with it, but I wasn't ready to let everyone know. And in that moment, least of all Stewart. He seemed so straight. And more to the point, there was no question in my mind that I wasn't aching for his body already.
I watched as he peeled his jeans off, as he flung his jumper to the floor, then his t-shirt. He had this fine brown hair all over his chest, a chest he clearly used on the rugby pitch, all defined and almost bulky. And I could smell him, all warm and soft and earthy. I turned away, abashed and aroused and a million other things. I slid my trousers off and tried not to look at his very white boxers, his meaty thighs and the fullness of his rump.
My legs seemed skinny by comparison, but we were similarly hairy. I sat and pulled my socks off.
“You have a girlfriend?”
For some reason it felt unexpected, despite being a completely normal question one boy asked another. But I wasn't sure how to answer for a moment, but then some part of me decided to be open and get it over with. I said, “No boyfriend, actually. I was hot for someone last year, but...you know.”
I looked over at him to see how he was taking it. His face seemed unchanged, but thoughtful. He finally said, “Yeah. I know. And I'm glad you told me...I wouldn't have wanted to say something daft.”
I could imagine what those daft things might be and I was glad he was aware of it. The kinds of things straight rugby players hurl at each other along with the ball.
Then he said, “I always wondered, actually. So I'm not surprised.”
For some reason, I was glad that he had already given it some thought. That he thought about me at all. And as I lay in my bed when we doused the light, I certainly thought about him.
Those first nights were a torment. Before bed, seeing most of his body. Once we were in bed, the lights off, the little factory in me that produced fantasy after fantasy would work all night producing any number of scenarios that got me hot and hard and desperate. I didn't dare touch myself with him not a metre away from me. I assumed he didn't either, because I never once heard anything, despite wishing I had.
The situation seemed to settle down through January. He seemed to fit in with the school, with my mates, making his own, playing various sports. The usual things. We walked to school together most mornings which I began to look forward to. It felt so easy and relaxed. We talked about all kinds of things in a way that I imagined siblings would. But he didn't feel like a brother to me. Not at all. Not even a cousin, whatever that was supposed to feel like.
Late in January he suggested we go swimming at the pool near our house, somewhere I had never been. I was surprised but happy to join. What I hadn't thought through was the fact that I would be seeing him – and did see him – without any clothes at all. Just for the length of the shower we had afterward. I had to turn away. It was torture. Seeing the water fun all over his body, all over the dark bush of hair around his cock, around his large, plump balls. It was too much. He was right beside me and I had to almost close my eyes. I washed quickly and left before he was done.
I was standing at the locker pulling on my t-shirt when he ambled up beside me and dropped his towel. It almost felt deliberate. As if he was taunting me. But when I looked at his face it was the usual clear and friendly expression. He said, “Nice place, yeah? We should come here more often.”
It was a nice place, especially with him in it. And in that moment, I realized my feelings were moving beyond simple lust. I was getting that feeling I had with Marco. Not only did I want to touch his body, taste his flesh, I was also wanting to be close to him, to tell him things about how I felt about him.
As I tied my shoes, I began to feel a little panic. Was I suppose to be falling for my cousin? Was that even allowed? Was I sick and depraved? I shook my head and pulled on my leather jacket. We left together and I made a pretty good show of pretending like I wasn't freaking out.
That night I was wracked with guilt and longing mixed together in a mess of anxiety. I lay in bed, listening to him breathe and it was almost too much. Just having him so close to me was enflaming me, making me want to jump out of my skin. Very slowly I slid my briefs down my thighs. It was underneath the blanket, so I assumed he couldn't hear me. I took hold of myself, enjoying the hot, hard muscle as I always did. But it felt even more intense because he was right beside me.
I began to stroke. Slowly and I had to lift the sheet to prevent any sound of my skin against the fabric. I shut my eyes and imagined us together, imagined us doing all kinds of things. I felt the energy rise but then I heard something beside me. Was he awake? I turned and he was on his back and I could just see his face, his eyes closed, in the dim light from the street lamps outside. I decided he was asleep and began again, but now I was watching him.
After a few minutes, to my astonishment, I saw movement under his sheet. The same movement I was making. I could hardly believe it and, more to the point, I had no idea what it meant. But it didn't stop me. I felt more excited than I had ever been. It quickly became clear to me we were stroking in tandem. His eyes were closed but I could see his face change as his own pleasure grew.
My movements got faster as I could feel the intensity starting to peak, starting to take me over. I pulled the blanket back and with a silent gasp, I shot all over my chest, my cum feeing almost cold in the warm room. I looked over at him and he was doing the same thing, a long spurt of liquid that glinted in the half light, arced over his chest. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
When my body calmed down, I was at a loss as to what to do. It was obvious he knew what we had just done, but neither one of us moved. Then, feeling desperate, I leaned over and retrieved my briefs, wiping up my cum as best I could. He then did the same, using the red boxers he had been wearing. He threw them on the floor when he was done and turned onto his side, facing away from me. He didn't say anything.
--
The next morning, I was in agony. He wasn't in bed when I woke up and wasn't in the house, in fact, when I got downstairs and asked my father. He had gone to a rugby practice, apparently, which he did about once a week. So it wasn't necessarily about me, I thought to myself.
I saw him later at school and it was as if everything was the same. He was relaxed and cheerful, easy and friendly as always. We walked home together as if everything as the same. It was the same, I decided. Except for the fact that we had jerked off together.
But it didn't happen again. At least not until mid-February. It was still cool, but spring in England was upon us. There were daffodils and other things growing. Rugby had started outdoors in earnest, and I started to watch him practise a few times. I wanted, to be blunt, to see him in his shorts, running and grappling, getting sweaty. I just had to.
He didn't comment that I was watching, even though I knew he saw me. It was odd, but exciting. Once the practice was over, I would quietly leave, either going to class, or walking home. He didn't say a word, nor did I. It was strange.
So on a February evening, as we lay in bed, I was just about to doze off when I heard that familiar rustle of fabric. I turned and he had thrown the sheet off and was lying there naked, his cock in his hand, stroking very slowly. And what almost shocked me was he was looking at me. With a little grin.
