index


Message-ID: <45996asstr$1072426207@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: ray1031@cac.net
User-Agent: SquirrelMail/1.4.0
MIME-Version: 1.0
Importance: Normal
Subject: {ASSM} (SANTA) Basement Blessings 02 - by Ray1031 (mf, voy)
Date: Fri, 26 Dec 2003 03:10:07 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Basement Blessings (or: The Summer They Invaded)  by Ray1031  (mf, voy)

This is my story ..... copyrighted and belonging to me.
Want to use it .... ask!

Check the codes before reading .... don't like them, don't read further.
Like the codes .... enjoy the story.
Ray



Basement Blessings (or: The Summer They Invaded)  by Ray1031  (mf, voy)


Journal: 12-16-03

Raquel

I was asleep when I rolled from my side onto my back in bed. My arm flung
itself straight out to the side, the knuckles rapping sharply against the
side of the steel fuel oil tank beside my bed. There was a hollow booming
from the empty tank and the sudden sharp pain in my knuckles brought me
awake.

"Ow!" I sat up and cradled my injured hand while fighting the urge to
curse. It had been twenty days since Aunt Connie and the girls had moved
in and this was the tenth or twelfth time I'd hit the old steel tank . . .
you'd think I'd have learned by now. I'd thought of moving my bed a few
inches further away the last time, but there was barely room inside of my
curtained 'bedroom' to stand and change clothes now.

"Bill, are you okay?" it was Raquel's voice speaking softly through the
curtain; she must have been either going up to the bathroom or coming back
down from it when I'd hit the tank. The small clock on the chair beside my
bed showed it was only three-thirty so everyone else was still asleep.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just rapped my knuckles again. I've done it before."

"I know, lots of times . . . the booming noise wakes me up and scares the
dickens out of me every time."

"I'm sorry about that, I'm not doing it on purpose. Maybe dad and I can
hang a blanket or something to pad it tomorrow. I'll ask him."

"I'd imagine it would hurt a lot less too . . . Bill, can I come in? Are
you decent? I'd like to talk if you don't mind."

"I've got p.j. bottoms on, you can come in."  I threw back the covers and
rolled into a sitting position on the edge of the bed as the curtains
parted. Reaching across the head of my bed I turned on the small lamp
sitting on a crate there. The crate was my bedside table. We both blinked
in the sudden glare of light. She sat on the foot of the bed. It was at
times like this, or when I got up to use the bathroom upstairs, that I was
happy dad and I had 'fixed' the bed. When I'd first moved into the
basement and set up the old bed we'd found the springs all busted down and
stretched. Many of the connecting wires had been broken. The mattress had
sagged and the whole thing had squeaked terribly. Working together, dad
showed me how to cut slats for the bed and we'd trimmed down a huge piece
of plywood to fit atop them, between the rails. My mattress rested on this
board, there was no spring squeak and the bed was much firmer to sit and
sleep on.

Raquel was wearing a large button down flannel shirt that came to mid
thigh on her. Her long, curly, brownish-blonde hair was pinned up loosely
about her head. In the past six days I'd learned that this was her normal
sleeping attire; that shirt, a pair of panties and an old pair of yellow
socks. I never saw her wear those socks at any other time, but they were
always on her feet when she went to bed. She pulled her feet up onto the
bed and crossed them under her, giving me a momentary peek at some kind of
blue flowered panties she was wearing. She caught me looking.

"You really are a perv, you know that don't you cousin?"

"What? Me? A pervert? You're the one offering the peeks."

"We're cousins, Bill."

"Yeah, so?"

"First cousins."

"Yeah, so?"

"That's supposed to be almost the same as a brother and sister. You know,
incest. You do know what incest is, don't you?"

"Of course I know what that is. But, no it's not. I'm looking, not
touching. Like you care about such things anyway. Besides, I can't see
anything but your panties."

"You are impossible," she said, leaning forward and slapping me on the
shoulder. "But I love you anyway." As she sat back again though, she
adjusted her legs and pulled the tails of the over-sized shirt more
tightly about them.

"Yeah and I love you too, Rocks."

"I told you not to call me that any more. It was okay when we were
younger, but I don't like it any longer. It makes me feel like a kid
rather than a woman. It gives people the wrong impression. I have enough
problems with that already . . .  because of my lack of height and slight
build, everyone thinks I'm still a kid."

"Slight build my foot. I've seen the shape of your boobs a few times while
we were playing and I've seen a few of the guys making passes at you in
the last week . . . you're hardly what I would call a kid."

"Yeah, well, those boys are just that, 'boys', and between the three of
them I doubt there's enough brains to make  one good one that works . . .
Besides, they were hitting on my sisters too, and I saw them talking up
another girl, one who's even younger than Alivia. They don't really care
about a girl's shape or age or anything, they just want to get in some
girl's . . . any girl's, pants.  You've really noticed the shape of my
breasts?"

'Yes, and I've seen your nipples get hard and poke at the front of your
shirt, and I've looked at the curve of your butt when you were bending
over or exercising or stretching around to tag someone out at second
base."

"Really? But we're family, I mean, we are cousins."

