Chapter 2

A man’s penis can be a fascinating thing. I’d had my hands on this one, but only for maybe a hundred and twenty seconds. I’d made the foreskin retract a couple of times and felt the hard-yet-soft texture of things. Now, though, I got to spend some quality time with one. His “instructions” consisted of telling me to “get to know it” and, when I felt ready, to think of it as a Tootsie Roll Pop.

Now think about that for a minute. It’s brilliant, really. When you put a Tootsie Roll Pop in your mouth, there’s no taste, immediately. You have to roll it around in your mouth and suck on it to get the taste to come out. You don’t bite it. You let it melt in your mouth. It starts out rough, and the first thing you do is try to suck the roughness off of it, until it gets smooth and sweet and slides around easily. It hits your teeth, but again, you don’t bite it.

If you use all the same techniques in sucking a guy’s penis, then you’re doing it right. You don’t even have to think about it.

That said, there are differences, of course. A man’s penis doesn’t get “sweet”. There is a taste, and you do begin to bring that taste out as you suck, but it’s not quite the same kind of reward that whoever makes Tootsie Roll Pops has in mind. Another difference is that the average male penis is bigger than a sucker. You can’t put a Tootsie Roll Pop too far down your throat and gag on it. And, of course, there’s no soft chocolate center to ultimately chew on.

You do get a rush of taste at the end, but it’s not the kind of taste you chew on.

Anyway, I played with his for a good five minutes before I hesitantly kissed the tip. I kissed it in different ways. I pulled his foreskin up to make a circular, mushy lip and kissed that. It felt weird; not like the lips it first looked like. Then I retracted it and kissed the hard head, where the little eye was crying again. Eventually I took the plunge and sealed my lips behind the crown. I gave it a little suck and there were no tough edges to smooth. It was already smooth. It was bigger than a Tootsie Roll Pop, but not that much bigger, and it felt just perfect in my mouth. I was astonished, to be honest. I hadn’t expected to like the feel of it in my mouth, and when I did, it felt so natural that I couldn’t understand why I’d resisted this idea at all!

I pulled off and looked at his face.

“This is fun!” I said.

“I already knew that,” he teased.

I put it back in my mouth and tried to suck the candy off so I could get to the soft chocolaty center.

He warned me when he was going to cum, but at that point the idea of him shooting off in my mouth seemed like a natural and logical conclusion to the exercise. And you don’t take the Tootsie Roll Pop out of your mouth when you get to the center.

Of course I already knew there was no chocolaty center. But the idea of receiving and swallowing his offering was something I actually looked forward to.

His taste was strong, not like anything I’d ever tasted before this. The texture was unique, too. I’ve heard girls describe it as different kinds of food, but that’s not how I’d characterize it. Semen tastes like semen, not food. I’ve only sucked one other guy off since this happened, and the taste was different than Uncle Bob’s, but it still tasted like semen.

During the process, at least half of the fun was listening to him moan and groan and whine about how good it felt. I wondered if he’d make the same noises if he was fucking me. At some point I realized I had my own finger up inside me, and that I was trying to cum right along with him. That didn’t happen though. It felt good, but I was paying too much attention to sucking him to concentrate on getting my own orgasm.

His poor penis was pathetic when I got finished with it. It shrank down to maybe four inches long and it was as soft as soft can be. It had been so impressive and even scary when it was hard, but now it was the very definition of harmless. I had seen pictures of the statue of David, where he looks so buff and handsome, but his dick is minuscule. I had always thought that was kind of odd, but now I get it. Most guys’ dicks are that size most of the time. It’s only when they get turned on that it gets impressive. I guess the sculptors back then were going for realism, as opposed to the (literally) larger-than-life way that later statues were made.

I was fidgety and antsy. I was happy that I’d been able to play him like a banjo, but I was still horny.

So he pushed me down and, without warning or permission, ate my pussy like a starving man attacks a loaf of bread.

I wish I could go into detail about what that was like. The problem is all I can remember are the orgasms I had as he did it.

I did learn one thing I didn’t know before that, though.

Since I knew a guy could only have one orgasm per ... um ... incident ... I thought it was the same for a girl.

Boy, howdy is that not true.

He left me lying there feeling like my body had turned into a puddle of warm Jell-O. I heard the shower running and then he came out of the bathroom and started getting dressed.

“What are you doing?” I asked. I’d never done all this before, but I was pretty sure there was supposed to be more before people started getting dressed.

“I have somewhere I need to be,” he said. “I can’t spend a whole day chasing you around the table and making love to you.”

“First, there was no table involved,” I said. “Second, I’ve only been here two hours. Third, I don’t think you made love to anybody.”

“I never take two hours to do a workout. My workout only takes an hour,” he said. He came over and leaned down to kiss me. “ What I did during that other hour was make love to a girl I shouldn’t have even touched.”

