Chapter 2

When my niece caught me staring at her exposed vagina, she didn't say anything. Neither of us did. And that's not odd. How do you start that conversation?

"Hmmm. Quite a nice little pussy you have there, Caitlin," I could open, suavely.

"Why thank you, Uncle Bob," she might say, sweetly.

"I notice you're as bald as a baby's butt down there," I'd continue.

"Well, I do wear the tiniest of bikinis," she'd explain.

"Looks really delicious. Do you suppose it might be possible for me to have a little taste?" I'd ask, hopefully.

"Why, Uncle Bob! I had no idea you were such a pervert!"

No, the conversation wouldn't go anything like that. And nothing else I could think of saying sounded any better in my mind.

So I ignored the elephant in the room and went back to the ankle.

It had swollen quite a bit, and there was the hint of blue on the pale skin, suggesting some bruising was developing. I gently used the hand cupping her heel to begin moving the ankle through larger and larger arcs of movement.

But I confess my attention wasn't completely on the ankle while I did this. Instead, I dipped my head and darted my eyes to my left, trying to commit to memory how lovely she was. I already knew what I'd be thinking about the next time I beat off. And I was pretty sure I would be doing that very soon.

None of this happened in a vacuum, of course. I mean Kat was there, and things were going on in her mind too, just like they were going on in mine. At first, the fact that she did absolutely nothing to mitigate her exposure was because she was, quite simply, paralyzed. When she realized what I was staring at ... that I was staring avidly ... she quite literally lost the ability to make intentional movements.

But that only lasted a few seconds, and long before I tore my eyes away from the prize, she was certainly capable of reaching for the material of the skirt and stuffing it between her legs.

She chose not to, however. I say "chose" but let's not misinterpret that word to mean what it normally means. In many cases a choice is made based on logical reasoning. You choose to go to work so you'll get paid and have money. You choose which item to buy, based on quality, or price or whatever. But sometimes a choice has a less rational basis. Why do you choose, for instance, to eat Cheerios for breakfast, rather than Raisin Bran? Those choices are based on something less substantial ... some inner cloudy desire.

And even though she hadn't started the day to get to this point, or left her panties in the drawer for this purpose, Caitlin suddenly had the misty, cloudy desire ... to let me look at her naked pussy.

So she did.

It is at this point that I should tell you that Caitlin's desire to find out what the world was like when one wasn't wearing any underwear might have had some genetic component. That's because, you see, I stopped wearing underwear after high school. For me, I find that briefs are too tight. They chafe, and if they absorb sweat, they get clammy. And boxers are no better. Sometimes, when you wear boxers, it's like trying to pack a parachute into your pants. And 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.

When it comes to outer clothing, I favor something flexible and comfortable. On this day, that meant a pair of running shorts that were tight enough to keep my penis and balls from displaying Newton's laws of movement in the same way Kat's breasts had. I like the kind that are mostly cotton, but have some other stuff in them too. The good news was that they had contained the dragon and his eggs quite nicely while we frolicked on the court. I'd gotten a little bulge as I watched her bouncing boobs, but the fact that she was handing me my head helped keep things under control.

Now, however ... not so much.

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.

All this happened about the time she came to her senses and, while not closing her legs, at least moved the recliner in a more upright position, which lowered her hips, and caused the skirt to obstruct my view.

It did nothing, however, to obstruct her view. I don't think she intentionally sat up to look at my crotch, but when she did sit up ... she looked at my crotch.

And saw the nose of the beast that was trying to creep out into the warm sunlight.

Some things are instinctive. And instinct kicked in just then. For both of us.

She finally adjusted her skirt, pushing it between her legs as a shield of sorts.

"Sorry," I said, for some insane reason, apologizing for the fact that something completely natural was going on. My right hand abandoned Caitlin's heel and reached to pull on the leg of my shorts, covering up the one-eyed dragon.

Kat stared at me. She was still red-faced, but it was fading.

"I think you sprained it pretty badly," I said, looking right in her eyes. "I've got an ace bandage in the bathroom. I'll wrap it up and we'll put some ice on it for a while. Then we can see how it feels when you put weight on it. I think I've got some crutches around here somewhere 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 to her face again. Her eyes told me she knew what I had just looked at then, too.

"You're welcome," I said, softly.

When I got back with the ace bandage, and a zip lock bag full of ice, she was lying peacefully in the chair, her normal color restored. She didn't blush again when she saw me, but I did see her eyes drop to the front of my shorts. There was nothing to see there, though. When I went to my bathroom to get the ace bandage, I had engaged in what was probably the world's fastest beat off session, aiming the shots of soothing semen into the toilet bowl and then tucking the lizard away where he couldn't do any harm.

