Chapter 1

I looked up as Caitlin got out of the pool and walked toward me. Her hands rose to gather her long, blond, wet hair behind her, which did interesting things to her breasts, cupped snugly in the too small bikini top she was wearing.

I was glad I was wearing sunglasses, because it let me drink her in without her knowing I was doing it. It wouldn’t do for her to realize that her uncle was a pervert, and anybody who could have seen how I was looking at her would have known, instantly, what I was thinking about.

I had a twinge of conscience as I imagined those breasts bare. But only a twinge. She was almost grown up now and I didn’t feel so bad about letching after her these days. That was a relatively new development, considering this was the eighth summer Caitlin had spent part of at my house. The first had been when I took her in for two weeks so my sister could go on her honeymoon with her second husband. Those two weeks worked out rather well.

Part of her desire to visit me had to do with the fact that I have an in ground pool, and it’s big enough to swim laps in. That astonished me, because she lives in Santa Barbara, with the entire Pacific Ocean right down the street. Maybe it’s because there’s no kelp and no sharks in my pool. I also hear that the ocean along that part of the coast is cold enough that most surfers wear wet suits. My pool may lack waves, but no wet suit is required. Thank goodness.

But probably the main reason we got on so well was that, way back when, when I had no idea what to do with a ten year old girl for two weeks, I figured taking her places, going on day trips, visiting museums and rock climbing and that sort of thing might interest her. It had, in spades, and the next summer the eleven year old tomboy asked if she could “have another vacation at Uncle Bob’s house,” and her mother agreed.

Thus was established the “tradition,” wherein Caitlin traveled from far away California to the windy plains of Oklahoma each summer to spend two, then three, and eventually four weeks with her Uncle Bob, who treated her like an adult as long as she acted like one. What that meant was that I didn’t coddle her, or require that she behave in any particular way. She was just Caitlin and we did whatever she had the urge to do as long as it was safe.

What that means is that she wanted to do more of the same, rock climbing, and fishing and camping. I had a dirt bike I liked to climb hills with, and she wanted to learn to ride it. Instead of putting her on my 450, I bought her a 175 and let her learn on that. She eventually moved up to a two fifty, which was fine, considering all she weighed was a hundred and ten pounds.

We played hard while Caitlin was in town. It kept her happy, and helped keep me in shape.

That was all fine back when she was prepubescent. She had that stick thin body that a lot of young girls have, with no breasts and no hips, and yet her face looked all female, with a bright, beautiful smile under bright, beautiful eyes. She was cute. And she was fun to be around, even though she ran me ragged.

Her slightness of body belied the muscles under her skin. She was a surfer, even at that young age, and she also ran track and played T ball or whatever they call it in California. So choosing something challenging usually challenged me more than it challenged her.

Around the pool, I got more rest. She practiced her dives and cavorted around while I sat in the sun and read. There was a girl next door who was a year younger, named Emma, and they struck up a friendship. Emma came over to swim sometimes, when Caitlin was lonely for the companionship of someone other than an old man. Once in a while Emma brought another girl or two with her. All those girls 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.

And, to be honest, other than those lovely eyes, and the smiles, and the full heads of hair they all tossed about, they wouldn’t have been very sexual, had they been cavorting around topless. Not back then.

And then one year she asked if I’d drive her back to California, so we could camp and see some of the national parks along the way. The first year we did that, when she was fourteen, we did Yellowstone. I booked us rooms in the lodge and we spent two days there, seeing the sights. The next year it was Big Bend, in Texas, taking the southern route back home. The following year we toured the Rockies and Mesa Verde. This year she had told me we were going to see the Grand Canyon and maybe Carlsbad Caverns on the way back home.

That would have been fine, except that she said this year we were going to tent camp, instead of staying in motels or lodges.

“I want to rough it,” she had said. “You know, get a taste of what it was like for the pioneers as they moved west.”

But looking at Caitlin now, I had a glimmer of how easily things could go ... awry. My niece was all grown up, and she was a babe.

Yeah, I know, she was only seventeen, but you couldn’t tell it by looking. Suddenly she looked like she should be in college, instead of finishing up high school. She was all lush curves and, biologically at least, she was ready for being mated with.

I won’t prevaricate and claim this was the first year I had noticed her growing up. Basically, I got a yearly update on how puberty was treating her. I watched the polka dotted bikini tops begin to show that there was actually something under them, and those mounds got bigger every year. She never seemed to notice, though, or act any different. While her body changed, she seemed to stay exactly the same, otherwise. She had gained a little more knowledge each year, and her mental world had expanded, but as a female of the species, she still seemed to be holding back.

