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Kissing Cousins, Part Two (by Saviabella)

The following entry comes from acting contributor Saviabella. All hail her who helps one in need.



toes in the water
Sexy cousin toes. Can you tell which ones are mine?


The prequel to this story can be found here.

When I went back to Italy this summer, I wasn't sure what to expect. A decade ago, my cousins Ella, Mona and Sandro were bratty teens and pre-teens. Now, they're in their 20s. I was hoping I could relate to them this time, instead of watching them bicker, hit each other, and play video games.

When I got off the train, I recognized Ella right away. She looked the same, only now, she's stunning. This gal is a size two (with D-cups) and has pretty blue eyes, thick dark hair, and a big smile. Wow. (How the hell did she get those genes and I got stuck with my mother's thighs?)

And then, I saw Mona. Double wow. She is even hotter than Ella, which you wouldn't think is possible, because they're twins. (Yes, hot Italian twins - eat your hearts out!) But there was something about Mona that was really sexy that I couldn't put my finger on. Her hair is curly, while Ella's is straight. She is slightly more curvaceous (uh - double wow) and her facial features are a touch more refined. However, while I can tell the difference between them, most other people can't. So, what was it about her? I vowed to figure it out.

Meanwhile, the twins told me about their brother, Sandro, and what he looks like now:

Ella: He is very big.
Savia: Oh, you mean he's tall.
Ella: No. He is not tall. He is...big.
Savia: Oh, I see. He's a bigger guy.
Ella: No. He is...big.
Savia: Oh. You mean, like, grown up?
Ella: Yes. He is beautiful, too.

The language barrier was frustrating. From their description, I imagined Sandro to be a pudgy short dude with a beer gut who looked old but could be mistaken for mildly attractive by family members.

I was not looking forward to seeing him. Sandro was the epitome of the spoiled Italian boy who was put on a pedestal because he was The Boy. And he took advantage of it, treating his mother and sisters like shit. I couldn't stand him. And he couldn't stand me because when he treated women in the family badly, I'd step in and take him down a notch.

One day during my last visit, he was hitting Ella's leg repeatedly with a leather belt, just because he felt like it. His parents were there, but no one did anything, even though she kept telling him to stop. So, I grabbed the belt and struggled with him until I tore it out of his hand. He screamed at me in Italian. I swore at him in English. He cried. Someone took the belt from me and returned it to him so he could continue hitting her.

The thought of him with a beer gut and a double chin was somewhat satisfying.

After a few days in Rome, we took the bus to a city near my grandparents' town. As we waited for my aunt to pick us up, I noticed this beautiful man swaggering toward us. And, God, was he beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful man I've ever seen in the flesh. He could easily be a model, with his dark hair, olive complexion, big hazel eyes rimmed with lush, thick lashes, and full lips.

'Uh, oh, here comes trouble,' I thought, as I braced for him to hit on the hot twins. Because there was no other reason he could possibly be swaggering in our direction. But then, he came up to me and said, 'Hi Savia.'

I stared at him, utterly confused. How on earth did this gorgeous stranger know my name, and why was he talking to me?

'It's me, Sandro.'

I stared at him some more. Those words did not make any sense.

[Long awkward pause.]

'I am Sandro.'

I grabbed his face with both of my hands and stared at him and exclaimed incredulously, 'No!' We stood there like that for awhile, with me staring and grabbing, and him looking a bit uncomfortable. 'You're gorgeous! Oh, my God - I can't believe it!' Then, I realized I was acting like a freak and quickly gave him the 'kiss kiss' on each cheek and a big hug. I still couldn't grasp that this was the same pudgy little brat from ten years ago.

Over the next few days, I kept staring at him. Just sitting at the supper table and staring, probably with my mouth hanging open. I'd catch myself and look away quickly, hoping that others wouldn't notice. He is just...so...beautiful.

I think part of the reason I was so taken with him is that he looks like my dead father. It was like seeing a ghost. A very hot ghost, mind you. God, he's hot.

And it's not just his looks. There's something about him, something suave and sexy and grrrrrrr. He just oozes mmmmmmmm. Anytime I tried to talk to him, I'd get all flushed and tongue tied and fluttery inside.

I did mention he's my cousin, right? And not even a 'little cousin', a first cousin. Is it wrong to appreciate hotness in all its forms, even if the form it takes is one of a drop dead gorgeous sexy first cousin? Who also happens to look like my father? Who kind of looks like me?

