The Family Gift Bk. 02

Literotic asexstories – The Family Gift Bk. 02 by DickBogart1953,DickBogart1953 Everyone in this tale is 18+

The family gift. Book 2

Later I made my way to coffee; I looked over my coffee cup, my eyes a tad bloodshot, picked up my toast, looked again over my cup, and Jean looked over hers. To anyone else, we are both still sleepy, but she looks to the front porch with her eyes.

I refill my cup and say. “I will read the paper on the porch with my dad.”

Jean comes out and sits beside me on the swing as she asks. “Uncle Bob, can I have the sports pages?”

My Dad gave her the pages and says. “Jean, talk to your school guidance counselor and have them process your application with the FFA (Future Farmers of America). Volunteer fire training is one of the courses. It might help you get in. Also, we, and I mean my Dad and me, are proud of you both. Dan, you going to train her, aren’t you? I saw it at the school; here is your textbook Jean. Your entrance fee is covered by my Dad and I. Win or lose; we are proud of you two.”

My Dad got up to leave; he kissed Jean’s head, then mine, and tossed my hair like I was a good kid.

Jean looked at me with tears in her eyes. OK, I had a couple too.

You told me. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

I shot back. “That’s why we are doing this to find out. I will get you to the ladder; you must climb it alone. Talk to your coach to get into the weight room at school. We need to run a mile a day at first; then we need eight miles a day by the time we start working out together.”

My Dad left to change for church. I say, a smile on my face. “I wanted to beat you ever since you flipped and pinned me. But it’s not a fight with you I want to do right now or ever again.”

Jean hits my arm five or six times hard, wets her lips, gets up, and goes to change for church. After changing for church, I look out the side window drinking a cold Coke in my church slacks, when Jean comes up and sees the kids playing near the tool shed.

It’s made her think, Jean says. If people want kids, you must fall in love with someone you can marry.”

Jean’s sadness was in her voice. “God, I want to hold you right now.”

I say. “Kind of makes the tool shed sad.”

Jean answered softly. “I thought the tool shed was a special place of hollowed ground.”

I say. “Me too; if it’s too sad, we could stop and work on fire school. Nothing needs to be ever said. But that would be sadder.” I added.

Jean says, pointing her eyes to people coming into the room. “We’ll talk later, Dan.”

As she hit my arm with her hand over and over with tears in her eyes, she put on her sunglasses and grabbed some of the younger kids. Jean is one of two girls in the twenty-one-odd cousins, my sister and Jean—they’re off to the church with her brother driving. I thought when we played Doctor, the guilt would hit so hard. So it did that first day in church, but it was more about learning about the other stuff not learned in school by the second day.

I wonder why I feel no guilt, but we should stop to be fair to Jean. She wants kids, and I have been led to believe congenital disabilities would be a big issue. Getting the Bogart’s to church was like herding cats; only the cats were better organized.

I was reading a National Geographic from the early s60 while waiting; in it was a photo and a caption ‘Albert Einstein and his second wife’ his first cousin hell they had kids together, Elsa Einstein.’ It took family marriage to a new level. They were related through maternal and paternal lineages: Their mothers were sisters, and their fathers were first cousins. I took note of the page to show Jean and went to church.

I thought in the church that maybe I should burn in hell, but I did not. I glance at Jean as she moves her eyes to the restroom.

I say. “Got to pee.” To my Dad.”

I go out on my side of the church, and I go around the outside of the church, standing outside of the bathroom; Jean comes up, looks back, opens the janitor’s closet, offers her hand, and leads me in.

Jean started. “I don’t care if the world burns or not. I want you now. Is that OK for today, Dan?”

I say. “Jean, I can’t say no to you. But It will hurt the same today by not touching you again as it would after 1000 times.”

Jean joked. “Shut up and get busy, or we will never get to that 1000 thing.”

I kissed you and say. “If we do it now, people are going to smell us; just kiss me and hold me ten minutes maybe, and we should go back.”

Jean say. “Ten, oh hell yes, this is doable.” As you sit on the edge of the deep sink.

I go to my knees and lift your dress, seeing your panties were pulled to the side by you, and you are so juicy for me I ate till you came.

I say. “Wash your face, dear it looks like you came hard.”

Jean giggles. “What about you?”