“But we didn’t do it!” I complained.

“Did you feel good?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Did you have orgasms?”

“Yes,” I grumbled.

“Was anybody else involved when all that happened?”

“You know you were,” I said.

“Sweetheart, making love isn’t a formula, where you do A, B, and C, in that order. Making love is spending time together being intimate. We literally made some love. There is more love in the world right now than there was two hours ago. And I loved it, but now I have to go and make some money. It won’t be nearly as much fun, but it has to be done.”

“Uncle Bob,” I said, as I felt tears filling my eyes. “Will we ever make love again?”

“I suspect so,” he said gravely. He sat on the bed to put his shoes on. “I liked it. Did you like it?”

“Yes!” I shouted

“Well, then, I imagine we’ll both want to do it again.”

“Will it always be like ... today?”

He stood up.

“Megan, Megan, Megan,” he sighed. “Why do teenagers always think they need to know everything far in advance? If you’re asking if I’ll ever slide my nasty old uncle boner into your soft, unspoiled teenage pussy, then the answer is maybe, some day, in the very misty future. Now, I have to go meet a client. You know how to lock up when you leave, right?”

“You know I do,” I muttered.

“Okay, then.” he said, leaving his bedroom. “Do that.”

He disappeared and it was silent for a good two or three minutes before I heard the front door open and close. Then I heard the throaty rumble of his Camaro starting up and driving away.

I lay there for a while, feeling sorry for myself. Things hadn’t gone like I expected them to. True, I had to admit to myself that I had loved every single second of what had happened. It was just that I felt like the main event had been skipped over. It was like I’d gone to the circus and the only things there were the clowns. Sure, the clowns were funny, and sure I loved watching them and laughing at them and all that. But I didn’t go there just for the clowns, you know?

My brain did what I have learned since is one of the major enemies of young humans. By young I mean from ages roughly six to twenty-six. My brain engaged in self-doubt. What was wrong with me? What had I done wrong? Why didn’t Uncle Bob love me enough to pop my cherry? Would he ever love me enough to do that?

You get it. I wasted a good twenty minutes in a funk, feeling like I was a failure. Never once did I think about the fact that I hadn’t even gone there for any cherries to get popped. I hadn’t gone there for anything sexual to happen, other than maybe a little fantasy or two about my hunky uncle while I worked up a sweat and got better at gymnastics. I didn’t think about how this came out of the blue for both of us, or that there might be legal considerations involved if anyone found out what had happened. I didn’t think about the dozens of reasons nothing should have happened.

All I could think about was that something must be wrong with me because he hadn’t fucked me.

I finally got up. While I was lying there I felt useless and used up. But when I sat up I realized I had tons of energy! I stood and twisted at the waist. I felt great! It didn’t feel like I’d had a workout at all! Patrick’s jersey was lying on the floor, but I left it there. I went to the laundry room. In all the distractions of making me feel fantastic, neither of us had remembered to change my stuff from the washer to the dryer. I got my shirt and shorts out of the washer. They were damp, of course, but I didn’t care. I was going to run home and by the time I got there they’d be dry. Or damp again with sweat. It didn’t matter.

When I got to the front door there was a note taped to it on the inside. It said: If I loved you to pieces, it would make a terrible mess, so I just love you. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.

My body feeling so good had already pulled me up out of my funk. This made me soar.

And that, according to my father, is a day in the life of a teenager. First they’re in the dumps and then they’re manic about something. He liked to laugh and tell his friends, or even a total stranger, “If you don’t like your teenage child’s mood, wait twenty minutes and it will have changed.”

I didn’t realize how smart my daddy was until I was twenty-six.

I should explain something. I say I was learning gymnastics, but that’s not technically true. Uncle Bob didn’t have a big room with a soft floor where I could run and do flips and jumps and those kind of floor exercises. He didn’t have a balance beam, or uneven parallel bars. There were no rings hanging from a tall ceiling. What he did was stay in shape and, to some small degree, teach me how to be in shape to do those kinds of things. Balance is critical when doing gymnastics, and what he taught me was how to develop the muscles that aid in balance. He also helped me make those muscles stronger. My muscles didn’t bulge, or at least I didn’t think they bulged, though if you look at pictures of me when I was thirteen, and then pictures of me a few years later, you could see the muscles I’d developed by working with Uncle Bob.

I suppose the more nearly true statement would be I worked out with him so that, if I decided to do gymnastics in school some day, my body would be ready to do that.

I got sidetracked along the way, though. I got sidetracked by my libido.

The next time we met was three days later and I was so horny by then, anticipating what might happen, that when I got there all I wanted to do was hang off of him and kiss him.

“Cool your jets, little girl,” he said, with his hands on my breasts. “Work first and then play.”

“I’m not a little girl,” I said, sulking.

