© Copyright 2004

A Discovery in Denver

In my defense all I can say is that I didn't set out to fuck my niece. There are reasons for our incest taboos, after all. But it's not like there's any actual blood between us. I'm an uncle by marriage, and she's a step-kid, so we don't share any DNA. In degrees of consanguinity, I'm probably closer to Kevin Bacon. Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I saw Alison a fair bit in the first year we were related, because her folks lived nearby and we socialized, well, like family. Alison was just an appendage on the extended brood, a gawky kid whose olive coloring was a clear mismatch to the pale tones of her mom and step-dad. I never met her bio-dad, but he must have had some mighty genes. And that's the last you'll hear of him, so if I write "her dad", I mean my brother-in-law.

Alison was in middle school when a career move took her folks out of state, so we got together only when one bunch or the other could justify the travel. That meant I saw her development in large steps. Yes, I became one of those relatives who says, "Look at you, how you've grown. Why, I remember...". I may have even pinched her cheek. We were only 12 years apart (she was 11 when I married at 23), but that's a long time at that age.

After a gap while she was at college, we reunited at her graduation party, a big family do. I still remember the sight of her crossing the lawn to greet us. Gone were the baby fat, the glasses and the awkward gait. Here was a young woman in full flower, two inches taller and ten pounds lighter, with a model's confidence and strong, high cheekbones -- had I pinched that cheek? Her burnt-honey complexion gave her the healthy glow of a permanent tan. Suddenly (from my time-lapse perspective) she was a knockout.

I got an extra-tight hug from her, and I felt how much she'd changed. Some inner yardstick rated her pressing mounds as 34B or so, and the outer measuring stick started to extend as she gave her hips a subtle shift. "Uncle Ed," she cried as we embraced, "I'm so glad you could make it! Look everyone, it's my favorite uncle!" This was news to me, but I wasn't going to argue... after all, she'd just become my favorite niece.

Looking back, I can see from all the little touches and extra attention, that she came on to me a bit that day, but I was in denial. You guys know how it is when you're having sexy thoughts about someone you shouldn't -- a bit of guilt can make you believe your dick is doing the thinking (and to be fair, it usually is).

We had kept up on the major events in her life through e-mail. Her teaching degree hadn't led to a satisfying job -- I guess she didn't like middle school kids that much -- so she signed on as a flight attendant for a Chicago-based airline, the city where she'd settled.

My business has me on the road several times a year, but I rarely fly on Alison's airline, since I live in a competitor's hub city. Still, fate doesn't follow the air corridors, and so it was that we both wound up in Denver one fine day in April.

A colleague and I were nursing a late afternoon drink on the open mezzanine of a downtown hotel, when in the lobby below two stews rolled their suitcases to the desk. My eye went casually to the blonde, who had a young- Meg-Ryan cuteness (at least from overhead), but my attention was really on our conversation.

Even the most obtuse of you have figured out that the other girl was Alison, but all I saw then was an oblique view of a young woman in uniform with her dark hair in a bun. As they joked with the clerk and picked up key cards, my lizard brain noted that the brunette moved in a familiar way. By the time the thought had bubbled to the top, they were moving toward the elevators. And by the time I'd leapt up and headed for the stairs, leaving my companion wondering about my sanity (or my bladder), they were gone.

I went right to a house phone, but apparently they were sharing an airline- paid room, and Alison's name wasn't on it. I'm sure the clerk thought of calling the cops as I blathered the tale of my niece, how I wanted to find her room and surprise her. It sounded lame even to me, and of course it did no good.

The missed opportunity bothered me for the rest of the afternoon, but by evening I'd accepted it as a close call, and let it go. I joined the after- dinner crowd in the lounge and sat in a back booth, nursing a microbrew as a jazz trio played just loud enough to make every conversation an intimate one.

Then everything changed.

Mine wasn't the only head that swiveled as a pretty blonde with a Meg Ryan shag slinked in wearing a short, sexy cocktail dress, checked out the room, and claimed a spot at the bar. But I'll bet mine were the only eyes that left their head a moment later as a honey-skinned babe with dark hair down to her spaghetti straps strolled in, sat at the other end of the bar, and nodded to the bartender.

