Banging Cousin Becky in Blackpool


INTRODUCTION & DISCLAIMER – When Ian was a boy he didn’t mean to get a crush on his pretty cousin Becky, but circumstances caused this. Now both he and Becky are aged 19 and he still secretly loves beautiful blonde Becky. And Ian and Becky are not regular cousins, they are double first cousins, so asking her out on a date is not an option. Like many people from Liverpool, Blackpool is the destination for the annual family summer holiday by the seaside. Will something interesting happen between Ian and Becky this summer? Find out by reading ‘Banging Cousin Becky In Blackpool’ and getting to know Ian and Becky in this story set in Blackpool during its heyday.

All characters and events in this story are fictional and any similarity real people living or dead coincidental and unintentional. Only characters aged 18 and older are in any sexual situations. Please enjoy, and rate and comment.


Memories of early childhood tend to be vague and incomplete, small and inaccurate snippets of life that stay in the mind among many other events long forgotten. One of my most detailed and pleasant early childhood memories for me was of a summer holiday to Blackpool when I was aged three. Every summer like thousands of others from the North of England our family would make the trip from our home in Liverpool and travel through Lancashire to relax and have fun by the seaside in Blackpool.

The day I remembered so well was a particularly nice day with bright sunshine and warm temperatures and the beach between the Central and South Piers was crowded with hundreds of people, many of them enjoying the sun in deckchairs, these people including my parents, aunt and uncle. Some of the men at the beach with their own families wore shirts, ties, jackets and hats, like they were dressed for work at the office rather than a day at the seaside.

A pleasant breeze blew in from the Irish Sea and gulls flew overhead, emitting their shrill cries. The iconic Blackpool Tower dominated the skyline, and motor cars negotiated the busy roads near the beach, keeping out of the path of the many trams that went by. The Pleasure Beach was in the distance to the south, but close enough to see the Big Dipper in action. Of course I was a bit young to understand what a roller coaster was, thinking that it was a weird tram and I hoped that my parents would stick to travel on normal trams and not make me go on the strange tram as it looked a bit scary.

I played happily on the sand with my twin sister Jenny and our cousin Becky, who was aged three like us. Becky’s brother Danny, 15 months younger than her was a bit young to join us. Instead he ran around having recently discovered that while walking beat crawling, running got you places faster, my aunt and uncle frequently having to go and bring him back when he ran too far away. Also with us were our other cousins Sam and Katie, aged four and three respectively. The five of us had two buckets and spades and were trying to build a sandcastle that looked like Blackpool Tower, but probably our ambitions were not matched by our abilities.

Later that afternoon, Jenny, Becky, Danny, Sam, Katie and I were treated to a donkey ride on the beach and after a walk on the promenade and pier with our parents, we had tea, the six of us enjoying jelly and ice-cream for dessert. Being just under two years of age, more of Danny’s ice-cream ended up on his face than in his mouth.

It was such a wonderful day and everyone around Blackpool – kids, teenagers, grown-ups and older people – were all having fun, and it was like nobody had a care in the world. Jenny, Becky, Danny, Sam, Katie and I of course were too young at the time to know that behind the smiles and fun, adults, teenagers and older children were probably feeling a great deal of apprehension.

This magical day at the beach took place in July 1939, and we knew nothing about what was happening in Europe nor should we have given our young ages at the time. Just six weeks later on the day of Sunday, 3rd September I had another day that stood out in my early childhood memories, but not a pleasant one. Sitting with my parents, sister aunt and uncle and cousins Becky and Danny we listened to the radio shortly before noon where Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain announced that due to the invasion of Poland, Great Britain was now at war with Germany. Later that day I got to hear a terrifying sound that unfortunately we would become all too familiar with over the next few years, the eerie wail of an air raid siren which sounded as part of a test, followed by the all clear.

A few weeks later, Jenny, Becky, Danny and I were loaded onto a train at Liverpool Station along with thousands of other children and not to go back to Blackpool for another fun holiday by the seaside. Our parents had explained to us that an evil man named Hitler had taken over Poland and wanted to do the same to England, and it was important that we had to go and live in the country. We were told to treat it like an adventure and have fun, and that we would be back bursa yabancı escort home soon.