I asked her, when she was fourteen, if she had a boyfriend yet.

“Naw,” she drawled. “Boys are a pain in the butt. They act stupid all the time. Besides, my mom says I can’t have a boyfriend until I’m sixteen.”

When she was fifteen, I could tell something was wrong as soon as she got off the plane and walked toward me. Her shoulders were slumping and she was looking down. It almost hurt to watch her. In the process of getting a hug I realized she’d gotten braces. That beautiful smile was gone. She had a little acne too, and it was affecting the way she thought about herself.

On the drive back to my house I hammed it up a bit.

“Man, oh man,” I sighed. “I hope you don’t call your mom and ask to go home early.”

“Why would I do that?” she asked, looking over at me.

“You’re kind of sexy looking this year,” I said. “I may not be able to control my baser instincts.”

“Don’t lie!” she blurted.

“Are you kidding? You hair is longer. Parts of you have grown a bit.” That was true. She’d gone up at least a cup size, though I really hadn’t intended to bring that up out loud. I think I got too much into the role I was playing. I hurried on to get past that. “And then there are the braces. I’m a sucker for a girl with braces.”

“You are not,” she scoffed. “They’re ugly.”

“Oh, you poor, innocent child,” I sighed.

“I’m not a child!” she barked, instinctively.

“Of course not,” I said. “And trust me ... those braces are anything but ugly.”

“How come everybody makes fun of them, then?” she asked.

“Oh,” I said, “You mean the boys?”

“Yes,” she sighed.

“That’s because they’re idiots,” I said, carelessly. “Boys your age have no brains at all. Did you know the guy who invented zombies did so after talking to a group of fifteen year old boys? He imagined the bodies of those boys rising from the grave, still trying to find a brain after they were dead.”

She finally laughed, and I got to see the hardware on her teeth.

“Braces are sexy,” I said.

“They are not,” she argued.

“I’ll prove it to you,” I said.

“How?”

“Wait ‘til we get home.”

That was the second thing I said I probably shouldn’t have. What I’d been thinking of, while she was talking about how un-sexy braces were, was a web site that catered to naked girls with braces. I had stumbled upon that one by accident, and had been fascinated by how sexy some of those girls looked.

But I couldn’t show her those pictures. Besides the obvious problem with that, for that matter, I didn’t even know how to find it again. Still, I had an idea. I have a lot of faith in Google.

So when we got home, and I had lugged in a grown up girl’s luggage instead of the single light suitcase she’d brought in the past, I took her to the den and powered up my computer. Once Google was up, I typed in “sexy girls with braces,” hit the button, and then clicked on the “images” icon. I suppressed a sigh as a full page of extremely cute girls and women - with braces proudly displayed - popped up on the screen.

“See for yourself,” I said, standing up.

It was a little thing, really. I’m sure her parents had told her the braces did not detract. But kids ignore parental support sometimes, whereas “the cool uncle” can say something they’ll actually pay attention to.

Whatever the case, the braces were not denigrated after that, and by the time I got her home, her grin was back full force.

The next year the braces were gone again and she’d grown another cup size. She looked every inch like the California girls the Beach Boys sang about. She still hadn’t cut her hair, and now it reached the middle of her back. The bikini that year was white - not a polka dot in sight - and it cradled her body like ... well ... like I wanted to. More than once, as I stared at her through my sunglasses, I found my hands cupped.

That was the first year I got a full blown hard on for my niece. It was at the pool, when she got out and said she was going to go take a shower to get the chlorine off of her. I watched her walk away. You know that thing girls do where they slide their fingers inside the back of their bikini bottom and rearrange it, so it covers their buns the way it’s supposed to? She needed to do that. But she didn’t.

And what I never knew until many years later, was that, when she got inside, she turned around to look at me and saw me adjusting my erection in my swim suit.

And she knew exactly what I was doing.

I’m going to commit a literary sin, here, and it might happen again later in this narrative. And that sin is changing voice back and forth. I’m telling you this tale because it’s exciting for me to share with others what happened to me. And since I’m just telling you what happened, that’s called first person narration. But there were things that happened which I didn’t know about at the time. And if I wait until the point at which I did find things out, the story will be all jerky and out of order.

