Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Reluctant, Incest, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Pregnancy, Slow, .
Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Cyndi Lauper sang about how girls just want to have fun. And I would have said that was normal. The problem is that "fun" can be defined in different ways. For my niece and her two little friends, "fun" turned out to be defined in ways that most of society wouldn't have been happy with. Me? I'd have used that definition for "wet dream". But that was before we got caught. After that, it was simply all mind blowing.
I looked up from my comfortable chaise lounge beside the pool, as the three bikini-clad girls burst out of the patio entrance to the house, screaming as if they were being pursued by ogres. I wasn't surprised. It was the same three girls who had been running around my back yard for years, screaming as if the world was coming to an end. It happened every summer, and it should have been as normal as the sun coming up.
But this time, as I looked up, the book I'd been reading was forgotten as my eyes took in the lush curves and bouncing breasts of my niece, Caitlin, and her two summertime friends.
Emma lived next door to me and was the first to form a bond with Caitlin when I took her in for the month of July so my sister could finish her doctoral thesis in art history. I gathered, at the time, that this process involved literally unbroken hours of final editing, and the fewer distractions there were, the better the final manuscript would be. An active, ten year old girl can be quite a distraction, so I agreed to be distracted for a month so Hannah wouldn't be.
I think there was another reason for Hannah's request. Chad, Caitlin's father, had been killed in a motorcycle accident when Caitlin was four, and she'd never had another man in her life, at least not for more than an hour at a time since then. I think maybe Hannah thought Caitlin needed a male role model in her life, and her brother, only four years older, didn't qualify. So I got the nod.
I gave more than one thought to the possibility that Hannah might also use this time out of her daughter's view to blow out her pipes, so to speak. She was a vibrant, good looking woman, and I'd always been a little amazed that some guy hadn't snapped her up in the years after Chad's tragic death. I had only mentioned that to her once, though. Her reply had been, and I quote: "Bobby, honey, I'm doing just fine. How about you keep your nose out of my sex life and I'll keep mine out of yours, okay?"
In any case, that first month Caitlin stayed with me worked out rather well. I was an intentional bachelor, which left me both the time and money to go do whatever I wanted to, within reason. I loved camping and rock climbing, among other active pursuits, and Caitlin did too. She was particularly fond of shooting, something she never got to do in California, where they lived.
And, of course, I had the pool in the back yard, which was surrounded by a tall privacy fence. Caitlin surfed whenever she could get her mother to take her, so she loved water.
Yet another thing that happened that year was that Caitlin saw Emma sitting in a tire swing next door. The constant wind every Oklahoman is familiar with kept the swing moving slightly, but otherwise Emma was just hanging there, looking a little forlorn. I would find out years later that her mother had made her turn off the computer and go outside for some fresh air.
"Who's that?" asked Caitlin, as she carried a bag of groceries from the car into the house.
"Her name is Emma. She lives next door. I get the impression she's kind of shy. You want to invite her to go swimming?"
"How old is she?"
I had forgotten how much age mattered when you're young.
"Your age," I said, cagily.
"Okay, sure," said my niece.
I was the only one on the block who had an in ground pool, so Caitlin's invitation was eagerly accepted. As it turned out, they were like peas in a pod and the next thing I knew Emma was being included in most of Caitlin's plans. At least when the Wilkinsons let her. I had one of those nodding acquaintances with the Wilkinsons. His name was Jeff, and hers was Connie. I'm an architect and run my own business, so I'm home most of the time and see the other parents who are home during the day. Connie was one of those. She was a bright, goofy woman with hair that the wind constantly blew all over the place. Why she didn't put it in a pony tail I don't know. She had huge pink eyeglasses and slightly buck teeth, but she was a nice woman and we got along well on the relatively infrequent occasions we ran into each other.
I think one reason Emma took to Caitlin so quickly was that she only had one other friend in the neighborhood, a gangly girl named Ashley, who lived two blocks away. Our neighborhood was a little light on kids their age. There were a ton of teenagers running around, but ten-year-olds were relatively rare.
So, naturally, Emma introduced Caitlin to Ashley and, within two weeks they became the three musketeers. Their kingdom was my back yard.
That first year I wasn't really prepared to host a girl that age, much less three of them, at least in terms of planning out things they might like to do. So the pool, which is big enough to swim laps in, became the babysitter, so to speak, while I got more work done than I had thought I would. I did take Caitlin to a couple of the local attractions, but mostly she hung out with her two new best friends and there was a lot of splashing and screaming in my back yard.
