My Dirty Cousin Eric

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1 of My Dirty Cousin Eric Timothy remembers the summer of 1986, when life seemed simpler...and even more so at his Uncle Gary's farm. If it wasn't for that big, mean country cousin Eric, maybe our city Rottie would have even enjoyed himself...or would he? Find out in this nice little Gruffy miniseries :)





Hehhey, folks!

Another something from me - just begged to be written, and I think this might be a fun little something, if I get it all right : ) I wondered how to publish this one, but I decided on a miniseries format, considering that way the course of the drama will be much more enjoyable ( no heavy gruffhangers, I promise!), and we'll probably get to see a better story if it was just one massive one-shot. Give you guys some time to cool down between chapters, too : )

So, don't forget to comment, y'all! All feedback is always appreciated, and remember that all votes, faves and watches will help others to find these stories to enjoy as well.

Have a fun read, y'all!

Cheers!



*





Alright, kids, I know you're gonna be calling me an old fart or something like that for the story I'm going to tell now, but this one's set in the ancient historical era called the 1980's, so try to stay with me, okay? I promise it's going to be worthwhile, and let's just say that I've been enjoying typing this a lot while my wife's asleep and oblivious to what I'm up to. So here we go.

Back in those days, when summers were more summery, when Coke tasted more like Coke and it was always sold in a glass bottle or a can, and when TV used to be good and HBO sex and violence was only a distant rumble in the upcoming storm of immorality, I was just like any kid, I guess. In the summer when this story happened I had reached the ripe age of 16 years old, and for once I was holding high hopes that I might actually be having some fun during my summer vacation.

Funny how all other kids waited for it like a new Star Wars movie or something of equally epic proportions. We'd sweat our asses in the class room, looking at the blazing sun outside and imagining all the fun, cool things we'd be doing once we were out of school. Even I, silly as I was in my newly attained cocky attitude now that I was 16, dared to envision how it's just be me, the sun, my shiny new bicycle, and all my friends, hanging around, drinking Coke and doing no thinking at all. Great times.

Guess it comes as no surprise that already on the first weekend after school was out, I was packed in the Oldsmobile and driven 600 miles to Uncle Gary's farm in Kansas. It was my very own private summer concentration camp. No amount of complaining on my part had turned my parents' minds, neither telling that "I am 16 now!" and "I could've gotten a job from the city!", any of which had an effect on my pigheaded parents. They'd just go through the same old phrases, including telling me that "even parents need their special private time together", and that "it's always lovely that you get to spend some time with your closest relatives, Timmy!", and of course "that fresh country air will do you plenty of good!"

I always cringed my nose at those words, well knowing that I would mostly be breathing shit-scented country air as soon as I'd step out of the car in Uncle Gary's farm. The summer of 1986, when I went there once again, was no exception. Uncle Gary had his tractor out on the yard when we arrived, and the big trailer or whatever you called it was loaded with a few tons of manure. I could see my mother wanting to barf at the sight, but dad, of course, having grown up in the place, would only wag his damn Rottie tail and wave a big hello to Uncle Gary.

My Uncle Gary, now 80 years old and rather demented in a nursing home, was a real old-fashioned farmer back in the day. I mean, he wore denim coveralls and all, and sometimes he even wore a straw hat while he drove that tractor around the fields to spread the shit out. He was huge and ripped and seemed even bigger when standing next to my dad, who wore a neat suit, just like a lawyer should, in or out of the office, and when Uncle Gary put his big workman's paw over my dad's shoulders to give him a welcome pat, I was sure that dad's knees almost buckled.

"Hehhey, old man!" Uncle Gary would drawl, tail wagging and smirking, with a tooth missing from his smirk, one canine lost to a bar brawl, dad had told me with a dismissive snuffle once.

"Hello, Gary," my dad would say while my mother tried to look thrilled while her pumps were threatening to sink into the rain-soiled ground beneath her footpaws.

Aunt Hilda would appear soon enough to offer even more distractions, trailed by three of my four cousins. Lynette was the oldest, 18 and about to leave home soon enough, forever, which didn't surprise me at all, considering what had done. Rob and Cal were 10 and 12, respectively, and just about as bratty as I remembered them to be, during my last year's month-long stay at this dusty hellhole. At least both of them seemed to have grown past the "ohhhhh cool cousin let's go hug him in a big welcome and then bug him around the clock!" phase, and I actually managed not to get lots of overexcited Rottie pup hugs this time around.