What was I to do? I pulled me sheet down, slid my boxers off and joined him. It felt surreal since a part of me didn't know what was happening, or why, but I was so inflamed I couldn't stop. So we did it again. But we watched each other in the half light. I could hear the soft wet sound of his hand on his flesh. We came together and that in itself made me want to do it all over again.
But he seemed to close in on himself when we had wiped everything up. My sock was sodden, his underwear wet. I could smell it: the swampy, earthy smell of us.
My body was tingling as I tried to sleep and soon I heard soft snores coming from beside me. In the dim light, I could see the curve of his hip, the sheet coming up to his thighs. I wanted to touch him so badly, but I lay there and watched him breathe.
--
As before, the next day, he said nothing. But it felt different to me. It felt like we had communicated something to each other. What, I wasn't sure.
Spring was everywhere and the air was softer, the sun brighter. We had a holiday around Easter in a few days and Stewart, one morning a week or so after that second strange evening, suggested we take the train to London for a lark.
My parents seemed happy to get us out of the way and gave us some money and sent us away for two days. It's not like we needed supervision at eighteen. They new we drank, they knew people our age got up to all sorts and they tacitly accepted it. We just had to be home by the Sunday afternoon because our gran was coming for Easer dinner. Steward hadn't seen in her in ages and was excited but he was more excited to go to London.
The train stopped at Victoria Station and, lugging our backpacks, we rushed into the city. We had no real plans. We wanted to see a film. I wanted to go to some bookstores. Stewart wanted to go to the World Rugby Museum – not surprisingly. I wasn't that interested, but I decided since I was dragging him to bookstores and the British Museum, I could tag along for some rugby history.
It was really fun, and easy and relaxed. We had lunch in a pub, we saw a stupid science fiction film, then we wandered around while going through a list of bookstores on my phone, getting lost, but having a nice time. It was always easy to spend time with Stewart, even though we were such different people. Several times I saw him eyeing a pretty woman on the street. And to be fair, I'm sure he noticed me ogling young men who went by. In fact at one point he said, “I think he's giving you the eye.”
I looked at him, startled. “The eye? How would you know?”
He actually seemed embarrassed. “I mean...it's not like I haven't noticed when some lad is checking me out.”
That he said 'lad' I found adorable.
We had another meal in another pub, with a pint. At one point, finishing his chips, he said, “Do you want to go to any gay places?”
I burst out laughing and said, “Gay places? You mean like a museum? The history of cottaging?” I stopped because he looked very uncomfortable. I gulped some beer and said, “Sorry...I'm just taking the piss. You mean like a bar or something?”
Grinning he said, “Yeah. Like that. I don't imagine there's much variety in Brighton.”
He was right, of course. Brighton has a gay scene, but not very big. And given that I was eighteen, I hadn't really entered into the 'scene' anyway. I hadn't even properly had sex, beyond some messing around. I wasn't one of those gay blokes who starts shagging the minute they turn sixteen.
So I said, feeling daring, “Yeah, sure. Why not? It will be an education for both of us.”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through some lists of likely places to go, but then it suddenly dawned on me. “I know where we should go. I should have thought of it before. And it's right around the corner.”
I didn't tell him what the place was called, afraid I would scared him or something. It was a place a woman I worked with at the coffee shop in Brighton had told me about it. It was perfect.
We went to our grotty little hotel – one of those cheap places that look the same all over the world. I was careful to make sure it had two beds, for obvious reasons. Because it was only nine, we sat watching a stupid reality show and having a few shots of whiskey that we bought. At around ten-thirty we cleaned ourselves up and left, walking around the corner to Lisle Street and Ku Bar. I could tell Stewart was nervous as he was chewing his lip and looking around as if he expected to be arrested or assaulted or both.
The place wasn't busy and I imagined would get more so later in the evening. It was big and friendly and had a bunch of rooms and tables and a stage. Everyone seemed happy and, as we carried our g&t's around, I imagined happy to see us. The music was loud, but not deafening. Stewart seemed fascinated, as if he's never been to a bar before, much less a gay bar.
At several points, we leaned against tables, or walls, or one of the various bars, men would stop and give us looks, sometimes lingering and talking to us. I guess we were attractive enough. It was fun. I wasn't in the mood to try anything, given it would be my first time actually hooking up with someone if I did. I had always imagined it wouldn't be some casual fuck after a night of alcohol. I wanted it to be more deliberate. Meaningful. Maybe that was a fantasy that wasn't realistic, but it's what I wanted.
But it was fun to flirt and I could tell that Stewart began to enjoy it. One bloke clearly decided to get somewhere with him and bought us both drinks, but spent some time standing very close to Stewart with his hand on his shoulder, or hip and saying things into his ear in that way people do in loud bars. I desperately wanted to hear what he was telling him, but it made Stewart laugh. He seemed comfortable and that surprised me. For a straight, rugby playing Scot, he was doing a fine job of playing it queer.
At one point, he tried to kiss Stewart who, to my surprise, didn't freak out. He just gently pushed the guy back and smiled, saying something that I couldn't make out, but I assumed was a gentle redirect. The man looked disappointed, but hugged Stewart and went on his way.
I talked with a sweet man from Wales for a while. I wasn't attracted to him, but we had a very interesting conversation and I felt like we could be friends, so I got his number – after making it clear I wasn't interested in him sexually.
We drank too much, mostly because several people bought us drinks. I wondered if our youth was so obvious that even slightly older men felt the need to take care of us. But that was fine with me. At around one, I could tell Stewart was knackered, so I leaned in and said into his ear, “Let's go, yeah? I'm done in.”
He nodded gratefully, so we dumped our glasses and stumbled out into the busy sidewalk, still crowded with people smoking, talking, drinking, laughing. It was kind of lovely. Relaxed and happy. We wandered around the corner to our hotel.
Our room seems very quiet. Stewart thew himself on his bed and said, “Holy fuck I'm tired! We've had a busy day.”
He didn't say anything else and I wondered if he had fallen asleep. I carefully took off my clothes and, just in my boxers, I slid into bed. I lay there, wondering if I should put out the light when Stewart sat up and said, “I need a shower. I feel a bit gritty.”
So I lay, remembering what he looked like in the shower at the swimming pool which wasn't helpful. It was making me twitchy. He came out with a towel wrapped around him. I said, “Feel better?”
“Yeah. Much.”