“I’m well aware of that,” he said, sliding his hands to my back. He kissed me and my knees got weak. When the kiss was over he slapped me on the ass of my spandex body suit and said, “Get down and give me at least thirty good pushups. Maybe that will use up some of that sexual energy that’s bothering you.”

“I didn’t say I was bothered,” I muttered, still pouting.

But I took off my shirt and went down on the floor to start my pushups.

I should mention I’d gotten my outfit specifically with Uncle Bob in mind. I got it at a sports place at the mall and it was the good stuff. It was tight spandex with straps that went over my shoulders, down to where my breasts were covered. No bra was required because it was so stretchy and tight. At the crotch there were three snaps and a hanging tab on the front and back pieces. Getting those snaps snapped (while you were wearing it) was difficult unless you pulled the back part several inches to the front. That pulled the material that covered the ass up into your butt crack and, once you got things snapped you had to excavate your behind. Not that it covered much in the back. It wasn’t really decent when worn alone, so I wore loose running shorts over it. The snaps were just so you could go to the bathroom without taking the suit off. It was a bit of a workout just to get into the thing and I did a lot of jumping, jerking, and shimmying to get dressed. There was also almost no back to it, which is why I put a T shirt on over it. If my mother had seen me trying to leave the house in just that body suit she would have barred the door and sent me to my room.

Not to mention that the damned thing cost sixty bucks!

But it was sexy, and that’s what I wanted. Those snaps could be undone for things other than going to the bathroom, too.

I had planned to take both shirt and shorts off when I got there, but my curmudgeonly uncle had spoiled the mood. So all he got to see was the skin on my back and the fact that I looked a whole bra cup flatter than I normally did.

He worked me hard that day, too, but he also worked hard. I found out later he was trying to work off his own sexual energy, because he wanted to molest me again and knew he shouldn’t.

It didn’t work for either of us.

An hour later I was weak and sweaty and, if I admit the truth, not feeling very sexy.

“Did you bring clothes to change in to today?” he asked, as he put the free weights we’d used back in their rack.

“No,” I said. “I didn’t think about that. But my shirt is clean.”

“You want to go home to take your shower?”

I felt something like energy bloom inside me. It came from nowhere and it was pretty amazing.

“No,” I said. “Can I use your shower again?”

“Yes. Did you know they raised water rates again?”

“Are you telling me I have to take a short shower?”

“Actually, I was thinking we could save water by showering together.”

Zing! A whole bolt of energy zapped into me from somewhere. It wasn’t Thor’s hammer, but it hit the same spot. I sat up from where I’d been lying limply on the floor.

“I think that’s a very responsible thing to do. My parents are always trying to get me to be more responsible.”

“Let’s not brag to them about this particular act of responsibility, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. I skinned out of my shorts right there and he saw the bottoms of my workout togs for the first time.

He whistled and another bolt of energy obliterated the weakness in my body.

“I may need your help getting this off,” I said in a little girl voice. “There are two tabs and if I get the wrong one and pull it, then it pulls up in my butt and feels icky.”

“So you’re not a fan of thongs?” he said, arching one eyebrow.

“I’ve never worn a thong. My mother would disapprove.”

“Mothers are like that. Just so you know, your father wouldn’t be impressed, either.”

I went to the universal machine and sat on the long, padded bench, turning to him and balancing on my butt, leaning back and spreading my legs wide. I was in a modified V position and didn’t even think about the fact that this took a lot of muscle and balance to do. I held it without feeling any distress in my abs at all. But, like I said, I didn’t think about any of that then, only later. All I thought about then was exposing my skimpily-covered girly part to him, trying to get him going.

He was already going. But I didn’t know that, either. He was a master of looking controlled and calm.

He bent over and inspected my crotch.

“I see the tabs,” he said.

“You need to pull the one attached to the front,” I said.

He did it with his teeth, and when the material flashed up (and back) to leave my pussy bare, he leaned in to lick and suck.

Remember I was balanced on my ass? Yeah, that kind of disappeared when he went down on me. I overbalanced to the back and fell a foot and a half to the floor, landing flat on my back. It knocked the breath out of me and I flailed, trying to get air in and out. His face appeared, hovering above me and I saw my feet on either side of it.

“You okay?” he asked.

I made sounds, but not intelligible ones. I finally got a breath in and gasped.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. He pulled me up and, while I sat and just breathed, he took his shorts off.

He had a gorgeous, long, thick boner. He didn’t do or say anything. He just stood there, letting me look at his muscles, including the one pointing at me. He was so gorgeous I felt better immediately.

“You okay, now?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“You need help getting that off?”

“Probably more help than just you and me,” I joked.

He peeled me like a banana, just pulling it up and over my head. When he dropped it on the bench beside me it looked like it was for a little girl or something.