So while Dad and Uncle Larry enlisted and Mum and Aunt Maggie remained in Liverpool to do war work suitable for women, home for Jenny, Becky, Danny and I became a farm in the Yorkshire Moors owned by an older couple whose children were all grown up and had left home. I was glad that we had all been kept together and not separated during the evacuation of England’s major cities, but wished that there wasn’t a war and we could go back home to Liverpool where we belonged especially as days turned to weeks, months and years and it became evident we weren’t going home anytime soon.

I often thought about that magical holiday in Blackpool for summer 1939 during the early 1940s, and it seemed to be as far away in time as 1909. Would the war ever end and would we all be together as a family again and enjoying ourselves at home in Liverpool or on holidays in Blackpool? Many long days of worry about what was happening both in England and abroad and long nights made even darker by the blackout curtains and with our sleep interrupted by the distant wailing of the air raid sirens in the town as German planes passed by I thought not.


Despite my pessimism at such a young age the Second World War eventually did come to an end, and now was a decade in the past. We were in a new era, and things were changing. Finally, there was no more rationing. The bomb sites that littered Liverpool when we returned after the war had mostly been cleared away and many rebuilt.

One of the commanders of the American Army during the war – General Dwight Eisenhower – was now the President of the United States of America. Germany was now two countries – West Germany and East Germany. British Prime Minister Sir Winston Churchill had been voted out of office in favor of Clement Atlee, returned to office 1951 and had resigned earlier this year, replaced by Anthony Eden. Soviet leader Joseph Stalin was dead, replaced by Nikita Khrushchev. And in Great Britain, we were finally getting used to singing ‘God Save the Queen’ after singing ‘God Save the King’ since the year 1901.

Some things hadn’t changed however, and for my family it was our annual summer holiday to Blackpool, which had resumed from the year 1947 and it was for this reason that I was sitting on a train making haste from Liverpool to the seaside town we loved so much. It was a beautiful sunny day and I admired the Lancashire countryside through the carriage windows as it sped by, smoke pouring from the stack of the steam locomotive as it continued on its path.

The scenery of Lancashire was not the only source of beauty for my eyes to admire on the journey. If I glanced at the seat opposite to me there was the most beautiful young woman, her slim figure smartly attired in a light blue dress and matching light blue hat. Her long blonde hair cascaded down onto her shoulders and her eyes were the same color of blue as a polished sapphire. She was every bit as pretty as British beauty Diana Dors, or attractive American actresses Doris Day or Jayne Mansfield.

So who was this beautiful young blonde, who looked like a doll made by a toymaker as an example of a perfect woman? Some random girl who had caught my eye on the train, but to whom I had never spoken, knew nothing about not even her name, would probably never speak to and who would disembark in Blackpool like me, never for me to sight her again?

Not exactly, in fact nowhere near. I knew a lot about this pretty blonde girl, having had an unrequited crush on her since childhood. But there was no prospect of me asking the young woman out on a date, and I could never tell another living soul of my feelings for her, not in the past, not in the present and not in the future, no matter how long I lived.

And the reason for this? The beautiful young blonde woman was my cousin Becky.


I would always remember the first day I developed a crush on Becky. It was summer 1944, and one Saturday morning we had been allowed to catch the bus into town from the farm where we were staying. The four of us – Jenny, Becky, Danny and myself – had just disembarked when there came the most alarming sound from the skies – an eerie, droning noise and there appeared one of the strangest aircraft we had ever seen moving slowly in our direction.

We had no idea what we were looking at, and only learned later that it was a German V1 rocket, frequently called a ‘Doodlebug’ or less commonly a ‘Buzz Bomb’. The strange noise of the V1 rocket added to our fear of it, and the air raid sirens coming on increased our sense of alarm. People hurried for the nearest public air raid shelter and Jenny, Danny and I turned to follow them but Becky stood staring at the doodlebug, stuck to the pavement like she was a statue, her pretty face etched in terror, tears welling in her blue eyes.