My brother seems to think so. I called home shortly after I arrived:

Savia: Oh, my, God, Bro - you should see Sandro. He's hot.
Bro: Uh oh.
Savia: No, seriously, he is like so hot.
Bro: Uh huh.
Savia: No, I mean it. He is so incredibly hot. Hot. Hot. Hot.
Bro: Quit saying that!
Savia: But he's hot!
Bro: Quit it, that's gross!
Savia: Hey, I can't help it that he's devastatingly hot!
Bro: QUIT IT!!
Savia: You're just jealous because he's FUCKING HOT!

While I did admire Sandro's beauty and magnetic pull, I knew better than to do anything, particularly after my own incestuous Italian cousin experience. It would be bad karma, no matter how motherfucking hot he was. No, I would be a bigger person, a better person than Mass was. I vowed to be non-incestuous. To do so, I had to avoid Sandro like an asthmatic does pollen (aside from leering at him from afar, of course) to ensure I didn't get any drool on his Italian leather shoes.

So, I spent a lot of time with the hot twins instead, which was great. In addition to being gorgeous, they're also sweet, hospitable, and interesting. Mona was particularly affectionate. She would hold my hand as we walked down the street, run her fingers through my hair and down the back of my neck when I was sitting in the front seat of the car, kiss me on each cheek every time I saw her...

Soon, I realized that in avoiding Sandro, I had inadvertently walked into a field o' pollen, so to speak. Because Mona is hot. She is fucking hot. The way she walks, the way she touches you, the way her breast grazes against your arm when you're looking at a book together...

Oh, God. She just oozes sexuality. Maybe even more than Sandro. She's not trying to - it's just part of who she is. And it doesn't matter that you're not into girls, or that you're related to her, or that you're in love with Superstar, you can't help but be sucked into the Mona Sexy Haze. She made me feel all flushed and fluttery inside. And confused. Very confused.

The hot twins, their hot friend and I went to the beach for my final three days in Italy. Because when you're feeling all kinds of weird, inappropriate incestuous lust, the natural solution is to spend a lot of time half-naked together. Did I mention these girls look like bikini models?

Oh, yeah. I did. Just checking.

For the most part, things were alright. Then, one night, Mona was in her bra and panties, smoothing lotion all over her bikini-model-hot-tanned body. Sitting on the bed next to her and trying not to stare, I held my hand out for some lotion for myself. She misunderstood me.

Mona: Oh, you put some on me?
Savia: Uh, okay.

I rubbed lotion on her perfect back.

Mona: You could give massage, too.
Savia: Uh, okay.

I massaged her back. Her very sexy back.

Mona: Ohhhh, Superstar is very lucky. You are...very...gooood.
Savia: Uh. Thanks.

After I was done:

Mona: Okay. Now, I do you.
Savia: Uh. Okay.

I turned around.

Mona: Lie down.
Savia: Oh....Okay.

I stretched out on the bed. Mona quickly straddled me, pulled down the back of my dress and started massaging my back. Like she'd done this before. A lot.

Savia's Brain: Oh. My. God. I have a hot Italian woman who's related to me straddling me wearing nothing but underwear with her D-cups spilling out of a C-cup bra and rubbing lotion into my back like she used to work at a massage parlor. One of the seedy kinds. I am in a porn. I am in a incestuous Italian cousin lesbian porn. I wonder if the other twin and her hot friend are going to join in next? Or if a pizza guy named Leonardo is going to knock on the door...right...now? How many of my guy friends would pay by the minute to be in this room watching this?

I stared at the wall in shock and horror. So very confused. And freaked out. Should I enjoy it? I couldn't even answer that question, because my mind was racing too much to even make that a possibility. It was just weird. But it would have been hot to watch, I suppose.

Anyway, I did finally figure out that je ne sais quoi about Mona and Sandro.

Pheromones.

Hot Italian family pheromones. Completely beyond their control. Biologically oozing sex without even intending to. No one is safe, not even direct relations. Sandro has them, Mona has them, and, judging from Mass' reaction to me, I've got 'em, too.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I've only got one question: what the hell is going to happen the next time I go to Italy? If the third time's a charm, I don't want to know what that means. (Unless they're really, really hot.)

#811: A Metal Helmet + Naked ≠ Funny. Who Knew?

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