Tinsel Temptations

Excerpt 1:

The last time I saw Jessica was last year, in 1966, and she was as flat as a board. Now standing at the Christmas tree next to me, I couldn't keep my eyes off her tits. They blew up like water balloons over the past twelve months! Her bra barely contained them, and her cleavage cried out for my face to bob between those melons and give them a good, loud brrrrrrttttthhhhh!!!
She wasn't really my cousin although my parents called her such. My mom and my "Aunt" had been best friends since childhood so since they were practically sisters, making her Aunt Hortense and Jessica my fake cousin, although there was nothing familial about her. She was now nineteen to my twenty-one and we were eager to find some time alone again to feel each other up—just like last year. And the year before that. And so on.
This year was different, though. I wanted to change our relationship, so I had a big surprise for her.
And now for introductions. My name is John Jones. Really. That's my name although no one ever believes it at first. When I went to military school (that lasted only a year before they kicked me out for being an obnoxious little snotstain) the Staff Sergeant thought I was sassing him when I told him my name was John Jones. I had to do thirty push ups because he thought I was lying. He finally believed me when I showed him my application form. I was allowed home for the summer and major holidays, including Christmas. Every year I looked forward to seeing Jess again so we could sneak a few gropes in my bedroom while our families cleaned up the dinner table. We lived in L. A. so Christmas never included snow, but we had snow in our hearts for the holidays.

Excerpt 2:

By the time Christmas dinner was ready my stomach was rumbling in starvation, and I wondered why I wasn't sitting at the adult's table. "Why am I still at the kid's table?" I whined. "I'm twenty-one, for God's sake! Why'd you stick me with the five year olds?"
"Watch your mouth," my mom said. "There's no room here at the adult table so be grateful you're getting fed at all."
"Me too," Jess said. "I'm nineteen. I even have a job. Why am I still sitting here?"
The adult table was the Holy Grail and I feared I'd never reach it. So Jess and I were stuck babysitting the preschoolers, wiping noses and mouths, and keeping the little ankle biters from throwing the buttered peas across the room with their spoons. At least the mothers were at the adult table tending to the babies. Thank God for small favors.
Bent on revenge for sticking me with the rug rats for yet another year, I grabbed the crescent rolls when they came to our table, but I didn't let them go back to the adult table. The grownups could have the buttered peas, but no way were they getting their mitts on the crescent rolls until Jess and I had our fill. As I passed Jess the rolls she brushed her hand against my thigh and I felt my cock grow so hard it threatened to sing out a song of Christmas cheer right out of its little blowhole. She teased my thigh for a second or two and then grabbed a roll. I watched her as she buttered it and then drew it slowly towards her mouth. She took the end in her teeth and tore the roll, releasing steam and melting butter that dripped down her chin. It took all my will power to keep my hands in my lap so that I didn't remove that butter with my finger and lick it off. Oh my— did I want to lick her off!