Without any hesitation, he threw the towel onto the floor and crawled into his bed. I tried not to look, but at the same time I just had to. He was still damp. His body was almost shiny, his muscles rippling as he moved. His cock was soft and a bit floppy as I glimpsed it before he slid under the sheet.
For a moment, I was at a loss, not sure what to do. He seemed to settle after shifting around a few times. I could tell we were both drunk and I could smell it in the air. I felt suddenly dirty so I pulled myself up and said, “That's a good idea...”
I stood under the hot water and tried to calm myself, to calm down, to not think about him lying there, naked, in the bed next to me. I thought briefly about tossing off in the shower, but, thinking it might take too long, decided against it.
I got out, feeling a little more sober and walked into the room. I dropped the towel as he had done and crawled into my bed, feeling clean, feeling more relaxed, more settled. I shut out the light that sat on the little table between us and the room was not exactly dark, since there was light coming in the window from the street. “Good night, Stewart.”
“Night, Josh.”
I was asleep very quickly, but I woke up just as quickly. Because I felt the bed shift and, coming to full consciousness, the feel of Stewart's hip against my leg. “What are you doing?”
He was looking out the window as he sat next to me, his back against my thigh. “I was wondering...”
But he didn't finish the thought. He lay down beside me, turning so we were face-to-face. I was half-covered by the sheet, but he was completely exposed. He said, “I wanted to know what it felt like...to touch you.”
His face was close to mine, his breath, which was a little boozy, blew onto my face. The only thing I could say was, “What the fuck, Stewart!?” I leaned backward, excited but very uneasy.
We looked at each other for a moment. He said, “Maybe I'm drunk...no, I'm sure I'm drunk...but...I don't know...can I?”
I didn't say anything. He had look of concentration on his face, then I felt his arm move and then his hand came to rest on my hip. He traced is down my thigh, curving it around to the back of my leg, then reversed it, trailing his fingers back up to my hip, then across my belly. My cock was throbbing, but he seemed not to notice.
With the back of his hand moving across my nipple, then turning it, moved it across my shoulders and around my neck. The softness of his touch sent shivers through my body. He said, all low and curious, “That feels good?”
I almost laughed and said awkwardly, “Uh, yeah. It does.”
I was afraid to respond otherwise, as if I hadn't been given permission or that it would be too much if I did anything to him in return, so I just lay there. I glanced down between us and I could just make out his cock in the dim light. It still seemed soft, although it wasn't exactly limp, either.
His hand moved from my neck over my shoulder and down my back. He traced it in circles, getting lower and lower, slipping under the sheet, until I felt his fingers touch my ass. With just the tips, in a way that sent shimmers of pleasure all over my body, he ran his fingers over the smooth expanse of those smooth muscles, then back, then with one finger, ran it lightly along the crack. Without being able to stop, I moaned and shut my eyes. “Fuck, Stewart...”
His voice was curious when he said, “I didn't know guys would like that...”
I opened my eyes and he was looking at me again, his face soft and intent. “Of course guys like that. Maybe I could do it to you...?”
He nodded very slowly as if he wasn't sure. But I decided to take the chance. I did the same to him, tracing the contours of his healthy, muscled shoulders, his neck, moving my hand down his chest just brushing his meaty nipples that I so wanted to suck, having never sucked a guys's nipples – or any other part – before. I realized we were both exploring for the first time. I had played around with a couple of school friends over the years, awkwardly wanking each other, just to get off. This felt different. This felt intense and purposeful.
I very carefully ignored what was going on with his cock, which was a little more inflated and concentrated on his navel, the hair around it tickling my fingers, then tracing the outline of his pecs with two fingers through the trimmed hair, then back around his waist. I wanted to touch those meaty globes which felt cool under my touch. I could feel him shiver as I took the chance and kneaded one of them with my whole hand.
“Is that all right?”
He barely whispered, “Yeah. It's great.”
I glanced at this cock. It was half hard, so he was to some degree enjoying this. I pulled my hand back to his chest and took hold of one of his nipples and gently squeezed it, just to see what he would do. His eyes widened for a second, then, with a little smile, he turned and slowly moved off the bed. He sat for a moment, right where he'd been at the beginning. He said, “Thanks, Josh. That was...nice.”
I was very confused. And so turned on I could barely think. I said, “What was that, Stewart? I mean, what are you doing?”
He moved back to his bed and pulled the sheet over him. I noticed his cock was soft again. He said with a sigh, “I don't know...I guess I'm curious. I don't know...I just wanted to know what you feel like. Does that make any sense?”
He was looking at me with a confused expression on his face. Since we were being honest, I said, “I guess so. But you had to have noticed I was...well...responding.” It sounded stupid. I had a raging hard cock and wanted to use it for the first time with anyone, is what I wanted to say.
He chuckled a bit and said, “I did notice. You can wank if you need to...”
That pissed me off. “Stewart...fuck off. Now I feel like you just used me. You can't play with people like that. If you want to...explore, fine, I'm here. But if you do, I want to be involved.”
He looked chastened and guilty which is exactly what I wanted. But he said, “I see what you mean. Sorry...I didn't mean to frustrate you. I just wanted to see how you would feel. So I'm glad you...well...touched me. I hope it was nice.”
I burst out with a short laugh. “Fucking right it was nice. You're really sexy, Stephen.”
With a look of surprise on his face, he didn't say anything. He swallowed and said, “You know it never occurred to me a guy could find me attractive.” He stopped and licked his lips. “That you would find me attractive.”
“What's it feel like?”
“I don't know...I guess it feels nice. I mean, who doesn't like being told they're attractive?”
He had a point. I decided to give it back to him. “What about me? I know it's not the same, but do you find me attractive?”
I could tell the question surprised him. But I knew Stewart well enough to know he would take it seriously, as he did everything. He looked into my eyes for a moment and said, “I suppose...I mean, an attractive women is not the same, I guess. I mean what is attractive about a woman is not the same as what might be attractive about a man, don't you think?”
I thought a moment. “I guess you're right. For me it's about solidity, about definition, the appearance of strength...hair? I don't know. I suppose you like the softness, the curves...something like that?”
He laughed and turned on his side facing me, his head tucked in the pillow. He looked adorable. “Something like that.”
Pushing it, I said, “So did you like what I felt like?”