Dad and Uncle Gary and mom and Aunt Hilda were exchanging pleasantries all around, and it continued even when a door opened on the side of the looming dairy house by us, and another Rottie emerged to the yard. I tensed instantly at the sight, and felt my tail drop firmly against my ass as I tried not to look in his direction.

Yup...there he was, one of my prime reasons for not liking my times here at the farm. My cousin Eric was a year older than I was, a cocky fucker if you ever met one, rapidly growing to be as big and bulgy as his dad was, and with a foul temper.

Basically, cousin Eric was a full-of-himself bully who enjoyed poking fun at his city cousin, that would be me, obviously, and he never let me forget that I was the bottom of the pile here when I was around.

"Come on, Eric, come say hello to your uncle and your cousin!" Uncle Gary hollered at the approaching Rottie.

I bit my teeth together and tried not to grimace at the knowledge that if things were panning out the same way they always did, I was going to be sharing the room with this bastard once again. Eric strutted forward and then planted himself near my uncle, legs widely spread, and thick, muscled arms folded over his chest. He was not wearing anything besides a pair of old jeans that had been rolled down at the legs so that you could also see his thick calves above his old, worn rubber boots. His entire dark-furred, muscled torso was covered in a sheen of sweat, and I could also see the scar on his left pectoral, which he had gotten from an accident with a combine harvester when he was 12 and obviously not old enough to be close to combine harvesters.

Standing there, muscles bulging, ears flicking, a big, dirty grin on his face, I felt myself blush under my own dark cheek furs. Cousin Eric was huge, muscled, ripped and confident, and I knew all too well that I was a far cry from him. I had inherited my dad's wiry body and definitely didn't spend my days doing farm chores that accounted to a heavy bodybuilding routine that had shaped the growing Rottie to become exactly as big and imposing as his father was. My ears almost drooped as I watched him sideways, knowing that he was watching me too, scratching an arm and oozing easy, masculine confidence as much as he was sweating still.

"Hello, cousin," he finally said, at Uncle Gary's second prompting, and flicked an ear at me.

I gave him a sideways look and only nodded.

"I've already made you a bed, Timmy!" aunt Hilda said, grinning. "And I put it in the right familiar place, too!"

How nice, I thought, hearing the rumble from the big Rottie standing nearby and leering at me openly now.

"I think I'mma go and take a shower before evening milking," my cousin grunted and then went his strutting way towards the old farmhouse that seemed to look a year after year more in the need of a good new coating of paint.

Uncle Gary rumbled and chuckled and put an arm around aunt Hilda's waist while he gave his son a long look and then looked at me, standing next to my own lawyer dad and homemaker mom.

"I'm sure we've got a spare pitchfork lying around just for Timmy boy," Uncle Gary grinned, with his tail flapping behind him.

How nice.

*

By the time of the evening meal of pork chops and corn bread, my arms already ached from both forking out some hay for the cows to eat and from the endless shoveling of muck into the whatever place you called it where you shoveled shit into behind the cows chained into their posts at the dairy house. I was pretty sure I was stinking a bit, even after a cold shower - cousin Eric used up all the warm water, of course - and he had somehow managed to hoard the juiciest pork chops onto his plate even before we all said grace and dug in.

Aunt Hilda's cooking was good, there was no doubt of that, and I devoured down every piece I managed to get before Uncle Gary's and cousin Eric's prodigious appetite took care of the rest. The conversation around the table was...awkward, I guess, at best, I suppose, considering that dad and Uncle Gary's usual communication was limited to one long distance phone call once a month, to catch up. It was mostly talk about the farm, of course, since despite dad having escaped the clutches of the place 20 years earlier, it was still what most closely tied him to his brother. To imagine dad trying to talk about some of his legal cases with Uncle Gary was ridiculous, even to me at that age, so it was mostly talk about "the southern fields" or the price of fodder, or that new extra nitrogen fertilizer Uncle Gary had gotten from "Poppa Burt" at the nearby town. I knew that I was going to be getting a whiff of that place too tomorrow, since we'd be going to the church, but the knowledge of such a concentration of civilization nearby didn't really cheer me up.