This wasn’t like Becky. My cousin was no shrinking violet, she was a strong-willed and streetwise girl, bursa sınırsız escort but the sight and sounds of the V1 had absolutely petrified her, and it was up to me to get her out of her near-catatonic state, taking her by the hand and leading her into the shelter with Jenny and Danny. There, the frightened Becky had burst into tears and I sat holding her hand to reassure her as she cried, giving her my handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

Outside the droning of the doodlebug got louder as it came closer and then further away as it went past the town. We then learned that the scariest thing about doodlebugs was not the noise they made in flight, it was the silence when their engines cut out that you had to be afraid of. The distant explosion of the off-course V1 was heard as it fell from the sky onto the Moors, then the all-clear sounded. We saw and heard more V1 rockets during what remained of the war as the doodlebugs went off their course and into the Yorkshire countryside, but never once did I ever see or hear a V2 rocket, which apparently were even more terrifying. And as I sat holding the hand of my tearful and terrified cousin in the air raid shelter that day, I felt like a dashing hero to Becky’s damsel in distress, and coupled with Becky being so pretty something went haywire in my brain giving me a crush on my cousin.

My childhood crush on Becky might have fizzled out when we returned home to Liverpool after the war had it not been for several factors. One, we were not ordinary first cousins or distant second cousins who only saw each other for Christmas, Easter or other holidays, but the seldom seen double first cousins. Jenny and my father Bert and Becky and Danny’s father Larry were brothers, while our mother Liz and Becky and Danny’s mother Maggie were sisters. So therefore, we all shared the same surname of Chapman and each shared the same grandparents.

Interestingly, while Jenny and I looked alike as sister and brother both tall and slim with brown hair and brown eyes, Becky and Danny shared looks quite different from us. Although like us Becky and Danny were tall and slim, both contrasted from Jenny and I by having blonde hair and blue eyes. However, looks aside we were as close as brothers and sisters, always playing and walking to school together, Becky always setting my heart aflutter. Lots of boys have a crush on a pretty girl, it just happened in my case that the pretty girl was my first cousin.

And we didn’t have to walk far to see Becky and Danny. We lived in a semi-detached house in the suburbs of Liverpool which fortunately aside from broken windows on night went undamaged despite the bombings in the area during the war, Mum, Dad, Jenny and I on one side; and Uncle Larry, Aunt Maggie and Becky and Danny on the other. It all worked really well, you didn’t have to worry about which neighbors were living next door. Becky was the pretty girl next door many guys fantasize about, but in our case we were cousins so my feelings had to stay hidden.

My crush on Becky continued all through childhood, into secondary school as teenagers and now as 19-year-old young adults, with Becky and Jenny working as switchboard operators at the local GPO telephone exchange and me a carpenter having just reached the end of my apprenticeship, I still had as big a crush as ever on Becky.

I would see Becky and Jenny leave to catch their bus to work in the morning and admire my cousin’s fine feminine figure in her dresses and skirts, especially her bum at the back and her big boobs at the front. Becky and Jenny liked going cycling together with their friends, and I would watch Becky riding off down the road, her shapely bum and her legs looking fine in her pedal pusher pants. I would remind myself that their friends Sylvia, Helen, Barbara and Paula with whom Jenny and Becky worked at the telephone exchange were all very pretty girls and if I was to engage in voyeurism with anyone it should be them, yet still my eyes lingered on my cousin.

Sometimes I would be so taken by Becky it was hard for me to speak. One morning I went next door to get some milk having accidentally spilled ours, and was greeted by a barefoot Becky in her nightdress through which one could see the outline of her knickers. My cousin looked so good in her nightwear despite having not done her hair and wearing no makeup. And although I had obviously seen Becky barefoot many times in the past, I could not keep my eyes off her pretty bare feet, struggling to put a sentence together as Becky tried to conduct a normal conversation with me.

Other times I would look at more private things with Becky, despite my nagging conscience. Becky sometimes would not be as careful as she perhaps should have been to maintain her modesty when she crossed and uncrossed her legs. I would steal glances up my cousin’s skirt or dress, seeing the white or pastel colored cotton knickers between her thighs, loving the sight of Becky’s knickers and wishing I could see what private female delights her panties covered. görükle escort

On laundry days I would make some excuse to be up a ladder such as gardening or checking the gutters so I could look into the next door garden to see Becky’s bras and knickers on the washing line. Most of Becky’s bras and knickers were white, but she did have some bras and pairs of knickers that were pale pink, light blue, lemon and apricot in color. I would think about how the bras would harness and support Becky’s ample bosom, and how her knickers would cover the most private and intimate parts of Becky’s young body the next time she wore them.