She had a good time, which made me kind of inordinately proud for some reason. In fact, she had such a good time that the next year she asked her mother if she could to take a vacation at Uncle Bob's again. I found out when Hannah, who was now teaching classes at UC Irvine, called me.
"Hey, I thought I'd call you and make your day," she said as an opening.
"Okay, but wait a minute. Let me get out my Red Hawk."
"What's a Red Hawk?" she asked.
"It's a .44 magnum ... you know ... Dirty Harry? Make my day?"
"Ha, ha," she said, dryly. "How about I make your day without firearms being involved?"
"We can try," I said, trying to sound skeptical. "Give it your best shot." I laughed at my own pun. She ignored it.
"Okay. It just so happens it has come to my attention that my studly brother is popular with the ladies. How about them apples?"
"Me?" I blinked. I hadn't been out with a woman in months. It's not that I don't like women. I like them just fine. But a girlfriend likes to fill up your calendar with things for the two of you to do, and pretty soon there aren't any days to lie around the house in your underwear, just drinking beer. Plus my business was still growing, and needed a lot of time. If I couldn't give a woman what she really deserved, I didn't want to have the stress of that kind of relationship.
And, I admit, I was relatively happy with my sex life. I didn't get to have sex with a real live woman all that often, but the rest of the time there was my hand, and my hand was really good at it. Plus it never had a headache. So I wasn't unhappy at all.
"I think you have the wrong brother," I said.
"If only," she said, with a smile in her voice. "You have no idea how many times I wished you had a bigger brother who would treat you as badly as you treated me."
"I didn't treat you badly," I scoffed.
"Says the bully," she quipped.
"I never bullied you," I objected.
"No, you spent all that energy on any boy who was interested in me."
"I had to protect you from them!" I complained. "Dad told me that was my job. You think I wanted to spend all my time worrying about you instead of going out and having fun with my friends?"
"You had plenty of fun, you jerk. You just tried to make sure I didn't."
"Are we arguing?" I asked. "Because I don't want to argue."
"Sorry. I'm just a little stressed. I didn't call to talk about that. I called to tell you that Caitlin had a really great time with you last year, and has asked me to beg you to let her come back this summer for a similar visit."
"Caitlin's the lady I'm popular with?" I laughed. "I can live with that."
"You're a strange man, Bobby. Why don't you have a woman in your life?"
"Why don't you have a man in yours?" I countered.
"I don't have time for a man," she said.
"Exactly," I agreed.
"So ... what do you think? I know you were just doing me a favor last year. You don't have to say yes."
"I had a good time too, Hannah. You have a lively and interesting daughter. She wasn't any trouble. Maybe this time I'll come up with something more fun for her to pursue than doing cannon balls off the diving board."
"Thanks. To be honest, I could use some me time."
"This is not a problem at all," I said. "Just have her call me and tell me when I need to pick her up at the airport."
And so a tradition was born. I wasn't the only one to be glad she came back for seconds. Caitlin and the other two musketeers did, indeed, have a fun-filled month, which included a trip to Six Flags over Texas. The following year we went rock climbing in the Rockies. Emma and Ashley didn't go with us on that jaunt. Rock climbing, it seemed, was a little too intimidating for their parents, who lived in a state where the highest point in the geographical area was Black Mesa, which was pretty much impossible to fall off of anywhere. Real mountains made them nervous.
But that was fine, because while Caitlin loved spending time with her two best buddies, she liked doing things with just me, too. Part of that was because she always came with a plethora of questions to ask. They weren't necessarily questions that required a man to answer, though she asked a lot about why boys did this or that thing. I think she just reveled in having an adult at her fingertips, who wouldn't tell her he was too busy to spend time with her.
She also loved to camp out, and see lots of different places. It was because of that that she asked me to drive her home that year, instead of putting her on a plane. We toured Yellowstone that year and it was great. She was a certified tree-climbing tomboy in those days. I guess you could say that I brought out the tomboy in her, and Emma and Ashley nourished the girl in her. It was a good match on all sides.
But our "jaunts", as she called them, were infrequent. We were rarely gone from home for more than three days. The rest of the time she hung out in the pool with her cohorts.