Cousin Eric burped and scratched his stomach after downing yet another pork chop, and then washed it all down with a half a pint of milk. Then he burped again, even louder so that drew everyone's ears on him. He'd probably managed to enjoy the attention for a bit longer if Rob and Cal hadn't decided to start arguing over the ketchup bottle at the time, which soon escalated into throwing baked beans at each other.

My mother politely offered to help with the dishes.

After the meal, the cubs won a fight with their sister to watch McGyver instead of Kate & Allie, and that at least kept those busy while the infamous catching-up continued. Mom and Aunt Hilda tried to talk about summer hats and pawbags, while Uncle Gary solved his conversational problems with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Dad forced me to sit down with him, Uncle Gary and cousin Eric on the porch, which still felt stifling hot even with the sunset well past us. At least the net frames around us kept the mosquitoes away, but still, it was so hot that my T-shirt was glued onto my back and I was practically panting. Cousin Eric was still shirtless, and he also had a bottle of beer, which raised my dad's brows, but he didn't say anything to Uncle Gary. My uncle offered me a beer, too, but that's where dad's limits were reached, and he simply shook his head. Uncle Gary mumbled something about lemonade, but I didn't see any throughout the evening.

It couldn't have been much past nine pm when Uncle Gary finished his whiskey and said that we ought all go to sleep so that everyone would be ready for morning milking and mucking extra early before church on Sunday morning. I'm sure you guess by now who was expected to pitch in?

*

I climbed upstairs, following cousin Eric who scratched his ass all the way until we reached his room. The wall was sloped on one side and prompted me to duck my head once I walked through the small room over to the tent bed that was obviously assigned for me. There wasn't much space left besides the small desk and cousin Eric's own, bigger, normal bed, of course, and when I sat down onto my bed and pushed my suitcase underneath it, my ears flapped against the sloped ceiling and made them jump.

Cousin Eric sat onto his own bed, one paw resting against the mattress, leaning back while his other paw scratched over his bare belly. He'd downed a couple of beers at his father's approval, and his breath still smelled of the stuff I had myself only tasted a couple of times, sneakily, when my own parents weren't looking. His eyes seemed a bit glassy for the alcohol, and every breath from him brought a rumble or two.

My tail tucked itself against my rump as I sat there, under the scrutiny of the perpetually sweaty, foul-spirited Rottie, and felt myself shrink, in a way, while he kept looking at me. His claws made a raspy sound going over his belly. I could see plenty of curly hairs there, besides his smooth dark coat, hairs of the sort I had only grown a few years back at the time when that little sheath between my legs had finally become useful for things besides pissing. You can guess how many times Eric had pointed that fact out over the years while each summer he himself had raced through yet another developmental milestone. I was only one year younger, but for Eric, I might have as well been 10 years old when it came to development.

"Soo..."the Rottie rumbled, almost making me jump. "Fucked any girls lately back in your city, Timmy?"

My tail flapped against the tent bed, and my paws clasped its cold, steel tube edges. I could feel the heat creeping back over my cheeks again. The bigger Rottie was simply leering at me and flicked one of those long, pointed ears when my silence gave him the answer.

"Didn't expect you to, either, pup," Eric grunted, "Guess those city girls aren't all the kind of sluts Father Jones keeps telling you at sermon."

I honestly didn't know what to say to that. Cousin Eric went on with his scratching for a few moments more before he suddenly stood up and walked over to his desk. He opened a drawer and then pulled out a couple of items which were soon revealed to be a cigarette and a lighter once the white stick appeared between his teeth. My ears flattened.

"You gonna smoke?" I huffed.

Eric stepped over to the window and opened it with a clattering noise. Some slightly fresher evening air entered the room, but it did little to cover the inherent musk of the big Rottie, or his sweat. A couple of clicks and sparks later the sweet aroma of tobacco smoke entered my nose. I snorted. I hadn't smelled that much ever since dad quit a few years back. I wondered whether Uncle Gary and Aunt Hilda knew that cousin Eric smoked. Thinking back to him drinking that beer with Uncle Gary, I doubted they cared.