You wouldn't know it from the story so far, but I'm normally pretty good at reading a room. If I hadn't been so focused on this second chance to connect with Alison, the setup would have screamed at me. But focused I was, so I downed my beer and started to work through the crowd toward the bar.

When I regained sight of her, she was no longer alone. A guy about my age with a cocky grin had taken the next stool and was leaning in, stroking her bare upper arm, and generally doing his charming best to pick her up. I chuckled to myself that he was in for a surprise... when world tilted and, at least for me, the room went quiet. I wasn't seeing a casual pickup. No, I'd seen this picture before: a negotiation.

I watched the dance play out in front of me, as my brain re-sorted and sifted all the cues into a new version of reality. Ho... lee... shit! They were so intent on each other, and the deal, that Alison never saw me. Given the context, I'm not sure I would have registered anyway.

When she slipped a ten onto the bar and slid off her stool, I knew this wasn't a new thing, and the bartender was hip to it. I mentally shook myself back to the present, and thought, Did I misread all that? Was there an innocent explanation? Could I have the next go? Oops, scratch that last.

I figured that an approach to the other stew could confirm or rebut my thesis, so I moved her way. She'd drawn the same attention that Alison had, but there was still an empty stool on her left for me.

I could overhear bits of her chat with the guy on her right, and it was obvious that he wasn't getting it. I was reminded of that scene from 'Arthur': "... she'sh a HOOKER? I thought she jusht liked me."

I touched her arm, and when she glanced over I asked if I could buy her a drink. Mr. Right was irritated -- he thought he'd staked a claim -- but blondie was ready to cut bait and turned her 100-watt smile my way.

"Hey, thanks, sure I'll take a drink from a handsome stranger. Stoly rocks, Ray," she addressed the bartender. So I guess she's not new here. I gave Ray a nice tip and he gave a subtle nod to my lovely pal.

I normally don't 'do' hookers (still assuming she was one), and never one this classy, so I was just winging it here. But I do know business, and I assumed that her experience would help us over any rough spots. "Strangers don't know each other's names", I smiled, "and since now you know that I'm Ed, we're nearly friends."

"Hi, Ed, nice to meet you, I'm Lacy," she said, offering her hand. OK, sure, Lacy, whatever. "So, are you in town on business?"

"Good guess, Lacy, business it is, and just two days left." We chatted a while about nothing, and eventually I returned her question. "How about you? Is it business for you, too?"

She appraised me openly and apparently decided I was fresh meat. "Actually, Ed, I'm on a very pleasant kind of business. I don't need an office, the hours are great, and I meet such interesting men." There it was... not people, men. We were on the same page, my hypothesis proven. Q-E-fucking- D.

She'd had the chance to tell me she was a stew on layover, out for a good time, and when that didn't happen I knew that somewhere over our heads, my luscious young niece had a customer, not a friend, plugging one or more of her holes. The thought made me so horny that I decided to let this young beauty lighten my wallet, just for the relief.

"Yeah," I winked, "I figured. Are you... open for business tonight?"

I must have looked like I could carry the freight, because 'Lacy' took my hand and hopped off the stool. "I think you'll find I'm very open. Shall we check out the view from your room?" Wow, from pitch to sale in 10 minutes -- not bad, for a girl.

I got my first good look at the whole package, and it was quite nice. She was early twenties, about 5'4", tanned and athlete-slim, with maybe B-cup breasts that did fine without a bra. Her greenish eyes and orthodontic smile completed the movie-star look that started with the shag do. This girl fucks for a living? I thought. Well, fucks and flies, but who's counting. Probably working her way through grad school.

We nuzzled a little in the elevator, and I cupped one of her tits (strictly research) as I gave her throat a gentle lick and suck. "No hickeys, baby, I have to maintain here," she cautioned. I murmured an assurance and she melted just a little as I caught a hot spot. Either she's a good actress, I mused, or she's new enough at this to still get turned on.

Once we got to the room she made an odd request. "Ed, honey, do you mind if I see your plane ticket?" I wondered if she was getting her jobs mixed up. She saw that I was confused, though she couldn't know why, and explained, "I have to be careful about cops. If you're from out of town, you'll have a return flight, right?" Right. Clever girl. And I was clever enough to cover my last name with a thumb as I showed her.