"Again, so? I'm also a guy and you're a girl. Worse,  I'm a guy who's
grown up with only brothers and you're a girl with only sisters. A girl
who is now living in our house and half naked part of the time. Some of
the things that others get to see casually while they are growing up . . .
a sister or a brother running around the house in their underwear . . . an
occasional 'accidental' (or intentional) look at each other when things
are partly or completely uncovered . . . these are things we've never had.
So what is casual for them is more special to us - to me. Kind of exotic
like, you know? Besides, I've noticed you looking at mine and my brother's
butts when you thought no one saw you. I've seen all of you trying to see
how one or another of us fills the front of a pair of under shorts since
you moved in." She was starting to blush and I liked having that effect on
her, so I pushed the issue one more step. "I've even intentionally left
small gaps in my curtains here so you 'could' look . . . a couple of
times." Her mouth fell open, shocked by what I'd said, and I could almost
see her mind trying to figure out what other 'accidents' had been
intentional since she and her sisters had moved in. "But that's not
important . . . what did you want to talk about?"

"Oh, nothing, anything, everything. I just couldn't sleep and wanted to
talk with someone for a while. What we are talking about is fine. You saw
me looking then?"

"Yeah, I did. I don't think our parents have noticed, though Phil might
have . . . Carl wouldn't notice . . . he doesn't seem too interested in
girls yet . . . just his sports."

"But 'you' noticed?"

"Heck yes. Especially those times when you or your sisters were braless."

There was kind of an awkward silence for a few minutes and she pushed her
hair behind her ears before she said, "What are you planning to do
tomorrow?"

"Well, it's Thursday, so Phil and I have to mow the grass before we can do
anything. Mom won't let us do anything until the chores are done. Carl
gets to take out the trash in the morning, but Phil and I have to mow the
grass every Thursday, unless it's raining of course - then we have to do
it Friday. Phil and Carl want to ride their bikes up to Peach Mountain
tomorrow . . . that's the big hill with the radio tower on it. It's all
covered with pines and stuff and there's an old sawmill up there and an
observatory and some other cool stuff. We explore up there pretty often .
. . The University owns it and it's only a couple of miles away so mom and
dad don't freak if we go there. On the way home they will probably collect
pop bottles along the road and stop at the Trading Post. We usually get
enough bottles for a couple of pops and candy bars . . . then we share
them between us."

"But that's not what you want to do I take it?"

"No, I want to take the boat up river and go fishing . . . but mom won't
let me do that alone. If my brothers wanted to go with me, it would be
okay, but not alone. I'll probably go swimming or something instead. I
really don't want to ride up to Peach Mountain though."

"What about if I go fishing with you?"

"I thought you didn't like to fish?"

"I don't, not really. I'll bring a book or something and read while you
fish. I'll wear my swimsuit and work on my tan. You'll be able to take the
boat and fish and I'll get away from my sisters for the day. If I stay
here I'll have to watch them all day."

"Sounds good to me, if our moms agrees. I'll wear my suit too and we can
go swimming off the sand bars up river later." I was really getting into
this idea. I hoped she woould wear her yellow two-piece suit. It wasn't as
skimpy as her blue bikini, and I really didn't like the color - it didn't
seem complimentary to her for some reason. Still, the yellow one was of
thinner material and really molded to her when she wore it. When it got
wet, I could see the outline of her nipples and other things.  Picturing
it in my head, with the suit wet and sucking into the crack of her ass and
pussy as she came out of the water, I began getting excited. My dick tried
to rise in my shorts.

"Maybe we can take some sandwiches and have a picnic lunch too?"

"Nope, not likely. Mom will feed us an early lunch before we leave and
we'll have to be back before dad gets home from work at five. Some nights
he likes to go fishing when he gets home. If the boat's not here we'll be
in dutch. We'll have five or six hours of fishing and boating though. It's
about forty minutes by boat to where I like to fish.  What happens if your
sisters want to go with us?"

"They won't. Not when I tell them we're going to fish. Too boring and
icky. Where will we be going? Will there be a place for me to sunbathe?"

"As I said, up river. We'll take the channel  from the lake to the river
and go up-river past Base Lake. We might try fishing on Tamarack. I've had
no real luck fishing there lately, but there's a little sand spit beach
you can lay on while I try my luck out on the lake."

"Unh uh. I don't know the area or the people. I won't want to be too far
away from you. If you're out on in the boat and I'm on shore alone I'd be
too nervous for tanning or reading. I'll be more comfortable if you're
close by."

"I was thinking of going all the way to Zukey Lake, the water's cleanest
there, but it depends on the water level in the river. It gets awfully
shallow sometimes just before you get to Zukey lake. Sometimes even our
jon boat can't get through. We can stop at Strawberry Lake for a while.
There's a little public park on a spit of land there and I only have to be
about ten feet off-shore for some good fishing. There's lots of trees
there though and I'm not sure how much sun you'll get. If we have no luck
there or it doesn't suit you, I will take us to Hidden Lake."

"Hidden lake? I don't know that one. Where is it?"

