Chapter 7

When I woke up the next morning, I immediately knew something was terribly wrong.

That's because Caitlin was still in bed with me.

I felt a little like I had a hangover, even though I hadn't had a drop to drink. There had been more orgasms for Kat, and another for me as she sucked on my prong. The last thing I remembered was being in a fond embrace, kissing her over and over.

And now, here we were. Obviously we'd drifted off, lying in each other's arms. Caitlin would soon wake up and be able to pass a polygraph when she claimed to have slept with her uncle. Sure, there hadn't been any home runs, but all three bases were soaked with our sweat and sexual fluids and, knowing how teenagers think, Kat wouldn't feel like she was stretching anything if she informed the other musketeers that she'd "slept with me."

And I knew she would tell them that. It was inevitable. As sure as the sun was coming up, she'd tell them.

While I was worrying about that, (and before I could decide how to proceed, ) said niece did wake up. Her reaction didn't quite meet my expectations.

"Morning," she said, her voice fuzzy with sleep.

"Hi," I said, still tense. I immediately felt stupid for using that word, in that situation.

She sat up.

"Ewww. I'm all sticky." She plucked at her torso, as if she could remove "sticky" that way. "And I smell awful, too," she moaned.

What do you tell a girl who is complaining because you literally massaged your sperm into her skin the night before? Sorry? It will never happen again? Welcome to the world of sex? Quit'cher bitchin' and man up?

"You're just as bad as me," she observed. "We need a shower, and then I'll make breakfast."

Why couldn't that one have been in the previous lineup? And why couldn't I have suggested it first?

Then I found out that when Kat said "we" needed a shower, she meant together, in the same shower enclosure, at the same time.

Women definitely think about sex differently than men. If you're a man, then you're thinking that we got in there, under the water, and soapy hands were involved, sliding all over the place, and people got excited, and we fucked standing up.

If you're a woman ... well, I have no idea what you're thinking.

But what happened was that we got in, under the water, and soapy hands were involved, sliding all over the place, and I got a raging hard on. There were even a couple of wet kisses. Then she bent over, getting her mouth right next to the long, hard penis she was stroking, and said, "I love you, little guy, but I'm going to save you for later."

Then she rinsed us both off and got out, saying, "I'm starving!" and dried off and left me standing there in the bathroom like a hair ribbon she'd decided not to wear that day.

I suppose I could have recovered from that, had it not been for the fact that I went to breakfast naked, and found her there completely dressed.

"Are you a nudist now?" she asked, smiling at me.

"I don't know," I said. I really was confused. She was acting like nothing had happened at all.

"It's okay with me if you are," she said.

"Are you?" I asked.

"Don't be silly," she laughed.

"What am I supposed to be?" I asked.

"Be yourself," she said, suddenly serious. "Just be yourself. That's the man we all fell in love with."

"Fell in love with?" My voice rose an octave during that sentence.

"Okay, got a monster crush on, then," she said, carelessly.

"Are you going to sleep with every boy you get a crush on?" I asked, as anger began to replace confusion.

"Now you're being silly again," she said. There was no laughter this time. "Besides, we didn't sleep together."

That knocked me off balance again.

"Well ... what did we do?" I asked.

She got up from the table, where she'd been teasing cereal into her mouth while she told me how silly I was being, and came over to me. Putting her arms around my neck, she leaned gently against me and pulled my head down until her lips were an inch from mine.

"You made me feel fabulous. I learned some wonderful things. You were kind, and gentle and I didn't want to get up and go to a cold, lonely bed." She touched her lips to mine in a way that was more than a peck, but didn't last as long as a real kiss, and then pulled back to look into my eyes. "I wish I could give you my virginity, but I know that would freak you out. Plus everybody says I'm too young and all that."

I got another of those "almost" kisses and then she pulled away.

"Thank you for a beautiful night that I'll never forget. That's what we did."

See what I mean about women thinking about sex differently than men? A man would never have said something like that.

I felt stupid walking around my kitchen naked, with her dressed, so I went and put something on before returning to get something to eat. I wasn't all that hungry. I think all my attention was on trying to figure out what was actually happening, and what all that stuff she'd said meant. It's not every day a man gets told by a cute young thing that she wishes she could give him her virginity.

Of course I knew that was out of the question. But then even talking about the giving up of one's virginity had been off the table, other than telling them I was glad they hadn't done that yet. A lot had changed in the week the girls had been experimenting.

And there was a week left, before I had to drive Caitlin home, to California.

