Due to some silly immature mistakes I made when I was younger I spent between the ages of 19 and 49 incarcerated. Before I was locked up I was a complete virgin, I never had the opportunity of being with a woman. In prison I finally lost my virginity and had heaps of sex with guys in there. Every time I was with a guy I was always thinking of some chick I’d wish I was with. 
Fast forward to now I am 50 and out on the streets, I am very much attracted to women but having a hard time meeting them. Most don’t seem interested in an ex con like me. I wouldn’t call myself gay as I’m only wanting chicks and in prison it was just about getting a load off or helping one of the other guys do the same. 

The scroll of the perfect woman.

Health.

Tiger cub bounding.
Spring buds blossoming daily.
Hearts sing together.

Submission.

Kneeling mouth open.
She waits expecting the worst.
She is overwhelmed.

Incest.

Mother pleases me.
Day and night Mother sucks me.
I am no virgin.

Little Sister.

Firm round little breasts.
Innocence faded by porn.
She is eagerness.

Throat Fucking.

Dirt women lay down.
Open mouths wait for Masters.
Struggle in the mind.

Slut.

Sinking opinion.
Mother cruelly degrades.
Why not if she says.

Sex Toy.

Willing surrender.
Women are fuckable holes.
Sexy is speechless.

Blonde.

Mostdesirable.
Thin pink skinned living breast farm.
Used beyond reason.

Bilara.

Blonde teenage dog slut.
She hs done everything.
She lives for judgement.

Bambi.

She is worth nothing.
Belly full of piss and lube.
Lost before twenty.

Logan.

Melted face sagging.
Eyes mindlessly staring.
Perfectly made toy.

Bibi.

Her lust spills over.
Oral bestiality.
Sexual chaos.

Kitti.

Totally willing.
Black eyes running all over.
Animal semen.

Mille.

Destroy her features.
Binding choke chain and handcuffs.
Broken toy submits.

The Perfect Whore.

Bilara Bambi.
Logan Bibi Kitti Mille.
Combine them as one.

Ghost Lover.

She waits to serve me.
Chilly touches excite me.
Very rewarding.

Slug Fetish.

Slimey accolites.
Women well used by husbands.
Crawling on her skin.

Perfection.

Wordlessly waiting.
Long hair trailing down her back.
Skin glowing with lust.

Party Trick.

Rough hands gripping her.
Confused her shirt is open.
Garden slugs added.

Money.

All or nothingness.
Greatness can rise from the dirt.
Dirt can be bought cheap.

Whore.

Older than cities.
Security bought dearly.
Becoming more whore.

Wife.

The picture of love.
The prisoner of marriage.
Helpless to stop it.

I confess that when I drive down a block that is populated by mostly African Americans aka Blacks the place looks beyond run down, people sitting on their porch drinking, doing nothing, listening to gangster rap, and speaking ebonics or slang.

A woman to them is only a bitch or a whore.
Most of them don't have a job or any desire to get one.
They expect a ton of hand outs.
The "father" left a long time ago.
Black women can't find a decent Black guy because most of them are in prison.
Most are into drugs, crime, and theft.
Reparations, baby!
Car has HUGE rims, loud sound system, and tinted windows.

But the biggest thing I notice is that you can't be BLACK and try to rise above it without someone putting a cap in your ass by ANOTHER BLACK. That's right. The worst things done to a Black man wasn't from a Mexican, Asian, or especially a White Man. It was done by their own. Once you have a shot at getting out, making a good life, or even inspiring or leading others your life is cut short by another Black person who is JEALOUS of your success. Isn't that delicious? What a GREAT culture that must be... You must be SO proud.

Then there is Tyrone, Latisha, LaQuesha, ... got your fried chicken and 40's, pour a bit out onto the sidewalk for the fallen, ya know dawg?!

Being Black sucks because every opportunity you have is flushed down the toilet, your own race doesn't want you to succeed to anything. They will hunt and cut you down faster than you can rise above it. Just ask any rapper who has been gunned down... how he feels about the Black race, oh wait, you can't, because he's fucking dead.

Bless the Black community.