"Hidden Lake is not part of the Chain of Lakes. It's not much more than a
large pond really and it's on land owned by the University. They use it as
some kind of nature laboratory and keep it stocked with all kinds of fresh
water fish. I don't know if it really has a name, but it's hidden from the
view of anyone on the river or Base Lake. Because it's not visible and you
have to 'know' it's there, my brothers and I call it Hidden Lake. It is
surrounded on three sides by swampy ground. The fourth side is a hill,
where the University has a cabin for students to stay in while they study
there. We found it when we beached on a sand spit once for a picnic.
There's a narrow grassy path that we sometimes drag the boat through so we
can fish the lake."

"But isn't University land private property?"

"Yeah, we got caught once too. But they said we could fish there - as long
as we don't do it while students are studying the lake and swamp. We even
have a letter we can show if someone ever asks. It gives us permission as
long as we don't take other fishermen in with us. They don't want it
becoming popular or fished out. We haven't even told dad about it. We can
always count on that lake for a good fish dinner, though we don't go there
often. We usually don't need to."

"Can we swim there? Or sunbathe?"

"Swim? Probably, but I wouldn't. There's nothing in it that would hurt us,
but the water is dark, the bottoms all mud and there's lots of weeds
underwater. We can swim on Base Lake if you want, from a little sand spit
beach nearby. The lake bottom's firm there and the water is clear and
clean. Dad built a flat deck between the tops of the front two seats on
the jon boat. I was planning to remove it, but if we leave it in place it
will give you a place to lay out and sunbathe. Besides, I guess we could
use it as a jumping platform for swimming too. Just try not to move around
too much while I'm fishing, okay?"

"Promise. Look, I'll be right back." Raquel said as she rose and almost
dashed through the part in the curtains. I heard the basement door softly
open and close, then the sound of her footsteps padding hurriedly up the
stairs. I guess she had been on her way 'to' the bathroom.

Reaching to the crate again I picked up paperback sitting next to the lamp
and opened it to where I'd stopped reading. I'd read five pages before I
heard the sound of rushing water in the pipes as the toilet flushed. I
finished the paragraph I was reading and was replacing the book beside the
lamp when I heard Raquel coming down the stairs.

Raquel was brushing her hair when she came back through the curtains,
moving to take her place again at the foot of the bed. There was a
thoughtful look on her face as she passed me the brush and turned away
from me. This was kind of a ritual between the two of us. I think she'd
been six and I was five the first time I brushed her hair for her. She
loved it and I enjoyed the simple repetitive motions. I began moving the
brush gently through her hair and waited. She would speak when she wanted
to and anything I said would cause it to be left unsaid and change her
mood. I knew the signs.

"Do you think my daddy is my daddy, Bill?"

"What?" I'd known she was going to say something. Known it was something
hard for her to say. Even thought it might be something embarrassing, like
when a boy or girl tried to work up the nerve to tell someone they really
liked them. But something like this had never entered my thoughts. Of
course he was her daddy. He must be her daddy. He and Aunt Connie were
married, weren't they? I mean, that's how it works, isn't it? Who's daddy
would he be if not hers? Or who would be her daddy if not him? I didn't
understand the question. "What do you mean, Rocks?"

"I asked you not to call me that! My name it Raquel! Geeze! How many times
do I have to ask you?"

"I'm sorry, Roc . . . uh, Raquel. But I've always called you Rocks, it's
kind of a change, you know? But what did you mean by your question? I
mean, he is your dad isn't he? And your mom's your mom, right? Isn't that
how it works?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm not really sure exactly what I mean. But I heard
some people talking once . . . Oh, just skip it. If I talk about it I'll
probably end up crying and wake up Patty or Alivia and get us in trouble.
I don't think mom or your parents would be happy if we were caught like
this."

"Caught like what?"

"Gawd you're dense sometimes. Look at us! I'm sitting here in nothing but
a big shirt and my panties . . . "

". . . and them ugly yellow socks you always wear to bed."

"Okay, and my sleep socks. And there you are in those old pajama bottoms,
are you wearing anything under them?"

"A pair of Jockeys, why?"

"Oh, nothing. Not really. Mama just gets weird about such things. Doesn't
think it's 'proper', even with family."

"That is weird. But, what did you mean about your father? I don't
understand."

"I'm not completely sure I do, but I heard something once and I want to
talk to someone about it. But not now, not here. Not where someone else
might hear."

"Okay. I'll tell you what - tomorrow, instead of trying any other places,
we'll go straight to hidden lake. No one will be able to hear or see us
there. No one will ever know what we say except you and me.  Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Providing our moms let us go."

"Mom only worries about me going out in the boat alone, in case something
happens. If you are going with me I'm sure she'll let us. I don't know
about your mom though. I've got a few bucks too, we can get some sodas at
the 'Boat Dock' landing on the way out."

"Grape Nehi?"

"Yeah, and some Faygo Rock n' Rye for me."

"Eww. How can you drink that stuff?"

"I like the taste. How can you drink Grape Nehi? That stuff's too sweet
for me."

"I like the taste." We looked at one another and started giggling. "I'd
better go back to bed," she said, rising. I rose too, since I'd been
raised to think that's what you do when a lady leaves. Raquel stepped
close and hugged me quickly, "Thanks," she said and then was gone.

