Chapter 3

The shower almost left me weak. Suddenly we were all naked and the water beating down on me felt delicious. His hands felt delicious as they rubbed all over me. He had an erection, but for some strange reason I left it alone. I washed it, but that was all. I think all the running made my mind fuzzy or something, because I let him lead me around like a little lamb to the slaughter. And yet, it wasn’t a slaughter. His house was warm so we stayed naked after he dried me off with one of his fluffy towels. My hair was wet but I didn’t care. I felt so comfortable and relaxed.

If the shower had weakened me, his massage devastated me. His hands felt soooo good, moving over my legs and butt and back. He squeezed and pushed and within two minutes I felt like I didn’t have the energy to do anything except breathe. He paid special attention to my calves and thighs and I realized there was pain there, but he was pushing it out of me with his hands.

Then he rolled me over and worked on my front. He did my thighs first, and as they moved upwards I spread my legs without thinking. He passed over my pussy but worked my breasts and shoulders until I was a moaning wreck.

“Want that orgasm, now?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” I heard my mouth say, dreamily, before my mind came to a conscious decision.

He gave it to me with his finger in me, and his lips on my nipples. The weakness I felt was replaced with jolts of electric energy that came from absolutely nowhere, surging into my body until I felt like I could run another five miles. It was incredible. The orgasm he gave me was hot and delicious, but it was the intimacy that was most satisfying. As I came down he lay down beside me and kissed my shoulder.

“Better?” he asked.

I realized that everything that had happened since we finished the race had been for my benefit. He was acting like he hadn’t run at all! He had taken care of me, but I hadn’t done anything for him.

I rolled to face him and it was easy. My torpor and fatigue were gone. I felt fantastic.

“I don’t hate you,” I said. He grinned. “You’re still an asshole, but I don’t hate you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, still smiling.

I pushed him onto his back and crawled on top of him. Settling down on his rigid member was easy this time. I could feel things with my body and knew where to put it. I sighed as my clit came into contact with the underside of his rod. I put my hands on his chest and leaned forward to rock.

“If you keep doing that I’m going to cum,” he said, softly. “I’m really fired up right now.”

“So, are you going to pop my cherry?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. I want to own it a little longer,” he said.

“You are such a fuck,” I panted. I moved faster.

“And you are still ambivalent about things. You need more time to think about stuff so you can make some decisions.”

“Why do you have so much control and I have almost none?” I complained. I was thinking, but at the same time I could feel another orgasm creeping up on me.

“My prefrontal cortex is finished growing,” he said. “Yours isn’t. That’s the part of the brain we use to reason and make decisions.”

“I’m not concerned with my prefrontal cortex right now,” I said, beginning to lurch on him.

I moved forward and lowered my chest to press a nipple against his mouth. He sucked and it felt superb. It also moved me forward of the tip of his penis, and when I went back it caught in my opening. The urge to push was overwhelming, but all I felt was stretching at the mouth of my vagina.

“Careful,” he warned.

“Shut up,” I panted.

“That’s my cherry,” he reminded me. “I’m the one who decides when I get to harvest it.”

I slipped over his knob and my clit sang for joy. I rubbed back and forth three or four times before I intentionally went too far forward and made him catch in me again. I pushed harder against his stiffness and the pressure increased.

“Megan!” he said.

“That’s my name,” I panted.

The urge was overwhelming. That’s the only way I can express it. That pressure between my lips had qualities that were uncomfortable, but delicious at the same time. Something in me knew that if I pushed harder, the pain would increase, but it would also be even more delicious. I leaned down but didn’t kiss him. Instead, I bit his stubbly chin and gave a convulsive push.

The pain did increase, but only for a second as the tip of his penis sank into me and kept going. As I realized I no longer had to push so hard, the stretching sensation crawled up inside me. I pushed up on my arms and bent my neck to stare at where, a minute ago, his penis had been lying on his abdomen while I rubbed on top of it. Now only half of his penis was visible. The invisible half was inside me.

“Megan!” he yelped.

“It’s my cherry!” I growled. “It’s not yours. It was never yours and winning some dumb race doesn’t change anything!”

I pushed even harder and sat up.

Bad move, as it turns out.

“Oh fuck!” I squealed as I was suddenly overstuffed by something that was no longer delicious.

His hands gripped my waist and he pulled me towards his head. I heard a wet, kind of sucking, slurping noise as the pressure left my pussy. Suddenly, it was gone.

I felt relief for about two seconds and then my pussy sent me the message that it was empty, hollow, lonely, bereft of happiness. I wondered how in the world I could feel so uncomfortable one second and then be craving that feeling the next.

“You’re an idiot,” said Uncle Bob, dumping me off of him to one side. He rolled to face me.

