Immune To My Beauty — Chapter 2

“Wow! That was the hardest I’ve ever been spanked.” My ass was really burning and I wasn’t looking forward to tucking it back into my dress, but I knew I had to at least try to get back to the party before my big sister left with her new hubby.

“Sorry about that, but it seemed like what you wanted. My hands are a little sore, too.”

“You did great, Brett. Best fuck I’ve had in two weeks. Hey, I don’t mean to rush you, but we should both get down there to say goodbye to the happy couple.”

“Oh, good idea. That will make the parents happy. Say, what was that thing you said at the end when you were coming?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just something I say when I’ve had a great fuck.”

I shove him out the door with his fly still not zipped and his shirt not buttoned. I need time to clean up and fix my hair and makeup. Despite my best efforts, I feel a little more of Brett’s cum ooze down my thigh as I get onto the elevator. Ironically, I think about how misnamed the elevator is when you’re going down on it. Then I think about going down on Carlo and I mentally kick myself. Why can’t I get that smug bastard out of my head?

I get back down just as Linda and Pete are walking out to the car, a trail of other well-wishers accompanying them and another group waiting at the car door. Candy is nowhere in sight. Brett saunters up from another direction, but we studiously ignore each other. He looks well fucked and eager to try for another score that night. It makes me feel cheap.

I wait as the happy couple has this last reception line and everyone says their goodbyes. I feel it’s important that, as I’m the only family member present for Linda, I be one of the last. It seems they’re in no real hurry to leave. They’ve been living together and I know Linda’s cherry is a more distant memory than even mine.

When I get to her, Linda gives me a big hug and playfully smacks my ass. Damn, that hurts. I can’t help but wince, but as I’m whispering my thanks for her being such a great big-sister into her ear, she can’t see the pain she delivered. I feel I deserve it though. I think she can tell I’ve been knocked off kilter by something, but I don’t think she knows I’ve just been laid and had my ass reddened to the shade of my dress after being made to feel like an inconsiderate slut by her asshole cousin. I feel so much better having made it back in time to do my sisterly duty and I swear to myself that I’ll do better when the other two Lane sister gets married.

I don’t feel up to dancing or facing Carlo with a cunt full of cum and spankburns on both cheeks, so I head back to the room for some cooling lotion and maybe a good cry until I sleep. I have a sense of foreboding that my life is going to get more complicated. I toss and turn and wish Candy would come back so I can pick a fight with her. Finally, I drift off, thinking she’s with Brett or some other lucky guy.

I’m fast asleep around 7 AM, but wake when Candy comes sneaking into the room. “And where have you been, Little Miss Latey-pants.” I’m normally not so swift on the conversation at that hour, but I wake with an attitude.

Candy giggles, not yet aware that I’m pissed off at her. “With one of Pete’s brothers. The tall one. We danced and then went out for coffee and we talked all night.”

“Not Brett?” I’m mad at her, but I don’t want to see her hurt by a player.

“No, the tallest one. Charlie. You probably looked right past him. He’s not your type, but he’s quite the charmer.”

I was itching for a fight anyway, but her comment hits like a jab in the nose. “What do you mean by that? And why the fuck didn’t you tell me about Carlo’s face?” There, I’ve ruined her good mood and I’m glad.

“You bitch! I think the right buck sniffed my tail last night. We had a wonderful night and part of the reason is that I know you won’t look twice at him. I can wear tall heels with him and still feel like I’m not a freak. That doesn’t happen very often. We aren’t all blessed to be the perfect 5′ 7″.”

She’s tired. I know that because she never speaks that honestly and directly about our height difference being a sore spot with her, except when she’s tired. She knows I don’t like whiners. She’s 5’10” and she doesn’t know that I would gladly take 1″ of height from her for my legs, only to make my dancing a bit more dramatic.

