It was the day of my sister's wedding, and my cousin was giving me trouble. But this wasn't immediately after my increasingly disturbing experience with my disturbingly hot priest. This was after I had walked a couple of miles in my tight new pants. I had thought and speculated, chosen a flower at random and was staring at it intently, trying to figure it out.
Everybody keeps rubbing at their heads, I thought and did the same. To get the feeling of it.
I kept walking. From my position I could see the wedding guests going back and forth, with tall glasses in their hands, waiting for everything to start. More people made their way to the church.
Everybody keeps rubbing at their heads, I thought again, and then they want to have sex with me.
I stopped walking.
"And they want to have sex with me," I said out loud, really loud.
I started to think about my sister's friends, all attractive like her, and the groom's, likewise. I could fuck anybody I wanted! My cock, mishandled, used, stirred in my tight pants. They hid nothing.
With a mission from the reptilian brain, I walked down the hill, trying to prioritize, to choose wisely. I didn't have enough time suddenly, when I thought about the tight brunette, the handsome black-haired one, this incredibly hot middle-aged woman who already looked at me like she wanted to eat my pants for brunch. Finally, I picked one at random, a tall and skinny red-head, with freckled, pale hands I could imagine doing all kinds of dirty things, delicately.
I knew whatever it was needed privacy, so I asked her to follow me a little bit. I made up something about chairs, and soon I found myself alone with her in an empty storage room.
"What is it you want?" she asked me.
Waiting for the magic to kick in I gazed around. She grew increasingly frustrated.
"You're the bride's brother, right?" she asked, delicate arms crossed over her chest.
"That's right," I said with a friendly smile. I held it too long, I knew, but didn't know what else to do.
"Creep," she said and walked away, leaving me in the empty storage room. Soon I heard her talking among her friends, laughing.
I kicked at some rubble, missed, and fell on the floor. As I lay there groaning, I saw my mother's face in the doorway, and I thought, Mamma Mia! Here we go again.
But even though she looked at me funnily, licking at her lips, like she remembered the sweet taste of Italian meringue, she didn't throw herself all over me.
"Here you are!" she said, but not really to me, and my aunt walked in with her. "We looked all over for you."
"Why?" I asked and picked myself off the ground, self-consciously. My aunt gave me looks, weird looks, behind her glasses.
My aunt, for the ones of you that doesn't know her, is a clerk by trade and a librarian by vocation, always dressing stylishly but conservatively, pin-striped skirt and flowery top. The liveliest part of her is her eyes, and her eyelashes looked especially lovely this day.
"Your cousin wants you," my mom said.
"My cousin!" I almost screamed.
"Yes," she said, looking at my aunt, shaking her head. "Where did you think all the chairs went?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know."
She laughed and gave me a hug. My aunt also laughed and gave me a hug. I stood with two pairs of familiar arms and legs and breasts pressed against my body, smelling nice hair and perfume. And I wouldn't have noticed before today, but it wasn't all innocence. My aunt stayed behind a little too long, stroking my back. My mother kissed my cheek like a really affectionate mother of a friend, that leaves you confused inside. They stayed like that, a little too close for my tight pants, and led me between groups of people to the back-entrance of the locale of the wedding feast.
Inside, my cousin was setting up the chairs, all by herself. If my aunt looked like a librarian, my cousin looked a bit like her, but with tweed instead of pin-stripe. She was tight, was my cousin. I always thought she was a lesbian, at least a little bit. She looked too cool to be anything but. The suit even came with a matching vest and a bowtie. Like her mother she wore glasses, with waves of dirt-blonde hair behind her ears.
"There he is," she said. "My dear cousin."
"Yes, we found him eventually," my mother said. "He was hiding."
"I wasn't," I said. They didn't believe me, and I didn't submit to court the evidence of my rape. My mother and aunt left us and closed the door behind them.
"So, cousin," my cousin said, giving me a friendly look, but stopping at crotch-level. I didn't blame her. A lot was going on down there. "Ready to get up -- I mean, set up some furniture?"
At first, I was surprised, even after the red-head. Really? I wanted to ask. But then I nodded, somewhat relieved. I could hide in here with my 20-ish something cousin and try my experiment again later. I picked up a couple of chairs.
"Wait!" she said.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't..." I didn't finish. She was looking at me, giving me a hard stare, scaring me. "What's going on?"
"You!" she said, still scary. She held a chair under each arm. "I smelled some magic but thought it was the..." She dropped the chairs on the floor. I flinched. "Oh, no, no, oh, fuck, what did you do?"
"Do?" I looked around. "Didn't do anything?"
