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A massage for my sister after a biking trek.
That was messed up. But you and him, a wank, a shag or two. Nothing wrong there."
Liz plucks the cigarettes from Tess's lips, takes a long drag.
"But what if I want more than that?"
"Then that's what you want."
"Well it'd sure complicate Thanksgivings in the Murphy house. 'Oh, here's my new boyfriend, Cousin Mary's kid.'"
"Well, there's another reason why we don't have Thanksgiving over in Ireland. Makes it so much easier to fuck your cousin."
And again, the next night, after we'd all fucked. Tess, one hand on Lizzie's breast, the other moving slowly along my flaccid, cunt-slicked dick. Whispering, "See, I made up me mind a long time ago, I wouldn't let the priests or nuns ever tell me, on the pains of hell, what I'd let anyone put in my fanny, or in me mouth, or even stuff up me backside. And there was no kind of sex I wouldn't have. And now I'm 27, I think I've done alright on that score. Makes a nice Irish girl like me a bit of a hoor, but even so. I suppose it's easier now to make a list of what I haven't had it off with than who I have. I mean, horses, dogs, cats, sheep, cows. That covers the domesticated animals of Ireland, I think. And I've yet to corrupt a member of the clergy. And I haven't done me brothers or me cousins. But that's only because the brothers are all pencil-dicks, and me cousins are, for the most part, all retards. So this is a sort of first for me too, y'know. A threesome with a pair of kissin' cousins."
And here's what happened: Tess pulled me by my t-shirt to the bed, leaned toward me, was the first to kiss me. I taste smoke and beer on her tongue. Then she pulls me further with her finger (it isn't hard; I go where she takes me) until I half fall past her and nearly onto my cousin. Whose hands find my face and framing me, looks at me, eye to eye.
This is a dare.
This is not a dare.
Behind me, Tess's hand on my back, sliding downward, then upward under my shirt. Her skin on my skin.
"Is this okay, Tommy?" Liz asks me. "Are you okay with you and me?"
"Yeah," I tell her. "I think so, Lizzie. I am."
And touch her.
I touch her face, her neck, the breasts beneath her t-shirt. Her ribs, hip, the outside curve of her thigh. Through clothes, she is under them, her skin, her self just a piece of fabric away.
While Tess, our chaperone, eases my shirt up over my shoulders. I lift briefly my hands away from Liz to let it happen and then return to her. I lift her t-shirt up and over her upstretched arms. Her breasts, bra-bound, rise and fall with the motion.
Thought of water running across her breasts, her nipples in moonlight.
While Tess, behind us, complains, "Jesus, as always with you two, I guess I'll have to undress myself."
I turn to her as she does. The freckled paleness of her skin beneath her t-shirt. Her bra just a couple pieces of black cotton over the tiny things beneath. With her nubbbed head, she seems boyish, dykey, strangely lovely. Reaches behind herself, unclasps. As, on my other side, does my cousin.
And we three collapse, each half naked, onto the bed.
I am washed by them into a sea of flesh, of breasts. I am touched, aroused, nurtured by these two women, these Irish girls. We perform the ungainly ritual of pulling off pants. The raising of legs, bum, the kicking off of sneakers, trousers. I am the only one wearing socks; I pull them almost off with the opposite toes. Tess finishes for me and at last we are naked, I'm back to ridiculously hard in their presence. There's a rich patch of auburn between one girl's legs. And Lizzie, my sweet cousin Lizzie, is shaved as promised. She is made of folds of flesh, pink cleft open to my hand. I touch the inside of her, she is damp silk.
And her hand touching, finally, my cock.