“And as for Carlo, he almost died in the hospital from that cat bite and I…” She chokes up and then starts crying. I know I should hug her and help her through this, but dammit I’m still hurting and I’m not looking forward to sitting on a plane with a sore ass because she let me be sandbagged by him. Finally she blubbers, “He means so much to me. I just can’t talk about it with someone who’s judging him because of what happened to his face.”

Now I feel like deep-fried freeze-dried dogshit. Not only Carlo, but now Candy is judging me and I’m coming up the goat. I want to tear into her, but I suddenly realize that anybody who heard about this would believe I really am the goat. “It’s clear that you need some rest, Candy. Go to sleep. I’ll come back to wake you in time for the airport.” It’s the closest I’ve ever come to saying ‘I’m sorry’. She’s never seemed to need it and she always realizes she shouldn’t expect me to make up for her self-esteem issues.

I get dressed in tight jeans and a tee, making sure she doesn’t see that my ass is a little bruised. I don’t normally wear panties, except with short party outfits. Thongs accent my ass and keep the pervs who only watch the dancing from getting sneak peeks of my hoohah. For some reason I consider wearing them today. A small thong seems appropriate. Without realizing what it means, I wonder what Carlo would prefer.

When we get back to Chicago, things get very strange. During the ten months since then, I only have sex with guys nine times and each one is a disaster. When I get oh so close to getting off, I see Carlo’s face and he’s laughing at me. I think about him every day. I replay his words. Sometimes the good, but mostly the bad. All too often it is, “On your step-sister’s special day, you are a fica. A cunt on the hunt.”

Twice I have women licking my pussy and that is not so bad. I at least get to come, and in my head I see Carlo smiling the excited smile that he meant for Candy when I first met him.

And then there’s Option Three. I’ve never really liked masturbating. There’s no reward like I get with seeing a hot guy with a meaty cock that gets hard for me and then coaxes an orgasm out of me by getting a little rough. But now that guys aren’t doing it for me and I don’t like the idea of going all girl, I buy a few toys and fantasize and when I come, I see the smiling friendly Carlo.

But the worst part is the damage to my relationship with Candy. We both moved out of our parent’s house when we graduated from our colleges and got jobs. We got a 2-bedroom apartment together and it was great to still have her to go clubbing with. Before Linda’s wedding, she brought back almost as many hot guy stories as I did. Back then, we never had a problem with nudity as we moved about the place.

Things are different now. I am almost always wearing at least bikini panties and a shirt around the apartment and so is Candy. We say very little to each other and everything that we each do seems to bug the other. She enters a long distance relationship with Charlie, one or both of them traveling every few weeks for booty calls. Finally she moves out to a studio apartment and leaves me with the entire rent until the lease expires. Fortunately, Marcy moves in with me after breaking up with a guy we all thought she would marry, but I learn that Candy tried to talk her out of it.

Marcy and I go clubbing together, but I’m so cock-shy that she comes home with all the hot guy stories. I tell her that it must be old age catching up to me, but aside from the not coming issue, I’m just not seeing the qualities I want in the men I meet. I try looking outside my norm. I dance with Asians and Blacks and Hispanics. Even Arabs and yes, Italians. None of them do it for me. Marcy, who acts just the way I used to act, becomes tiresome. I try to pump her for information about the relationship between Candy and Carlo, but she was too young at the time of the cat attack and Candy doesn’t talk about it with her either. It seems Candy never talks with anybody about it, except when her and Carlo are together.

I try researching pumas and find that the puma Carlo and Candy met must have been a cougar, a mountain lion fairly common in the southwestern US where the Lanes were vacationing before Carlo moved to Italy. It’s a large frightening animal, especially dangerous to children. I can’t imagine what it must have been like. I try telling Candy in an email that I need to understand about her and Carlo and the cat, but her reply is a simple, “Fuck off.”