His face suddenly softened and he said, “Yeah. You feel very nice.”
“Are you surprised?”
“A little. I've never touched a man before besides myself.”
I wanted to ask if he would do it again, but I thought that might be too much. I shifted the conversation. “Have you had sex with a woman?”
He snorted and said, “Well...mostly. I mean my last girlfriend – remembered Tina? Well we did some intense messing around and she let me fuck her, but I guess it hurt or something, so we stopped. I'm a bit behind other guys my age, I guess.”
He sounded bashful, so I said, “I've never...well, beyond a wank or two...”
His grin was bright and goofy. “We're both a bit out of it, yeah?”
I was suddenly surprised. Such a gorgeous man should have been fucking his way through high school. I said, “You must have had girls throwing themselves at you.”
He tuned and lay on his back again. He said into the ceiling, “That's what Tina said. She said there were a few girls who wanted in my pants...I don't know. I just didn't notice, I guess.”
That seemed strange to me, but I didn't know what to say. He turned to me and asked, “Did you have any...crushes in your school?”
I sighed and said, “Yes. Marco. But he's straight. Very straight. I don't know why I thought he might change his mind. It's not like I ever did anything, but the way he ignored me...and, well...when he started going out with this girl I knew...it was pretty obvious. It was awful. But I got over it.”
He turned to me and said, “Sorry, Josh. That must have been nasty.”
The sympathy in his voice was hard to hear since it made me want to touch him again. “It was. He's a twat anyway.”
Stewart laughed in this clear, happy way that made me happy, and made me want him even more.
We talked for a little while longer about our lives in Brighton and Edinburgh. It felt relaxed again between us, easier, warmer.
--
After that weekend, things both stayed the same between us, and felt very different. We were still friendly and acted like mates, but I could feel something more intimate and vulnerable between us. We had these moments of shared looks that said many things. He seemed to be softer with me, easier. Occasional touches, or grins that we be both knew the source of.
Our nights were much the same and there wasn't a repeat of that night in London where we explored each other's bodies.
The school year ended and we both had plans for the summer before uni. I had decided to travel to Thailand for a few weeks with a friend of mine, mostly because I love the food. Stewart went to visit one of his cousins in California on his father's side who apparently wasn't an ass. But we had agreed to meet halfway for a week in Tahiti before coming back to London where we were both enrolled at the U of L.
This friend and I, Martin, had a lovely trip through Thailand. He's straight, but he's also a very decent person and isn't at all fazed by anyone's sexuality. When we parted in Bangkok he gave me a long hug and kissed my cheek saying, “If I was gay, Josh...”
But I knew he was kidding and we both laughed at the ridiculousness of it.
My flight to Tahiti, thought Honolulu, was rough and took ages. When the plane landed in a rainstorm, I was worried the plane would skid off the runway and land in the Pacific. Obviously it didn't so I got a taxi that took ages to the other side of the island to a hotel that was really a series of little bungalows near a town called Nutae.
Stewart was already there, and greeted me with a hug when I got inside and dumped my bag on the floor. It was like a wooden tent with a big window. Cheap and cheerful. The view through some trees to the water was fantastic.
He said, “Get your suit on, mate, we've got some swimming to do!”
My cousin looked amazing and happy, as always. His beard was a little thicker, more of a scruff, his hair even longer. He was wearing black trunks that fit him perfectly, made his ass look even better than it already did. I was going to have a hard time if he dressed like that for a week.
I found my trunks, got rid of my shirt and we went down the narrow path to the beach. The sand was white, the water was this unearthly blue and the sky had all these little, perfect puffs of cloud in them. We lay, half under a palm tree, and shared stories about our trips. We bought drinks from a lovely young man who had a contraption strapped to his waist out of which he produced various coconut based drinks that got us quite tipsy in no time.
Later, we ate seafood at a restaurant down the road, drank more, then dragged ourselves back to our little 'room'.
I collapsed on the tiny bed, shucking my clothes. It was hot, but there was a nice breeze coming through the open doors. We lay talking for a while, sweating, but comfortably so. I turned to Stewart and he was staring at the ceiling. His body was glistening, the hair on his chest capturing the remains of the light that came from outside. His belly was even more flat, it seemed. His cock was that much more delectable. Because I was drunk, I said, “You know it's hard to see you lying there all naked, right?”
He turned to me and smiled. “Yeah? How hard?”
I wasn't sure how to respond. I said, “Hard.”
He almost snorted when he said, “It's not the only thing.”
I could tell he saw that my cock was now rigid. I don't know how it gets hard so quickly. “No, it's not. What did you expect?”
“I didn't expect anything, Josh.” But then he reached down and took hold of his and began to stroke, his cock hardening. He said, “Let's...”
It's not like I had a choice. I followed suit. We very slowly stroked ourselves. I had to close my eyes otherwise I would have done something I would have regretted, so I just enjoyed the feeling. I could hear the movements of his hand, the sound of waves coming from the beach, a soft breeze blowing in the window. It didn't take long to reach the peak and I exploded all over my belly. My cum felt cool in the night air and I watched the last of drool out onto my fist.
I glanced over at Stewart just as his cock erupted with a jet of cum that splashed all over his chest. He gasped and said, “Fuck...” before letting out a long sigh. He turned to me, looking sheepish. “I guess I needed that.”
We both laughed, but it felt strangely intense. We wiped ourselves off and talked for a while, but then the regular sound of the surf gently lulled me into sleep.
--
We spent the next day on the beach again, swimming in the water that was so warm it felt like a salty bath. Laying in the sand under a tree, I occasionally glanced at at his body, at the contours of his thigh, the lean muscles of his belly. I decided I didn't care if he saw me or not.
Later we had another seafood dinner in the little town. It felt like we were back in Brighton: relaxed and easy. He told me about his plans for uni, about wanting to be an engineer, about wanting to maybe teach at a university. I shared my dream of making documentaries. He listened carefully and asked me some astute questions.
We got back to our strange little room and we realized it was even hotter than the night before. Instead of trying to sleep inside, we hauled out some sheets and pillows and camped out on the deck where there seemed to be some breeze. Because of all the foliage around us, it felt like we were alone in a forest by the sea, even though the other cabins were close by. It also meant we didn't need clothes. It seemed to have become normal for us to be naked together which was lovely and frustrating at the same time. For me, at least.