Fat grannys truly are the best…I stole this woman away from her husband and now she’s my slut that wears her wedding ring and my ring while she gapes and squirts for me. Believe it or not I met her in prison cause she used to visit me as a courtesy and not long after I was fisting and groping her while she strokes my cock during visits. One visit she had a hole cut in her pants and then jumped my cock while no one was looking. I shot a huge load deep in her and sent her home. She wants desperately for me to be balls deep in her ass when her husband walks in. Secretly I think he wants to be humiliated cause he knows his wife is in love with a superior cock. I wouldn’t trade this slut for anything and she is a self proclaimed cum dumpster for me. Her asshole is virgin too and she’s saving it for me special. Have a look and tell me what you think…

Chapter 1
You're at a drag show in a shit hole state. We'll say Louisiana. You're dressed like a complete fucking sissy. Little skirt. Stockings, heels, frilly panties, crop top, makeup.

The show gets busted by asshole cops on some stupid pretext. Everybody runs for the exits. Because you're a clumsy fucktoy when you're wearing heels you stumble and the cops grab you. You're the only one they catch. They throw you in a van and take you straight to prison. It's a work prison. There's a farm and guards on horseback.

You're taken to a cell with 7 other men. Big, strong, violent men. You're not sure if you're doomed or in heaven. It might be both.

They laugh at your appearance and taunt you. Inevitably they start to gather around you. Your clothes are ripped off. They ridicule your tiny dick. You beg them to stop but that simply encourages them to be crueler. They decide that if you're going to dress like a woman they'll treat you like one.

Fat cocks of every colour are whipped out. A thick black one is shoved in your mouth. A fat white one gets rammed, dry, up your ass. Your screams and crying only pushes them further into a frenzy. They each take a turn on your holes. 7 loads of cum in your mouth and all over your face. 7 loads of cum stuffed up your, now gaping, sissy ass.

When they finally finish raping you, leaving you laying in a puddle of cum and tears on the floor of the cell, they gather in a circle around you and begin pissing. 7 full bladders emptied all over your ruined faggot body and in your face.

And that's only the first night. It's going to get worse from here.....

Chapter 2
When you awaken in the morning you realize you've been tied to your bed. Face down. Ass up. Your cellmates are debating whether or not they they should fuck you then fist you, or fist you then fuck you. After a couple of minutes it's decided they should fuck you first because the fisting will probably destroy your boipussy and they won't enjoy raping you as much that way. They don't give a shit if it hurts, or actually, genuinely, destroys your ass. They just want they most pleasure from you before they dispose of you.
Even though your ass is still sore from the night before they start fucking you again. The pain, pleasure and humiliation are combining to turn you on and your clit starts to grow. They laugh and taunt you for liking it and promise that if you like this you'll love what comes later.

Just as the fifth guy is about to take his turn raping your slut ass the guards slam the door open. They give your cellmates shit for potentially ruining you before they've had a chance to have some fun with you. The warden promised them that you were free use and that anything goes. The warden has something special in store for you but that's going to come later.

The guards untie you from the bed and drag you out of the cell and down to the isolation unit. The whole journey they're mocking your tiny little clit and faggy breasts. Talking about how they're going to torture your titties and clit until you pass out. First though, they have a bet to settle. One of them has wagered that he can get his nightstick all the way up your boipussy. The others think it's too big and too long to fit.

You're bent over the end of the bed in your new cell and your wrists and ankles are zip tied to the frame. The guard spits on the end of his nightstick and begins pushing it up your ass. He wants to win this bet so he's trying not to completely fucking destroy your ass. The fat, hard stick is going in nicely. The gang rape you endured last night has loosened you up nicely for his purposes.

When he has it half way in it starts to meet resistance. The cocks that had their fun with you last night, while damn big, were only half as long as the nightstick. He pushes harder. You moan like the little whore you are. All the guards laugh as you grunt and moan. Still meeting resistance, he pushes harder. The stick slides a few more inches into your guts. You moan even louder, clearly enjoying being filled. He fucks it in and out of your faggy cunt, eliciting even more moans of pleasure from you. They're all amazed at what a depraved little sissy slut you are. A couple of them discuss how much they'll be able to abuse you now that they know you like it.

Determined to win the bet the guard begins hammering the nightstick up your ass. Deeper and deeper, closer and closer to reaching the handle. There's almost 18 inches of rock hard, polished, wood disappearing into your ass with each stroke. You realize, much to your dismay and shame, you want it all. You want him to win.

You're pushing back against the stick, willing it deeper into your cunt. Moaning, begging and crying for him to shove harder, to drive it deeper into you. Your clit is as hard as steel and beginning to leak precum. There will be no turning back at this point. The guards all know what a piece of perverse fuck meat you are and they won't protect you anymore. If the entire prison wants to line up and rape you, repeatedly, they won't stop it. You're not sure you'd want them to.

