WARNING:
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!
This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.
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It was that time of year again, Halloween. Normally, my wife, Harriett, and I would get an invitation to the subdivision's annual Halloween Party with its mandatory costume policy. Harriett did not like attending this party so she would send a polite "We can't make it" reply to the rotating host and hostess. In the past she'd been fed up with the unofficial competition among the wives as to whom was richer, doing more civic good deeds, those kinds of measurements, because she always ended up on the short end of the stick. Not my stick, which was plenty long. This year was different. Harriett was doing well in her new job, exceeding sales' quotas, which I couldn't believe, and she wanted to brag. No better place than the annual Halloween Party, where she could gush about her success once and splatter all of the neighbors with the news. Which meant that I'd be dressing up as well. The idea of being in the same room with the parents of young women with whom I'd had sex was bad enough, but I'd conquered some of the wives as well. Nope, I shouldn't go to this party in order to avoid a scene.
A few days before the event, for which I still had not procured a costume, we got a strange phone call. He was a cousin, I guess. That's how he referred to himself - "Cousin" Zeke. Who names a kid Zeke, anyway? The name had never been popular, at least in our subdivision. It was unclear just how he was related and it was my side of the family. It must have been through remarriage after divorce, or some estranged aunt's or uncle's kid. But that's what a cousin is after all, so never mind. Anyway it wasn't his mom or dad that called us. He called, introducing himself and asking if he could "bunk down at our place" - his exact words - while he was in town for a job interview. Since Harriett took the call, "we" accepted his request. I would have asked, "Now, how are related again?" and not given up until I had a reasonable answer. Maybe family is more important to Harriett than to me.
A couple of hours later, there was a knock at the door. A strapping young man dressed like a farm hick in overalls and a red plaid shirt stood on our doorstep. All he needed was a corncob pipe or a grass stem in his mouth to complete the picture. He must not have been too poor, because as the taxi pulled away from the curb, I saw airline baggage tags on his suitcase and we're not all that close to the airport. He could have afforded a room at Motel Six, I was sure of it, but Harriett had offered.
Speaking of Harriett, she was at home for a change, struggling over a workload that seemed to be increasing at an exponential rate. She was getting new clients weekly, which meant even more travel. Her boss, who might still be Rianne, told her to take some time before the end of year rush to close deals and exceed the revenue forecast.
Zeke was about an inch taller than my six feet, strong arms and square jaw. Overall, not bad looking. If Annie had been home from school, she would have taken him upstairs in a flash and given him a citified fucking. Fortunately, she was still at school, anticipating a visit home over Thanksgiving the following month.
Zeke had a good physique, probably from the farm work, although I was making assumptions about him from his clothing and speech style. Since most of what I got were one word answers, it was clear Zeke wasn't much of a conversationalist.
"I need exercise" was the longest sentence he'd said to me, so we went to the community health center on a one-day resident pass. We played some basketball, where I got picked last - again - just like high school. His eye hand coordination was quite good, and he knew how and where to play good defense. His team beat ours, on a last second shot that he made. I was simultaneously humiliated and proud.
Zeke wanted to cool off in the pool. 'Like the quarry back home.' By that, he meant to exercise some more, doing laps. There were two lifeguards on duty, one on each side of the pool. A pale young man who didn't seem to have enough body fat to float watched the far side. On the other, a well-developed college coed with blond ponytail and a very tight red one-piece suit maintained her vigil. She wore wraparound sunglasses indoors no less. I couldn't be sure, but I thought she was scoping us out when we entered the pool area from the locker room.
I stayed in the middle of the pool, facing the swim lanes, keeping the water above my waist. Young women in bathing suits always cause an involuntary reaction in me.
Every time Zeke swam past her tower, she'd blow her whistle and interrupt him in mid stroke. He'd stop, shout up at her while treading water and then swim on. Until the next lap, when it would happen again. Finally, he pulled himself out at the edge and approached the tower. She climbed down but not before pausing on the ladder to adjust the crotch of her suit. Shit. He must have gotten an up-close look at her pussy the way she dragged the material away from her pubic area. Face to face they argued. She punctuated her points by tapping her bright red fingernail onto his chest. Two points, her hard nipples, stayed hidden behind the swimsuit. Then she put her full hand palm on Zeke's chest. That was no rebuke. That was a come on.
Zeke marched back to our plastic chairs, shaking his head.
"Looks like she's interested in you," I said.
"Me? Nope. Just wanted to scold me for stuff I wasn't doin'."
Despite his disagreement, he had tented swim trunks. So did I. Zeke had no clue how women can be devious. "So, did you get her number?"
"What number?"
I shook my head. "Let's go," I said.
In the changing room, Zeke turned his back on the crowd of folks stripping off wet suits. Facing the lockers, he worked his trunks down. That's when I learned that Zeke and I were definitely related, based on our similar physiology. His cock was as big as mine. Maybe the head was even a bit larger. He seemed a bit anxious that I saw his partial erection, even though he stared at mine in return.
In the car on the way back to the house, we had a shorthand version of a conversation about women. "Why'd she keep whistling to me for made-up stuff?" he asked.
"She probably thought that you're attractive."
"Nope, that ain't it."
"Listen, you're not a movie star, but you're in good shape. Muscles, no flab." I slapped at my stomach, not so much. "And it looked like you thought she was attractive."
"Nope."
"Don't give me that. I saw you got excited."
"A little." Zeke blushed.
"Don't be ashamed. Beautiful women can do that to a guy. It's natural."
I didn't ask the virgin question. The answer was obvious. "Do you want to go back to the pool again? I'm sure she'd talk to you. Maybe even agree to go out with you."
Zeke almost climbed though the door, the way he slid away. "Nope. Nope."