That was all fine back when they were prepubescent. They made a lot of noise, and they dashed around as if they were running from their worst nightmares, but I could still read and do lifeguard duty at the same time. They wore bikinis which, had they been on bigger, bustier girls, might have been interesting. But on these girls they were merely strips of cloth that covered the parts their mothers wanted covered. I honestly think they'd have been just as happy running around buck naked, like they probably did when they were toddlers.
It was interesting in several ways. As the years went by, I got a yearly update on how puberty was treating the musketeers. I watched those polka dotted bikini tops begin to show that there was actually something under them, and those mounds got bigger every year. The girls didn't seem to notice, though. While their bodies changed, they otherwise seemed to stay exactly the same when they gathered in the back yard to jump in the pool and play the kind of silly games that kids play everywhere.
When they were fourteen, they seemed a little shier in some ways, a little less sure of themselves, perhaps. Ashley had braces and she hated them, thinking they made her look like a robot of some kind. I told her that was nonsense and that the braces would simply help her teeth become as beautiful as the rest of her.
It was just an offhand comment ... you know ... something designed to support her self image, to help her get through a tough time. I had no idea it would have such far reaching effects on my life. In fact, I didn't even think she'd remember me saying it. After all, I was thirty, practically ancient in their minds. The only interest they had in me was that I had a swimming pool in my back yard and a niece who was fun to play with while she was in town.
Another reason it was obvious Caitlin's two friends had no interest in me was that once Caitlin and I got in the car to make the drive to the west coast, I didn't see them for the rest of the summer.
Then, the year she was fifteen, she arrived and, like magic, she was a young woman, with bulges in all the right places. I remember wondering how that could have happened in just a year. I'm sure I'd seen Ashley and Emma around. Emma lived next door and more than once I'd heard her call out "Hi, Mister Simmons," but I hadn't noticed her flowering like Caitlin had.
The first time they came to swim that year ... I noticed. They had done the same thing Caitlin had done.
Have you noticed how a girl who is fifteen these days, looks an awful lot like a girl who was eighteen in the forties and fifties? They grow up fast. It sounds silly, but if you've ever raised tomatoes, there's a point where the fruit has turned red, and you can't tell just by looking whether it's fully ripe, or not quite. It was kind of like that, looking at them. They looked like a women, but of course I knew they were just teenagers.
They had always been fun to watch. Maybe a tiny bit of that was a male, watching females, but I didn't think of them as sexual beings. Not until that year, anyway. When a girl has real hips, and real breasts, and lips that are full, somehow, and look kissable, you can't help but wonder what happens when they go on dates.
Assuming they were allowed to date. I had no idea about that.
Another thing that happened when I saw her for the first time that year was that I remembered Hannah calling me to ask if Caitlin could come back that second summer. My sister had complained that I cramped her style when we were teenagers. And I had. It had been intentional, and not just because our father had asked me to "keep an eye on her." Hannah was the first adolescent girl I'd ever seen naked. It had been an accident. I'd walked into the bathroom to pee while she was drying off after taking a shower. She'd been so shocked she froze, and I got a good look.
After that, the idea of any of the guys she knew getting to see that just made my blood boil. It wasn't that I wanted her to become a nun. It was just that none of those guys deserved a girl like her.
The year Caitlin was fifteen, I had a few flashbacks to those days when her mother had been the same age. Caitlin didn't ask if she could date any of the guys Emma and Ashley knew, but I'd have said no if she had. In any case, it didn't come up. Ashley and Emma never talked about boys while I was around.
The next year, when she was sixteen, she looked even better. And an odd thing happened. Just as she had matured into a more beautiful, sexy, desirable young woman, my fantasies about her matured too. That was the first time that I wished I could accidentally walk in on Caitlin, like I had walked in on her mother all those years ago. I didn't, of course. I just thought about it. And yes, I admit I thought about it while I masturbated. So sue me.
That year, she came back from being somewhere with the other two musketeers and, when she walked in, I happened to be cleaning my Rock Island 1911 pistol.
"You have a lot of guns," she commented.
"Yeah," I said, holding the barrel up to the window and peering through it so I could see if it was clean inside.
"How come?" she asked.
"It's fun to shoot," I said. "Plus I'd like to be able to protect myself if I ever need to."
"Everybody back home says that anybody who owns a gun is a paranoid wacko."
"Do you think I'm a paranoid wacko?" I asked, putting the gun back together.