With one final shove the guard hammers the entire nightstick up your ass. You can feel it up against your stomach, destroying your ass even more, and ensuring your boipusy will be able to take incredible lengths.

He lets out a cheer while the other guards groan and grumble about having to pay the wager.

The stick is ripped from your cunt, leaving you gaping, raw and in pain. It also leaves you feeling empty, and wanting to be filled again.

As they're going, leaving you still tied to the bed, they promise they'll be back soon to continue your destruction.

I confess that my three years in prison, and the experiences there, have led to me wanting to become a woman.

This is a shot in the dark, but I was just watching a video I lost. It was an Asian prisoner or war situation where the woman was bound and suspended while getting fucked and creampied. Two guys force her to have sex and then one guard or soldier eats her out. Any chance anyone has that one in their stash of faves?

Maggie's imprisonment Part II

The went down many stairs to an area that was lit by electric lights. Then they went through a doorway and went down another set of stairs to an area that no electric lights at all. The only light came from a torch in the hand of one of the men.     They went down a long flight of stairs and ended up in a long hall way with doors lining both sides. They took her to one of the doors and threw the door open. "Welcome to your cell, Maggie," one of the men said.    Although Maggie's cell was completely devoid of light, she had gotten a very good look at it when she had first been chained up. The room was about 3 meters deep and about 2 meters wide. The ceiling was about 3 meters high. There were no windows at all and the only door to the cell was made of solid iron. The walls were made of large stone blocks, held together with old mortar. There were no modern conveniences in the cell. No electric lights, no running water, no toilet. There were no creature comforts either. No bed, no chair, not even a pile of straw to lay on.
The one thing the cell did possess was shackles. Four heavy and shining shackles to be exact. Two shackles hung from the upper part of the wall opposite the cell door, they were passed through huge metal rings, which were fixed in it. The shackles were separated in this way for app. 60 cm. Two other shackles were attached at the lower part of the wall, their chain passed only through one ring. The shackles were opened, with a joint at the side of the connection to the chain. They positioned Maggie directly beneath the shackles, her back to the wall.    
Then they uncuffed her wrists, they were hurting after being mistreated the whole time. The skin was bruised and swollen. Maggie's right arm was raised to the dangling shackle pulling it down, until the other shackle hit the metal ring with out loud clanking sound. They wrapped the metal shackle around her wrist, and pressed it firmly together. It closed with a clicking sound and fitted tightly around her narrow wrists, pressing firmly in the bruised skin there.     Maggie looked at her slightly upraised arm. She saw the shackle locked around her wrist. As the men walked to her left side, she gently shook her raised arm.     The iron chain rattled gently in response.     Suddenly the movement of her left arm brought her attention to her left. It was raised over her head to the other shackle which was pulled down. The rings were fixed very high und the shackle’s chain was short, show she was lifted up to stand on her forefeet. She watched with sick fascination as the shackle was locked down around the left wrist. It was just as tight as the right shackle was. The sounding of its closing mechanism was clearly audible for everyone.     Maggie was standing on her forefeet like the letter Y with her arms chained in the air. She looked at her upraised arms one last time and she became aware of the captors kneeling in front of her. She heard the shackles at her feet moving and she looked down. They uncuffed her ankles, then took one shackle, wrapped it around her right ankle and locked it the same way like the others. This ankle shackle was even tighter than the wrist shackles, pressing ugly in the damaged skin. It hurt like hell, and she began to tremble. She noted that there was an obvious distance between the last open shackle and her left ankle that still was free. When they pulled this shackle down, the locked shackle started to torture her right ankle severely and she had to lift herself upon her toes. Only now the men were able to lock also the last shackle.
They had finished their work, they lifted up and went back. They seemed to be satisfied with the results. Maggie was moaning intensely, because her body stretched and the tight shackles biting in her wrists and ankles.
