I met Uncle George when I was a little girl. We were both taking guitar lessons from the same teacher, but I was a kid, and he was already retired. I was too young to know anything about sex, but I could tell that Uncle George thought I was pretty. I was curious about why an adult was taking music lessons, and I wanted to see what his life was like, so I friended him on Facebook.
Through the years I was aware that Uncle George read my posts and was keeping up with my life. In middle school I had a lot of feelings of inferiority and a lot of insecurity about my appearance, mostly because boys didn’t seem interested in me. I got some reassuring messages from Uncle George telling me things like, “If they can’t see your beauty, they must be blind.” or, “If they are too dumb to appreciate you, they would be boring.” I didn’t know what to think about those messages, how I felt about them, or how to respond, so I never replied.
I’m a very strong person, so I’m not a candidate for being groomed even when things are bothering me. Maybe I didn’t want to find out that this supportive adult had ulterior motives, so I never got into conversations or chats with him.
I went to a private, religious high school in The Philippines. I’m a Filipina, and I considered myself a believer. I saw the appropriateness of Bible verses in lots of situations in my daily life. My FB posts often had a Bible verse as a caption. I’m tolerant of other peoples’ orientation, but I had strict standards for my own behavior. I believed marriage is for life and should come before sex and that sex should only be between one man and one woman. I was sure I would be a virgin on my wedding night.
Apparently, I physically matured more slowly than most girls. I was eighteen when I suddenly found myself with a slim but nice enough figure, a pretty face, and lots of approving glances from both boys and girls at my Senior High School. My breasts were slightly too small for a B Cup bra, but overflowed an A Cup a little. My waist was narrow and my hips were slim. Some people teased me and said my figure was boyish, but I knew there was enough swell of my hips to catch the interest of quite a few guys.
I had never solo dated. I always went out with a mixed group of boys and girls from either my school or my church. I went to the beach with a bunch of kids and one of the boys took a bunch of bathing suit pics of me and posted them online. My suit was modest compared to what a lot of girls wear, but it made me feel like I couldn’t trust anyone. I looked through all the comments posted about my beach pics, and there were a lot of, “Wish I’d have known you’d turn out so HOT!” kinds of posts from boys I’d gone to school with. I thought that was strange because I had the highest-grade point in my graduating class and I won all the major academic awards that year. I was a SERIOUS student, but all anyone noticed was my looks.
A private message from Uncle George just offered sponsorship by his wife’s salon if I wanted to do modeling or pageants in exchange for good reviews for the salon in my online posts. Once again, he was telling me I looked beautiful, but there was nothing inappropriate about what he said or any kind of sexual innuendo.
That Friday, I ran into Uncle George at Starbucks. He bought me a Frapp and we sat at a table under an umbrella outside. I told him I was flattered by his sponsorship offer, but I didn’t see modeling or pageants as having a place in my future. I was planning to attend one of the serious academic universities, but I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to study or what career path I was going to take. One of the problems with higher education in The Philippines is that many students just want to get away from home to party while still being supported by their parents. This can make it difficult for a serious student who isn’t from a wealthy family to get a place in one of the major universities. Those realities made typical small talk between an eighteen-year-old new graduate and an “Uncle” difficult. The one thing that struck me was that he didn’t stare at my chest and he talked to me like I was an intelligent adult.
I had never been shy, and there was nothing too unusual about an adult friend of my parents wanting to talk to me, so I shouldn’t have felt uncomfortable talking with Uncle George. I didn’t actually feel uncomfortable, but I definitely felt something I’d never felt before. My skin felt hot all over my body in spite of a cool breeze in the shade of the Starbucks patio. I felt heat radiating from the core of my body too. The most disconcerting thing for me is that no matter what I did, thoughts like, “He’s a very nice-looking man.” kept echoing around in my brain. I started to feel overwhelmed and confused. Those feelings led to my vagina getting wet spontaneously for the first time in my life. The scent of my female lubricating juices seemed overpoweringly strong to me, and I was sure he must smell me and think I was some kind of slut. I started blushing furiously and I wanted to run away and hide.