"Of course not," she said. "Can I hold it?"
She had shot my .22 rifle dozens of times, but I hadn't put a pistol in her hand yet. I taught her how to lock the slide back and how to determine it was empty of ammunition. When I explained the slide release, she pressed it and the slide snapped forward.
"It's heavy," she said, pointing it at the couch.
"That helps absorb the recoil of the round going off."
"Can I shoot it?"
"You might turn into a gun nut," I kidded.
"Are you a gun nut?"
"I suppose I am," I said. "At least that's what your surfer friends would probably call me."
"Then being a gun nut can't be as bad as they say. I'm willing to take my chances." She grinned.
So I took her to the range. I didn't start her with the .45. I put a Ruger Mark III in her hands and, after half an hour of instruction, she started shooting better groups than I did. An hour later we'd worked our way through my nine mil and a Taurus chambered in forty caliber, and the Rock Island was singing its song as if it had fallen in love with the girl holding it.
That's the kind of girl Caitlin was.
Have you ever gone on You Tube and seen those silly videos of girls shooting guns? They're supposed to be sexy, but they're usually not. I've broken them down into two types. The first is the girl who shouldn't have a gun in her hands, no matter how she's dressed. She doesn't know what she's doing and all I see when she's flailing away with her eyes closed is a dangerous situation. But the second type are the women who do know what's in their hands and how to use it. Why they pose in bikinis to do it is beyond me, but there's a difference between these women and type one. It's hard to describe. They are focused, for one thing, with all their attention on working the tool in their hands. Their stance is right, so they're not wobbling around. They lean into the recoil. It's just a thing of beauty.
And the type-two women really do look a little sexy.
Caitlin wasn't wearing a bikini, but she looked sexy as all get out, wearing a ball cap with her pony tail through the hole above the adjusting strap in the back.
Quite suddenly, I wished she was naked, even though those are the stupidest videos of all out there.
And yes, I know, she was only sixteen, but like I said earlier, you couldn't tell it by looking. On that day she looked like she should be in college, instead of finishing up high school.
Which brings us to this year. As a seventeen-year-old, she presented an image that I knew meant I was in trouble. She was bouncy, and sultry and sexy. She knew me well enough that she was comfortable with me under almost any circumstances. As an example, I'll just say that, as a ten year old, her PJs consisted of a long T shirt with panties on underneath. That hadn't changed, and she was just as comfortable being around Uncle Bob that way now as she was then. Except that now, under that T shirt, was a beautiful, full grown woman, rather than a cute little girl.
And her friends were right there with her. All of them had the lush curves of young women ready for being mated with.
Still, I kept my fantasies to myself, and tried not to let them catch me ogling them. It seemed to work. Unless they needed something from me, they usually pretty much ignored me when they were together.
Which is why I was somewhat surprised on this sunny day when Ashley changed direction from the other two and came running directly toward me instead of continuing to the pool. I saw a packet of paper in her right hand.
"Here's your mail, Mr. Simmons," she panted, bending over and extending her hand.
I suddenly had a premonition of what the Grand Canyon might be like as she held her pose, bent over, waiting for me to take the mail from her hand. Then my mind flashed through a little, admittedly silly, fantasy wherein her much too small bikini top failed in its attempt to keep her entirely too large breasts cupped in their embrace. The bikini parted between the cups and, in this fantasy, her breasts fell about a foot to land on my chest, bouncing up and down like basketballs.
I told you it was silly.
I realized I was staring at her cleavage, and that my mail was still in her hand. I didn't know how long she'd been bent over like that, but I knew it was longer than propriety demanded. I dragged my eyes from her truly luscious cleavage up to her face, whereupon I realized I was busted big time. But instead of screaming at me for ogling her breasts, there was this little half smile, a sort of almost smirk.
"Your mail?" she reminded me.
I grabbed it. "Thanks," I croaked.
"No problem," she said, smiling normally.
I would never have known anything was up, except that as she ran back to the group my eyes saw that they'd been watching this delivery of mail entirely too intently, and my ears heard her excited whisper as she got back to them.
"You were right! He did stare right at them!"
I heard one of the girls say "I told you!" but I couldn't tell which one it was.
The point is that quite suddenly, from my perspective, the girls were all grown up ... and not just physically. I was pretty sure that Ashley Paddington, who had just gotten her driver's license a couple of weeks ago, had also just flashed me her boobs.