“Would you please put it back in me?” I panted. “Not so deep, but in me?”

He blinked.

“Why am I so fucking helpless around you?” he said.

I pulled at him, trying to get him on top of me.

“I’m going to start my period in a couple of days. You can’t get me pregnant right now. Please? I feel so empty,” I moaned.

“And how is it that you know exactly what buttons to push?” he complained.

“My cherry is gone,” I panted. “Now I need you to make love with me.”

“Fuck me to tears,” he sighed.

“No, fuck me to tears,” I said, still pulling at him. “Happy ones,” I added as my brain tried to work.

“I’m too big for you, Baby,” he said. “You should already know that.”

“I went too fast. Please? I want to feel you in me again. Just not so fast.”

“You’ll tell me if it hurts?” he asked.

I nodded.

I felt itchy and nervous as he got up over me. I spread my legs automatically. I was so full of energy that I was afraid I’d have a spaz attack or something. My hand reached for his cock without me even thinking about it, and somehow I knew exactly where to bring the tip. I only realized I was pulling too hard when he said, “Easy. Don’t tear it off.”

I let go like it was a red hot poker. The image of it tearing off was horrifying. Then I felt that pressure again, and everything flew out of my mind except the capability to pay attention to that. I lifted my head and, this time, got to see it go inside me, little by little, going at a snail’s pace. The pressure oozed deeper and I discovered muscles I didn’t even know I had. Our exercises had worked on those muscles. He just hadn’t put his hand ... or finger ... on these as my pelvic floor got worked.

Everything stopped as I clenched those muscles. The pressure was still there, but it was less, somehow.

“I can’t go any deeper if you do that,” he gasped. “You’ve locked me in there.”

I relaxed those muscles, but clenched them again almost instantly. It felt wonderful to do that.

“Megan, Honey, you’re milking me off. I’m going to suffer premature ejaculation if you don’t stop.”

“You can get hard again later, can’t you?” I panted.

“That’s not the point,” he said. “I want your first time to be satisfying to you.”

“I’m fine,” I gasped. “I’m great! I feel fantastic!” I said. I relaxed what I would call my “fuck muscles” for the rest of my life, and then lurched up with my hips. I literally gobbled up two more inches of his penis, which pushed the stretching deeper, but then as my hips relaxed, they sank down and pulled those two inches out of me again.

“Deeper!” I grunted.

He gave me back the two inches and it was in that instant that I came to the conclusion that this was quite possibly the happiest day of my life.

“It doesn’t hurt!” I blurted. “It feels good!”

He leaned down to kiss me and, during that kiss, which lasted a good two minutes, he pulled out, pushed in and did it again, slowly going deeper until I felt his loose, sagging balls touch my butt cheeks. He was all the way in. I felt so full, but it was delicious again. I had to squeeze. I just had to!

He lifted his lips from mine and groaned. I had heard that groan before, just before he filled my mouth with his yummy cum.

This time he filled my pussy with it. I felt the sudden existence of a ball of heat, deep inside me. I knew it was his semen ... his seed.

“Ohhh Megan,” he grunted, as he humped me three or four times.

I hadn’t had an orgasm, but I couldn’t have cared less. He said he wanted me to be happy, and I was happy in spades.

It’s really quite astonishing how something that has been a stumbling block and impediment in your life for days or weeks can be resolved in a matter of minutes. And it was even more amazing that all it took was the insertion of a penis into my vagina. Quite suddenly everything I had been worrying and agonizing over seemed like silliness. I knew I wouldn’t treat it like it was silly, but I also knew I wasn’t going to get all worked up over it again. I would be careful. I would be responsible. I would ask Uncle Bob to use a condom. At the top of the list, though, was that I would make love with him again. Lots of times.

“You okay?” he panted. I felt the pressure inside me ease as he went soft.

“I’m wonderful,” I sighed.

“You didn’t cum,” he said.

“I don’t care. It was perfect.”

“Really?”

“Will you wear a condom from now on?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“I’m hungry,” I said. That sensation came out of nowhere.

“You want to go home to eat lunch?” he asked. “I’ll drive you over in the car.”

“No,” I said. “Let’s make tuna and noodles here.”

“I do not know how to make tuna and noodles,” he said. “I have neither tuna nor noodles on hand.”

“Grilled cheese sandwiches?” I suggested.

“I have bread and cheese,” he said. He almost sounded proud.

We got dressed in shorts and T shirts and went to the kitchen. While the skillet heated up and he buttered slices of bread, I poked around in his pantry and fridge and then started a grocery list for him. He came to look over my shoulder.

“Celery?” he commented. “Raisins?”

“For ants on a log,” I said. “You already have the peanut butter. It’s a good protein snack.”

