The Summer of '99

As I crossed the Verrazzano Bridge, the knot in my stomach threatened to make me lose my breakfast. It wasn't so much the fact that I was going to a family reunion — a prospect that never gave me warm fuzzies — so much as I'd see Angie again. It had been nearly 10 years since I last saw her, after a summer of having her at my parents' house.

Angie is my cousin. I wasn't sure what she looked like now, but back then she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Sure, the face was angelic, with large brown eyes and long chestnut hair, she was an Italian slice of heaven. But mostly I'd never gotten over that body. She was like a centerfold out of Penthouse, with only slightly smaller breasts. At 18, she commanded the attention of men wherever she went, including mine.

I spent that summer worshipping her, and much to my shock and delight, she loved it. It was a summer of the most kinky sex I would ever know, and now, as my 20s were coming to an end, I had the perspective to realize just how unusually wonderful Angie was. Who knew that some of my earliest sexual experiences would be the best, and kinkiest I'd ever have?

The only reason I even entertained the idea of going to this family shindig at all was the fact that it was at Angie's parents' mansion on Long Island, and there was the possibility of running into her again. We hadn't talked much at all since that summer, and like a vision of perfection, she had haunted me ever since.

I'd never been to their fabled house out on the "Island", but I'd certainly heard enough about it. Extremely successful professionals, Angie's parents never failed to flaunt their money, and this was the latest testament to their ability to amass wealth. As I followed the directions up to the Hamptons, I couldn't help but notice the homes had grown enormous. Still, I was shocked how genuinely gigantic the Obermanns' house was. House? Try castle!

I drove up the circular drive, handed my keys to the valet, and followed the servant into the house. If the exterior of the house was amazing, it paled in comparison to the richly appointed interior, which was rife with real marble and expensive woodwork. I was led to a tent out in their backyard. A live band played, and fully catered dishes were being served by scores of servants and helpers.

Italians are famous for having big families, and ours was no exception. There were literally hundreds of people there, many of whom only had the barest of bloodline connection to me, and most of whom I had never seen before. I scoured the crowd in search of Angie, but I simply couldn't find her. Finally! A face I recognized: Mom!

I went over to my mother and grabbed a bottle of beer off the tray of a man standing near her.

"Hello, Brad! I'm so glad you came! I didn't think you'd be here, sweetie!" My mom gave me a big motherly hug.

"Come on now, Mom," I protested, "I'm not THAT cynical!" We shared a laugh. My father had passed away two years earlier, and it was good to see my mom in such good spirits.

I went back to scouring the crowd for Angie. Dammit, I hoped she would be there, and yet I was nervous as hell that she might really be there.

"So how's work?" my mom asked in that way that moms do.

"It's OK," I said absently, ever scanning this group of near strangers I was supposed to be related to. "Same old, same old. I might get that promotion I was telling you about. My boss is leaving for Lockheed, and now they need someone to replace him."

"What is that you do again, dear?"

"Information technology, Ma," I responded tiredly. She never seemed to get it. "You know, computers?"

"I would never have guessed that's what you'd end up doing..."

I snapped my head around at the barely familiar voice, and there she was! Angie stood there beaming, next to my mother!

"Oh, Angie, darling!" cried my mother. "It's so good to see you again!"

After they exchanged hugs, Angie looked at me and said, "Well?"

Regaining my senses, I said, "Oh! Sorry!" and reached out to hug my cousin. I was amazed that she hadn't lost an ounce of her beauty. In fact, the added maturity gave her face more of a beautiful look, rather than pretty or cute, which might have described her the last time I saw her.

As I put my arms around her, it felt like an electrical shock. I was intensely aware of her breasts pushing against me, and the feeling of her waist at the side. She gave me a long and warm hug. I don't know if I hid how in heaven I felt at her touch.

Her dress was tasteful and classy, but echoed the tastes of an exhibitionist. She wore an olive half-sweater that exposed her midriff, the bottom of it clinging to her. It featured her trademark v-neck, and I couldn't help but steal glances at her well-tanned cleavage. Little details like the tiny blond down on her breasts shining in the bright July sunlight seemed to etch into my mind. Her skirt was a long and flowing summery thing. It was conservative, but had the paradoxical effect of drawing the eye to her body, especially since it exposed her belly button and clung to her exquisitely shaped hips and ass like a wet t-shirt.

Ahh, that ass, how I had loved that ass, I thought.

Interrupting my thought, she said, "So Bradley, it's been a long time, hasn't it? I think about you often."

"Yeah, it's been 10 years I think," I replied, as if I wasn't aware of how long it had been, damn near down to the day. Of course, I then gave myself away by adding far too quickly, "Angie, I think of you all the time!"

"Really..." she said and smiled. We stood in awkward silence for a moment or two.

"So... I see you're getting really good reviews for your books!"

"You've read them?" she said and touched my arm. It felt like her fingers were on fire.

"I've got them all in hardback," I said. "It's not most people that are related to a bestselling author!" I'd read them all too. Angela Obermann had a knack for writing some very steamy sex scenes in her novels, with emphasis on a strong dominant female character in many of them.

We continued to chat, and my mother disappeared to talk to some long-lost aunt or something. I asked Angie if she wanted to get something to eat, and then we found a table toward the fringe of all the activity and sat and ate. We drank beer and wine, and caught up on all of the things that had happened in each of our lives over the past decade.

Like me, she'd been in and out of several relationships over the years, but had never found the 'right' person. "Here we are nearly in our 30s and we're still dating like high school kids!" she joked.

The alcohol had relaxed us both a bit, and I was treated to several arm and hand touchings. At one point I took a chance and placed a hand on her thigh, ostensibly while emphasizing a point. She didn't react to it at all, and I removed it before it became impossible to ignore, but the chance to touch her leg was delightful. I felt great relief and gratitude in the fact that she had let me have virtually all of her time at this reunion. The truth was, aside from a few distant relatives coming up and saying hello every now and then, nobody really disturbed us at all, and that was great.

"Do you remember that summer you stayed at my house?" I offered at one point. "That was one hell of a summer!"

She looked me in the eyes and responded a little quietly, "It sure was..." I loved the little smile on her face.

"I think about it almost constantly, Ang."

"Mmmmm hmmmm..." she replied. "I'll bet you do! Tell me..." She paused to take a sip of wine. "Did you do all that because you were just into the psychology of it all, or did you really just like the taste?" The grin on her face was mischievous.

As she asked the question, I felt my cock immediately spring to life like a Pavlovian dog responding to the sound of a dinner bell. I knew that we had both been thinking of those distant and kinky times, perhaps since we saw each other again at the reunion, but the directness of her allusion still shocked me. I could see on her face that that was not accidental.