We lay on our backs watching the stars. He was close to me and I could feel the energy of his body like a force between us. It felt sensual and affectionate and I wondered if this could be enough between us, perhaps all that was possible. As I lay, watching the tiny blip of a satellite pass over, he said, “Josh...I don't understand it, but I...”
As was his habit, he didn't finish what he was saying, but instead did something. And what he did was not what I could have ever expected. He leaned over me, looking directly into my eyes that were glinting in the moonlight and very slowly kissed me. His lips were soft and damp, his tongue was smooth and energetic when it met mine. His hand touched my shoulder and slid down my side, over my belly, stopping just above my pulsing cock. But he didn't touch it.
At first I was speechless, but then I said, “Why?” He looked confused, so I said, “Not why, but...what does it mean that you just kissed me?”
He sighed and said, “I don't fucking know, Josh. But I wanted to. When I'm with you I just...” He stopped and I could tell he was trying to work something out. He leaned on his elbow beside me, but his other hand was still idly stroking my belly, which was confusing. He looked at me again and said, “Did it bother you?”
I laughed and looked at the soft moonlight on his hand on my body. He could see my cock just below his hand which was strange. I said, “No, it didn't fucking bother me! How could it?”
He looked uncomfortable. “Right, I get it. I just don't want you to think I'm just experimenting on you or something. Because that would imply that I could feel this way for any man. But I don't. It's just you. That's why it's not an experiment. I just want to know you more...”
He lay back down and sighed. I could tell he was confused. I was confused. But I also was so turned on I could hardly think. I turned to him and said, “Lets just...” And I started to stroke me cock. He grinned at me and took hold of his which was, I noticed well on the way to hardness. I felt like a part of me was beginning to understand something but I couldn't have put it into words. And words were unnecessary at that moment anyway, since I came with an electric explosion really fast. Stewart groaned and raised his hips and jerked out a massive quantity of cum all over his abdomen.
We lay there for a minute, then he said, “Let's go swim...”
It was kind of magical swimming in the middle of the night, naked, with him. The surf was not big and we lolled about in the warm water, with the ocean sparkling with moonlight all around us. We didn't touch, although I certainly wanted to kiss him again, but something held me back as it always seemed to with him.
We slept on the little deck under the stars.
--
The next day we took a bus to a bigger town – I can't remember its name – and looked in some shops, bought some souvenirs, ate some lunch. It felt easy and I imagined we were a couple which, when I did, also felt complicated so then I tried to not think about it.
That night, back at our cabin, we got rid of our clothes again and sat on the deck drinking some wine we bought. He was sitting, his legs crossed. I couldn't help noticing his cock nestled behind his shins. He caught me looking and gave me a strange smile. He said, “Josh...can I kiss you again?”
To say I was hoping he would isn't quite right, but when he said it, I knew that I had been waiting. I said, “Of course...I want you to.”
He leaned toward me and our mouths met with the same, soft, intensity as the last time. I felt his hand on the back of my neck and he pulled me closer, pressing more firmly into my mouth, his tongue moving more energetically than it had before. He changed the angle of his head and did it again. I could feel him moan into my mouth.
He pushed me back onto the deck and pulled himself on top of me, our lips still sealed together. What told me that we were beyond experimenting was the fact that his cock was like iron as it pressed into mine, which was equally rigid. He was there. He had decided. He started to very slowly push himself against my cock. I ran my hands down his back and gripped the cheeks of his muscled ass, encouraging him.
He let go of my mouth and said, all soft and breathy, “Can I...fuck you, Josh? I want to fuck you so badly I can hardly stand it.”
The question was so stark it felt like a punch. I took a deep breath. I knew what my answer was. What else could it be? But I said, “Yeah...you can...but Stewart...I've never...”
Then he leaned in fast and kissed me. Not the soft, sensuous kiss from before, but open-mouthed and intense. I went with it and because I had never really kissed like that, it was overwhelming and my body took over, my arms going around his torso, my hips turning to meet his, our sweaty skin starting to slide together, his hairy chest scratching my nipples. He smelled deeply animal and tasted exactly the way I had fantasized.
But then I pulled away and finished my thought. “I've never been fucked, Stewart...I've never...”
He ran his hand through my damp hair and kissed my forehead, then my nose. “I know. Don't worry. I've never fucked a man before, so...”
But he seemed to know. Or it felt that way to me. He began to kiss my neck, moving his lips over my collar bones. I ran hand through his hair. He moved back up and our mouths devoured each other again. He said into my mouth, “Yeah, just go with it, Josh. Let's see what we can do together...”
So I let go. What else could I do? Still holding the firm muscles of his ass, I arched my hips up so our cocks slid against each other again, slicked by sweat and heat. He met my thrust with a stronger one of his own and he groaned into my mouth, his tongue pushing past my teeth. I pulled his ass down and did it again, our cocks impossibly hard, the soft skin of the underside of mine sending insane ripples through my body as it mashed against the uncut foreskin of his.
It felt like instinct as I kissed along his jaw, under his chin, licking the contours of his neck, tasting salt, tasting sweat, tasting something thick, fertile, that seemed to be just Stewart.
Still holding my shoulders, he kissed around my neck, repeating what I had done, but he went further, licking the little hollow at the base of my neck, then in a long series of wet movements of his mouth, he moved around my chest, over my nipples, sucking them, licking them. He was groaning as he did it as if it was his own chest. I felt him take hold of my cock and run his thumb over the head, spreading some of my flowing juices around. I arched my back and gasped.
He chuckled and said, “Fucking right, Josh...”
And with that he did something I hadn't expected. He quickly moved down and pulled my whole cock into his mouth. I could feel him moan, feel the vibrations of his voice on the head of my dick as he began to pull it into him, until I felt his lips at the base. Then, with a quick adjustment of his body, he fucked his mouth onto me a few times. I grabbed his head, helping him, but then I managed to choke, “I'm so fucking close, Stewart...I want you to fuck me before I come.”
He slowly let go of my cock and looked over at me. His lips were moist and shiny, a little river of spit running out of the side of his mouth. My cock, just below him, was pulsing each time my heart beat, the tip all red and wet. He said, “Yeah? You really want me to fuck you, Josh? Because I want to more than anything right now.”