It was good I had done that, because the skirt, rather than having been smoothed down and lengthened, to conserve her modesty, looked suspiciously shorter than it had been before. I looked at her innocent, guileless face. There was no trace there to suggest she was anything but sweet, pretty Caitlin, the surfer girl from California who came every year to brighten my summers. Still, she was a beauty, and laid back like that, with all that skin above the knee showing, it was good I couldn't manage another erection this soon.

"Do you need any aspirin?" I remembered to ask.

"I don't think so," she responded. "It's not so bad if I don't flex it."

"We'll get it wrapped up and that should help immobilize it. The ice will help with pain too."

"Yeah," she said.

I resumed my seat on the corner of the coffee table and reached for the injured foot.

And Caitlin, with no hesitation whatsoever, lifted her leg and moved it sideways, holding it elevated with strong leg muscles. Had there been anyone else in the room, it would have looked like she was simply presenting her ankle to be wrapped.

But sitting where I was, it was obvious that Caitlin ... was showing me her pussy.

The previous time, it had been an accident ... serendipity. Not this time. There was no "chance" involved in what she had done. She could have waited for me to lift her ankle, and could have left her legs together while I lifted it. She could have pulled her skirt down, or tucked it between her legs.

Instead, she raised a leg and spread it away from the other one, becoming an exhibitionist, of sorts.

Having just jacked off, I wasn't enslaved instantly. I looked at her face, which was definitely blushing again. Her eyes glittered. It was plain that she knew exactly what she was doing, and was doing it intentionally.

Now, suddenly, not only had my little Caitlin grown up, she had become a flirtatious, sensual woman. It was a new Caitlin, a young woman I had never met before, and didn't quite know how to act around.

So I tried to act normal and wrapped her ankle.

And stared at her pussy, of course. If she was willing to show it to me, I was willing to look at it. Twice, I looked up at her face, and both times she was watching me intently.

But you can only make wrapping an ankle last so long. Eventually I was done, and had installed the last clip.

"There," I said, sitting back, regretfully.

She lowered the leg, leaving it apart from the other one by almost a foot.

"It feels okay," she said. "It might be a little tight, though."

"It's supposed to be tight," I said.

"But if the ankle keeps swelling, it might get too tight," she countered.

Something in her voice penetrated into my brain and suggested she wasn't actually too worried about the possibility. And if that was true, then what motive could she have to put that fear forward? Another part of my mind sidled up and whispered, "She wants to show it to you again, you idiot."

"Do you want me to rewrap it?" I asked.

"Maybe later," she said, destroying that little fantasy. "Let's see how it feels after the ice has been on it."

"Okay," I said.

I draped the bag of ice across her ankle and stood. Her nipples were spiked again. Or maybe still spiked. I don't know.

All I knew was that it was time to go visit the bathroom again.

I was going to have to relieve the pressure Caitlin had caused by teasing me.

I was sure that's what it was ... just a girl teasing an older man she'd caught ogling her.

Right?

I've never done a poll, and I've never seen one by anybody else about how often the "average" man masturbates. At least not an actual scientific study. Come to think of it, there probably isn't an "average" man, when it comes to that subject. Age, marital status, girlfriend status, type of job ... all those variables make it impossible to define the term. So I don't know if the four or five times a day I've been able to spank the monkey in the past is normal or not. Not that I do it that many times each day. Not on a routine basis. But there have been plenty of days when, for one reason or another, I was excited all day long and, every time it raised its rebellious head, I beat it into submission. The day after I saw The Summer of '42 was one of those days. I couldn't get Jennifer O'Neill's image out of my brain, and I lost my virginity to her in my imagination when I got home that night, and at least five times the next day.

Anyway, I wasn't too worried that, suddenly, Kat was causing a spike in the graph of the number of times I was jousting the purple headed knight each day. My mind sparred with itself, one part saying, "She's just a girl, you pervert!" and the other part saying, "Yes, but she's a big girl, and the age of consent in Oklahoma is sixteen."

Not that I ever gave any real thought to having sex with her. It was a delightful fantasy, but there was no way in the world that sweet, and now naughty little Caitlin wanted things to go that far. I was sure she was simply stretching her sexual wings a bit, seeing how it felt to be a bit of a vamp for (what I sincerely hoped was) the first time.

I thought about all this as I fixed her a glass of iced tea and cut her a square of the brownies she had baked the night before. By the time I got back to her, about an hour had passed, and I'd had enough time to decide that the best way to deal with this situation was to be up front about it. That wouldn't be that difficult, I figured. We already had a history of being able to talk about pretty much anything.

Like the time she'd been watching a DVD and I told her I was going to the grocery store and asked if she wanted anything.