Okay, so it was only some of her boobs ... but it was on purpose!
And that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that, if my instincts (and ears, of course) were running smoothly, there were other partners abetting her in that particular crime.
Hmmmm. Bad analogy. Sorry. The word "crime" suggests there's a victim, and believe me, there was no victim in this little social offense. No sir. None at all. I almost called her back to ask her to bend over again so I could give her a second opinion.
But I didn't. Instead I lifted the book, as if nothing was wrong, and pretended to read while I surreptitiously watched the three hooligans over the top of the pages. Their heads were together and they were giggling like they were ten again, instead of seventeen. As I watched, my niece reached back with both hands and did that thing girls do to reposition their bikini bottoms. You know what I'm talking about. They hook a finger under the cloth and pull it away from the skin and down. It's an unconscious thing most of the time, just instinct encouraging them to be a little more modest or make things more comfortable. I'd seen these girls do that at least a hundred times, if not more.
But not since they were all grown up and teasing me like Ashley just had.
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking they had all decided to offer up their virginity to the older man they all thought of as Caitlin's cool uncle, and that I had to satisfy all three of them that night as I taught them how wonderful it was to have orgasms while full of hot, stiff prick.
Okay. So maybe that's what I was thinking about. But it wasn't like that. Wasn't like that at all. After splashing around for half an hour, they all ran into the house, where I knew they were taking showers and getting dressed for whatever was actually planned next. It might be a trip to the mall, or it might be a session of (re)painting each other's nails or doing each other's hair. They might even go for a run together. As I said, Caitlin was a surfer, and liked to stay in shape. And I know Emma played soft ball. She had that muscled slightly broad build that reminds you of those gymnasts in the Olympics, except that her chest was way too busty for that particular group.
And when had that happened? I had a sudden mental image of the girls going into the Narnia closet, where they spent half a dozen years growing up, before coming back out in what, to me, seemed like ten minutes. Suddenly, my day was much more interesting.
Not that I thought anything would actually happen. I knew better than that. Caitlin wasn't a vamp. She was a sweet girl whose major struggle in life thus far had been that she wanted to do whatever her older brother got to do, and ran afoul of her mother's desire to protect her from harm in the process. American culture wasn't too happy with her either, for that matter, because she loved encroaching on what most people would call "male territory".
In any case, I was on solid ground now. They'd been taking showers (together?) for as long as they'd been using my pool, and I had fantasized about what that must look like for more years than I will admit to. Even at twelve, with those svelte, curveless bodies, I'd wished I could watch them scamper around Caitlin's bedroom naked. And now that they had found all those missing curves, it would be oh, so much better.
So I thought about that for a few seconds, and then adjusted the erection that had suddenly bloomed in my shorts, and went back to reading. If they needed anything from me, they knew where I was.
What I was not aware of was that Caitlin happened to be looking out the window at me from her bedroom when I did the adjusting.
And she was completely aware of what I was doing when I did it.
Things might have ended right there. After all, it isn't unusual for a young woman to experiment a little with trying to see what it's like to get a man to notice her. But it rarely goes farther than that, at least when the man is almost old enough to be her father. I certainly didn't expect Ashley to do anything else, much less Caitlin. At least not with me.
But little things happen that, like the fabled wings of the butterfly on one side of the planet, can eventually lead to the creation of a hurricane on the other side.
And that little thing that I think changed everything for all three of the girls that summer happened just about the time I closed my book and got up to go inside and find something to divert my mind from imagining those three little beauties frolicking naked together in the big walk-in shower in the bathroom Caitlin had claimed as her own while she was staying at my house.
The diversion I chose was to make myself a three layer sandwich of Black Forest ham, smoked turkey, cheese and Miracle Whip. I was slicing the tomato and lettuce to complete the masterpiece when I heard a thump upstairs. About a minute later, after I had taken only one bite of a really delicious sandwich, Emma came tearing into the kitchen.
"Kat's hurt!" she blurted. "She fell and hurt her ankle! You need to come quick!"
I put down the sandwich and followed Emma, who was now wearing shorts and a tank top. Her blond hair was cut in what used to be called a pageboy style, and as I went up the stairs behind her I noticed there was no bra strap marring the smooth surface of her back. I was thinking about what the front of that shirt might look like when I heard Caitlin moaning in pain and forgot about Emma.