It suddenly occurred to me that she would be a senior when she went back to school this year. The realization hit me hard that this was probably the last time I would ever host my niece for a month in the summer. She'd go off to college and meet a man, and get married. And he would be the one to make babies with her.

Nor could I justify "breaking her in" for some other guy, so that there would be no pain on her wedding night, or some such drivel. That sounds great in those novels they sell in the back room of the local used book joint, but real life just doesn't work that way.

But the worst thing that morning was that I realized I had moved from the solid foundation of only fantasizing about fucking my niece (and her two delicious little friends) to the shifting sands of contemplating scenarios in which that might actually happen. Of course I imagined that she'd be sleeping in my bed for the next seven nights. After all, wouldn't her bed be just as cold and lonely on all those nights as it had been last night? And once I'd accepted that she'd be there, naked, every night, mightn't I wake up and, groggy with sleep, mistake her for the last woman who slept in that bed? What was that woman's name? Judy?

But that one broke down immediately, since she'd obviously wake up during the process and react in an entirely different manner than Judy did. Come to think of it, Judy never went out with me again after that.

The point is that the whole day started kind of off balance.

I had all this time to think about things because right after breakfast Kat decided she was going for a run. I knew when she came out of her room that it would be a long one. She never took her iPod unless she was going five or more miles.

So I tried to do some work. I had been contracted by a guy I went to college with, and who lived in Texas, to design and draw the plans for an addition to his house that would initially be used for the physical therapy his son required after a bad car accident. Instead of going to a rehab center and paying those rates, he had decided it would make more sense to do it at home, and then turn that space into a home gym afterwards. His wife was into yoga, and he wanted to get a universal gym. His son was learning to walk again, so that required a set of parallel bars and other equipment he'd sent me a list of. They wanted the plans soon, since their son would be getting out of the hospital in less than a month, and they needed to get a contractor working on building the room.

That actually distracted me for a while, until I heard Ashley and Emma come through the front door like they lived here.

There were calls of "Kat?" and Ashley yelled something like "Mission accomplished, Kat. You won't believe what that was like!" Finally they showed up at my office door. Ashley had a small, brown paper bag in her hand, but I noticed that only in passing. That's because she had on short shorts and a halter top that advertised her breasts instead of covering them. Well, it covered them, but you know what I mean. Emma had on a dress, of all things.

"She went for a run," I said, staring at both young women.

"Oh," said Ashley. "Can we wait in her room?"

"Of course," I said, automatically. They actually did almost live there, at least while Caitlin was in town.

As it turned out, Caitlin finished her run only ten minutes later. Well, to be precise, I should say she came in the house after her run, ten minutes later. She was one of those runners who cools down from actually running by walking half a mile.

Why would I quibble about something like that? Because my life had suddenly become a string of little vignettes, in which crazy things happened, such as Emma diving down on my dick and sucking my balls dry, only to share my cum with her two friends in sloppy, spermy kisses. And, while maybe it's the same kind of technicality I mentioned about her running habits, I was trying hard to hold on to the fact that, technically, I hadn't had sex with half the neighborhood girls. Not to mention my own niece.

So technicalities are important sometimes. If only to assuage one's guilt about something he thought about doing, dreamed about doing, wanted to do ... but so far had not.

I was trying like crazy to chalk all this frenzy of erotic behavior to curiosity, on the part of the girls. That's all it was, I kept telling myself. They're just curious, and they can't experiment like this with boys their own age, or with the average man they might be acquainted with. It was merely a fluke, a sort of cosmic joke, that put me in the precise place and time where three horny, curious girls could take advantage of the situation.

Yes! That was it! They ... were taking advantage ... of me!

This insane (but only upon retrospect, in my old age) theory was proven true when Kat, still naked and damp from her after-run shower, appeared in my office doorway. She was drying her hair vigorously with a towel in both her hands, which made her breasts jump and shimmy in a delightful way.

"If you have time, we need to borrow you for a little bit," she said. She stopped rubbing. "Well, actually, we need to borrow your penis."

"I see," I said, gravely. I didn't see at all. I was just trying to appear to be wiser than I was. "And what if I don't have time right now?"

"Do you?" she asked. Women must be born with the instinct to ignore the kind of questions they aren't interested in answering, and turn attention back to what they are focusing on. She started to rub again. More jiggle. Man! Her body called to me like the sirens must have called to Odysseus. I felt like I had to regain some measure of control, so I asked another stupid question.

"And what purpose do you wish to put my penis to, if I may ask?"