I turned off the light and tried to sleep but couldn't. Turning the light
back on I reached for the book and started reading.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was Alivia who woke me up the next morning, banging the basement door
back against the wall and calling out loudly, "Hey, lazy bones! Aunt Sarah
says get it in gear! Everyone else is almost done with breakfast."

I got up and changed into clean jockeys, shorts and a T-shirt before
heading upstairs to join the others. I entered the dining room to a chorus
of "Lazy Bones" and "Sleepy Heads" and moved through on my way to the
bathroom. In the kitchen mama asked if I was feeling okay and I told her
I'd had trouble falling asleep and had read most of the night. She shook
her head and said nothing more. Everyone knew I sometimes had trouble
sleeping, always had, ever since I was a kid. Dad had already left for
work, of course.

I hurried through breakfast so I could get the daily chores done. Usually,
my brothers and I would be doing the morning dishes and helping mom sweep
the kitchen and dining room floor after breakfast. Since they'd arrived,
the cleaning chores had fallen to our cousins. Raquel was sweeping while
her sisters did the morning dishes. Phil and I started on the lawn right
after breakfast and Carl emptied all of the waste baskets and took out the
trash. Done with the daily chores, Phil and Carl approached mom and asked
if they could ride up to Peach Mountain. Pat and Alivia asked if they
could go to the beach and swim, and I asked If I could use the jon boat
and go fishing. As expected, Phil and Carl got told 'yes'. Pat and Alivia
were also told 'yes' with the proviso that they couldn't actually 'swim'
unless others were there swimming too. They weren't to swim in the lake
alone. I was told 'no'.

"You know I don't like you going out in the boat alone." Mom said. "You
must have someone else in the boat with you in case something happens."

"I'll go with him," piped up Raquel.

"You will? Fishing?" asked her mother.

"I've gone fishing with dad before."

"Yes. I also remember that you didn't like it."

"So I'll take a book and work on my tan while Bill fishes. I don't want to
hang around here alone all day and I don't really know anyone else around
the lake."

"Well, okay. Just so you know that he will be sitting in one place most of
the time and you have to be quiet so you don't scare the fish."

"Like I said, I'll take a book and work on my tan."  We got permission to
use the boat.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

At 'Boat Dock' we topped up the gas can for the outboard, bought three
cans of pop each, two dozen night crawlers and headed down the channel for
the river. I hated using the channel. Originally a narrow stream where
lake overflow ran across to the river, it had been dredged into a
twenty-five foot wide connecting channel at some time long ago. It was
convenient, and a quick way to the river actually. It was also a boat
docking place for those who lived along it's banks. The residents moored
their fishing and speed boats against the steel barrier walls which made
up it's banks. What I hated about it was the speed limit. It was a five
mile an hour "no wake" area, to protect the moored boats from damage. At
fifteen, when I wanted to go fishing, I wanted to get there as fast as the
little Johnson outboard would allow and start fishing. The crawl through
the channel always seemed to last forever at times like that. Still, we
made it through eventually and turned up river.

The river too, was a no wake area, or rather a low wake area, with it's
fifteen mile an hour speed limit, to protect the boats of residents living
on 'it' as well. But from where the channel let out, going up river into
Base Lake, there were no residents. As soon as I turned into the river I
opened up the little outboard, like we always did, and the little jon boat
rose into a plane - practically skipping across the water. About thirty
yards up-river from the channel there was a small fast water spot.  Long
before I was born someone had built a partial dam at that point in the
river. Two wings of piled stones had been built out from the banks on
either side of the river. This created a narrow opening just wide enough
for boats to pass through singly. I knew 'why' it had been built, if not
by whom or when. It had been built at a time when a wide 'deep' channel
had been dredged in the river. It's purpose was to speed up the flow of
water through this channel and prevent settling sediment from filling the
deeper man-made section. It wasn't really all that fast, heck, I could
swim through it against the current, though it took a little effort and
time. Still, it made for a  nice bounce or two for a boat at speed.

Once out into Base Lake I made a quick circuit of the lake, looking for
other fishermen, gauging the amount of other boating present and scanning
the shores for what was happening here and there. Mostly what I was doing
was scanning those houses from which the small cove, and the entrance to
the narrow path to the hidden lake, could be seen. A circuit of the entire
lake drew less attention than going straight to one point in the lake and
turning immediately back. It also gave me a momentary view of the place
where cars parked when University people used the little lake or the
cabin. Satisfied, I aimed the boat at a small shrouded cove where the path
began.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Positioned nicely so I could cast my line back under an overhanging tree,
I baited my hook, cocked back the rod and let fly, allowing the line to
sink to the bottom and sit.  Raquel had taken four of our bottles of soda
and put them into a potato sack I kept in my tackle box. A short cord
attached to an oarlock allowed the sack to sink into the water and keep
the sodas cool on hot sunny days.

Raquel removed her shorts and shirt, revealing the bright yellow suit I'd
hoped she'd wear, and begun spreading tanning oil on herself. I leaned the
pole against the other oarlock and rested my bare foot on it's handle to
keep it in place. The position of my foot would also alert me should I get
a bite.