He just stared at me. I was naked, but I didn’t feel embarrassed at all. Nor did I have any misgivings about how I looked. His eyes said it all.

He thought I looked good.

“When was your last period?” he asked.

“Uncle Bob!” I yipped. “You can’t ask a girl something like that!”

“You can if you might get some sperm in her vagina, and she’s not on birth control,” he said.

“Oh.” I felt my face get hot and knew I was blushing. My whole body felt hot, though, so maybe not.

“Um ... It finished maybe three weeks ago,” I said.

“Maybe? A week can make a big difference,” he said.

I thought about it. My period had visited when we had an all school assembly to listen to a woman talk about climate change. I remembered because I needed to change tampons and couldn’t until the assembly was over. That had been in the first week of October.

“It ended on maybe the seventh of October,” I said. I could see him doing the math. Today was the twenty-third of the month.

“You are theoretically safe,” he said. “But only theoretically. The rhythm method of birth control is notoriously fallible.”

“Are you going to fuck me today?” I asked.

“No, and I’ll never just fuck you. If that happens we’ll make love. It won’t be fucking.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I get it. Sorry.”

“That word bothers me, sometimes,” he said. “If I’m fucking you, I’m doing something to you, not necessarily with you.”

“I said okay,” I groaned. “I get it. Can we please go take that shower?”

He relaxed.

“That’s something we can do that’s safe for sure,” he said.

In theory, taking a shower with a man is plenty safe. Unless he fucks you standing up. Sorry. Unless he makes love with you standing up. But that’s pretty hard to do, even if you’re in great shape like we were. It also requires the man to want to do it, which my uncle did not. But he washed me really good, and I do mean really good. He washed me well enough that I had a nice, warm, relaxed orgasm with his fingers in me.

I washed him really good, too, or at least I washed his chest and then went to work on that beautiful boner. I knew he wasn’t going to put it in me so I got on my knees and sucked that puppy like I was trying to get to a milk shake through a clogged straw. The difference is that I got my milk shake even though the straw still felt clogged.

This time I took the time to leave it in my mouth and taste it on purpose, before I swallowed. Actually, I suppose I left most of it in my mouth, because some of it drooled out of my mouth and dripped down on my breasts. It didn’t stay there for long because the water was still hitting me, even though his body was blocking most of it.

Anyway, what my taste buds detected this time were a bunch of hints of things. There was a hint of salt and a hint of sweet. There was a kind of burnt bitterness, but not unpleasant bitterness. The only odd thing I tasted was a hint of metallic, a little like tasting your own blood.

I swallowed and then stood up to rub against him and get some kisses.

I thought we were done for the day, but after we dried off he pulled me to his bedroom and laid on the bed, face up.

“Get on top of me like I’m a horse. This is your saddle.”

He reached to put his hands on either side of his pathetic, tiny, limp penis. His balls still looked full, but they were sagging a bit, kind of like boobs sag as a woman gets older.

I crawled on him and, without having to be told, settled my very clean pussy lips on top of his poor, floppy man part. I felt it squish under my weight, but it was a bump, and I could rub on it. Again, without having to be taught, I knew to lean forward and rest on straight arms, with my hands on his chest. In this position it was easy to rock back and forth. It felt good, but I didn’t think I could cum.

“I’ve wanted to see you like this many times,” he said.

“Did you perv out on me a lot?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t say a lot. Just whenever you smiled, or hugged me, or sat doing your homework.”

“That sounds like a lot to me,” I teased.

“Did you ever perv out on me?” he asked.

“I think it’s different for a girl,” I said. “I’ve always thought you were hunky. I’d look at you and get all warm inside, but that was about it until I started working out with you. Only then did I get naughty thoughts in my poor, innocent head.”

“I think your innocence is long gone,” he said.

“Nope. You haven’t popped my cherry, yet,” I replied.

“That might happen if you’re not careful,” he said. He lifted his head and looked at where I was rubbing against him. When I also looked I was shocked to see him long and hard again. Only then did I feel the zings that a firm cock can produce in a clit that’s rubbing against it. While I looked I slid too far forward and when I pushed back I felt a stretching where my pussy lips caught on the tip.

“Careful,” he warned.

“What if I don’t want to be careful,” I panted. When had I gotten so out of breath?

“Megan, don’t do this yet,” he said. “You’re not ready.”

“Why do I feel so ready?” I asked, pushing harder. Suddenly the pressure was gone and I slid backwards, exposing the tip of his penis. It looked shiny ... wet.

“That’s your hormones. Let me lick you again.”

“In a minute,” I said, luxuriating in the feel of his hard member against my clit as I slid on it.

“Don’t put it in you, Megan,” he said, firmly.

“You’re no fun,” I complained.

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

Support the author's future writing by purchasing this book from Bookapy

Exercising With Uncle Bob

Lubrican

$3.25