I left my first wife in 1977 when I was 24 years old. I returned to my home town in Michigan after having been away for ten years. I still had lots of relatives in town and lots of places to crash until I found a job and permanent digs, not as easy as it sounds inasmuch as this was in the throes of the Carter recession and jobs were not to be had for love nor money. I had a few hundred dollars to tide me over for a while. The room and board of my relatives was more helpful than I can say.

A week or so after arriving in town I found myself staying with my father's sister and her family. I had known them as long as I could remember and had played with my cousins close to my age when we were children. One of my cousins, a middle child, plump and red-headed, seemed to take an interest in me. She was nineteen years old and wanted to go with me everywhere, even though she had a fiercely jealous boy friend.

One evening I borrowed the family car and took my cousin, Mary, to the theater to see Star Wars. During the show, I nervously put my arm around her and she responded by reaching up and taking my hand in hers. The thoughts going through my mind at that time was to wait until the family was asleep that night and work my way between those fleshy thighs until I struck gold. But it was not to be. When we got home her enraged boy friend wanted his girl back and me gone, or else face a sound thrashing. When choosing between fighting or running, I generally opt for running. The next day I found a place to stay with another cousin on my mother's side of the family.

After a couple of weeks my funds were running short and, with no work to be had, I enlisted in the Navy. Time passed. I was honorably discharged, I earned a degree at university, and married. My father passed away and I inherited a house where I lived with no mortgage. I was doing okay. Then, one day I received a phone call from my cousin Mary. By this time we were both in our forties. After living for years with her insanely jealous husband she had had enough. Her two children all but grown and she had to escape. Could she stay with me for a while, she'd asked. Naturally I welcomed her into my home.

She arrived a couple of days later, her clothes and possessions packed in a green Chevy. She looked good, having lost a lot of weight. She had a nice figure and breasts that made a hungry handful. For the next couple of days we didn't do much more than talk and catch up on family gossip. She slept a lot, resting from her travails.

Apparently her husband was an abuser, not that such news surprised me. Since I lived in that part of the U.S. where our family had the deepest roots I offered to give her a tour of the cemeteries where our ancestors are buried. It was on a warm day in early summer I took her to one of the family cemeteries. Our great grand parents were buried there as well as our great great grand parents and aunts, uncles, and cousins of all degrees of relationship.

At the time I drove a 1972 Olds 98, an older car but in fantastic shape. A luxury car in its day it was the ultimate in comfort with a rear seat the size of a couch and upholstered in red velour. As we walked from the cemetery I took her hand and led her, not to the front seat in which she rode on the way to the cemetery, but to the back seat. I opened and held the door for her.

She sat down. A gentle push on her shoulder communicated to her that she should lie down. When she was supine and comfortable I hooked my fingers in the waste band of her jeans and pulled down. She knew what was afoot and raised her ass to accommodate the removal of her pants. She was naked from the waste down, her panties also having been removed. She had a thick bush of pubic hair as fiery as the hair on her head. It was magnificent.

For a half of a half of a moment I considered giving her "the treatment" - oral sex and fingering to orgasm before I penetrated her. Instead, I climbed atop her and slide my cock into that red pussy. She received me effortlessly, being as wet as she was. I was inflamed with desire for her. So many years had passed since my intentions for her were foiled. It was time for make up and lots of it. I pumped into her with no purpose but to experience my own relief. It came soon enough as I dumped an amount of spunk in her tunnel that surprised even me. She used her panties to swab up the cream pie I gave her and rode home commando.

This, of course, was only the beginning of an affair that lasted several years and which involved secretly fucking almost daily, unbeknownst to my wife and to her parents with whom she eventually lived. There was no position or variation of sex we did not try including oral, anal, threesomes with another woman, threesomes, with another man, moresomes, and you name it.

She eventually went her own way. Married, too, I hear. I wonder if she has the kid of sex life with him as she did with me. Or was I the tool that helped her through a phase of her life she needed to get out of her system?