A 'church key' from my tackle box opened two of the sodas and Raquel and I
clinked our bottles together before taking our first sips, like two
successful conspirators who had gotten away with something. We grinned and
I reached for my book as Raquel stretched out on the front deck (as we
called it) to tan.  Dad's homemade deck allowed Raquel just enough room to
lay mostly flat and catch the sun's rays.  She offered me the tanning
lotion and I passed on it. I'd already had my mild spring burn and
anything I did in the sun now became a tan.

It was almost funny in a way. During the summers my brothers and I 'lived'
in bathing suits and shorts, seldom wearing anything more, except for the
occasional T-shirt, whereas Raquel and her sisters were normally fully
clothed. Where they seldom got more than a few hours of actual tanning
time in a week, we were hardly out of the sunlight for more than a few  of
the daylight hours in any given week. Yet if we were all to stand
together, side by side, you'd swear it was just the opposite. My brothers
and I don't get dark tans. Our skin darkens to a kind of golden tannish
color and stops. Our cousins, on the other hand, were fully qualified
bronze goddesses after only a few days, their skin darkening to a deep,
almost metallic chestnut color. The more sun they got, the deeper brown
they became.

Raquel started on her back, lounging back and reading her book as I tried
first one likely place and then another in my quest for fish. Thirty
minutes later, after no luck at all in the first location I quietly rowed
the boat to another overhanging tree and recast my line. Raquel rolled
over onto her stomach and I took a few minutes to rub the tanning lotion
onto her back and the backs of her legs for her.

It was about an hour later that we began our talk. Not that we hadn't been
talking, but before that it had been mostly inanities; the weather, the
blue of the sky and fluffiness of the clouds, Raquel commenting about how
she loved the wind in her hair as we were circling the lake, what we each
were reading.  Music, dancing, television shows, what I used for bait and
hoped to catch for dinner, things like that.

"Okay, we've avoided it long enough, and I want to know," I started. "What
did you mean last night that your father might not be your father?"

Raquel was facing away from me, supported to just below her pelvis by the
little deck itself, she had extended her legs back to the third seat where
her feet and ankles rested. Her feet were spread about eighteen inches
apart, parting her legs and allowing the sun to tan them more evenly.  It
also allowed me an unobstructed view of her suit covered crotch and I was
being continually distracted by the little crease in that mound of cloth
and the four (I counted them about a dozen times) brown hairs that curled
out past the suits edge. I had given up trying to read my book by then, I
was so enthralled by the sight. I noted every small shift and movement as
she lay there and breathed. What had been particularly fascinating to me
was watching what happened when she'd reached behind her and unhooked the
back of her suit top, opening it to avoid a tan line across her back. It
was amazing how much movement and muscle contraction moving her arms had
caused that far south.  She answered my question without moving or
turning, also without hesitation.

"I heard some of mommy and daddy's 'friends' talking last March at daddy's
birthday party. They didn't know I could hear them." She stopped.

"And . . . " I prompted.

"Well, one was talking about how much of mama's bosom was showing and the
other said 'She can be had.' They talked about a lot of things and I
stayed quiet, listening. Most of what they talked about was how much mama
and daddy drink, but they also talked about them both 'catting around'
almost from the first day they were married. One of them asked if the
other thought daddy had actually fathered any of us kids. The other
'didn't know' but said we sure didn't look alike."

"I hate to seem dumb, but what does that mean? Catting around?"

"It's a sneaky way of saying cheating on your husband, wife, boyfriend or
girlfriend."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Eventually they moved back into the party and I went up to my room.
It didn't really bother me much then, people get mean and make up things
when they are drinking. But what they said has been bouncing around in my
head since then. I began remembering all of mom and dad's fights. All of
the nights daddy never came home and the times he was gone for days at a
time. There were times, when daddy wasn't home, that mama had a friend
over visiting until well after us kids went to bed. I began thinking about
a lot of things."

I said nothing; those four hairs were fascinating. The sun was almost
overhead now and they glistened.

The slight movement of my rod against my foot diverted my attention and I
took it up, hooked and brought in the fish. It was a perch. Just that
perfect size for pan frying. Raquel had sat up to watch me bring in the
fish. She hadn't rehooked her top, but had used one hand to hold it in
position over her breasts.  Reaching back into my tackle box I removed a
stringer and threaded the fish onto it, dropped it over the side of the
boat and secured the stringer tip through an oarlock. Rachel was looking
about the area around the pond, turning this way and that where she sat as
I began rebaiting the hook.

"Are you sure no one can see us here?"

"The only way would be if someone from the University was here. The
parking are by the cabin was empty, and I would think that if anyone was
here we'd have already heard from them, why?" I cast my line back to
within inches of where it had landed before and repositioned the rod
beneath my foot.

"Well, I want to do something, if you won't freak out or get all crazy on
me. I do it at home some times, in the back yard. But I don't want anyone
else to see."

"See what?"

"Me. Sunbathing nude, silly."

"Nude?!! Nude as in naked?"

"What, have I shocked you? Yes, nude. I don't like tan lines." She brought
her hands up and peeled the top's straps from her shoulders. The straps
came free easily enough, but the cups seemed to resist  releasing her
breasts for a second. Then did so and they swung free. I sat gape jawed
and wonder struck by the sight. Two beautiful pointy cones that sloped
down and forward from her chest. Each with it's own puffy reddish-brown
'cap' and small pointy nipple. "What are you staring at? Don't tell me
you've never seen a pair of breasts before."