One of the men said: “These shackles are really tight, aren’t they? Well, that’s the way all the prisoners here are treated. You will get used of them after a while. The locks are closed permanently, so you won’t never get free again.Maggie understood now what has happened: These strangers have fixed her body at this wall in this nasty cell in a painful way, she never won’t be able to get free by herself and no one will find her here down in this hidden dungeon. This was insane! She started to scream until one of the men hit her in her face. Then she felt in silence. In her head a strange mood emerged, it seemed that she separated her mind from her body.
    Maggie closed her eyes, expecting to feel something. Anything. Maybe he was about to place a blindfold over her eyes. Maybe he was about to inflict some type of painful stimulus. But there was nothing but the sound of the door closing behind her. Maggie opened her eyes to look, but with the torch gone from the room, she truly realized how totally dark the cell was. Undeterred, Maggie tried to look behind her best she could, but with absolutely no light in the room, she saw nothing.     Although she could see nothing, she could still hear. She heard the sound of the iron door closing behind her. She heard the sound of a deadbolt lock being thrown closed. Then she heard the sound of a large sliding lock being engaged. Finally, she heard was could only the sound of a large iron bar being lowered over the door.    Three locks made certain that the door would never open from the inside.    Then there was nothing but silence in the cell.    And that was it. Maggie was chained up. A 21st century woman chained in a 13th century dungeon cell. These huge shackles around Maggie's wrists and ankles held onto Maggie just as tightly today as they had done for years. Times and technology may have changed, but the shackles were just as effective on Maggie as they had been on girls in days gone by. He whole body was stretched by standing on her toes.
    Maggie would experience three phases of captivity during these first twenty hours.  The first phase began only a few seconds after the door was closed. Once Maggie realized she was alone, naked, and chained in a room that there was no way she could leave, pure terror overcame her and she began screaming.     She screamed at the top of her lungs. She screamed for help. She screamed obscenities. She screamed out all manners of words. She screamed out noises. She shook the chains that kept her arms stretched up. She shook the chains that kept her legs shackled to the floor. She shook them with all the strength that she had. She screamed out pleas for help. She screamed out curses and threats. She literally screamed until she totally lost her voice. Every inch of her naked body became covered in sweat as she exerted all of her strength in an attempt to break her bonds. Her mussels began to cramp, especially in the calves.    That was the first hour of her captivity. A panic attack. A mental breakdown.    Absolute. Terror.    Her voice now silenced, the second phase began: crying. Silent tears fell as she first thought about her three children and her husband. She thought of friends and family members and coworkers. She thought of the Disney vacation the family had taken last year and how they had plans to save up enough money to go in another 3 years. She thought of her pet cat. She wondered if her family knew she was missing. She wondered if the police were searching for her. She wondered again where she was.    Tears flowed unobstructed, as her shackled hands made it impossible for her to wipe them away. Mucus began flowing from her nose. Salty tears didn't stop for three hours. That was the second phase.    The third phase was silence. She had no strength to shake her bonds. She had no voice to make noise. She had no more tears to weep. She stood there and thought about her predicament. She had no idea what the future had in store for her, but she figured it was bleak.     After 20 hours standing in chains, Maggie was exhausted, sore, aching. Maggie was defeated.     There was no way she could ever escape the cell, even if she could somehow remove the shackles that secured her hands high over her head and her bare feet to the wall. Her shoulders ached intensely, her hands and feet feel cold and numb now, there must be swollen. Her struggling against the shackles have damaged the skin at her wrists and ankles, because every movement of her hands and feet, including of her fingers and toes, is really painful. How long can she stand this? And what will happen if she remains shackled like this for the rest of her life.
There was absolute silence in the cell as Maggie held her breath and listened. She couldn't hear anything outside of her cell. For all she knew there was no world outside of the dungeon. There was just her, waiting, chained in Maggie's cell.