So, to make things go more smoothly, sometimes I’m just going to tell you what happened, even though I didn’t see it or know it was happening. And, technically, what that means is that I have to change into third person, omniscient voice. I’ll suddenly become the all knowing observer. So if that happens, and you’re suddenly thinking, “How the hell could he possibly know that?!” you’ll know why it’s written that way. It just makes the flow of the story a little smoother.

And that’s about to happen right now.

Things might have ended right there. After all, most girls are very aware that men get erections. If a girl thinks about it long enough, she’ll reflect on how it was an erection that brought her into existence. She might have reacted like I think most girls would have reacted. She might have thought, “I wonder if that was an erection. Huh. Interesting!” Or it might have been “Ewwww!” Either way, she could have forgotten all about it and gone on with life.

But like the fabled wings of the butterfly flapping on one side of the earth, which might eventually cause a hurricane on the other side of the planet, something seemingly harmless can upset the status quo, leading to really big changes.

And that little thing that I think changed everything for Caitlin that summer was that, while she took her shower, she was reflecting on how her uncle had gotten a boner while he was in her company at the pool. The logical extension, since there were no other females anywhere in sight, was that he had gotten that boner because of her. She knew that men stared at her while she was in her bikini. They stared at her when she wore her one piece suit, which wasn’t as vulnerable to the waves as a bikini is. Hell they stared at her when she wore her wet suit. But she ignored those men, those strangers who were no doubt thinking very nasty things about her. She didn’t want to think about that.

But being noticed by Uncle Bob was a whole different situation. She loved him. And she knew he loved her. He would never do anything to hurt her. To the contrary, he was always worried whenever they did something even mildly dangerous, and became a mother hen, insisting that every safety protocol be strictly observed.

To be noticed ... as a woman ... by Uncle Bob ... well, that sent shivers down her spine and made something in her belly feel warm and happy. As she washed her body, she couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to see that erection ... that had bloomed into existence because of her female attributes.

Which is where the turning point happened. It happened because Caitlin Anderson suddenly got horny.

And since she happened to be in the shower when it happened, it was just too easy to deal with the situation.

She started by just rubbing a soapy hand between her legs, widening her stance to give her hand room to slide, deliciously, back and forth. As she did so, she imagined Uncle Bob coming into the bathroom. It would be by accident, of course. Maybe she’d have turned off the water, and was letting her body drip before taking a towel to it. He wouldn’t know she was there, or that she could see him through the glass. And he wouldn’t be paying any attention to the shower.

In her fantasy she imagined he came into the bathroom to jack off. She knew boys did that all the time. Some of them even bragged about it, which was stupid, since anybody could masturbate. Uncle Bob would drop his swim suit and there it would be ... a long hard penis. He’d grab it and make the classic motion that everybody in the world would have understood.

By now she was abusing her clit, and every once in a while sliding her middle finger into her pussy. She squatted more. Her fantasy somehow got Uncle Bob to open the door to the shower, still hard. Of course he’d be startled and make some exclamation, and even though it didn’t make any sense, he’d step into the shower with her, naked.

She didn’t get any further than that in her little shower fantasy, because just the thought of him joining her in the shower, naked, with a hard on, was enough to tip her over the edge. It was a fabulous orgasm. It wasn’t earth shaking, or mind blowing. It just felt really good and lasted a really long time. The two fingers she used to fuck herself with whipped rapidly in and out and she squatted ever lower, until she ended up with her butt on the cold floor, and her back against the cold wall of the shower stall.

It was a turning point because, while she’d thought for years that Uncle Bob was handsome, for the first time she viewed him as a potential sexual partner.

The butterfly had flapped its wings.

The ripples would be felt as Caitlin explored what it was like to be a woman, around a man she wanted to be a woman with.

Meanwhile, I engaged in the time honored pursuit of trying not to think about Caitlin, up there in the shower buck naked, by filling my stomach instead. The diversion I chose was to make myself a three layer sandwich of Black Forest ham, smoked turkey, and Miracle Whip. I put a slice of cheese on it and added tomato and lettuce to complete the masterpiece.

While Kat was satisfying herself in the shower, I was satisfying my belly in the kitchen.

And it worked. I was satisfied.

But things wouldn’t stay that way for long.

There is a condition in life that most of us don’t think about. Some people call it “Sex Addiction.” Some therapists even make their living treating this condition. But I sometimes wonder if there isn’t a lot of hype surrounding that. Think of it like those commercials you see on TV where the model is tossing a long mane of glossy hair around and the announcer is trying to convince you that you can’t really be happy unless your hair looks like that too. They’re selling you something, and they get to keep the money, regardless of how your hair turns out.