Before I could come up with a plausible reason to escape, three gorgeous young women plopped down in the three empty chairs at the round table where we were sitting. One seemed a little older and I thought I’d seen her around town. She introduced herself as Kasey. She was twenty-two, and I realized she had been first runner-up in the Miss Baguio pageant last year. She introduced the other girls, Gem, age eighteen, and Jana, age seventeen.
Jana said, “Uncle Georgie, aren’t three girlfriends enough for you? Although I don’t blame you, she’s super cute!”
I started blubbering that I had no romantic interests in a married man, especially one fifty years older than me. George sort of frowned at Jana and said, “Everything isn’t about hooking up Jana.” Gem giggled and said, “Anything worthwhile is about hooking up and you know it, George.”
Kasey said, “We are sort of a polyamorous family with one daddy, slash, husband and three wives.”
Jana said, “Yes, and adding another wife leaves less sex for me, so I vote, ‘NO!’
George said, “Vanessa and I were just talking about her plans for the future and whether salon sponsorship would help with those plans. There never has been and there isn’t now anything romantic going on.”
Kasey said, “She could be one of the finalist for Miss Baguio. She’s definitely pretty enough.”
“She certainly lives up to your normal high standards Georgie. None of us would be embarrassed to be seen with her,” Jana said.
All of a sudden, I realized that Jana was looking at me with a hungry expression on her face, like I was a big raw steak and she was a tigress. “Oh my, I’m not that kind of girl!” came out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
Kasey laughed and said, “That’s what I thought until I saw Gem naked the first time. After that, I started to realize that while George may be the main course, Gem and Jana are excellent appetizers or yummy desserts.”
“My goodness, I plan to be a virgin on my wedding night. I’m not interested in your perverted lifestyle,” I said, a little too loudly.
“Georgie could fix that for you really easily, and I’d love to help!” Jana giggled.
I got up and practically ran away. If only that was the end of it!
George apologized for his girlfriends in a private message, but instead of helping me to forget about it, the thought of being naked and in bed with George and three beautiful girls became an obsession that I couldn’t get out of my brain. Why? First, why did three girls my age want to share one seventy-year-old man? Was he using hypnotism or drugs to get them into bed? Why did I care? Why was I so curious? Why was I even thinking about what it would feel like to have Uncle George kiss me, touch me intimately, and make love to me? Where was the hunger inside me coming from, and why was I so suddenly feeling uncontrollably horny for the first time? Why was my body and my brain tempting me to become a terrible sinner? This wouldn’t be a misdemeanor sin like an engaged couple not waiting until their wedding night. This was felony sinning in the first degree, fornication and adultery with a married man and consorting with sinners who apparently loved fornication so much they didn’t care the man was married so they were regular and frequent adulteresses. On top of that, they implied they had unholy desires for other females and committed unspeakable perversions with them. I had no answers, only more questions, and those questions just seemed to make me feel hornier and hornier.
As I’ve implied, my family isn’t wealthy. I took a summer job as a music teacher at the school where I took my lessons. I tried to work hard and get my mind off my unruly body’s forbidden desires.
George came by the music school recruiting musicians to work on an album of original music he was recording. He hired our former guitar teacher to play lead guitar on his recording sessions. He hired me as a backup singer because my English pronunciation is clear and not masked by a heavy Philippine accent. George was using a studio on the other side of town from where I lived. He would pick me up after work for recording sessions I was singing on and after we got done, he would take me home.
Being alone with him in his car was like torture because desire flooded my brain and senses as soon as he opened the car door for me. I almost wanted him to molest me so I’d finally know why Kasey, Gem, and Jana were apparently addicted to making love with him. He never did. He was always a proper gentleman.
I had never masturbated before. Some churches think it’s a sin, while others don’t. I never wanted to take a chance, so I assumed it was a sin and never let my fingers stray into my underwear or touch my breasts except to bathe. Now, it was all I could do to keep from touching myself. I had trouble sleeping, and I was seldom hungry. I cried at night quite often because I seemed to be so out of control and unable to resist the temptation to sin in several deadly ways.
When he was driving me home one night, George asked me if I was ill because of my red rimmed eyes. I snapped, “No, my eyes are red from crying, and it’s all your fault!”