Once that was settled she got down to business. "It's a hundred for straight sex, thirty minutes max, one-fifty for half-and-half." Which I took to mean a blowjob, then a fuck. Or maybe the order wasn't important. Either way, I wanted the whole ride and I didn't know if hondeling was allowed, so I whipped out the bills. "And I don't do bareback, or anal." Great, more technical terms. I briefly considered asking for a manual.

"You've got a deal, sweet," I said, handing her the cash. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to see what my money's buying." Well, OK, renting.

"Get comfortable," she smiled, "and let me dance a little for you." Damn, here I was about to pop my zipper from the inside, and Lacy wanted to put on a show. I hoped there were no puppets involved. Or hmmm, wait... "Why don't you slip off those tight pants," she nodded at my crotch, "and settle back."

I dropped them with the fluid motion that earned me the nickname "Culottes Rapides" in Biarritz one season (long story), and plopped onto the bed. Lacy did her strip with such relish that I started looking around for mustard. There was only so much she could do, since all she wore was a clingy dress and matching thong. Still, she managed a nice tease, and my appreciation was prominently displayed.

She finished by stepping out of the silky thong while pushing her rear my way, exposing her neatly trimmed bush and winking rosebud to my approving eyes, as her firm breasts swayed slightly beneath. She was attractive, nicely built, well-spoken, and very sexy. I wondered again why, with all that going for her, she was selling it in hotel bars.

My hand had found my dick (odd how that happens) and was idly stroking as I watched. Lacy straightened and smiled. "Here, that's my job... and ooh, what a nice one you've got there. What is it, eight and a half?" I might approach six and a half on a good night, but I guess I'd paid for the compliment. Or was that a sly Fellini reference?

She knelt and gave my johnson a better inspection than my urologist -- of course, he'd never seen it this hard. I must have passed, because she started licking the sensitive underside, then sucked the knob into her lips. "Ummm... ?" I questioned. "No rubber?"

"Not for this part," she grinned mischievously, "I like the taste and I love the feel of a man in my mouth. You don't mind, do you?" she asked. Ah, the very model of a rhetorical question. She dropped her head, engulfed my cock and grasped the shaft in one operation.

She was a very good cock sucker, with just the right combination of teasing, aggression, and rhythm. As I got closer my hips started straining off the bed, which was her signal to hold me as deeply as she could without gagging, while doing something with her tongue that I still haven't figured out. I guess it must have been covered in Blowjob Grad School. Whatever, it sent me over the edge, and I let off a spurt that could have hit the ceiling -- thank god there was a naked blonde to block it, and the next ones.

She took it all without spilling, and kept bobbing gently to get the last twitch from my deflating member. I've long since given up deciding what the best head I ever had was -- pointless really, since you can't remember ecstasy -- but that was definitely Grade A. If I'd had a blue ribbon with me, she'd have worn it home.

And I think this was some kind of hooker stratagem, because no way was I going to be able to fuck her now. Or so I thought. She wiggled onto me, straddling my lap, and I found myself with a faceful of breasts.

I'm a 'tit man' in the classic sense -- a connoisseur for whom size, within reason, is not an issue. For me, right-sized and natural is much better than big and fake, or even just big. And let's talk nipples for a moment. Or not... I've got a pair here that needs my attention.

I licked and sucked and gently chewed her nipples until they began to stiffen. I didn't know if this meant she was really turning on, but the sensation of her moistening pussy grinding on my cock, in fact the whole scene, was certainly turning me on. I was running my hands along her sides and down her spine, cupping and kneading her ass, and letting my fingers explore her most personal creases and crevices.

Within a few minutes I was starting to rise again, and there was a noticeable increase in her lubrication. My probing digits met little resistance as I pressed one, then two fingers past her lightly furred outer lips. She moaned as my thumb found her turgid clitoris and a third finger joined the others in her hot, slippery channel. I eased the fingers out while keeping a gentle pressure on her clit, stroked her perineum (I'm not a doctor, but I play one in stories) and finally eased my slicked middle finger into her pulsating anus. That broke the spell.

"No, honey, I don't take it there, remember?" she panted, either well aroused or capable of feats of great bodily control, since a flush had spread across her breasts and was creeping up to her neck.