I just nodded with a grin I couldn't stop. But then I thought of something that seemed necessary. I pulled myself up and said, “I'll be right back...”
I ran into the room and dug in my backpack for the lube I had brought. I had imagined I would only used it for myself, the possibility that I would give it to him, as I did when I came outside again, had never occurred to me.
He seemed not to understand for a moment. Feeling slightly ridiculous, I said, “Guys need this, Stewart. Women get wet, we don't.”
He face lit up like Christmas. “You sound like you're an expert.”
I laughed and took his cock in my hand. “No, but I'm not stupid. Just do it.”
Actually it was me that got him wet, got him ready. First, because I had been wanting to as badly as everything else, I leaned down and ran my mouth over the head of his cock, inhaled it in as far as it would go. He tasted salty and hot. My mouth tingled around the head and I could feel it oozing onto my tongue. I let him fuck me mouth a few times, but I still wanted everything else, so I sat up. He was looking at me with something like surprise.
I drizzled lube on his pulsing dick and ran my hand down to the base. He gasped and looked down at his impossibly hard. He looked back at me and a grin slowly appeared on his face.
I lay down, spread my legs, arching my back a little, presenting myself in a way that felt vulnerable and so crazily erotic I almost came without touching myself. My cock was literally throbbing in my fist. I said, “Use some in me...”
He seemed to understand and use his fingers to swirl around my hole, making it damp and sticky. He said, almost thoughtfully, “You feel so soft...it's so different...”
I imagined I knew what he meant since I assumed women felt completely different. But I didn't think long, because he got himself between my legs and, using his right hand on his cock, pushed a little at my ass, circling the end of his cock around the softness of my asshole, then pushed harder. I gasped when the head of his cock went past the tight ring of muscle, and, with some pain and a lot of amazing pressure that became all-out pleasure, he pushed himself in.
The whole time he watched my face and I knew he was making sure I wasn't in pain. I was a little, but I wanted this so badly. I had wanted this moment so badly for so many months I was willing to accept as much pain as he could give me because in the end, it wasn't pain at all.
Once his cock was deep in my body, his hairy groin touching me, his balls resting comfortable against my skin, his mouth firmly connected to mine, he began to slowly, deeply, fantastically fuck me. Slow at first, but as he realized I didn't feel anything but good things, faster and faster. He kissed me crazily the whole time, and I stroked my own cock as best I could between us.
Deeper and faster, harder he jammed me into the deck. I could hear it creaking and vibrating slightly. I let go of my cock and took hold of his ass, loving the feel of his strong thrusts, the sweat on his skin, the smell of our bodies, the taste of his mouth and in that fucking moment, that crazy, overwhelming moment, I knew. I knew for the first time something my body knew or my spirit, or some combination of the two: I loved him.
And when he came, he didn't stop kissing me, but I could feel his whole torso tremble, his hips quiver and I imagined his cock blasting inside me. He gasped into my mouth, then he threw his head back and moaned, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth open. I watched his face contort and held his ass in my hands.
When he was still, sweat dripping from his face to mine, he looked down at me, his face relaxed, his mouth still open, his eyes wide with something like surprise. He didn't say anything, just looked at me. We stared at each other for a few moments.
Then the spell seemed to shift and his slow grin reappeared. “Now you.”
He pulled his cock very slowly out of me. It was still hard somehow and wet. I could feel the juice from his body sliding out of my still open ass. I took hold of my cock, but he pushed my hand out of the way and gripped me. There was no need of lube. I was wet and streaming. He stroked a few times and that was all it took. I was so excited I just exploded in his hand, cum arcing out me onto my chest, hitting my chin. He laughed like a small child discovering something new. When my cock stopped spewing and my body calmed down, but still tingling, he surprised me. He let go of my cock and brought his forefinger to his mouth and sucked the globs of cum in. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and said, “Very nice. Strange, but nice.”
I couldn't really think. How could I. Stephen had just fucked me and that was all I could be aware of. He got up and walked to the bathroom and came back with a little towel. He very gently mopped up his cum from my ass, then from my chest with soft, gentle movements. When he was done, he tossed the towel and lay down beside me, his head resting on my chest.
I ran my hand through his hair. It was very damp. He smelled like heaven. I said, “Are you all right?”
His laugh shook the deck. “I'm more than all right. That was...fantastic.”
To say I felt pleasure is not enough. I kissed his hair and said, “It was, wasn't it? Thank you.”
He turned and looked at my face. “Thank you?”
I had to laugh. “For taking my virginity so skillfully, you idiot.”
He reached down and took hold of my cock. I was still half hard. “Well...it was the best fucks I've ever had, Josh. Not that I've had that many...”
“Really? The best?”
“Yeah. The best. But it's because it's you, you know? It wasn't just a fuck...”
He stopped and I could tell he wanted to say more, but I wasn't sure what. I knew what I wanted him to say, but I had no idea if that was just my fantasies or if there was something else. Instead I said, “How many woman have you...”
He sat up, resting his head on his elbow. He looked at me for a moment and said, “Four. I've had a busy summer. And now five. Five people.” He leaned over and kissed me very slowly as if he wanted to start the whole thing again. And in fact he did. In fact he fucked me twice more that night.
And three times the next day. I lost count of how many times he fucked me that week. He wanted me to fuck him after the fourth day, but we didn't get very far. It was too painful for him for some reason. I wondered if letting me fuck him was going too far, in some way. As if he would have to admit something to himself. But I wasn't sure.
Because he did do something else, the last morning we were there. I woke up and he was licking my cock. We had been sleeping together, of course. By that point what else would we do? Several mornings we woke up and fucked and I began the day with his jizz leaking out of me.
But that morning, he rather expertly sucked my cock. So expertly, that in a few minutes I had reached the summit and gasped, “I'm going to,” assuming he would pull his mouth off. But he just kept going and when I exploded, holding his head still and thrusting into his throat, emptying my body of cum, he took it all. I could hear him gulping it down. When I was done, he sat up, licking his lips. He said, “I never thought I would like the taste...but there you go.”
He leaned over and kissed me, his mouth tasting of me.
At the airport the next morning, we stood waiting for our flights. He was taking one back to California to get the rest of his gear before coming back to the UK. I was going almost direct, stopping in Montreal before the final leg to Gatwick, then home to Brighton.