"We wish to cover it up," she said. Her left foot moved sideways to improve her balance, and her sexual cleft peeked out at me. Her bulging vulva seemed to shake too, though I know that's silly. Still, my John Thomas stood up to salute in my pants.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Just come to my bedroom. You won't need your pants. We have everything else we need."

Now you have to try to put yourself in my position. That means you have to imagine being a thirty-four year old single male, who makes enough money that his eventual retirement will be sweet. He is, in all humility, a chick magnet, at least in singles bars. It is not unheard of for women to be interested in his sexual equipment, and wish to play bedroom games with it. Now, in that context, try to imagine what "cover it up" means, when there are three girls involved who have all happily sucked your cock.

I had visions of whipped cream, or maybe chocolate sauce, being used to hide the object of their desires, so they could lovingly suck all that tasty covering off.

Would there be sprinkles?

I was giddy with expectation, as I left a trail of pants and socks in the hallway, following the bouncing buttocks of the gorgeous girl in front of me.

I was met with giggles and the comment, "You look funny!"

She had said I needed no pants. So I'd removed them. I'd also taken off the socks because that's what you do when you take off your pants, right? But I had not removed my shirt. My sexual dowsing rod was eagerly pointing at them, saying "See? Aren't you proud of me? I found them again!" Except, instead of being received as the chiseled, conquering Roman soldier, come to claim his booty, all I got was that I was still wearing my shirt.

And looked ... funny.

I almost started to cavil about that. I had a strong argument that the instructions I had received had specified pants, not shirt. And just as I opened my mouth, about to make myself look even "funnier" I realized that I was, perhaps, thinking a little too legalistically.

"I waited to take my shirt off because I wanted to unveil my massive, astonishing six pack, thereby driving the three of you wild with desire, and rendering you incapable of fending off my intended sexual advances." I tried to leer as I uncovered the slight, round bulge of my abdomen.

"That's pretty massive," giggled Ashley, obviously making fun of me. But at least she wasn't making fun of me for being pedantic.

"That's why we need you," said Caitlin, who wasn't joining the joke, and sounded completely serious. "We need to be able to fend boys off at the critical moment, and that's what we're going to practice doing today. Please lie down on the bed."

Again, imagine this setting. It's Kat's room, and even though she's only an infrequent visitor, over the years, she's put posters on the wall, and left little belongings there. The important thing is that I'm about to lie down on her bed. As in the one she sleeps in naked. It will smell like her, since I haven't washed the sheets in more than a week. And, while a woman deciding to stay in your bed for the night is a fantastic development, having her invite you into her bed is even better.

Now, on top of that (somewhat unsubstantiated) fantasy, add one naked girl who has, in fact, chosen to stay in your bed for the night, and two of her best friends who, even though still clothed, are at least avid participants in whatever is about to happen.

The technical term for this is called "fodder for sexual fantasies".

I saw no whipped cream or chocolate sauce sitting around, so that part of the fantasy drifted away like smoke. It had to be replaced with something, so I tried to imagine what "fending off boys at the critical moment" meant. That evolved into a mind picture of her, spread eagled on the bed, with me hovering over her, my rampant prick in my fist, which was moving the tip of said rampant cock up and down between her oily labia, preparing to drive my lance into her belly. Then she would practice doing whatever she was going to do in that situation. Like push at my chest and whimper, "No!"

Of course that wouldn't be enough to stave off my intentions, and it was important that she learn that now, before she let some boy get her in that position. So of course I'd slide in, to show her how ineffectual such a "defense" was. Or maybe only halfway in. After all, I was just supposed to be helping her learn, not fuck her.

"You lie down first," I said, my voice somewhat ragged with passion. I was already gripping my penis, leaving the tip exposed for my imagined assault.

"What?" Her obvious confusion broke my concentration, and the fantasy wavered. "No, you need to lie down on the bed so we can get started."

"I don't understand," I finally admitted.

Ashley held up a foil-wrapped packet, about an inch and a half square.

"We're going to practice putting a condom on you," she said.

Remember when you were seven or eight, when you still believed in Santa, and you woke up Christmas morning and were sure that that train set you wanted so desperately would be under the tree? Or maybe it was a pony. Or a Red Ryder B-B gun. I don't know what girls wanted, and never got, because I'm not a girl, but I'm sure they had high hopes too, which were then dashed when they unwrapped packages of socks and underwear, just like us guys had to do. I hear that doesn't happen these days, because times are better. But I'm sure you've wanted something for Christmas and got something else that was disappointing.