She was lying on the bed on her side, with her left leg out in front of her. She was holding her ankle with both hands. Ashley was beside her looking concerned, but otherwise doing nothing.
"What happened?" I asked, automatically being that adult who always wants to get to the bottom of things. It showed how worried the girls were that they told the truth instead of making something up.
"She was jumping on the bed and she bounced funny and that foot went on the floor instead of the bed," said Emma.
"Jumping on the bed?" I asked, incredulous. These girls were in high school, not eight years old.
"Is it broken?" asked Ashley, obviously very worried.
"Let me see it," I said.
I went to the foot of the bed and sat sort of sideways while I reached for Caitlin's foot. I didn't grasp it, but instead just told her to lay it on my lap. She did that, scooting around on the bed and ending up lying on her back with her right foot behind me.
That's the "little thing" I mentioned earlier. She just happened to position herself with her legs spread.
I formed a cradle with my hands and she gingerly let her calf down on one hand while I supported her bare heel with the other. The ankle was swollen, but didn't show any bruising yet.
"Can you move your toes?" I asked.
Her toes moved just a little, then more.
"Yes," she said, tears in her voice.
"Now point your toe," I instructed her.
Very slowly she extended. I watched the ankle, which looked pretty normal, and then looked up to see what her face was registering.
At least that's what I intended to do. Along the way, as my eyes went up the length of her leg on the way to her face, they encountered the hem of the denim skirt she was wearing. That skirt, had she been standing, would have come to a point maybe two inches above her knees. But she wasn't standing, and the skirt had slid up a bit.
That wasn't the problem, though. The problem was that my eyes just sort of naturally followed the smooth, flawless skin of her inner thigh as it led to the juncture of her legs. I didn't mean to ogle her. It was just a normal, instinctive thing for any man to do ... you know ... get a shot of panties.
Except that she wasn't wearing any.
That was the problem.
Dear, sweet, innocent little Caitlin was going commando.
More than that, because her knees were a good foot apart, I got a crystal clear view of labia that belonged on a woman twice her age. By that, I mean her outer lips weren't tight and rolled in to create the classic camel toe. No, these lips were pushed apart by inner lips that looked something like a bud, trying to blossom. The blossoming inner lips were composed of wrinkled skin that was full enough that I instantly imagined sucking them between my lips and sort of chewing on them. I literally couldn't help thinking of that.
Those lips were gorgeous. They had nothing to do with an innocent girl. They announced this girl was ripe, and ready to be mounted as a woman. It didn't hurt that there wasn't a trace of hair anywhere around that pretty, grown up looking pussy.
I hate to break the mood. I could sit, with my eyes closed, and remember that little glimpse of her pussy for ten minutes and be quite happy. Hell, I won't lie. I have sat for ten minutes while remembering that lucky, serendipitous glimpse. More than once. But it's important to clear something up here. I don't want you to think that Caitlin did this on purpose - exposed herself to me, I mean. They really were jumping on the bed, and it really was an accident that she landed wrong and hurt her ankle. Now, she had put that skirt on without panties intentionally ... but not for the purpose of giving me a shot. That part was just a happy accident. Not for her, of course.
But it was for me. It was simple serendipity. Suddenly, though nobody had planned it, I got to see something I'd dreamed about for years.
I heard Emma gasp beside me. She had ended up standing right at the bottom of Caitlin's foot. When Caitlin had pointed her toe, in fact, it was right at Emma.
So, basically, Emma could see exactly what I could see.
I think it was the gasp, combined with the fact that things didn't hurt as much as she expected them to, that caused Caitlin to move her gaze from her injured ankle to her friend's face. I know this because I tore my eyes away from her delicious looking pussy and finally looked at her face.
"What?" she asked, sounding worried. She hadn't seen anything wrong with her ankle, and the pain hadn't been bad. But Emma's gasp had alerted her that something was wrong.
Emma was apparently still rattled, because again she just blurted out the truth.
"I can see your coochie!" she whispered, breathlessly. Her meaning was obvious. If she could see it ... I could too.
"Coochie?" I had to keep myself from laughing. It actually helped calm me down. "What? Are you guys in third grade? Let's worry about her ankle instead of her ... coochie." I said the offending word in a high-pitched voice, trying to sound very young. I went on immediately without knowing why I felt that was important. I've thought about it since then, and have decided that something in my brain wanted to distract them from her visibility issues.