I don't know how he felt, but I was in agony. I wanted to say so many things, but I just couldn't. Cousins didn't say those kinds of things to each other, did they? At least not in 2026. Maybe in 1896 and before, when cousins seemed to get married regularly. Because that's what this was, of course. I was in love with Stewart. It was as simple as that.
My flight was first. Just before I went to the gate, I looked at him, trying to find something to say. He seemed to be in a similar state. Finally I said, “Stewart...I...this has been the best week I've had in...well, ever.” It was all I could say and it felt like enough.
He nodded and pulled me into a hug. In my ear he said, “Yeah. It has. The best.”
I pulled away and I could tell he was moved which strangely made me feel better. I turned and walked to the gate.
--
It's not like we didn't see each other again. Of course we did. We were cousins after all. We both went to the U of L, but in completely different programs. I was at King's College, hoping to go through to an MA. He was in engineering at Imperial College. Because of this, we didn't see all that much of each other. We lived in different neighbourhoods, me in Putney across the river and him in Lower Clapton, north of the City. Not far, but far enough when you're busy. We saw each other maybe once a month and at family holidays.
But we also saw each other at other times. Over the years, every few months, one of us would contact the other and we would arrange to meet. Usually at a hotel. We didn't ever name the reason, but as soon as we were in the same room we couldn't wait to tear each other's clothes off, to pull each other onto the bed and devour each other's mouths. And he would fuck me. Several times. It was mad and eager. Then we would lie naked and talk into the night about our lives. In some ways that was the best part. The fucking was just the prelude.
His mum moved from Edinburgh to Reading to be closer, now that she was single. His dad disappeared into Australia, the shit.
When I wasn't with him, which obviously was very often, my longing never wavered. It got quieter, I suppose. In my second year at King's I had a boyfriend – Jacob – who was sweet and caring and lovely. But at a certain point he knew my heart was somewhere else. I never told him about Stewart and I, even though he met him a few times. I remember Jacob saying after the first Christmas we were together, “You and Stewart seem close.” It was all he said, but I could tell there was a question behind it, despite the fact that at that same Christmas, Stewart brought his girlfriend, Nala.
That was a strange experience. Nala is lovely and smart and funny and the two of them seemed very bonded. On the one hand it was nice to see him so happy, but at the same time, I wondered how he reconciled her the times we spent together, fucking in secret, sharing our lives in secret.
At one point that Christmas, I had gone outside to get some air. Brighton was warm and damp that year and the air was thick with moisture. I was standing in the back garden when I realized that Stewart had come out to join me. I turned to him, watching him look up into the sky at the mottled clouds. I said, “Nala seems wonderful.”
He ginned at me and said, “Yeah. She is. I think we're in it for the long haul.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I said, “That's great, Stewart. I'm very happy for you.”
He turned to look at me. “Jacob seems like a decent sort...”
It was an odd thing to say, but I answered, “He's a sweet one, isn't he?”
There was a pause and Stewart said, “I've been wanting to say, Josh. That week? I'll never forget it, right? It was something I'll always remember.”
I almost lost it, but managed to hold myself together. I said, “It was the best...I couldn't forget it if I tried.”
I was being honest, but withholding the most salient part. The part I couldn't say to anyone. That I was still in love with him. We stood for a few minutes, then he put his hand on my shoulder very softly and said, “We should go in.”
“Give me a second...”
He walked into the house and I stood there, bereft. There was an acidic pool of longing in my gut that grew and grew until I could barely stand it. I wanted to cry but couldn't because if I did, I was afraid I would never stop.
--
I got an MA and started to make documentaries for this little institute and cinema in Newcastle. I was interested in how small communities in England were influenced by global technology, so my films focused on individuals, often queer, but not necessarily. I loved it.
Stewart got a PhD and started teaching in Edinburgh. He moved there with Nala and bought a house outside the city. I saw them often over the years since Newcastle is only two-and-a-half hours from Edinburgh.
Jacob broke up with me not long after that Christmas. I stayed more or less single after that, no one really catching my attention. No one really able to take the place that Stewart had in my head. I couldn't shake it. The feel of his body, the intensity of his eyes, his gentle voice. They persisted. Every time I saw him it only served to solidity it.
When we were together, lying in bed, wet with sweat and cum, we seemed to tacitly agree to not talk about what we were doing together. We just did it, and enjoyed it, needed it.
But he and Nala did seem to be in love. I could see it. I didn't want to see it, but when I was with him, they had a solidity and an ease that for me, quickly slid into envy, which I hated.
They didn't have any children and after a few years, Stewart told me he was infertile. They decided not to adopt and be content with two cats instead.
--
So the years passed and the prospect of being forty was looming for us both. I had settled into my life in Newcastle. There was a man I had started to have sex with a few years before. Neither one of us was interested in a relationship, but we had very nice sex indeed. Jian was very smart and very sensual and we often had long conversations about life and art after we had fucked. Then he would go home and I wouldn't see him for a few weeks, then we would do it again. It was comfortable.
At Christmas that year, the year before we both turned forty, Stewart seemed less at ease. Nala had stayed in Scotland to be with her family, who, being Hindu, didn't celebrate Christmas. But I could tell all was not well with him.
We were at my parents house in Brighton as usual. I had just got up (from my childhood bed, still in the same place, in the same room, still with the twin bed beside it where Stewart had slept that year) Stewart was in the room beside mine, which felt strange. There was a knock at the door, which then opened.
Stewart looked tired. He had gotten in late the night before having flown from Edinburgh and driven a hired car from Gatwick to Brighton. I had suggested we drive down together, but for some reason he didn't want to, even though we had done that drive together a few times, usually stopping somewhere to fuck. Before that Christmas, we had spent a night in November together and I remember even then he had seemed ill at ease.
He came in and sat down on the bed he had slept in when we were young. I wondered if he realized it. He looked at me, his big dark eyes somehow darker. I said, “Are you all right?”
He laughed, but not with any pleasure in his voice. “No, Josh. I'm not.”
Not for the first time, I noticed that his wavy hair was a little thinner. His face not as full as it was. There were a few white hairs in the scruff on his jaw. We were getting older.
“Tell me...”
He sighed, then he said, “I think turning forty is hitting me more than I thought it would.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. I can hardly believe it.”