My career is the only bright spot in my life. I have bachelor’s degrees in both marketing and packaging and my employer seizes on the synergy between the two. A stroke of luck or a strike of lightning occurs and they decide to send me to Boston for a 3 day conference along with a senior engineer. I ask Marcy to confirm that Carlo still lives there and to get me his email address or phone number. I decide that since he is at the center of my sexual dysfunction and my estrangement from Candy I must find a way to get his help in getting past both. Marcy, gets the data from Candy. I waffle over whether to call him or send email. I’m afraid if I speak directly to him that he will somehow keep my words from coming out. I decide to write him a note.

Subject: I’m Changing And It Hurts April 14, 2006
To: carlogatXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: sinfullkindeeatXXXXXX

Hello Carlo.

I am Cindy, your cugina Candy’s sister. We met at Linda’s wedding. I desperately need to talk with you. My life has been awful since Linda’s wedding and Candy and I are all but enemies and I don’t know why. I only know that you have somehow come between us. I know you don’t owe me this, but I’m tired of hurting without knowing the reason. I will be traveling to Boston on business during the second week of May. I will arrive on Monday night and depart on Thursday afternoon. I’m hoping we can meet on Tuesday night. I will buy dinner. Please help me.

Cindy

Subject: RE: I’m Changing And It Hurts April 17, 2006
To: sinfullkindeeatXXXXXX
From: carlogatXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hello cousin. I remember you very well. You are still my cousin and I don’t like to have unhappy cousins. I am sorry I did not respond sooner, but I was away. I have a longstanding commitment on Tuesday evenings, so dinner on Tuesday is not good for me. Perhaps we could meet for drinks at your hotel on Monday night and then, if it seems necessary, we can meet again for dinner on Wednesday.

Regards, Carlo

Subject: RE: I’m Changing And It Hurts April 17, 2006
To: carlogatXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: sinfullkindeeatXXXXXX

Grazie, Carlo!

I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I hope you don’t mind me becoming familiar with your other language. I hope only to express my gratitude in a pleasing way. Drinks on Monday sounds good. I can be ready at 9 PM. I hope that’s not too late. I ‘ll be staying at the Intercontinental. On Wednesday night I have a business dinner, but maybe we can meet for drinks again later.

Yours, Cindy

Subject: RE: I’m Changing And It Hurts April 17, 2006
To: sinfullkindeeatXXXXXX
From: carlogatXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ciao, Cindy.

I appreciate the Italian, it is such a beautiful language. I am shedding myself of some of the formality of it, but I still find it useful and pleasing in the familiar context. Drinks at 9PM at the Intercontinental. It has several bars and one is very cozy. Perhaps we should meet in the Lobby.

Cordiali saluti, Carlo

Subject: RE: I’m Changing And It Hurts April 18, 2006
To: carlogatXXXXXXXXXXXX
From: sinfullkindeeatXXXXXX

My warmest thanks, Carlo.

In the lobby at 9PM.

Distinti saluti, Cindy

I don’t know why I am doing this extra stuff, learning Italian and shopping for a new look. I know that I made such a bad first impression on Carlo that the damage is probably irreparable, but for the sake of Candy and this weird triangle relationship we’ll have at each Lane wedding and eventually funerals, I want to patch things up.

I arrive, check in, shower, shave and otherwise prepare myself just as if I’m going cock hunting, except for some very crucial differences. I don’t dare to hope that I’ll be getting laid tonight, and I’m not sure that I want to. I know that’s not like me, or rather the old me, but it seems right that tonight should be a meeting of the minds, not a meeting of the grinds. Carlo can help me, I think, and I want to be selfish and address my sexual dysfunction first, but it just seems more crucial to enlist Carlo in helping me with Candy and I also think that will show him a better side of me.