I chuckle. “I’m too messy; there be a big wet spot that smells of my cum, as I drain out.”

We washed our faces in the sink and opened a pack of paper towels to dry off.

I look out the closet door, and the coast is clear. Another half hour and it’s over. After church, it’s lunch. I try not to sit next to you, but that’s what we have done for eight years, and I keep my hands off you; mine can be seen at all times, but yours are not. Your touch is like a forest fire lunch was over, and we got home and naps for the younger kids.

I say. “Jean, grab your textbook; we will go to the outside swing. We could read, get some sun and talk; it was not that cold out a sweater was all that was needed.”

Getting out there we talk about things Jean says, “Is this what we are doing tonight, what we do today, or are we just learning how to be better lovers, or is it going to be more of us?”

Jean adds. “Let me grab my reading glasses.”

I ask Jean outright. “Are you sure, baby? We came close to getting caught last night?”

Jean says. “We should probably cool it then, baby, but I will die not having you in my arms.”

I say. “Lots of that going around, Jean.”

I glance to see whose near, and kids are playing with their toys out of earshot.

I hand you the Nat Geo; you read it, look at me, and say. “We see how it goes, lover; later, they had kids, and nobody made a stink; what changed?”

She went off to play board games. I went to watch T.V. It’s been a fun week we rented a movie theater to watch a Peter Sellers movie. I was forced to sit with Jean now. My arms were crossed, but damn it, hers were not; it was only so much you could get away with all your Family sitting nearby. It was excellent; we had to skip the tool shed as we got home. It started raining, which killed the mood; bringing mud in at three am would be a surefire clue that something was happening. It was restful to sleep a whole night; it made things hornier for us. It rained for three days; everything’s so wet there is a pond around the tool shed. We both feel it’s a physical need, and we can do nothing but deal with it.

Then something strange happened, or at least to me it was; we were asked to get card tables with chairs down from storage in the attic. So I take us up with rags to dust and lift you over the half wall to hand me the tables and chairs; there are eight sets. Our hands touch, we look at each other, and feel the need. So I hop over the wall to you, and your in my arms, kissing you. Yes, we were so horny we trembled holding each other.

Jean says. “The fires inside are still there, but it’s so calming being in your arms, Dan.”

We stayed that way till we heard a voice from below. “You guys get lost In Narnia?”

It sounded like one of our Uncles who said it.

I say. “Yes, we wished; we got it all. We start handing it down as soon as we finish wiping it down.”

I was looking into your eyes. We kissed one last time, pulled apart, and started to go down. “We,” I say.

Jean say. “We together this an offer?”

Looking into my eyes as I was looking into hers.

I say. “It is; it’s we now till hell freezes over.”

Jean says, winking at me with a big smile. “We’re coming down now. Someone catch these tables and chairs, please.”

I say. “Yes, yes, We are.”

New Year’s Eve in a house that does not drink or dance, well around granny but get away from home, and it was just like the movie Footloose but not as cool. We all watch the ball drop with that guy from American Bandstand. I love to give two extraordinary ladies a big hot kiss, but you know well what kind of trouble that would cause us.

We watched New Year’s Day and football all day, but by three pm, we younger kids were all going stir crazy. So we hopped in cars and went to the town park to blow off some steam. We played football in the mud. There is a merry-go-round and a small fun house with an office that you can sneak off to for a few kisses and fifteen minutes if you know about the back door lock. I have given Jean a sound come.

Jean asks me. “Why I won’t let her do me.”

My answer was. “It’s that twenty minutes is too short, and my cock drips for a good half hour after, and my light blue jeans would show my precum/cum badly. Was life always going to be this hard?”

Jean say. “After 21, who knows, and another country maybe might help.”

We go to bed and sneak out to the tool shed; our muddy shoes were that way from the park earlier, so we go to the tool shed, and when we come back in, they will be on the shoe racks by the backdoor and still muddy. So we take our things off. I pull you to my lap, and you hold me in your arms. We kiss softly as you sit on my hardening cock.

I say out loud. “Nice, really nice.”

We rock back and forth with just enough friction to be fun. You lift and place me on your outer lips, sliding down my length in one stroke. What difference a second time makes. I tell you, I’m tingling like I have to pee, or my come is so close, so this time you lift and squeeze my prick hard, making me calm, and we can start again; we did this twice. She says, and her travel clock goes off about the same time. “Shit.”