I responded gently, "Oh, I won't fuck your ass, Lacy, not unless you ask me. I'm just exploring. But this feels good, right?... I can tell you like it, and I like it too, so why not just go with it?" I continued the light reaming, rubbing her pink pearl and suckling at her outstanding tits.

"Mmmm... what you're doing feels great... but don't you want to fuck me? I need you to fuck me now, Ed." Ever the businesswoman -- one eye on the clock, even in the midst of passion.

Now here's where I stumbled, and began my descent into depravity. Well, maybe continued it... I think the start was a couple of decades ago. Anyway, I had what passes for a brainstorm in these situations. Given which head was doing the thinking, maybe 'dickstorm' is a better term.

"I sure do want to fuck you, Lacy. But I wonder if there's something else we might try. I've always wanted to watch two girls get it on, and maybe join in. Would you consider that? Do you know anyone who'd be willing to share with us?" I'm sure you see where I'm going with this.

Lacy had to take a minute to refocus. "Uh, well, I haven't done that, I don't know, it seems... don't you want to fuck me? Can I suck you again, get you going? Please, just fuck me. I need it bad."

Oh ho, a reluctant ho. Maybe she wasn't so experienced. Come to think of it, how could she be, if she worked a regular job and just did this one night a week or so?

"I'll pay, Lacy. There's another $400 in it, split it with the other girl. C'mon, you must know someone," I said, hoping that there was only one possibility.

I'd said the magic words. Not 'hocus pocus', but 'four hundred'. "Uh, I can check. I have a friend, but she might be... busy right now." Naw, I thought, she got that guy off like a bunny and is trolling again. "Let me make a call."

She speed-dialed her cell as she excused herself to the bathroom, still gloriously naked. I hugged the door to hear what I could, and I'll make up the rest (so sue me).

"Hey, it's me. I guess you're back from your date? How was it?... No shit, really? Cool, that's a lot. But anal -- girl, I don't know how you do it... Yeah, right, someday NOT." Ohmigod, my dear little niece takes it up the pooper. I can hardly contain myself -- I'm rock hard just eavesdropping. Oh, but yeah, I was already rock hard.

"Umm, look, I don't know if you're up for this, but I'm with a guy who offered 300 bucks [why, the little minx] for a three way... but we'd have to, you know, do each other too. Yeah, I know, we said this might come up when we started, but now it's time. Uh huh, right, no, he's cool, I already blew him, and he really had me going here. What? Oh, he's like 40, but he'd be a lot of fun. Shit, I don't know, maybe he'd go 400. Anyway, I already got a hundred for the BJ, so you can have 200, how's that? It'd mean we could call it a week." I drifted away, since it sounded like it was down to a quibble about the rate.

OK, yes, you're right. I was ignoring the elephant in the room: no matter what, Alison would recognize me and when that happened, all bets were off. I had no strategy, no plan... either this would be great, or it would blow up so big there'd be repercussions for years. But hell, life's a risk, right? And remember which head is doing the risk assessment.

I was sure enough about this that I got a Viagra out of my bag and popped it in anticipation. I wanted to fuck these two beauties blind. And if you don't ask why I'm carrying Viagra on a business trip, I won't ask about those tax deductions of yours.

Lacy flipped the phone off and came out to find me across the room and not the slightest bit listening at the door. Ahem. "She'll do it, but she says we have to get $500. Do you have that much on you?"

Since I had a feeling that money-talk wasn't going to survive the coming shock, I made a token show of reluctance. "I only have about $200 in cash, but there's an ATM in the lobby. Tell you what. Here's the $200, for good faith. You get your friend up here... what's her name, by the way?"

"It's Lila," she lied.

"Great, get Lila up here and, ah, get involved, while I hit the machine for the rest. When I come back I'll expect to find you two naked and going at it. Deal?"

She appraised me again. "Deal," she said, taking the bills. She re-dialed and said only, "1411." She clicked off and gave me a quizzical smile, as if wondering what she'd gotten herself into.

To ease her mind, I took a few more licks at her nipples and fingered her moist slit as she stroked me. I reluctantly broke away to slip on a shirt and slacks for the elevator ride. Timing was important now... but then, when isn't it?