"Well, yeah . . . I mean . . . just never a grown up pair. Those I've seen
were just getting started."

"What? You're kidding, right?"

"No." The rod jiggled against my foot again and I took it up, holding its
handle in my right hand and the line lightly in my other and waiting for
the telltale jerk that said the bait had been taken.

"What are you, a virgin or something?" The line jerked once, twice and
then a third time between my thumb and two fingers. I knew by the feel
that the third time the bait had been taken and I jerked back on the rod
to set the hook. I was thinking about her words as I began fighting the
fish on my line. She had me nailed . . . and I think she knew it. The only
real breasts I'd ever seen before had been on Jeanie Luboff last summer
when she was thirteen. They'd only been the size of walnuts. Of course
she'd let me touch them. Afterwards she had called me a chauvinist, ran
away and hadn't talked to me for weeks.  Other than that one time, the
only ones I'd seen were when I was baby-sitting, giving baths, and they
hardly counted. Still, my real sexual experience was relegated to the
pages of Playboy and National Geographic under the covers at night.

"Yes I'm a virgin, why?" The fish was putting up a good fight and the rod
tip was bending well over as I fought to bring it closer to the boat.

She looked at me as open mouthed as I had been looking at her breasts and
I met her gaze defiantly. "You're serious, aren't you? I thought you
already had experience. You have heard of nude sunbathing, haven't you?"

"Well, yeah, but . . . " The fish was getting tired and I quickly took the
advantage and began reeling it in as I turned my attention back to the
water.

"But what?" The fish crested and I thought it was either a small mouth
bass or a trout, I couldn't be sure . . . but it looked big enough to be a
keeper.

"Well," I said as I continued to coax the fish closer to the boat. "Some
of the guys at school have talked about it before. But I thought girls who
did that kind of thing were sluts or something . . . Could you grab the
net and catch him when he's close to the boat? I've got my hands full
here."

"Sure thing," and she moved to get the net from behind me, then moved back
around in front of me to wait. I couldn't help but noticed the sway of her
naked breasts, when she knelt and shifted her position, as the line moved
back and forth in the water. "A word of advice for you right now, Bill.
Believe only about a third of what you hear from your friends at school,
and be careful what you repeat in front of your parents, or in front of
girls. That shit they tell you can get you in a lot of trouble." The fish
crested the surface right beside the boat and she made a quick move with
the net, sliding it beneath and around the fish, pulling it aboard. It was
a small-mouth, easily large enough to be a keeper and I began working the
hook free. Raquel moved back to the front of the third seat and bent over,
sliding the suit down her legs to the bottom of the boat.

"Uh, thanks for the advice, I think. You're telling me you are 'not' a
virgin, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not a virgin. I haven't been for maybe three years now." She was
standing facing me, seeming as casual as can be while I tried to divide my
attention between adding the bass to the stringer and absorbing as much of
this new vista as I could. "In fact," she continued, her eyes seeming to
be laughing at the rapid turning of my head, first down towards the
stringer, then back to her furry tummy a few feet away. "I'm probably
close to what your friends would call a slut. I like sex. I enjoy it a lot
and have sex when I can. But I'm not 'exactly' what your friends think of
as a slut because I'm picky about who my partners are. I have standards
and just anybody doesn't get in my pants. But that's not the question
today . . . the question is: Will it bother you if I tan in the nude?"

"Kind of late to be asking now, isn't it?"

"You won't do anything stupid or get all grabby?"

"I won't do anything without your permission, except maybe look and make a
comment or two . . . maybe ask questions - may I?"

"You're looking already, you perv. As for the questions, Well, I don't
know . . . maybe . . . yeah, I guess you can. What kind of questions?"

"Hell, I don't know. Whatever I think of, like right now I'm wondering why
your hair is so curly and wild looking there and the girls I've seen in
magazines are always so 'neat' looking? Their hair is almost always
straight and usually looks so soft. Your looks like curly little wires."
She blushed.

"It seems to be one of my curses. Most of the girls at school seem to have
straight soft hair on their sex as well, but mine and a few of other girls
are curly and look stiff. They're really kind of soft though, not really
stiff. And, before you ask, 'No', you can't feel them to find out. I've
always had more hair there than other girls I've known, since it started
growing in that is. The girls you've seen in the magazines, and those
you'll probably know later, shave themselves to remove most of the extra
hair and trim it neatly. I can't. I'm allergic to Nair, and trying to
razor shave my lower tummy gives me nasty rashes. I can shave my legs
without a problem, and higher on my stomach, but nothing near my sex. So I
take off just enough so It won't curl around the edges of my swimsuits and
panties."

"I've just never seen so much before. Even the guys I know . . . "

"Yeah, I'm a freak right?"

"I didn't say that. Don't you go putting words in my mouth." I reached for
the night crawlers and forced myself to look away and rebait my hook.
Raquel moved back to the little deck and began applying her tanning oil to
her hips, breasts and stomach again.