I felt bad about my voyeurism of my cousin’s underwear, and thought about how I would feel if some Peeping Tom used a ladder to look into our back garden and look at Jenny’s bras and knickers as they dried on the line? Outraged obviously about this invasion to my sister’s privacy, yet despite every time I told myself I would stop this voyeurism with Becky’s bras and knickers and respect my cousin’s privacy, still I kept right on doing it.

One time, not long after we turned 18, I actually got to see Becky in her bra and knickers. I had gone next door to see Danny, and Becky not knowing I was upstairs was undressing in her bedroom after work, the door slightly ajar. I could see Becky’s fine young body in a state of near nudity, barefoot and in her underwear and the image was one of the most beautiful I had ever seen. I retained the images in my mind’s eye, to be retained for solitary vices when alone in the house, Cousin Becky the star of all my fantasies.

Often, I daydreamed about being a big hero and rescuing Becky like a knight in shining armor or a superhero from American comics. Possibly this was because when my childhood crush had started on her it was because she was afraid of a doodlebug during the war and sobbing in an air raid shelter, but I doubted my fantasies would come to life now we were both grown up.

Other times Becky would have an unfortunate effect on me. One night Jenny and I were next door after work and Becky was complaining to Jenny about how the elastic in her knickers she had worn that day had gone causing her plenty of problems. Hearing Becky say that “Me knickers kept falling down and riding up around me bum all day,” had an immediate effect on my groin, and I had to sit down, unable to stand without a great deal of embarrassment.

Sometimes the way I thought about my cousin was dead weird. Another night Becky was at our house and she came upstairs, going into the bathroom to use the loo. I went out of my bedroom and stood outside the closed and locked bathroom door, unable to believe that just several feet away my perfect cousin was sitting on the toilet with her skirt up around her waist and her knickers down around her ankles. In fact I found it hard to believe that Becky went to the toilet at all given how perfect she was to me, it was like she was a famous actress or singer and I was star-struck.

From inside the bathroom I could hear Becky unwinding toilet paper from the roll, and I thought, ‘Wow, she actually uses toilet paper!’ I told myself how absurd this was, Becky and I had grown up together and obviously by now I knew she went to the toilet and used toilet paper like everyone did, yet still I kept thinking this while standing in the hallway entranced.

The sound of Becky flushing the toilet a few minutes later broke me out of my trance, and obviously not wanting my cousin to know that I was loitering outside the bathroom door when she was on the loo and think me some sort of a weirdo or pervert, I beat a hasty retreat to my bedroom as the sound of Becky running the taps to wash her hands was audible. I was innocently sitting on my bed as Becky went past on her way back downstairs, adjusting her knickers through her skirt. And seeing my cousin adjusting her knickers had the same effect upon me as overhearing her conversation with my sister about her problems with uncomfortable knickers at the telephone exchange that day.

On Saturday a week or so after this I was in my aunt and uncle’s house and again had the problem of an expanded groin due to my cousin, but this time I was alone in the house and had no such problems hiding my excitement from the object of my affections. Aunt Maggie and Uncle Larry were out for the day with my parents and my cousin Danny was at his Saturday morning job, and as for Becky herself she had gone out with Jenny and their friends shopping for some new dresses.

The reason I was in my aunt and uncle’s house was simple enough, they needed some shelving repaired and as their nephew was an apprentice carpenter, who better to do the job? I tried to concentrate on the shelves but my mind kept wandering and going into Becky’s bedroom. And soon it wasn’t only my imagination that went into my cousin’s bedroom, it was me too.

Again despite my conscience, I was unable to prevent myself from going to Becky’s dressing table and opening up her underwear drawer. I stared inside at the wonderful treats for my eyes. To the left were Becky’s bras and to the right were her knickers. I reached into the drawer, and touched the soft cotton of Becky’s teen panties, thinking about how Becky put her feet into them and pulled them up, adjusting them to cover her pubic hair, her vagina and her bottom.

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