So I dress for possible sex, because I want to feel sexy when I talk with him. But my new look for meeting him is much more elegant, more mature, more sophisticated and more demure. There would be no convincing him that I’ve become chaste, but I will settle for seeming charming and sincere to a man I think is more sophisticated than me. This starts with shoes, black with 2″ heels and continues to nude thigh high stockings, sheer and lacy black bikini-cut panties with a matching bra, a black half slip to help hide the panty lines, a dark blue dress with a neckline that only hints at the goods below, and understated makeup and jewelry. I look in the mirror and I almost don’t recognize myself, but there is no doubt that I am still a beautiful creature.

I arrive in the lobby at five minutes to 9 and find Carlo standing there. “Ciao, Carlo,” I say, in case he doesn’t recognize me. I haven’t seen him in so long, that I worry that his scars will upset me, but I shouldn’t have. I barely notice them. He smiles with warmth, not quite as excited as he was to see Candy when we met, but it is a more beautiful smile all the same.

“Ciao, Cindy. You are a vision of eleganza.” He steps up to me and holds me while he kisses both cheeks, sending a shiver of pure bliss through me with each one.

“Oh Carlo, it’s so good to see you again. Thank you for doing this for me.”

“The pleasure is mine, Cindy. I have heard through the family grapevine about the schism between you and Candy. Nobody seems to know what caused it. There are several lounges here, one for dancing and one with a piano bar, but I think it would be best to get a quiet table in a cozy nook where candlelight inspires quiet conversation.”

“That would be perfect, mio amico. May I call you that?”

The delight on his face is clear. “I would be honored, amica.”

We make our way to the bar and it is almost empty of patrons. We take a corner booth and order drinks. He surprises me by ordering an old fogey drink, a vodka collins, and I quickly decide that this will pass for taking a walk on the wild side. “Make it two, please.” I promise myself to drink slowly so I won’t get shitfaced.

We both start to talk at once and then stop at the same time. He nods to me, points to his left ear, smiles and says, “You have my good ear.”

I laugh and begin, “At the wedding, I was everything you said I was. I still am sometimes, but I am less pleased with myself now. My sex life is a total mess and all I can say now is that it involves what happened with you. Maybe we can talk about that later, but something has happened between me and Candy and I think it centers on the three of us. That’is more important.”

“I am involved? But how?”

“That’s what I need to know. What’s she to you and what are you to her? You’re not just cousins.”

“Ah, I see. There is a reason she is my favorite cousin. She made a man of me.”

That answer stuns me for a moment, but I have to believe that it’s a culture gap. “What does that mean, Carlo. Here in the US, everybody would think that meant she took your virginity.”

His quiet laughter is beautiful to hear. “Oh Cindy, despite what you may have heard about Italian men, we do not fuck all of our sorellas and cuginas.” He smiles widely and takes a long dramatic pause. “Some of them run too fast.”

I catch on that he’s joking and I laugh with him. I feel a great release of tension within me. I know now that Carlo and I can truly become friends. It becomes clear that he will tell me a story and I prepare to absorb his words. A silent consensus occurs and he begins.

“A boy does not become a man by poking a hole in a woman. A boy becomes a man when he stops being childish. It is not a single event, but a path that one must leap to from the easier path. It requires becoming humble. It began when we were hiking in the desert. Candy did not like me when she was 8 and I was 9. She called me her ‘stupid cousin’, but she was bored and I was bored and when I suggested we sneak away to hike up into the hills so that we could see a long way out over the valley that the campground was in, she agreed to come and she insisted we both take canteens and walking sticks in case we saw a rattlesnake. That probably saved at least one of our lives.

We had to sneak away because our parents would not have let us leave the campground. I was foolish and did not conserve my water. I even poured some of it onto a cactus. I know now that I probably killed it. I lead the way and got us lost. It was not a sunny day, which was good and bad. The temperature only reached 98 degrees, but I had no compass or other way to tell direction.

By 1 PM, my canteen was empty and Candy was aware that we were lost. She called me a ‘stupid boy’, but she shared her water with me and we were only taking small sips when we could not wait longer. By 5 PM her canteen was empty. I felt terrible for getting us lost and I apologized. It might be the first humble thing I ever did. Finally, she sat down and said she would go no further. That was the right thing to do because it allowed the searchers to slowly catch up to us. It started to get dark and she thought she heard someone calling her name very far away so we started walking toward the sound. That is when I saw the puma prepare to jump on her from a big boulder.