I was expecting him to snap back at me or yell me for being insolent to an elder. He didn’t. He turned off the main road and took me to the house he shared with his girls. He took me inside and made tea for us. I drank the soothing hot liquid slowly and asked questions about how he came to have a three-girl harem. He explained everything calmly. I was astonished to learn that Jana was the girl who threw herself at him first and almost recruited the other girls to join her as surrogate and sister wives.
I felt really bad for being so judgmental and thinking George was a child molester, when it was each of the girls who asked him to make love to her. The guilt for judging the girls harshly and calling them whores when I thought about them pressed down on me so heavily that I burst into tears. Before I knew what I was doing, I was sitting on George’s lap with my arms around his neck, sobbing, with my face pressed tightly against his shoulder.
I’m tall for a Filipina, about five feet, seven inches. I was crying so hard, it must have seemed to Uncle George that I was going to fall off his lap. His arms went around me, reflexively, to keep me from falling. That’s when I realized my beliefs and planned behavior were meaningless in light of my emotional and physical needs. I felt safe and protected on George’s lap. I wanted his arms around me, and I was finally willing to admit I wanted even closer contact with him. I felt comforted and I stopped sobbing. I whispered, “I’m sorry.” Then I turned my face up toward his, gauged the distance between our lips, closed my eyes, then straightened my neck and lifted my face up to his until our lips touched.
It was like his lips were connected to a Van De Graff generator, and thousands of volts of electricity flowed from his lips to mine. I moaned. I knew I was out of control, and I didn’t care. In fact, I never wanted to be in control again.
I felt Uncle George’s penis get hard under my bottom, and I was not a bit ambivalent about it, I wanted it inside my body. Inside my vagina. I wanted him loving my body with his body. I wanted him making love to me. I wanted George’s dick in my pussy and I wanted him to fuck me. I laughed to myself about how I had to edit my thoughts from “prissy little girl” to “adult female” in order to admit to myself what I wanted. It was ironic because my body already knew what I needed.
I kissed Uncle George passionately. He kissed me back. I could feel his desire for me in his kiss. I got a rush like I think a first-time drug user gets because a real man wanted me, not just as a trophy to look at, but as a flesh and blood woman to kiss, touch, and make love to.
I reached over to unbutton his shirt, but George stopped me.
“A person doesn’t change their beliefs or personal code of conduct in just a few minutes Van. If you do something under the influence of emotions or hormones, there will be a price to pay later. The guilt you feel might wreck anything we have between us and any relationship we might have a chance to build. I don’t think you should rush into doing anything until you have a chance to think this over a while. It might be a good idea to talk with some kind of spiritual advisor too, because a loss of faith or some other big change in beliefs always has associated costs. They don’t show up right away, but they can make big chunks of a person’s life totally miserable,” George said.
I took his hand in both of mine and kissed it. I went back to opening the buttons on his shirt.
“All preachers want to do is fool new customers into signing up and keeping the old suckers paying into the collection plate every week. None of them would be honest or helpful. I want to do this and I want to do it with you, so please just shut up and cooperate.
“Oh, and only call me ‘Van’ when we are doing athletic stuff. If we are in bed, or you want to get me into bed, call me, ‘Nessa,’ it’s a lot sexier,” I said.
Now a lot of people would say that George should have refused me, but I was eighteen and legally entitled to make decisions about who I had sex with, so I appreciated him treating me like an adult and respecting me by accepting that I knew what I wanted.
I spread his shirt open and started kissing his chest. George’s chest wasn’t furry and I liked that. He had just enough chest hair to show he was an adult male, but most of his chest was just soft, bare skin. I sucked on his tiny nipples and flicked them with my tongue. It didn’t drive him crazy, but he knew right away what I wanted. He peeled off my top and gently kissed my breasts through my bra. I was wearing a thin silk bra I bought online from a French lingerie store. I didn’t need much support, but I did want to look pretty and feel sexy. The silk rubbing across my nipples as I moved certainly made me feel sexy. George cupped my breasts and kissed my nipples through the silk. Our fingers went to the front clasp simultaneously. He let me open the clasp, then I let him peel the bra off my breasts.
My nipples had never been so hard. I felt them throb with my pulse. My areola were swollen and puffy under my nipples, pushing out like target arrow points. The skin was crinkly and my breasts started aching and needing to be touched.