"Well, I always feel like a freak when I compare myself to the other girls
in gym class. Some of them make jokes about wolf-woman when they want to
be cruel. You don't think it's ugly?"

I cast my line back beneath the edge of the willow tree again and waited
as the line sank towards the bottom. This always took a minute or so since
I wasn't using a sinker to weight the line. "I don't know. What would I
compare it to, pictures in a book? Naked little girls I've baby-sat for?
Emily Sprat, the eleven year old who played 'I'll show you mine if' with
me two years ago? She had a grand total of five hairs. I've never seen
anything real, with hair, live before."

Raquel had reclined back while I spoke and was positioning herself to
reach the third seat comfortably with her feet. At my final words she
rather defiantly said, "Well here," spreading her legs wide and placing
her feet on the rails at either side of the boat. "Take yourself a good
look and tell me what you think."

Wouldn't you know it, just as I turned to look a fish hit my line, hard.
I'd no more than glanced, seeing the dark mass of dense curly hair just
above her sex. Noticing how it got thinner towards the edges on either
side and above, nearer her waist. How it really seemed to give her pelvis
a kind of 'dirty' look, rather than the clean look those nicely trimmed
girls in the magazines seemed to have. At the junction of her legs I was
surprised to find there were no hairs growing on the sex itself. There
were a few at the edges, where she evidently didn't shave, but none on the
dark puffy lips or between, where the bright pink was showing as those
lips parted with the spreading of her legs. I turned back to my fishing
and jerked the rod to set the hook, actually glad of the distraction, of
the time to think before I answered. I had the feeling that a quick answer
would be a wrong answer.  I maintained pressure on the line, allowing the
fish to begin tiring itself as I began the familiar task of landing the
fish and turned back to look again.

Raquel had closed her legs again, mostly, and had leaned back more. She
was no longer looking at me but seemed to be studying the clouds above,
her breasts falling back flatter to her chest and sliding ever so slightly
apart with her new position. I thought I saw a small jerk in the muscles
of her stomach, a tiny spasm in the soft looking pillows of her breasts,
like a silent sob. I had to say something, but what. What does an
inexperienced fifteen year old say to an experienced woman (albeit a
sixteen year old woman) at a time like that? When she seems to have made
herself especially vulnerable to him? What words or expression would be
enough to make her feel good about something she obviously did not like
about herself.

"I wouldn't know ugly from beautiful, Rocks . . . uh, sorry, Raquel. I
know from Playboys and they only show what someone chooses as the
prettiest and best. But that is their opinion and they don't show what you
just did. National Geographics might be more honest about things, but they
don't get that close to things. So I don't know what is supposed to be
pretty and what is not - not really. I do know what I like though and I
like you and anything about you . . . no matter what." I'd worked the fish
in close to the boat as I spoke and reached down to lift it from the
water.

"Thank you, Bill." I looked from the fish in my hands to Raquel and found
she wasn't looking at me, but still gazed at the clouds. I could see the
side of her face though and saw a tear sliding from her eye down across
her cheek and temple. I thought I'd said something to make her sad and was
sorry. I decided not to say something more though. I didn't want to make
matters worse. I turned back to my fish.

Things fell into a simple routine for a while then. The fish began taking
the bait almost as fast as I could return the line to the water. Raquel
was tanning at the front of the boat and reading her book. I avoided
trying to steel looks just then as she was basically facing towards me and
would have noticed. The only break in the action was about forty minutes
later when Raquel decided to roll over onto her stomach to tan her back. I
had just landed my fourteenth or fifteenth fish and was rebaiting my hook
when Raquel asked me wait for a minute and put oil onto her back and legs
for her again.

I washed my hands in the lake water, using my long ago discarded T-shirt
to dry them, before moving to sit beside her on the narrow deck. Oiling my
hands from the bottle of lotion I squirted some onto her and began rubbing
it into her back and shoulders. Moving my hands in slow circles I used a
gentle pressure as I steadily worked my way towards her hips and legs. I
expected her to stop me once I neared her waist, yet she didn't. With
every circling of my hands and fingers I anticipated her word to stop. For
her hands to come around to grasp my own or cover her buttocks as she told
me to go no further. Yet that expected word, that anticipated action never
came and before I knew it I was adding more oil to my hands, rubbing it
onto her butt cheeks and upper thighs. I really didn't know if I should or
not, but I felt that since I'd gone as far as I had I should make a proper
job of it. I slid one oily hand down inside the crack of her ass, stopping
only when I felt the fingertips touching the lips of her pussy. Pulling
that hand back and sliding it around towards the outside of her cheek. It
was the other hand's turn. It too slid down into the ever deepening crack,
across the depression that led to her butt hole and down the bit of flesh
that separated it from her pussy, coating all with oil. This time, on the
way back up I curled the index finger and pressed against the opening of
her butt itself. That got a response.

Raquel's hand came around and caught me by the wrist. "Don't! Not that.
Not with me. If you want to play with someone's butt hole, play with
Pat's. She likes that, I don't. If you'd gone a little lower and tried to
enter I would have allowed it . . . it felt so good. But not there, and
you can't try again. I have enough oil on me. Thank you." I had been
dismissed and returned to my fishing.

