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His desire is fulfilled by a wet visitor.

The shirt was tight, and there was just a hint of cleavage where the three buttons lined the top V-neck. The whole scene was automatically filed away in my future fantasies under "T" for Tennis.

"I guess you didn't want to go shopping," she said.

"Of course not," I answered.

"What are you gonna do?"

"Dunno. Probably watch TV or something."

"Okay, well, I've gotta go or I'll be late. I'll be back by noon," and she bounded down the stairs and was gone.

I wandered down stairs and toasted a few waffles, bringing them into the small dining nook and sitting down at the table. A large and cumbersome bookshelf covered one whole wall, and was stacked with books and magazines. It had always been like that, and I'd never taken much notice of it. Now I got up and began to file through some of the magazines: National Geographic, Boating, Tennis, the usual stuff. And what was this? Penthouse?

Indeed it was. Not just one issue, but a dozen, scattered in amongst the others. I couldn't believe the find. This was several years before the internet, so a "nice" boy who was also a bit shy didn't have too many resources for getting his hands on a girlie magazine. I wasn't quite up to asking for one at the local 7-Eleven just yet. I had seen Playboy at my friend's houses in high school, but had little experience with any of the harder-core stuff. The fact that my uncle (I was assuming it was his) kept this stuff just lying around in the kitchen was surprising. I guess my aunt didn't mind. I wondered if Denise had seen these. How could she have avoided seeing them? I had a brief image of Denise rubbing herself all over while looking at one of the pictorials. Wow, that was a good one.

I had a good 2 and a half hours to kill, so I stacked a few copies of Penthouse on the table and started going through them. Like Playboy, there were lots of articles, and knowing my uncle, that's probably why he had a subscription. Lots of stuff for "the sophisticated man of good taste". Oh, and of course, spread-eagle shots of naked women. I'll never figure that one out.

For me, someone who did not consider himself a man of good taste necessarily, it was great. Along with the usual centerfolds, there were pictorials with two women, and even a few couples. No actual penetration, but they got close enough, and I suppose the idea was that the guy was about to put it in or had just taken it out.

So there I sat, rubbing my extremely rigid cock through my boxer shorts, sitting at the kitchen table, when a footstep on the front patio right outside the window behind me sent a shock of electricity through my body. I turned and, through the half open vertical blinds, saw Denise with her keys in her hand. I was positive that for a brief instant she saw exactly what I was doing, though not what I was looking at. I quickly slid the newspaper over the magazine and sat up straight in my chair as she came through the front door. She stopped in the entry and looked at me with an out of breath but amused look on her face.

"What are you up to?" she asked.

"Nothing," I said, my voice shaking a little I'm sure. "Just, ah, reading the paper and stuff."

"And something else, too?" She was looking at the stack of Penthouse magazines, which I had left completely out in the open.

"Oh, yeah. Those are kind of interesting. Believe it or not, there are some really good articles in there."

"I'm sure," she said, rolling her eyes a bit. "I just came back for my checkbook. I have to pay my teacher today."

She turned and ran upstairs.

How embarrassing was that? I had never gotten caught masturbating before, and certainly it couldn't get worse than being caught by my cousin, a girl I thought was not only hot and someone who's opinion of me I cared deeply about, but also someone who might tell my mother or the entire rest of my family what she had seen. Probably not, but who knew?

She came rushing back down the stairs with her checkbook a few seconds later, and I hadn't moved.

"Okay, Thom, I'll be back," she said in a singsong voice.

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