You finally came, and when your eyes can see again, you say. “Fuck that was forty-five minutes?”

I had turned the clock off, set it for thirty more, and say. “Want me to keep this up till we cum, or do you want me to fuck you hard?”

Jean says. “Keep loving us; just move a little faster, baby.”

I do, we did, we came, did not stop, ended up fucking hard and fell asleep, and the alarm went off. We dressed, kept looking at each other, put on our shoes, and put the mowers back. We were back in our beds, and hours later, it was time for breakfast and coffee, and our families drifted back to our lives, heading to our lives and homes, two weeks out of the year we spend these weeks together. Then, it’s time to go home, back to school and everyday life. I had no idea this would be our last family holiday. Jean and I did that; we will have to own it someday.

We talk weekly by phone; Jean lives with her Dad just north of the new airport place called the Woodlands, an hour’s drive from my house. We tell our running times and bench weights first, and when people around us get bored and leave, we talk about ourselves. Once a week is not enough. Younger folks who grew up with everyone having their phone in their pocket. We had a few different things in the 1970s: one house, one Family, and one phone. Then Jean’s folks divorced, then mine. Phones changed almost overnight. Black telephones were the only color available, now came in two colors and two kinds, then three. House phones changed, and most homes had at least two phones. If you had teenagers, it started being a thing. That long cord fifteen to twenty-five feet long cables meant I could talk from my room or phone niche in the middle of the hallway. The phone had a shelf. Or you could install plugs to move the phone from room to room, but that costs extra.

Jean’s phone-talking position was sitting upside down in a chair. I started taking heat about being on the phone all the time. My mom made me pay the phone bills; our bill was billed by the minute in a month. My allowance was insufficient to cover the cost; it ran thirty bucks I received only twenty. We were learning about fire science or what our workout schedule was. We talked for hours about what we wanted shortly with each other or if it was a pipe dream.

We came close to discovering phone sex, but almost getting caught was enough never to try again. Let me explain my grandparents were not wealthy, but the sale of the family homestead, an old farm it was once five hundred acres of prime Brazos river bottom farm land. The money for the farm sale was placed into a fund that paid for every kid’s college since my Dad and his three sisters. So if we got caught having sex of any kind with Family, I know for a fact my cousin who was gay was after he was arrested with men in an after-hours nightclub, his college money dried up, and I had not seen Bobby in four years now he moved to the west coast.

I got a job after school sacking groceries at the local Food City; my favorite part of my day was to make extra pay to stock the shelf’s after the store doors closed. For two hours, they paid double and nothing but moving hundreds of pounds a night. I got to pick up boxes of soup weighing in at almost sixty pounds, each four cases per box, twenty-four cans a case. It was like getting paid to work in a weight room.

Jean had a part-time job also; I mean, you got a job, but she worked in her Dad’s office pushing papers, but I saw her calendar. She’s up to a six-mile run every other day, and I’m having trouble at five, and she’s getting in two hours more time in the weight room a week.

Having completed the textbook front to back, my buddy Terry next door is a working fireman. He showed me his four-year-old test to the local school, and Jean and I took his test we both passed. All that’s left is five flights of stairs, a five story ladder, with one hundred pounds of hose, and a human body double one hundred twenty pounds down the five flights, and we bust the door into a teargas room having to do a child’s plastic puzzle in the gas and exit. I called my Grandfather and asked him if he knew anyone from the local school. I like us to run the course to see what we need to work harder on. Four months of Physical Training Jean and I will run the course this weekend as she moves to her Aunt’s here in town for the summer.

My Dad took us there, says. “Sorry, kids, I had to work, and call him at the office for the ride home.”

We put on our kits. Jean has her hair up in a ponytail, and we add black face paint under our eyes to cut the glare and make it easier to see under the helmet face shield also made her look under a fireman’s mask and helmet and a bit less like a girl.

We waited our turn, and it came slowly; we waited for two hours, and we were told ten minutes before our run time, we would warm up and stretch. Nobody else did; they went hard and cold most failed. So, first, I go up the five-story ladder with a hundred pounds hoses and down with the hundred-twenty lbs dummy. I made it through a door with my ax, went into the teargas’s room, and did not make it out again.

