The Kissing Cousins

I had not seen my cousin, Fran, in some time so I was eagerly looking forward to visiting her in Ottawa on my vacation. We were born three months apart and were closer than a lot of brothers and sisters I knew. We could tell each other anything without fear of judgment. Even though she was really a second cousin once removed, or something like that, I felt a bit uncomfortable when I realized how physically attracted I was to her.

Fran developed a gorgeous figure as a sixteen-year-old. As little kids, our mothers used to bathe us together; as a teenager, she would grab a t-shirt or towel for cover if I happened by as she was sunbathing in her bathing suit. She had full firm tits, a slim waist and long lithe legs, and the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen. She was the focal point of many a jerk-off session. But that remained a carefully guarded secret.

Fran met me at the train station. The last time I saw her, she was a foxy 22 year-old. Now she was a magnificent 27. She wore a short blue skirt, just tight enough to make me a bit uncomfortable, and an oversized white shirt cinched at the waist with a belt. Her auburn hair was back in a pony tail and she looked very demur in her glasses. Although a stunner, Fran declined to show off her figure too much.

She smiled as she threw her arms around me and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. I tentatively wrapped my arms around her, afraid I might squeeze to hard for propriety’s sake.

“How are you, Jon?” she asked, as we headed for her car. “Just fine,” I answered, hoping the hard-on she’d just given me would dissipate. “It’s good to see you, Fran.”

“Good to see you, too, Jon. What would you like to do while you’re in town? I have some things you might be interested in,” she said. Was than grin just a bit mischievous or was it just wishful thinking?

“I’d really just like to take it easy,” I responded. “Well, you must be hungry after that trip. Why don’t we go back to the apartment to freshen up and then I’ll take you out to dinner at Barbara’s place.” Barbara had been Fran’s roommate until recently. A pretty redhead, she was the manager at one of the city’s nicer restaurants.

“That sounds good, Fran, although you look pretty fresh to me.” She blushed at that as we loaded her car and drove off.

Fran had a one-bedroom flat on the twenty-third floor of f fancy apartment. The view of downtown Ottawa, with it’s mixture of old and new architecture, was magnificent. I showered and shaved and tossed on some comfy-casual stuff. At an even 6 feet and 170 pounds, I was confident about my appearance, yet I always felt somewhat awkward when we were together.

Fran was changing in the bedroom. “There’s wine in the fridge,” she called from behind the closed door. “Help yourself.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I’ve got mine, she replied. Fran was not what you would call a good drinker. She got a bit giddy and flirty. In the past I might have been uneasy with that, but for some reason I felt tonight might just be different.

I took my drink and stepped onto the balcony. The late summer’s sun was starting to descend and a warm breeze passed. I turned and there was Fran! She was clad in a pale blue bra and panty set. I felt myself blush and immediately turned my head. I expected her to scream, but apparently she couldn’t see me.

The lingerie accentuated what seemed to be an all-over tan. Her firm tits bulged around the skimpy bra and the panties were cut quite high on the leg, revealing much of her lovely ass.