Cousin Eric's cheeks hollowed when he inhaled, held it in for a moment and then exhaled slowly through his nose, making a big cloud that flowed out into the night through the window. He was sitting with one leg pulled up against the windowsill, and his other paw not holding his cigarette was scratching on his jeans-covered ass. His tail gave the occasional wag, against the old paint of the wall. His ears flicked whenever he puffed out more of the foul smoke.

"I think we'll do just fine, pup," cousin Eric muttered after a couple of minutes of silence.

My ears jumped, and I gave him a surprised look. Cousin Eric flapped an ear sharply at me.

"As long as you mind your own business and don't go touching my shit," cousin Eric rumbled. "You got that, Timmy?"

I wished that someone in this world would call me at least Tim, if not Timothy, and not always use that childish kindergarten form of my name. Thinking back now, I'm sure there were many moments afterwards when I wished to be a Timmy again, but I was 60 back then, not 42.

"Yeah," I told cousin Eric, "I won't give you any trouble."

Cousin Eric snorted some smoke in my direction, and nodded sharply.

"Just making sure you know who's the boss around here," Cousin Eric grumbled.

I guess there was little I could say to that besides groveling to him about him being the supreme leader of the world, so I decided not to say a thing. Cousin Eric finished his cigarette and flicked the butt down the window with a snap of his fingers. He yawned and grunted and then audibly farted, once he had closed the window for the night. I was already cringing by the time he stretched out, paws touching the ceiling while the big Rottie grumbled. I caught a glimpse of his hairy armpit and smelled the doggy musk intensify when he did. His tail have a few flaps, too.

"Fuck the church," Cousin Eric muttered under his breath.

At that age, I still had a few vestiges of faith left, so the utter blasphemy of his statement managed to make my eyes widen a little. They did grow a bit bigger when he unzipped his jeans and flopped them down over the back of his chair. He only wore a pair of white boxers underneath, with a piss stain on the front, and they soon followed onto the chair. My cheeks warmed up a little more at the sight of his big sheath, swinging balls and his ass, visible for a moment as he pulled open the covers of his bed and then slammed himself down onto the bed. I was mostly staring at my knees by that time and listened to the bedsprings creaking.

"Well don't just sit there like you just shat your pants, Timmy!" the Rottie grunted.

My eyes jumped up and I saw that he was scowling at me, from a horizontal position now, head resting against a big pillow. An ear flicked sharply.

"Get your ass on the bed and turn off the lights before you do, will you? Gee, were you waiting for your momma to come tuck you in, pup?"

I almost growled at him when I stood up from the bed and hurried to undress. I folded my clothes more neatly and put them under the bed, on top of my suitcase. Unlike my cousin, I left my boxers on, because nice boys just didn't sleep in the buff, right? I opened my own covers and then hurried to hit the light switch by the door. It became pretty dark once the lights were off, but a bit of moonlight from the window gave me enough to find my bed without stubbing my toe more than once on the floorboards. I hissed a little and tried my best not to growl when that happened, not wanting to wake up my cousin. His breaths were quite loud for someone about to fall asleep soon, and once I was under my own covers, I found myself listening to them for a while. The occasional deep rumbles made my ears flick against the thin pillow under my head. I wondered, considering how big and nice Cousin Eric's pillow was, whether Aunt Hilda had a special supply of extra thin pillows and extra thin blankets to be used simply by the houseguests abandoned on their doorstep.

I rolled onto my side so that my muzzle was facing the wall, I curled up into the blanket and tried to relax despite the constant chugging of my cousin's breathing. The bed creaked under my modest weight, being composed of fabric over a steel mesh attached onto the tubes that formed the frame. Army surplus, maybe, which wouldn't surprise me. I knew that the military base was nearby. It contributed to the local economy in many ways, including providing uncomfortable guest beds, I had found out during my numerous stays.

I felt sleepy, from the car trip, the hard work and the big meal, but I wasn't really feeling up to falling asleep yet. It had been my habit since the tender age of 12 to pull my pud during bedtime, a ritual repeated so often that I barely could lie down on my bed without spontaneously popping a hard-on. Even though I was now in a strange cot bed in my cousin's room, my body hadn't forgotten what it expected to happen around this time each night, and I was not surprised to feel my hard dick press against the front of my boxers, tenting them up. My sheath felt sweaty and itchy and my balls seemed to be throbbing with the need to be drained. I might've been a shy good boy, but I wasn't beyond taking care of my own needs, not even with cousin Eric sleeping only a couple of yards away. This had happened every summer, after all, and despite the jittering nerves in my belly, I knew that I had to take care of this business, no matter what. I knew from past experience that cousin Eric slept like a log once he was asleep, and he probably wouldn't wake up to the gentle rustle of the covers.

