She had my cock full in her mouth, plunging her head in and out of the swirling waters until I couldn't take the pleasure any more. I wanted her, but I knew it was wrong. But why was it wrong and how did I get here?
This was before I met Louisa Love. In fact I was separated from my first wife and could basically do what I wanted and go where I wanted, when I wanted, and with whom. There are a few stories to tell from that period. This one concerns my younger cousin. I say younger, but she is much more experienced in sexual affairs than I am. But we have a familial love for each other, and when I'd been ill for a few months she invited me to spend the weekend with her at a place she was renting in the country at the top end of Loch G***** in the west of Scotland. I think that's enough of an introduction.
We were to meet at the golf and country club. As I wound my way down the single track road I was struck by the beauty of Scotland's mountains and glens. Although only May, it was warm enough to have the roof off my convertible and the smells wafted into the car from the flowers growing at the roadside and on the wooded slopes. I had a round of golf ahead of me, in an area I hadn't visited before. I had seen many different bird varieties on the way through the mountains including what I thought might be an eagle circling high above a cliff. But now, with the loch spread before me, I saw seagulls and a few crows nesting in the trees that circled the golf-course which ran down to the sand at the water's edge.
I parked and went into the bar to wait for Sarah. I ordered a pint of IPA (beer) from the barman, because I had got thirsty on the drive, and went out and waited in the sun at a picnic table overlooking the loch. I listened to the strong West-coast accents of most of the visitors, the accent that most people associate with Scotland, and admired their women, who tend to dress more exotically, wear more jewellery and apply more make-up than the women of Edinburgh. One was wearing a very low-cut top, which stopped just above the nipple-line and she sounded like she was having a week-end away from the city of Glasgow.
"Hiya. Admiring the view?" It was Sarah. She'd come up from the car-park behind me and I knew she'd noticed I wasn't looking at the loch. I stood up and we gave that awkward kiss/cuddle which relatives do. "Randy old bugger," she said.
"Now hold on a minute, there's only 15 years between us, and you're catching up."
"Sometimes it feels that way. It's been ages since I've had a shag Jeff."
Sarah swears a lot and isn't that well-behaved in private. By day she teaches Shakespeare to her English class! I sometimes think she uses the swearing as therapy. I looked at her. She lives in the South of England now and it had been a couple of years since we'd met. She'd definitely matured. A bit plump, but mainly in the right places with an ample bosom and bum-tight trousers. "Well I don't see why. You look OK to me." She eyed me quizzically, as if trying to read my mind. But, truth was, I had been so messed up recently, I couldn't read my own mind.
At that point, the Glasgow woman got up, and I could see she was wearing a very short skirt. In Edinburgh that would be too short for someone in their 40's, but she wore it with confidence and it accentuated her firm bum.
"Actually, she's not bad," said Sarah as the woman walked away from us. "I could go a bit of that myself."
"Are you?"
"No, I like cock too much, but I've been there and it's fun. I'd do it again with the right woman."
I realised that the conversation had entered a place that neither of us had been before and I felt slightly uncomfortable. This was only the beginning of my discomfort. As I stood up to go and get my clubs from the car, I felt a firmness in my trousers and adjusted myself discretely. But not discrete enough. "Mmm, not bad, cousin," Sarah teased.
I tried to look like a stern older cousin. "That's enough." I said. She just smiled back at me, impish.
We had a pleasant round of golf. The scenery was better than the course and than our play and we stopped off after nine holes for a refreshing lager at a local bar, before working our way back down the fairways to the clubhouse. Then we went to her lodge, showered and dressed for dinner and went to a local bar/restaurant which the lodge owner had recommended. It was after dinner, when we were having drinks in the lounge, that the evening began to hot up. Sarah had put on another tight-fitting pair of trousers, made of finer cloth this time, and the absence of a panty-line made it clear there was nothing underneath. Her blouse was see-through and a balcony bra pushed her ample breasts forward into the sheer cotton so that her nipples clearly raised the fabric. Not surprisingly, she was getting many hits at the bar, and I found myself acting chaperone.
I found another woman myself and, keeping one eye on Sarah, I went through my inexperienced chat-up routine. That was when Sarah came over. "Hello, you two," she smiled. "James over here has just invited us back to his house for malt whisky. "He's got a bar and a hot-tub and everything."
"Not for me," said the girl I'd been chatting to. "have to get up tomorrow morning." And with that, she kissed me lightly on the cheek and left.
"This had better be good," I said to Sarah. "You just spoiled my chances. And we're not going anywhere until I've checked him out for you."
"Still the big cousin, eh?" She was being impish again as we walked over to the bar. "Jeff, this is James." James was a little taller than me, just under 6ft tall. He was an oil-engineer, spending a lot of his time trouble-shooting, and he kept the house here as a base. I know a bit about the oil business through my research and we chatted over a whisky, until I felt comfortable with him as a character. I wasn't going to let my wee cousin go off with a complete stranger.
"OK," said James. Want to see my bar?
"No, you two go on ahead. I'll head back to the lodge."
"Don't be daft. I want to show you my range of malt whiskies."
Well, that was enough of an invitation for me. Soon we were out on a balmy evening, walking through a dark wood, fairly drunk and taking turns at singing songs. Suddenly, I slipped and landed full-on in the mud. "Whoa, there." James looked down and the two of them grabbed an arm each and pulled me back up to my feet. We all three staggered arm-in-arm to his house. But when we got to the two-storey property, we didn't go inside. Instead we went around the back to a large garage, which must have been about 30ft long and 20ft wide. James opened a side door and let us in, switching the lights on as he did so.
I can only describe what I saw as a male play-palace. It had its own well-stocked bar running half-way down one side, a pool table, darts board and a couple of leather couches. The walls were decorated with souvenirs from all over the world and an Indian carpet lay between the bar and the couches. But the centre-piece, just beyond the couches on the other side from the bar was a large hot-tub. I tested the water. It was already warm. Thinking of my cousin, I said, naively, "We don't have our swimsuits."
James laughed. "It's a birthday-suit hot-tub. Swimwear not allowed. Anyway," and he went behind the bar, "what can I get you?"