I pushed her and yelled ‘Run!’, but she fell and the cat jumped onto me instead and knocked me down. It would have bitten my neck, but I got my hand up with the walking stick and it bit there instead. Then it swiped its paw across the right side of my head and jumped off. I got up and started swinging the stick around and around above my head so it made a whooping noise. That scared the cat away.”

“That must have been awful, Carlo.” I was entranced by his voice and glad to be hearing that he was taking the blame and not pretending that he was her rescuer.

“It was very scary, yes, but the awful part was just beginning for me. The bite got infected and they had to amputate the fingers, but I still got a very high fever and was delirious for three days. Candy told them that I saved her life and I suppose that is true, but it was my foolishness that put us both in danger. She blames herself for walking toward the cat’s hiding place when we could have waited and yelled, but the searchers might have gone the wrong way. She insisted that she had a right to watch over me and protect me in the hospital and she told her parents that she would kill herself if they didn’t let her. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen her when she is that angry, but I think if she ever got that angry at me, I would rather face the cat.”

I laugh with him then, but he soon becomes serious again.

“Going through something like that changes you. It changed both of us. It humbled me. According to my mother and father and older sisters, I was going to be one of the most handsome men on the planet until then, and they all worried that my pride and recklessness would be the end of me. It very nearly was.

People acted differently to me after that. I was changed on both the inside and outside. I had to become smarter. Candy was only changed on the inside, but she became much less shy and less afraid of the world. We apologized to each other for all the wrong things we did that day, even though mine were so much worse than hers. We praised each other for all the right things we did that day, too. Through all that, we became closer than siblings. She still gets very upset when she talks about it, unless I am there and she can see that I am still alright.”

“Thank you for telling me all of this, Carlo. I think this will help very much. I shouldn’t have been pushing to understand why she did what she did.”

“What did she do?”

“Well, it’s more like what she neglected to do. This is embarrassing, but I guess I thought she should have warned me about… your scars. They came as a shock to the shallow girl I was a year ago. She should have known that I would scratch you off my list of people to be seen with, because that was who I was. I felt… sandbagged, sucker punched. And that night went so terribly for me. I don’t blame you now for laughing at me when I walked out with that guy.”

“What are you talking about, Cindy? I did not see this happen. I expected it, but I did not laugh at you except when you called me a mama’s boy omosessuale.”

“Oh, god, that’s embarrassing, too. Sorry about that. But all this time, I thought you looked over at me from the fo… from the parents’ table and laughed at me and the guy I was leaving with.”

“I don’t recall seeing you. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have learned from living in places where there are many prostitutes and nightclubs, not to look into the faces of the women who are dressed as you were. When I look into their faces, most of them seem so desperate for attention, even most of the most pretty ones. It is disturbing for me to see. But please understand, I was not laughing at you. It was probably one of the bawdy stories your father was telling.”

“My father tells dirty stories?” That was a disturbing revelation to me.

“Yes. He is quite a good storyteller. It is unsettling to think of our parents as naughty, but if they weren’t….”

“Right, we wouldn’t be alive. But, hmmm. Well, that brings up another question that’s been bugging me. What exactly do you have against beauty?”

“I have nothing against beauty, Cindy. I see it all around me every day and I appreciate it. Neither do I have anything against people who possess it. They have every right to use it to their advantage. What I don’t like is people who act like their beauty makes them like royalty. Not even royalty is entitled to be treated like royalty. The only thing that someone can inherit that entitles them to a higher standard of living than others is something that must be spent to do so. Royalty doesn’t spend their bloodline. Beautiful people don’t spend their beauty. I know that you work some to look so beautiful, but mostly you are just fortunate to have looks that are popular now. Foolish people can’t entitle beautiful people to special privilege except by giving it to them when they don’t deserve it, spoiling them. So, many beautiful people mature more slowly than others because they are spoiled. That is one of the reasons your mama’s boy comment was so funny.