Slowly, I ran my paw over the front of my boxers, and bit my teeth together when I gave myself a quick squeeze through the cloth. Equally silently, I slipped my boxers down to around my knees, careful not to make the bed creak once I shuffled my butt and released my package. My boner pressed against my belly and throbbed there, firmly, for a moment before I put my fingers around it and gave myself a nice, proper squeeze.

I held back the rumble once again and put my other paw down to cup my balls the way I always did, squeezing on them a little while my fingers moved slowly over my shaft. I rolled my hairy nuts in my paw a couple of times, tugged on them, gave them their usual, loving treatment while I concentrated on breathing slowly and steadily and trying not to make too much sound. I'd never live it down if cousin Eric caught me jerking off, especially in his room. I'd heard him do it a couple of times over the years, even saw him once, when I pretended to be asleep, and from between my eyelids, I caught a glimpse of the vision of his paw moving up and down in a very obvious gesture, though obscured by the covers over him. The musk in the air had been unquestionable, even to a 13-year-old me at the time.

I felt my own cock pulse in my paw as the memories swept through my mind, and I couldn't help but let out a small rumble as the feelings coming from my groin intensified. I knew I couldn't just start moaning, but when things felt that good, I knew that I wouldn't last much longer.

My elbow kept rubbing against the sheets and made a rustling sound that probably covered up the more slippery noise of my paw going up and down my leaking shaft. Once the itching in my balls reached the danger limit, I released them and cupped the blunt tip of my dick with that same paw while my fingers concentrated on massaging my knot.

I seriously had to bite down my teeth to stop myself from howling or barking when the heat exploded through my belly and my groin, and my twitching dick expelled a thick load against my palm. My tail wagged automatically and smacked against the side of the bed a couple of times, making it din ominously. Cousin Eric rumbled, probably in reaction to the odd noise, and forced me to stop dead still, holding onto my shaft and keeping my paw steady so that I wouldn't dribble any of my seed onto the sheets.

My heart pounded and I was breathing heavily for the few moments I spent listening to Cousin Eric, hoping that I hadn't accidentally woken him up with the noise I made with my tail. The big Rottie rumbled a couple of times but then went back to his usual routine of breathing, which calmed my nerves down somewhat.

I released my tip, under the covers, and then carefully brought my warm paw up to my muzzle so that I could dispose of the sticky evidence of my carnal act. I lapped up my seed and swallowed it, not caring much for the sour taste, but it had to be done, and I had done it countless times in my best attempt to not to leave any crusty yellow marks onto my linens. I licked and swallowed and made sure I got everything, even from between my fingers, and then smelled my palm to make sure that it mostly smelled of canine spit, not of spunk, once I was done. Only then did I dare to wipe it against the side of my boxers, when I pulled them up to cover my wilting erection and my still swollen sheath.

I shuffled a bit more on the bed, looking for a comfortable position, and ended up onto my back. I let out a pleased breath at this new calm posture, listening to cousin Eric's breathing, and felt glad that the tension in my body had been dealt with now. If I hadn't done my usual ritual, I'd probably ended up being all too cranky tomorrow, and even more susceptible towards cousin Eric's nasty teasing and antics.

I rubbed my belly quietly, enjoyed the warmth still radiating through my body, and listened to his breathing some more. I said a small bedtime prayer in my mind, because of course I knew that God hears your every thought, and thus, the message would be delivered equally well via telepathy, too.

Sleep took me soon.

I better stop writing here, now, I have a workday tomorrow as well, and my wife keeps telling me not to stay up too late. I'll continue writing tomorrow, and try to edit this into a good publishable shape before that, too.

*

Thank toy for reading my story!

Hope you liked the read, and that it sparked some comments out of you :) Also remember that all votes, faves and watches will help others to find these stories to enjoy as well!

Cheerio!