I added tuna and noodles, along with cottage cheese and more sliced cheese, since his supply was getting low. I had added ham, lima beans, and spinach to the list before he spoke again.

“You’re not going to live here, Megan,” he said. “Don’t you have that stuff at your house?”

“Some of it,” I said. “I might eat here more often, though. And you have almost nothing in your larder.”

“I eat a lot of cereal,” he said. “It’s quick and easy.”

“You’ll like eating better,” I said. “Trust me.”

“Like you trusted me to run two miles?” he teased.

“What I find interesting is that I ran five miles and my legs feel fine,” I said, “but after just ten minutes of exercise I’m sore right here,” I placed a hand on my abdomen, between my belly button and my mons, “like I did too many sit ups.”

“You used those muscles for the first time,” he said.

I hugged him, pressing my body against him hard.

“You work on all my other muscles frequently,” I said, trying to make innuendo clear.

“We don’t want to overwork any muscles,” he said.

“Are you saying you’re old and decrepit and won’t be able to get it up very often?” I raised one eyebrow.

He kissed me.

“I think you know differently,” he said. “You’ve peeked up my shorts enough to know that muscle is in fine shape. It was your muscles I was referring to. We can’t be lovers, Megan. Not in the classical sense.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend, just my workout partner.”

“I have created a monster,” he sighed.

I bumped his loins with mine.

“Grrrrr,” I said.

We didn’t have sex again after lunch. I was still sore and I could feel it when I walked. I was a little worried that my mother would notice me limping, or at least walking more slowly than usual, so I told him I’d walk home. I had the sweats and stocking hat, after all, and I was no longer sweaty.

“Take another shower when you get home,” he said. “To do otherwise might look odd.”

“Got it,” I said.

I kissed him goodbye.

“Thank you,” I said against his lips.

“You thank me now, but later you might feel differently.”

“You mean when you act all satyr-like with me?” I teased.

“Just be honest with yourself. I don’t want our relationship to be strained.”

“I love you, you dope,” I said. “What we did just makes me love you a teensy bit more, that’s all.”

I think Uncle Bob kept expecting some shoes to drop. He kept expecting me to “wake up” and realize how old he was and how young I was and how unsatisfying that was for me. He kept expecting me to find some hot, young stud who would make my ovaries quiver and I’d dump him like a hot potato. I understand that. He was looking at it from his point of view and he really couldn’t look at it any other way.

What was ironic was that, from my own viewpoint, there just weren’t any issues. He was my hot, not-my-age stud, and he already made my ovaries quiver. He was handsome. I liked his personality. He helped me become a better me. He demanded excellence from me and he offered excellence in his own behavior. Sure he had molested (legal definition) a young girl, but he had also made it excruciatingly clear to me that he’d stop and never touch me again if I said the word. Well, I didn’t want to say the word. I had a man and I was happy with him. His age didn’t matter to me. All that mattered to me was that I kept getting to be with him.

I know I told him I didn’t want him to be my boyfriend, but I’ll admit I wished it could happen. I wished we could be public in our affection, that we could go places and do things together. But it wasn’t a deal breaker that I had to see him in private to get frisky with him.

I figured this all out over the next three days, while I did things with my family, or went over to my friend, Rhonda’s house, or lay on my bed and listened to music. The soreness went away before I even got home, so I didn’t walk funny. My mother gave me a perfunctory hug and asked me how running was and, since I was wearing my stinky sweats again, encouraged me to go take a shower. She didn’t blink an eye or bust my chops or say, “Aha! I knew that man was abusing you!”

Phil, my younger brother, ignored me, as usual. I was a little worried about Jerry, my older brother, because he had started talking to me, recently. He should have been gone to college, but he decided to take a gap year to save up money for college, and of course he was living at home while he did that. After he graduated from high school something happened to him and he wasn’t such a jerk anymore. He even started asking me what was going on in my life. It was weird. But he didn’t notice anything, either.

I had a scare Monday when Dad came home from work and hugged me and held my shoulders at arm’s length, staring into my eyes.

“You’d come to me if you had a problem or needed to talk about something important, wouldn’t you, Megs?”

I bet my blood pressure shot up thirty points, but I tried to be calm.

“Sure, Daddy,” I said. “Why?”

He hugged me and held that hug for a long time.

“I have a coworker whose daughter committed suicide over the weekend. She left a note that said nobody understood her and it was too hard to go on.”

I hugged him back. I could tell he was really upset.

“I don’t feel that way at all, Daddy,” I said. “I’m not sure anybody really understands me, but I also think that’s kind of normal. I’m not sure I understand myself sometimes.”

He pushed me back by my shoulders again.

“I love you and I’ll do anything I can to help you reach your goals in life. If you need anything, just say the word.”

