When I was growing up in Rock Island, we traveled to northern Indiana once or twice a year to visit my grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins. We always visited my Aunt Nora and her family, even stayed with her sometimes. My earliest sausage sighting was of her teenage son, Joe, when I was 7 1/2 years old.But Dad didn't get along with his oldest sister, Aunt Edna, so we never visited her, and saw her only rarely, at an occasional Thanksgiving Dinner. I knew only a little about her family: her husband, Uncle John, fat and blustering; a grown-up daughter, who moved to California; and Cousin Phil, about ten years older than me.
As far as I can remember, I've only met Cousin Phil four times in my life. One of them resulted in a sausage fondle.
The full story, with nude photos and sexual situations, is on Tales of West Hollywood