I'd been surprised when she said I could have actually played with her
pussy - could have pushed my finger inside of her. What else could I have
done? I wanted to argue with her about it, ask her about it. Hell, I
wanted to do it all again. I couldn't believe the sensations I had been
feeling, rubbing my oily hands against the surprising firmness of her
buttocks. Down the little valley that was deeper than I'd thought and into
that minor depression surrounding her butt hole. An area that was smoother
and silkier feeling than I'd have thought possible. But the moment had
passed. Only the throbbing boner that my dick had become remained of the
moment. I was glad that she had not looked around as I moved back to my
seat, had not seen the raised ridge in my tight shorts. I had thought that
the routine of fishing would allow my cock to relax and soften once again,
but fishing is just that; a routine, one which allowed plenty of time for
thoughts, for me to replay and replay and replay those sights and
sensations. Relive the moments as I'd rubbed the oil into her skin. I
stayed hard.

My fishing ended about thirty minutes later . . . I'd run out of bait, but
didn't feel bad about it at all. Out of the twenty-six night crawlers I'd
bought (they were always sold in 'Bakers Dozens') I had managed to catch
and land twenty-three fish, which would make a great meal for the family
that evening, or the next day - whenever mom decided to cook them. Two
stringers full of fish would make for a proud accomplishment when we
returned home.

Raquel had rolled over onto her back again as I put away the fishing rod
and closed the tackle box. She had raised up on her elbows and was looking
at me as I said, "Would you like me to rub oil on this side too?" Actually
praying that she might say yes.

"I might enjoy that yes. You have a very sensual touch. But what time is it?"

I looked at my watch. "Going on two o'clock. I hadn't realized it was
getting so late. We have to be back at the house in about two hours."

"And I still want to get in a swim first. How long will it take to drag
the boat back out again?"

"Same as coming in, about fifteen minutes or so. Then it's another thirty
minutes to get back to the house. I have to allow time to refill the gas
tank for dad."

"No time for more tanning then. I really need that swim now, to wash off
the excess oil before we go back in.  I really would like to lay in the
lake and just soak for a bit. Oh, quit looking so sad . . . it's not like
you were actually going to lose your cherry today. I might have let you
play a while, but that would have been all of it - just play."

Raquel donned her suit again and I shook out my T-shirt and pulled it on.
Then it was the two of us working together;  pulling the remaining soda
pops and the fish into the boat before I rowed to the end of the path
where we worked together to pull the boat back towards the little cove
beyond.

Before we actually came in site of the lake proper though I went ahead and
checked for activity. That was one good thing about fishing on weekdays,
not so many boats on the lake. There were a few skiers at the far end, but
nothing close to where we were.  Pulling the boat through, we soon had it
launched and I used a heavy branch to drag many of the weeds at that end
of the path back upright. I dropped the heavy branch in the narrow path to
further obscure it before pushing off from shore. Using the motor I moved
us to a sandy section of the shore just outside of the little cove and we
spent thirty minutes swimming. We were sitting in the shallows, a few feet
from shore, drinking the last of our sodas when Raquel leaned over and
kissed me.

This wasn't a 'cousins' kiss, nor a simple 'thank you' meeting of the
lips. This was an open mouthed, tongue sparring kiss of passion, with one
hand behind my neck and the other against the side of my face and jaw. I
quickly returned as good as I was getting, sliding one arm about her
waist. I grounded my pop bottle in the shallow water and reached my other
hand to her breast as the kiss went on and on. I was squeezing at the
breast from it's underside, pinching lightly through her suit at the
nipple with fingers and thumb.  It responded and hardened under the
attention and I found myself surprised as it seemed to be getting ever
thicker and longer by the moment.

Finally we parted, ending the kiss with a series of little pecks about one
another's lips and neck. Raquel leaned back onto her elbows and simply
looked at my face, her lips pursed. I reached for my soda and took a long
pull from the bottle. "You've done that before."

"Yeah. A few times."

"With who?"

"Becky Randal. A girl from my school. She's five days older than I am. Her
family lived near here years ago, then they moved into town. Her daddy
still likes to fish in the river though and while he is fishing Becky and
I will sometimes go down river a ways and swim or sunbathe. She likes to
kiss and neck a lot."

"Have you ever seen her kissing or necking any other boys?"

"Nope, never have."

"Then, you could get more than kisses from her, I'll bet.

"I know it. But not while her daddy is anywhere near . . . he'd kill us
both. She can't get to the lake without him though. She isn't allowed. Her
daddy guards her like a pit bull. Even when he's fishing she can't be out
of ear shot, can't be out of sight, not for long or he'll come looking for
her."

"Too bad, you might not be a virgin today if she could."

We finished our sodas and jumped back into deeper water to rinse off
before heading home. As I put things into the boat, Raquel pulled her
shorts on over the wet suit. She was reaching for her shirt when I placed
a hand on her arm and stepping close said, "Raquel?"

"Yes." She looked at me and our faces were only inches apart.

Pretending to be a gallant knight of the round table I said, "I loved
seeing your body. Thank you M'Lady," with a kind of mock bow.

She smiled and kissed me gently before saying. "You're welcome, kind sir,"
with a bit of a curtsey and a giggle.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+