“My own credit card?” I suggested, hopefully.

He grinned.

“Almost anything,” he said. “Not yet. Maybe when you go to college. What I’m talking about is emotional support and finding answers to thorny questions. You can even kiss a boy on the porch when he brings you home from a date. I’ll be watching, peeking out of the window, but you can kiss him.”

“How romantic, Daddy,” I said, wryly. “So far, nobody has shown any interest in kissing me anywhere.”

“They will,” he said, earnestly. “You’re getting all grown up.” His eyes actually fell to my boobs. “My little girl is getting all grown up,” he sighed.

I pulled him against me, and hugged him hard.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I said. “It’s good to know there’s a knight in shining armor around the corner to call on if I’m ever a damsel in distress.”

“Where did you get those muscles?” he said, squeezing me like I was squeezing him.

“I’ve been working out with Uncle Bob, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I got the hands on the shoulders and staring into my eyes treatment again.

“I’m going to pay more attention to you than I have in the past. I feel like I’ve been neglecting you.”

“I’m fine, Daddy,” I said. “I promise I’ll come talk to you if I have any deep, unresolved issues that are worrying me.”

“Do you promise?”

“I just did.”

“Okay. I promise I’ll spend as much time with you as you need to work through anything.”

“Even sex things?” I asked. I had to tease him a little.

He blinked, and swallowed, but then his eyes firmed up.

“Even that,” he said, softly. “Please don’t go too far, Megan. Save that for a man you really love, a man you feel like you can’t live without. But if you get feelings you don’t understand or need help with a boy who gets too pushy, you let me know.”

He was so sweet. I almost asked him if he’d put me on the pill.

We worked out again on Wednesday and, again, Uncle Bob demanded work before play. On this day, though, we worked on balance, standing and walking on our hands, and standing in various poses on one leg. He always helped me get into position for the leg work, and he almost always cupped my pussy while he did it. He teased me the whole time. I was wearing sweats, though, so my shirt didn’t fall down to expose my breasts.

He took care of that when he said we were finished. He kissed me and lifted the shirt as I raised my arms. We had to break the kiss for the shirt to clear my head, and while I was blind he attacked my nipples. I was already wet when he pulled my sweat pants down. Of course he had a beautiful erection when he disrobed. He opened the drawer of his night stand and pulled out a little foil packet. He handed it to me.

“You need to know how to put this on,” he said.

I’d seen condoms before and had even installed one on a banana in health class. Doing it on his penis, though, was completely different. The banana didn’t move around because my “lab partner” held it steady. Uncle Bob just stood there while I tried to get his unruly penis to behave. He said I had to retract his foreskin and, while it was retracted roll the thing on, until it was an inch or so behind the crown. That took at least five minutes, during which I dropped the stupid thing three times when it slipped through my fingers. Then I had to push his condom-covered foreskin back up before rolling the rest of the condom onto the shaft. He said if I didn’t do this he wouldn’t be able to cum. I got the first one on but he said it was wrong, because with the foreskin (and condom) pulled back, there was no bubble at the tip to catch his cum.

“It might break if it’s on that way,” he said.

I tried rolling it back off but that didn’t work very well and I ended up just pulling on two sides of the lip until it turned inside out and came off.

“If I had cum in it, it would be a lot easier to get off,” he said. “I’d shrink down and then you could pull it off easily.”

He got me another condom from the drawer.

I destroyed three condoms before I finally got it right. By then I wasn’t really in the mood anymore, if I want to be honest, but after all that trouble I was going to have that thing inside me!

He took his time, though, and got me going again before he had me lie on top of him to push myself onto his hardness. It went in easily enough that I was surprised. I knew not to sit straight up, but I pushed back as hard as I could to get it as deep as possible. It felt good, but something was missing. I rubbed my clit for a while and had a nice, zingy orgasm. Then he pulled me down to suck my nipples again and I pushed back and forth less far. Still, though, my clit was in contact with his hard shaft. It slid easily over the latex covering his cock and felt delicious, but it still seemed like something was missing, or at least different.

The problem was I couldn’t remember exactly what he had felt like, that first time. Well, I could remember the stretching, almost painful sensation, and I knew the orgasms had blown my mind, but it had all happened so fast and I was so shocked by it all that my memory was very fuzzy.

Now, though, with me on top, moving when I wanted to and being still when I didn’t want to move, I didn’t feel as stretched. I loved slamming back on him, getting him as deep as possible, because each time I did that he bumped something way up inside me that hurt really good. It was a good pain, I mean. Very slowly, I raised my body, ready to go back down if it got painful. To my immense surprise, I ended up sitting straight up. I was full... very full ... but it didn’t scare me like the first time.

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Exercising With Uncle Bob

Lubrican

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