Not sure if this has ever happened to anyone on here before but be careful! My wife and I are in an open relationship. I went to a bar with some buddies after work and saw this short haired lady sitting alone so one of my buddies went over and chatted her up. He didn't get too far; she had a wedding ring on (as seen in the photo). She looked down, drinking her sorrows away - and my buddies pretty much decided to call it an early night. I went over and asked if she was ok, and she just kind of poured her sorrow all over the place.
"Son is in prison for doing stupid shit, husband is fucking a younger woman, I don't feel pretty, sometimes I just wish I was dead" and she went on and on, crying her eyes out.
Eventually, I told her "hey, I'm married - and sometimes shit gets crazy because relationships can be the hardest things to deal with. I married my best friend, and eventually we both decided to have an open marriage. Sure, there are jealousy issues from time to time, but we always talk it out."
"He'd never agree to having an open marriage, he's the only one that gets to fuck around, and he knows I know about it too. I'm just fat and ugly."
"No you're not. Can I ask how old you are?"
She looked into her drink for a second, "I'm 44. Why?"
"Because you're hot as hell for a 44-year-old. Stop drowning your sorrows. Things will get better."
We chatted for a long time. She was stumbling drunk so I offered to drive her home, she said yes and the bar tender said it was ok for her to leave her car in the parking lot as long as she got it tomorrow before 2pm.
As soon as I started driving she was all over me. Kissing my neck, touching my dick - and it got hard really quick. She leaned over and unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock and started sucking it while I was driving. Being that it was about 12:30am, not too many people were on the road - so I was enjoying the road head.
"Wanna get a room?" I asked.
She stopped sucking and composed herself, "I'm paying for it. I want that asshole to know I charged a room... pull over for a second."
I pulled over, she opened the door and puked, and puked and puked. She seemed a bit better after throwing up, but she was still drunk as fuck.
I found a cheap hotel and she went in and paid for it and got back in the car. She told me the room number and I pulled up to it. We both got out and she opened the door to the room. We went inside and she plopped down on the bed.
"Oh let me go rinse my mouth," she said, getting up and going to her purse - she carried mouthwash in her purse (which I found a little strange - signs of an alcoholic?). I shrugged it off and she freshened up.
I joked with her that I would be taking pictures - "I don't care, take pictures" she said.
I did - I snapped two pictures. She had a see through top on under her blouse - which was obviously lingerie. Seemed like she planned to get fucked all along.
We started making out, and she started sucking my cock again. I totally forgot a condom and I asked if she had any.
"I don't want you to use one, I want you to fuck the shit out of me. Fuck me raw."
"Show me that pussy," I told her - and she spread her legs and I took a pic.
I mounted her and started pumping in and out. She was pretty tight. I grabbed her neck gently and she looked at me, "Fuck that pussy!" she yelled and slapped my ass. She moaned and grinded her cunt on my cock - and I felt her shutter and moan more, "ohhh fuck yeahhh.... I'm cumming... I'm comminggggg!!" She screamed. I kept fucking her, my thrusts were harder and harder and she grabbed my ass, "don't you fucking pull out, don't pull out of my pussy I want your cum, I need your cum - I want to take your cum home to my shitty husband and coat his unfaithful cock with it."
That did it. It was something in me, something primal that really turned me on and I came in her within minutes. She milked every fucking drop of cum out of me.
I got off of her and started getting dressed, "maybe we can meet up again if you want?" I told her.
She laughed, "here's what's going to happen, you're going to pay me $5000 or I'm going to call the police and tell them you raped me."
My heart about stopped, "what? Yeah you can fuck right off trying to extort me. Not only did you let me take pictures of you, you were sucking my dick willingly. So call them, I'll wait. By the way, my wife is a lawyer - and she'll love slapping you with a counter suit for defamation among other things."
She started crying, "I'm so fucking stupid!"
"I'm out of here. Fuck off for trying to get money out of me."
So I left. I'm just wondering if this has ever happened to anyone? Be careful - if you pick up a drunk woman at the bar, there is a chance she's going to try to get money from you by claiming rape. I called my wife on the way home and she asked if I got her personal detail because my wife was going to call the police on her. I didn't get her details but I did get pictures of her.
Be safe fellow sex addicts!

