Ethan and Tara: A Night Out

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When I moved away from home for college to study marketing, my cousin Tara was the only family I had nearby. Her husband was away at basic training in the Army, and her parents and siblings had moved north several years ago. She stayed to continue studying for her master’s in teaching at the same university, living alone on the north side of town with her 7-year-old daughter.

She would invite me over for dinner, some board games with her daughter and a movie. I was supposed to be a college kid wanting to go out and party Thursday through Sunday. But I’d often find myself keeping Tara company, growing close to her over the months.

My cousin had started out a petite fox with the most innocent air about her. But lust knows know prudence, and she was pregnant with her boyfriend by her senior year. The baby made my dainty cousin into a full-fledged MILF, complete with a curvy, hourglass figure that belied her very demure nature.

Popping the question

Walking down the hall toward the kitchen one night, as her daughter played in the living room, I noticed Tara’s bedroom door was ajar. Just inside laid a pair of red lace panties on the ground next to her hamper. My imagination flashed to how she would look slipping those panties off, her plump but perky pear-shaped ass staring me in the face.

As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, she was bent over the washing machine, putting in dishes from our teriyaki dinner. I had to stop myself from trying to check out her ass.

“How’s school going,” she asked me, now depositing the leftovers in Tupperware containers.

Tara had sung in a choir, and so light and positive was her voice, she sounded like a natural for teaching kindergarten.

“It’s hectic; I’m getting ready for four finals while holding down my job and internship,” I replied. “I can’t wait for spring break. How about you?”

“I’ve been cramming for my term finals — all five of them” she sighed. “Between studying, Emma and my part-time job, I’ve got zero free time. At least I’ve got you to talk to.”

You can have me whenever you want, I thought, an idea popping into my head.

“There’s only a week left until the term is over,” I said. “Do you want to go do something to celebrate?”

“That sounds like fun,” she said, cracking a grin and jokingly adding, “Maybe you could be my date for the night and take me out dancing.”

I had no experience with clubs or dancing, being a portly, introverted 21-year-old who had never even been on a date. But the thought of showing up to a club with my gorgeous cousin stirred something in me. It made me feel as if I could pretend to be a man, at least for one night.

“I suck at dancing, but I’m willing to try,” I said, slightly shrugging my shoulders and tilting my head.

“It’s easy once you get into it,” she said, sliding the Tupperware into the fridge. “Maybe I can teach you a few things you can use on those cute girls at school.”

I had a voluptuous woman standing right in front of me, a forbidden fruit I wanted to pluck so bad it made my heart ache. We were family. It was wrong. But I didn’t care. She was my dream sultangazi escort woman, and for one night I could pretend to be her man.

A night out

A week later, I pulled up at Tara’s house in a taxi at 8 p.m. on a Friday. I walked up to her door in my black wingtips, wearing a deep red, long-sleeved button-up shirt tucked inside my dark grey pleated trousers and black wingtips.

I rang her doorbell. As it opened, an invisible cloud of rosy perfume swirled around my face, and there stood my beauty of a cousin. Her auburn hair spiraled down to onto her chest in loose waves. Her lips were covered with a cherry red gloss that made them look wet, glistening under light.

She had slipped her hourglass figure into a skimpy, black, nylon and spandex slip dress topped by spaghetti straps and running about halfway down her thick thighs. The deep scoop of her neckline revealed the inner third of her braless C-cup breasts. Her blood red toenails poked out the end of a pair of 3-inch, black, satin, heeled salsa sandals.

“Ready,” she asked me?

“Uh … yeah,” I said, trying to appear calm as my heart beat out of my chest. “You look amazing, Tara.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Like I said before, it’s been a while. I’m excited.”

With the later hour, we opted for some sushi nigiri and a couple glasses of sake at a restaurant within walking distance of the club.

“Have you gotten close to any girls at school?” she asked, before taking in a bit of her red snapper.

She was aware how socially aloof I was and how much time I spent with her, but show me some pity by not bringing it up often. One of my worst perpetual fears was having to make public my complete romantic ineptitude.

“Not really,” I said, sinking my head a bit and dropping eye contact. “I guess I lack the conference to pursue someone socially.”

She sipped her sake.

“You just need to put yourself out there,” she said. “You’re a good guy Ethan. Whoever ends up your friend is lucky.”

At the club

I was a bundle of nerves a half hour later, thinking about what would happen in the club as we walked the several blocks there. It was the kind of place I had never been and rarely imagined, with black lights, lasers and a sky blue backlit dance floor filled with a crowd of mostly younger 20-somethings getting drunk and grinding on each other.

We dropped our jackets and her purse off at coat check and walked to a granite bar overlooking a sky blue dance floor packed with some fairly sexy people. She ordered a cosmopolitan, and I a screwdriver. By the time we had gone through our drinks and the sakes back at the restaurant, I had all the liquid courage I was going to get. She took my hand in hers, and started pulling me from the bar. She stopped and leaned up against me.

“Forget all these people, Ethan, and focus on moving with me,” she whispered in my ear. “I promise you’ll enjoy this.”