I could not see or catch my breath. I was done on the ground; nothing would get me to move black snot was running out my nose. My eyes were on fire tears leaking like my puppy died, making it hard to catch my breath as I coughed up my lungs. I never felt done in before.

Someone poured water into my eyes; it helped a bit. I saw Jean through tears in my eyes, going up the ladder her turn, and you were halfway up. She slowed to a near stop carrying the coiled firehose. I ripped my kit off, ran up the stairs next to the ladder, poked my head out a window, and yelled. “You weak ass lazy pussy bitch move your lazy fucking ass.” I cussed you.

You took a step sweat was pouring off you; it was dripping to the ground, falling like rain, then another step, more threats and more name-calling on my part. “Move your ass bitch!”

I’m up another flight of stairs. “Move your lazy ass.” Another step, you’re near the top, dropping the hose and steps off the ladder beat but not beaten. I want to hug and kiss you hard but I slap your arms through your slicker, getting blood into your arms instead. “Now move your ass, you lazy daughter of a bitch, god your hot,” I said under my breath. You looked at me; your eyes opened wider, but you kept moving.

Your face showed me I am likely to pay for this; you pick up the dummy, you start your way down; you’re not pretty right now, but you are fucking fantastic. You are just one of the guys, but the first flight is down. More cuss words, two more flights done, guys are chanting. “Move your ass, move! Move!”

One more flight, and I want to hold you. I see your pain. I am fucking crying as I scream at you. “Move your fucking ass Bitch.”

You cross the line and lay down your dummy; your helmet falls off, your blond hair falls out, and grasps from most there but not one word.

Someone hands you a refillable sports bottle of water as you see at football games (folks, bottled water is hard to find in the 70s. It’s all glass and just a few brands, hell plastic bottles were not seen much at the grocery store for a few more years yet).

Nobody has said a word; the gas room is all that’s left, and you walk no you struggling to move to the building with each step. Putting your helmet back on and you swing for the door knob. My Dad told her that one and you were in, but she could not do the puzzle and exit like me, so we both failed our first test. A little woman seemed to hold her own and kicked that barefoot, pregnant kitchen to the curb. They had words for her, how dare she, and it was like they tried to break her.

A fire chief comes to me and says. “I saw your Ax, son; it looks gifted to you. May I see it? Damn, 1947, I was there that day, my first year on the job. I’m Pete Cappy Owen’s; your Dad give this to you? What’s you’re name, son?”

“Dan Allan Bogart Sir. My Dad and Granddad were there that day; Sir, my Dad lost his best friend that day; it’s an honor swinging it, Sir.” I say.

Cappy Owen says. “What you did today, your Dad will hear about this. I want people like you two on my trucks. Get it done, son, now, what’s your girlfriend’s name, son?”

I say. “That’s my cousin Jean, sir.”

It took him a second, like he was thinking about what he could say, or maybe should say your face had that look my Dad gets when he’s not crazy about what I want to do or be, but he has my back.

Cappy Owen says. “Son, you and your lady will join the wife and me for dinner tomorrow night; we will pick you up. Is your Dad Bob, and is your grandfather fire Chief? Yeah, your folks will know how you pushed her son.”

I stood taller, sitting on the ground, but I say. “I, We err. No.” I try to deny we are a thing.

Cappy Owen says. “Stop, son. You would not have done what you did today for just a cousin hell or a sister. I am on your side, son; now introduce me to your lovely ‘Angel Cousin’.”

Pete Cappy Owen’s was as good as his word; he picked us up and took us to a lovely house in a subdivision not that far away from us. His wife was a petite hot redhead.

Cappy says. “This is the couple from the fire school Ginger.”

His wife says, “You two are such a sweet couple; have you been together long? Do we, she asked?”

I was thrown back, and I say. “All of our lives, if my Dad and his sister get along, we have lots of time with each other. Yes, you do look happily married for years.”

Ginger says. “We are going to tell you something only three people know. You see, we are first Cousins; we have been living as a married couple for twenty-two years.”

Jean looked at me and burst into tears; she jumped into my arms, and we kissed each other, holding tight, noises or what was outside my field of view blurred. I, or instead, we saw nothing after that. We are led to the master bedroom, and the door is closed behind us. A bed was there, but a rug was closer, and closer was important.