I am a straight male . Not bi or bi curious. I was looking for a relationship for awhile and got matched with a girl on a dating site. Sure, i want sex, but i actually wanted a rrelationship and care about her. We spoke online about many things, went on cam then finally decided to meet. We met at a cofeeshop and a library and things were great and we got along and connected very well.

Out of the blue the third time i saw her, she asked me if i wanted a blowjob. Of course i let it happen and i enjoyed myself very much and she woudnt take her pants off. She told me she wanted to wait till she found"the one" and possible husband to have full on sex with. We continued going out and i was getting blowjobs frequently and was happy with that. I offered to go down and tried numerous times to return the favor. Denied every single time.

I finally started really wondering what the problem was . This was about 2 months in and i asked her why she woudnt let me please her, cuz i really wanted too. I couldnt even get her in a thong which i wanted it made no sense to me, and i was trying to be polite.. So i finally asked her what was up and she told me"i was waiting till AFTER the surgery " I was like"you were hurt down there or something?"? I then got the bad news of"Honny im transgendered and have a penis and didnt think youd like it"- Well no shit i woudnt like it. She knew i was straight. HOw do people do this?

This person was VERY passable too, and its hard to beleive they have a penis and it surprised me. What really got me mad was when she said"i was afraid if you knew i had a penis youd not be attracted to me and be ignorant like the rest and leave me"
1st off, . I told her very seriously "1st off, it is EXTREMELY rude to not tell a man that you are a man yourself and have him get all these false feelings to not know who you are 2nd of it does not make me IGNORANT if i dont find you attractive because you have a penis" 3rd off"im a man and cant be with you if you have a penis im not gay"
I was then told"you are not gay you enjoyed the blowjobs and you can ignore the penis till i go thru the process to remove it"
-I was so angry at this point and hurt. The bottom line is theres something chemically wrong with transgendered people thinking they are women when they arent.
IT shoud be against the law to use the womens bathroom if you have a dick.
I know some of you will get upset but its the truth. You can say you are a girl all you want but if you go to prison you are getting sent to a male prison arent you? When you were born you were marked down male right? Just because you feel like a woman does not make you a woman and you cant just chop your cockoff and call yourself one.

Transgenders arent for me and they shouldnt force themselves on me thats so fucked up. Im so irratated right now

I’ve got a hot cousin and I didn’t know it till our grandma died.

My family wasn't close with the other relatives. They lived 12 hours away, across a lot of states. Snow dumped on us every year, much like how my mom’s siblings used to dump on her as kids, and they were basking in the sun complaining of freezing fingers when it’s sweatshirt weather, you know? We visited my grandparents' at Christmas every year and if the schedules coincided, I’d see a few relatives. I don’t know most of their names. I’ve got 30 cousins including wives and second cousins (that’s the kid of a cousin, right?).

So after my grandma was done fighting cancer, we had a funeral. It was really sad and I don’t mean to cheapen the sentiment with literotica, but this was the first time I saw many of my cousins and learned a lot of names that I’ve forgotten since. But not Arya’s.

Arya is not her real name. I’m a Game of Thrones fan and GoT has a bit of incest and Arya’s my favorite character and so why not call my hot cousin Arya? It’s kind of close to her actual name. I’ll be changing everyone’s names to whatever, but Arya gets a special explanation for hers. She deserves it.

I drove the 3 hours from college to my parent’s then another 5 to my grandparents’ town. I was a mess. It hadn’t hit emotionally, but I was low energy in the midst of studying for finals next week and this was the first funeral I’d been to since I was 8 and went in my spiderman pajamas. Basically I didn’t have funeral clothes.

When we showed up, I was in a dark shirt and jeans, looking somber, till a relative I didn’t know, this fat bustling aunt in a floral print shirt, came up to hug my mom then my dad then me. She knew me! “Oh, James,” she said as she smothered me. “You’re so big now.” She was warm and friendly so I put on a big smile as I said, “Hi…”

Luckily my mom saved me and said, “I’m going to talk to your Aunt Sarah. Will you go put our coats down?”

My relatives are country folk living in the South. They’ve all got that accent. I’m more of a city guy. And I felt a little uncomfortable, maybe superior in my arrogance, around these bumpkins. And I’m generally shy.

So I sat in the fold out metal chairs with my parents’ coats and just kind of looked around, uncomfortable, and checked my phone. My college girlfriend had recently decided we were better friends than anything else. Which was fine and all, but well, I didn’t want to text her about this. It’d probably guilt her into some comfort sexting, but I wasn’t feeling so bold at the time. Now years later, well, different story. I think I just opened Angry Birds and played a few games while sitting in front of the closed casket. It was adorned with a wreath and there was a corkboard of photos of her at all ages, though most were her as Grandma. And a group of people I didn’t recognize examined the photos, blocking my view. They were dressed appropriately in dark suits or dresses.

The group came over and asked who I was and asked if I was so-and-so’s kid and I was and I asked who they were and who their parents were and all that. It was three girls and two guys. One of the girls and both guys were my cousins, and you could see the family resemblance, round-face, curly hair, pudgy, and the other girls were their dates. I didn’t know anyone brought dates to a wake. But I felt okay again having checked out the ladies’ asses, though one had been my cousin’s.

We talked for a little bit about the last time I saw them. A Christmas when we were kids, though one swore it was Thanksgiving but I told him, “No, no, we always have Thanksgiving at home.”

That kind of turned them off.

We were the family that never visited. All of them lived near my grandparents, and when my grandma got sick, all pitched in. All my family did was offer to pay bills till it got to the end then Mom came for a visit.

Anyway, they walked away to talk to other cousins.

I was in my early 20s and so were those cousins, but we had older ones. And this man in his 30s with curly hair and a little extra fat especially on his cheeks entered with this stunning blonde, I assumed he was my cousin.

Oh no.