She sashayed toward the dance floor, leading me by the hand like a lost little puppy. She found us a spot and spun around to face me, almost immediately bobbing and weaving taksim escort to Daft Punk’s “Give Life Back to Music.” I glanced around at the guys around me to see what they were doing. With no plan other than mimicry, I dutifully started bobbing and weaving in unison with Tara through that and a couple other pop hits and instrumentals. We got close and slowly rocked from side to side during a couple of ballads, her wrists hooked behind the back of my neck and my hands caressing the small of her back.

The music seemed to be slowing down overtime, encouraging ever more intimacy from the dancers. Then it finally transitioned into the first song of “Sexuality” by Sebastien Tellier, a French multi-instrumentalist known for his raunchiness.

Getting dirty

Tara flashed me a focused grin as she started gyrating her hips inches from my waist, telling me she was about to get dirty, and that I would be the beneficiary.

By this point, we were both warm and glistening. I continued caressing her back, pulling her deeper into me as we bobbed in unison. She started slowly turning clockwise, bobbing and raising her arms to the music but snug in my embrace. She completed a 180 and planted her bubble firmly into my crotch. My hands had followed her torso now lay just below her rib cage.

Tara didn’t have the big breasts, but her ass bumped right out, putting a little space between her back and my chest. She tilted her head to the left shot me a mischievous smile. Her ass pressed deeper into me, her crack massaging up and down my growing shaft. I started lightly humping up into her, wishing I could take her right there.

“Someone’s excited,” she giggled.

“Someone’s doing her best to make me excited,” I replied, moving my hands down her inner thighs near the bottom of her dress and just next to her panty line, working the hem of her dress up.

My fingertips could sense the humid warmth emanating from under her dress, just as she could feel the heat of my now fully erect cock filling the crack of her ass. We kept bobbing left and right in unison, rhythmically dry-humping each other with increasing abandon.

I could hear her light panting from our exertions. She pulled her right arm up and back, hooking it around my neck to keep our heads close as I glanced down at her heaving chest.

She spun back around and hooked her forearms around my neck, locking her eyes on me as we bobbed together. My heart was racing as I saw she was as horny and far removed from our surroundings as I was. I ran my hands down the small of her back and over her cheeks, lightly squeezing and lifting her up about another inch.

She smiled faintly and brought up those glistening, cherry red lips, softly planting a kiss on my lips that we held for several seconds. Then we stared tilting our heads for leverage around our noses, pressed deeper and let our tongues start dancing, her lipstick smearing all over our mouths, the taste of our fruity drinks and sake washing into our mouths with each other’s saliva.

We remained that way at least two more minutes, lips locked and sucking, breathing through topkapı escort our noses, bobbing with the music, our tongues even flittering to Tellier’s low, grinding, bass-heavy beat.

As his voice faded out, I eased my grip on her ass, lowered her down a little as we ended our oral embrace. My hands remained on her waist, and hers around my neck, as she nuzzled my chest.

I took a cloth handkerchief out of my back pocket and started for my mouth. Tara intercepted it. While she dabbed at my mouth, I looked left and right, noticing several people looking our way. They seemed shocked but amused at our simulated sex act on the dance floor. If only they knew just how dirty we were being. Taking the handkerchief back, a dabbed around Tara’s lips.

Take me home

As usual, she made the first move, leading us back to the bar. We sidled into a couple chairs, and I ordered a Moscow mule, her a lemon drop.

“We had quite the chemistry out there,” she said, chuckling and smiling at me as the bartender worked on our drinks.

“There was a lot of sexual tension out there,” I said. “But you seemed comfortable, so I decided to go with it.”

I figured you needed a little experience,” she said, placing one of her hands on my leg under the bar. “But you really know how to handle a woman. We’re going to have to do this more.”

“Any time you want to,” I said. “This has to be one of the best nights of my life.”

She kept gazing into my eyes, smiling, like she was having an internal moral conversation that involved me. I returned the favor, soaking in her bright, deceptively innocent face and ivory smile, and trying to project confidence. As our drinks reached the halfway mark, she squeezed my thigh, as if bringing me back to reality.

“This has been the most fun I’ve had in a long time, but I don’t feel like staying out ’till 2 a.m. tonight,” she said. “You want to get going?”

“Sure,” I said ready to do anything she said, but hopeful that our night of fun wasn’t over.

I slipped out my smartphone and sent notice to the closest driver on Uber.

Several minutes later, we grabbed our jackets and her purse from coat check, and walked out the front door holding hands. The bouncer shot me a quick smile, complimenting me on my catch for the night.

I slipped Tara’s jacket before mine, then slipped my arm around her waist as we waited on the sidewalk. A Prius pulled up, and my phone flashed with a message telling me this was our ride. I opened the door for Tara and climbed in after, as gave the driver her address.

On the ride back, she leaned her head on my shoulder, one of our arms still around each other, and the other resting on my right thigh.

As we stopped in front of her driveway, I jumped out and walked to the other side, opening her door and offering her a hand getting out.

“I’ll be right back,” I told the driver. “I’m just going to walk her to her door.”

I looked toward Tara, who again had a mischievous smile directed at me.

“You’re not going to hang out with me some more?” she said. “It’s only 11, and I’ve got some wine.”

I looked back at the driver and waved. I shut the rear passenger door, and he started off, leaving us to walk up her driveway to the front door.

“Emma’s at the babysitter’s until tomorrow morning,” she said, unlocking the bolt in her door, turning the knob and leading me inside by the hand.

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