That's because I wanted to make it look like I was blowing the whole thing off. I also wanted to keep looking, of course, but I didn't realize it just then.
In my defense, I did examine the ankle. It was swelling even more, but I was pretty sure it was just a sprain. I gently used the hand cupping her heel to begin moving the ankle through larger and larger arcs of movement.
But I confess I didn't look at the ankle while I did this. Instead, I used my side vision to stare at that luscious young pussy. I was even so perverted as to move her ankle away from me a little, probably trying to see if those sticky looking lips would part and hint of the cavern my cock had stiffened for.
A second "little thing" happened at that point. Caitlin, who had been in pain, and had been worried, and that had caused her to forget about her nudity under her skirt. Now, however, she was well aware of what I (and Emma, who had not moved) could see. She could have reacted like I expected her to react. She could have screamed and blushed and jerked her foot out of my hand. She could have closed her legs and pulled her skirt down to achieve some measure of modesty.
But she didn't.
And while you, the reader, have time to reflect on that, and make assumptions about it and so on and so forth, I was in the heat of the moment, so to speak. So was Caitlin. So were Emma and Ashley. We didn't have time to parse it all out. We just reacted.
Basically, I stared at my niece's pussy. And, basically, she let me stare!
Which led to a third of those "little things" that happened that day.
Like my niece (though I wasn't aware she was on the plan too), I don't wear any underwear. I just like the feel of the freedom of movement. Makes going to the john quicker too. You just have to ensure you shake well.
Unlike my niece, I was wearing shorts that covered everything up. They were running shorts, to be exact, the kind that are mostly cotton, but have some other stuff in them too. They fit me pretty well, and they are in no way designed (or intended) to camouflage an erection inside them. Such a condition is practically advertised, in fact. What made it even worse was that, because I had sat down while the thing was soft, it was aimed at the opening of the leg, and when it decided it needed to be ready to plunder Caitlin's luscious pussy, and therefore stiffened, the tip peeked out of the leg opening.
I heard Emma gasp again and looked up to see her looking at my crotch.
That's when I looked down and learned what I just told all you nice people.
"Sorry," I said, for some insane reason. My right hand abandoned Caitlin's heel and reached to pull on the leg of my shorts, covering up the one-eyed snake that had been trying to slither out to introduce itself to the girls.
"Oh-Em-Gee!" gasped Emma, who on this day, at least, had some strange compulsion to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. "He's got a boner!" She pointed, just in case anybody in the room might not understand which "he" she was referring to, or where said boner might be found.
My mind whirled. While I didn't have the luxury of lots of time to think about all this, that didn't mean I was just slobbering and staring. I didn't understand why she was bare under her skirt. I didn't understand why she hadn't reacted badly to me seeing she was bare under her skirt. But I knew there was the potential for unhappiness in this situation.
I looked up at my niece's face. I loved Caitlin, and did not want to hurt her feelings. Further, I didn't want her to be afraid of me. We'd had too many good times to fuck things up now.
I actually saw the pink flush bloom at the top of her chest, which was exposed by the tank top she was wearing. It was identical to the ones her two friends were wearing, except that hers was yellow, while Emma's was powder blue and Ashley's was lime green. My eyes were drawn to two distinct points on the front of that shirt, just below that bloom of pink, and then I dragged them back to watch the blush stain her cheeks, eventually going as far as her forehead.
But she still didn't reach to press her skirt between her legs, to obstruct anyone's view.
She met my gaze and I saw what I almost thought was defiance there. I don't know why, but I decided to mess with her a little. I looked back at her stiff nipples, and then up to her face. I was sure she saw exactly where I was looking. Then I looked up her skirt again, and back to her face. That's when the blush reached her forehead, by the way.
"I think it's just sprained," I said, looking right in her eyes. "I've got an ace bandage in the medicine cabinet. I'll wrap it up and we'll see if you can put any weight on it. If you can't, I believe there are some crutches out in the garage, too. Okay?"
"Yes," she said. Her breathing was both deeper and faster than her circumstances would normally have suggested. "Thank you," she added.
I looked at the dimples her excited nipples were making in the thin fabric of the shirt, and then up her skirt one last time. She watched me do that and I heard her swallow.
"You're welcome," I said, softly.
I looked at the other girls, who were smart enough to know something besides the ankle had just happened. They had wide, round eyes.
And their nipples were spiked as well.