They came up the corkboard, attached one of their photos, and I introduced myself and asked him who he was related to.

He was this bumbling guy. “Well, her. Ha, ha. I mean, we’re in a relationship—married, so I guess her.”

The stunning woman in this tight black dress that was strapless and squeezed her breasts so the pendant of her silver necklace rested in her sun-kissed cleavage complete with tanlines from a bikini laughed and said, “I’m Dana’s daughter. Arya.”

Dana was the oldest of my mom’s siblings and had gotten pregnant in high school, or maybe right after.

“Who are you?” she asked.

I told her and she said, “Oh! Remember when I was testing my make-up on you? Why is that so fun to do to little boys tied up? God, I must’ve been in high school then and you were maybe in Kindergarten?”

“I think I’m repressing that memory,” I told her.

“Aw, was it that traumatizing? You were crying…”

“You know kids. Always crying till someone kisses it better.”

“I tried that!” She didn’t have an accent. That awful Southern rural accent. Sorry, but you’re talking like Huck Finn, it’s hard to sound educated. It drives me nuts. But she had shed hers.

“You’d think I’d remember that.” I was smiling a lot. You know when you meet someone and it just clicks and you want it to click because hey, they’re hot? That’s how it was and because I had no relationship with her prior, ogling her, flirting a little, smiling like an idiot didn’t feel wrong. But doing all of that at a wake for our grandma did. “It’s too bad about Grandma,” I said.

She hugged me. I hugged back. Then her husband joined in and it got uncomfortable.

My parents came round and said, “Sorry about his clothes. He’s fresh from college—second year half way done! And he grew out of all his dress clothes.”

Arya volunteered to take me. “I don’t know where I’m going or anything, but I’ll get him looking spiffy. We can catch up.”

When we got in her car, a used Lincoln, probably fancy a decade ago but now all it boasted was a large backseat and seat warmers, she let her hair down from its tie. “Oh god thank you for coming under dressed. We’re just going to cruise for a bit because I can’t be in there mingling with Tom, Dick, Harry, whatever their names are. Right after high school, I got a scholarship to Florida and never wanted to go back. All those hick accents!”

“Yeah!” I said. “Like Huckleberry Finn!”

“Sure…”

“You know, Tom Sawyer. Deep Missouri Valley country hick accent. Sorry, I’m an English major.”

“And you’re smart! You are the blessing of this trip. I don’t really read so no clue what you’re talking about but keep talking. It’s helping me unclench for the first time since hearing I’d have to come.”

So we talked in the car about how awful the family was, the cousins, aunts, uncles, their divorces. She knew a lot of scandals I hadn’t heard like one of our uncles was in prison for a sexual offense, but even she didn’t know what. He wasn’t here today. Another was a junkie, in and out of rehab. Then we got to grandma and grandpa and both agreed they were the only good parts of the family.

“Other than us, of course,” I said.

“You’re definitely a blessing.”

“And blessed to be in this car.” I meant to imply with her more strongly, but something snapped me out of the flirty attitude, and I added, “Away from them.”

She smiled at me and we got quiet for a bit and she turned on the radio as we drove through the small town. It was near Christmas. Decorations were up. There wasn’t any snow. I told her we got like two feet last week and still had classes. She asked where I went to college. I told her to visit any time she wanted. I found out she was a helicopter medical evac personnel. She didn’t fly the helicopter, but she was the nurse or paramedic in back treating whomever.

Finally we got to a shop that sold suits and dresses. One stop fancy shopping. I had my mom’s credit card, but I didn’t think she intended to get me a full-on suit. It’d be my first. But Arya told me we were just getting the off-the-rack stuff. It wouldn’t be too much.

So I tried on some things she picked out and I came out of the dressing room still doing up my belt because the pants were too wide at the waist and were just sliding down off and dragging on under the heels of the dress shoes. We looked at how deflated I looked in the mirror.

“Get those off and we’ll get you the next size down.” She rolled down the waist to see the tag and what size they were. “I’ll bring you the next ones.”

I went back in the dressing room and took them off. I was just in my boxers and undershirt when she came in. Just barged on in through the swinging doors. I tried being natural about it, like I wasn’t uncomfortable or having dirty thoughts, but then she whipped out the measuring tape. “Put these on.” I did and she started measuring my seams. The outer one first. She told me to stop fidgeting as she was on her knees touching my thigh. Then the inner seem. “I used to work in one of these suit shops during college. The way we measured our special customers was to do the right in-seam, then cup *it* and move it over and measure the other side.” She laughed at the joke (I think she was kidding) and I thought about our dead grandmother so I wouldn’t twitch beneath the pants.