“Hmmm. I’m beginning to think I should call you ‘mio professore’, Carlo. I’ve never heard such clear thoughts on why I don’t deserve what I gain by my looks before. It’s incredibly easy to dismiss that as jealousy, but I guess I have been spoiled a bit. That might be part of the trouble with Candy. She is very pretty, but even her own mother dotes on me. It sounds like you have thought a lot about this. Please tell me more.”

What follows is two more hours of slowly sipped drinks and fascinating philosophical discussion like nothing I’ve ever participated in before. It ranged over many topics, but I did not want to discuss my second issue with him until I felt I knew him much better. I could listen to his voice forever, and actually learn from his words, but around midnight, he asks about what else I needed to discuss with him. I tell him that I would prefer to have much more time for that and we make plans to meet again on Wednesday night, at 8 PM in the lobby. He wants to show me the town, but I tell him that I still have so much to talk about that sightseeing will have to wait until the next time I visit his adopted hometown.

After a brief argument ending with him saying “I insist. You can pay for the drinks on Wednesday night.”, he pays the bar tab and escorts me to the elevators where he kisses me on the lips. It is a beautiful respectful kiss and I savor it, but I think he knows I want more and that I would give everything I am to him if he would take me to my room and take it. He ends the kiss, steps back and says, “Until Wednesday at 8, mia amica.”

“Buona notte, mio amico.”

I get back to my room feeling very good about the way the night has gone. I undress and discover, as I suspected, that my panties are totally saturated from the flow of my juices that started at the word ‘eleganza’. I must have been a scent wick, infusing the air in the bar with my lusty desire, but I am glad that we both showed restraint. It is torture to let the anticipation build, but I sense that I still risk his dismissal if I try to throw myself at him.

I have brought my toys, just in case, and I get them out now because I know I will not sleep unless I satisfy my lust-maddened pussy. After I remove all my clothing and makeup, I lie back on the bed. I tease my silky wet lips open with the head of Little Carlo, my real-looking dildo. He’s in my personal butter zone as far as size, eight insertable inches of length and six and a half around the shaft. I slide him in and just leave him there, feeling a wonderful, delicious fullness. I place a pillow between my knees so that it will block his exit when my body betrays its desire. I learned the hard way that it can squeeze him out when I most want him in.

I slip my short vibrator up and tease my nipples into hard peaks. Pretending Carlo’s tongue is there, I put a fingertip in my mouth and wet it. As I slide the vibrator down my lust-tightened belly, my fingertip pretends to lick my nipple just as I imagine Carlo would. Gentle at first, but with increasing force and frequency. I ease the buzzing dome slowly across my smooth pubic mound until it starts to act through the hood on my super-sensitive clit. My fingers now pinch, pull and squeeze my nipples while the smooth hard plastic circles around and around. I imagine Carlo’s head, just above my slit, his eyes looking up to see the results of his attentions on my face.

The vibrator slips between my folds and directly onto my engorged nub, forcing a groan of pleasure from me. “Oh, Carlo, Carlo, Carlo. Mio amore.” My back arches as my orgasm hits and I gasp and moan repeatedly as the intense waves of pleasure wrack my body. A circle of pulsing muscles surrounds the epicenter of my desire, alternately gripping and trying to expel Little Carlo from within. He stays right where I want him. Right where I need him. “Carlo, my love. You hurt me so much and make me feel so good.” As the last weak pulses slowly fade, I switch the vibrator off and bring Little Carlo up to sleep next to me. I smell myself on him and drift into a peaceful, warm state of bliss, better than any man has ever made me feel.

I smile and drift off to sleep with the memory of his words, “You are a vision of eleganza.”