He winced and said, “Yeah, but...” Then he stopped and cleared his throat, looking around the room as if he hadn't seen it before, but I knew he was remembering.
“But what?”
Something seemed to shift in him and said, “Never mind. I just don't like getting older, I guess.” He stood up and grinned at me in a way that felt forced. “Let's see what your mum has made for breakfast.”
We spent the day lying about in the sitting room, talking with my mum and his mum and my dad. It was nice. The sisters, as I always noticed, were so close, so of the same mind. They even looked very similar and, being only a year apart, could have been twins, but not quite. I watched Stewart with them and felt that he and I had inherited that closeness, that similarity, that bond. I wondered if he still felt it.
We had a nice Christmas dinner. My mum and my aunt got a little drunk and at about eleven, my dad took them upstairs. I could hear them laughing and I liked the feel of our shared history all together in the same house again. Stewart and I sat in the sitting room with glasses of whiskey. He was sitting in a big chair by the fire, the one my dad usually sat in. I was curled up on the sofa with a blanket over me.
Because I wasn't eighteen and because I had lived and experienced, I was able to say to him, “What's going on, Stewart? You seem out of sorts.”
He looked away from the fire and directly at me. For a moment he didn't say anything, but then, “Turning forty scares me. There's things I still haven't done...places I haven't been...”
I knew there was more and I wanted to hear it. I was done being reticent at that point in my life. For me turning forty was letting go of some anxieties and inhibitions that had plagued me my whole life. “Are you and Nala doing all right?”
He swallowed and looked at the fire. Without turning he said, “Not really. It's not her fault. It's me.” He stopped, looking stricken.
I couldn't stop myself from saying, “'What about you?”
Looking over at me, his face flushed in the firelight, he said, “It's you, Josh. I think it's you.”
It wasn't what I was expecting. Not at all. Maybe what I had long fantasized he might say, but I had delegated it into the zone of the not possible. And here he was saying it. I held myself steady and asked, “Me? What about me?”
“Come on, Josh...you're the only man I've ever wanted to have sex with...but more to the point, you're the only man I've ever had feelings for...”
To that I had no response. To have the very thing I had always wanted him to say, suddenly said out loud was almost too much. I took a long swig of my whiskey and just looked at him. His eyes were wide and I thought he was going to cry. I thought I was going to cry. I said, “Come here...”
At first I thought he would refuse, get up and go to bed or be angry or I don't know what else he might have done. But instead he slowly got up and crossed the space between us and sat down very close to me. Almost at the same moment, our arms went around each other. I moaned as if I had been given water after lying in the desert expecting to die of thirst. He sighed into my hair and pulled me tighter.
Ever time we had gotten together over the years in our anonymous hotel rooms it had felt like that. Like being able to take a breath after holding it for too long.
We stayed that way, holding each other, for a while. I finally said, my mouth close to his ear, “Why now? Why tell me this now? We've been fucking for years and we've never talked about it. Why now?”
He pulled away from me, but our faces were close. He reached up and pushes some of my hair out of my face. “Because it hit me recently that we're getting older and that I might not ever have a chance to find out if you and I...” He stopped, looking stricken, then said, “If you and I could make it work. I guess I mean, I want to find out if we could work, Josh. I think I fell in love with you that first year and its alway stayed with me, even though I really have loved Nala, but in a way that feels completely different to how I feel about you.”
I put my hand on his cheek, feeling his warmth. I had the mad thought that we were in some romantic Christmas film, but I knew this was really happening. I said, “I've felt the same way. For years. But I felt I couldn't say anything. And not jus because we're cousins. Because I wondered if I was just some aberration and that eventually you would get over it.”
He kissed me then and it was better than the first time he had kissed me, which I remembered vividly. This was better. He said into my mouth, his breath hot, “I didn't. I couldn't. How could I?”
And so we made love there on the sofa. I worried for a moment if someone would come downstairs, but once my clothes were off, once his clothes were off, once we had kissed and I had sucked his cock for a while, once he had sucked mine, once I had run upstairs for my lube and slunk back down again, once he had asked me to fuck him, and once my cock was deep in Stewart's body for the very first time, and I was slowly rocked my hips, driving my cock deeper, kissing him almost wildly, any possibility of worry was gone.
I fucked him for a while, kissing him, nibbling his neck, pinching his nipples until he almost cried out, then actually cried out when his cock exploded over his chest and then, fucking him even more deeply, my body erupted with twenty year's worth of need into him and I started to cry and laugh and gasp all at the same time. I didn't care if our parents could hear us, that what we were doing was quasi-incestuous. I just didn't care.
--
After that Christmas, Stewart and I changed our lives forever. We decided not to tell our family. We told them a series of white lies. At least I hoped they were, anyway. I said that my house in Newcastle was too small and that I wanted to live somewhere else. My job was more or less virtual anyway so I didn't need to be in Newcastle. I moved to Edinburgh.
Stewart went home and ended his marriage in a few week's time. It was hard and painful, but he was determined. They came to an understanding (even though she didn't know the real reason for him ending it) and divided their assets.
He and I bought a house after a year of living separately in Edinburgh. We lived separately just to make sure. But we were sure. We had been sure for years but neither one of us let ourselves know the truth of it.
So we have been living together ever since. It hasn't always been simple or easy. Stewart sometimes longs for sex with women and we decided that for the sake of our relationship, he could go off once of twice a year and fuck some random woman and get it out of his system. Then he comes home and we spend a few days in bed. Because what hasn't change is he loves me, and loves having sex with me in all the ways we have invented in bed together. But only me. No other men. I believe him when he says I'm the only man he's ever been attracted to and been in love with. It's that simple. That Kinsey fellow would have had a few things to say about Stewart.
Our aging parents just think us living together is a pragmatic decision, that since we're both single and cousins, it makes sense. They see us as cousins and good friends, and we're happy to sustain that illusion. When they visit, we make a show of having separate bedrooms, but when they leave, we sleep in the same big bed as we always have. We think Nala has guessed, but she doesn't say anything. She and Stewart are still close which pleases me, and she remarried, happily.
Stewart and I are essentially married. Our slightly odd (to the outside world) relationship works. It sounds ridiculous to say, but I am the yin to his yang. Who cares if we're cousins. It works.
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