Then she helped me on the shirt and I buttoned all but the top two. She looked at it and buttoned them both, then unbuttoned the top. It was a little too big so she told me to get it off and before it was off, she starts pressing up against me trying to get at the tag in the collar to see the neck size. I think it was like 17 ¾.

She came back with a smaller shirt for me and a few dresses for her. They were a little more modest than the little black dress she had squeezed into. “I’m almost as unprepared for funerals as you. I bought this for a dinner party and a self-esteem boost. Sometimes you pay extra for that.”

I was shirtless and she was looking at herself in the mirror, checking herself out, and I was thinking she shouldn’t need to pay for it looking like she does.

Curvy and sun-kissed and blonde and tall and just perfect. The kind of girl you get a crush on even if you’ve just met her and found out she’s your cousin.

And I felt her back against me. “Oh sorry,” she said. Right against my crotch. With that perfect ass.

I couldn’t help it! I might have rubbed up against her a little with my erection.

“Is that what I think it is?” she said, laughing nervously but not moving away.

“Sorry.” I also stayed there.

“No, thank you for the compliment. Okay, I’m going to try these on now.”

I stayed, confused, horny, hopeful.

“Wait out there? I’ll be real quick.”

Damn. So I sat in the chair outside, hoping it’d subside, when she came out and we paid for everything and got in her car and left.

I was feeling pretty embarrassed that I’d “made a move.” Yeah that was the best move I had. Pressing against her like it was an accident, but both of us probably knowing it wasn’t. She knew. She kicked me out as she changed. She didn’t even try them on for me or any other little hints. The drive back was quiet. Awkward.

And when the funeral home was in sight, we pulled off onto a dirt road. This was a farming town with a lot of forests and field entrances and just places that a high schooler might go with his girl to makeout. She pulled into the dead end where we were covered in shade, just past a bend so we could hear trucks drive past on the main road, but not see them.

“Okay, we better do this before getting there,” she said.

My hope was restored.

Then she added, “Get changed.”

Hope tarnished.

“50 people talking about the dead, suddenly sad, rushing to the bathrooms. There’s no way we could change there. And wouldn’t want to do it in the parking lot where someone would see.”

“Sure, a relative seeing would be awkward,” I said.

“Yeah?” she said laughing.

“Yeah…”

“Then let’s make it awkward.”

I don’t know what she was thinking or what she imagined would come of it or what I should’ve done, but she stripped off that top awful fast. Let those breasts loose. No bra. A black thong. And I stared and she stared back and I started getting my shirt off and pants and I reached for my new clothes but she pulled something from her bag. New boxer-briefs. Real tight ones. She just threw them at me. Once I was naked she looked at me, erect, then stared me in the eyes. She was still naked except for that thong. I don’t want to forget the shape of her breasts, the size, how the tan-lines colored them, how they jiggled, her ass, the birthmark or any of that, but that was years ago. Details fade, get edited. I think her tits are bigger in my head now.

But her devilish smile. I can’t forget that.

Finally, she said, “Let’s get those clothes on. They’ll be calling soon, wondering if we ditched.”

And it was over. She dressed. I got a little peek at that booty, but not much, and when we went in for the wake, her dressed more modestly, my erection hidden till we got to the service and it died down. My mom and her siblings and my grandfather gave their eulogies and I cried and we buried grandma. Then we all went to lunch at some diner where even the table was greasy.

I wanted to sit by my cousin, but I had to sit by my parents and they wanted to sit by some fat aunt that kept asking about my future and so on.

I didn’t get to talk to my cousin till it was time to leave. “I’m serious about coming to visit. Any time you want. It’s beautiful in the fall. All the leaves changing.”

“Sure, sure,” she said.

“Or the spring is good. Tons of flowers. Ever heard of Dutch pantaloons? It might be a local name, but they make the campus smell so much better. Hides the BO and stale weed stench.”

“I’ll think about it.” God, she had to have smelled my desperation for more, but she wasn’t obliging. Fine, I can take a hint. A woman says no, you just have to let go, right?

“Have a safe trip,” I said and waved like I was leaving.

But she pulled me in for a hug, saying “You too,” then when I was pressed up against that perfect tanned body, she heaved her hot breath into my ear and said, “Think about me some time…”

Oh I have… a lot.