As I pushed the button, I realized that the elevator could even now be carrying 'Lila' up, and this wasn't the spot for that meeting. I walked down a flight to catch a ride from there.

I took my time at the ATM, trying to figure how long it would take for Aliso... uh, Lila to arrive and get naked. I had no illusions about them starting without me -- I figured they'd talk shop until the door clicked and fake it from there. But I wanted them both there and ready, and not sure if they had time to snoop, or steal. I'd taken my wallet and travel papers, but who knows what a curious pro could ferret out.

As I rode back up the Viagra started to kick in, and thoughts about what was coming had my dick on the rise. Luckily I passed no one in the hall -- this trouser tent wasn't for sharing with passing strangers.

I slid in the key card and took a deep breath. I couldn't predict how this would play out, but I knew that opening the door would set in motion something with a life of its own.

I turned the handle and pushed, muttering, "Well, here goes nothing..."

Alison's Tale -- Standard Deviations

If you'd told me ten years ago I'd be where I am today I'd have laughed and called you crazy. Back then I was a 14-year-old girl who had just moved 1000 miles to where my dad's business had taken us. Moving is hard on a teenager, but overall this could have been much worse. It was during that big, exciting change between middle and high school, so a new city was just one more thing.

It took all summer to get my bearings, both physically and emotionally. I made friends in the neighborhood and started to go through some outward changes. My tits were coming in as my weight shifted from girl-places to woman-places, and my hormones were raging. By the time school started in the fall I had a nicely budding body and I knew that boys and men liked to look at me. And I liked to look at them.

I hadn't had sex yet, hadn't even seen a penis except in the pictures we all giggled about, but I sure knew what a penis was for. Dicks, cocks, boners, hardons -- I dreamed of them as I rubbed myself at night, teasing my clitoris and testing my depths with fingers or a hairbrush handle.

Sometimes the cocks had faces: pop stars, local boys, neighbors, relatives -- anything male. More often they were anonymous, plundering my tight pussy, ravaging my helpless ass, sliding roughly between my sucking lips. Sometimes they were black, or came in groups. Me, I came every time.

Oh, we knew about the things that boys and their tools could do to a girl. We had all the stories and images we wanted, thanks to the Internet, most of them by men who had no idea what girls felt. These definitely shaped my views on what sex should be like, and not necessarily all bad. But we dreamed of love, too: romantic evenings with powerful but gentle men... exotic travels as fiercely independent women... a remote ranch with taciturn cowboys and prize stallions. You know, complete fantasies.

I dated some that freshman year, learning more about guys and their urges, feeling the power my body gave me over them, and feeling too, but not revealing, their power over me. I touched my first clothed cock that year, and its feel, the denim-muted ridges and insistent throbbing, fueled my masturbation for a week. I allowed some exploration of my own body, letting boys cup my bra-covered breasts as we kissed at parties or in parks. One got a clumsy feel of my pantied crotch, but no more. Don't get me wrong, it was never a question of "if", only "when".

My girlfriends were as bold and curious as me, and I'm sure we whispered and compared notes as much as the boys boasted and snickered. As a group we must have formed a classic bell curve, with a few total prudes and a few sluts at the edges, and the rest somewhere in the middle, looking for a safe but satisfying course through the steamy jungle of sex.

Some went the girl-girl route, and while I don't doubt there were boys of the same persuasion, for some reason that was more taboo and hidden. I think for us girls it's more innocent in a way, where the macho culture says, "Lick one cock, and you're a homo."

I'll admit to some experiments along those lines, like when my friend Julie and I wanted to get better at french-kissing. No big deal, we were each pretending to be with a boy. Well, I was, but Julie not so much. When her hand crept under my waistband, I suspected this wasn't just about boys. When I saw the look in her eyes as she pulled off my panties, I was sure of it. I let her touch me, then gave a little shiver as her face hit my lap.

Julie must have done it before, or had a really good imagination, because I had my first orgasm with another person as Julie licked and probed the places that up until now only I had touched. I came hard when she sucked my clit, and yes, I did return the favor... a few times. But I knew this wasn't my thing, because I always imagined she was a boy, and this was leading to the real act of love I craved -- a hot, hard, male member thrusting into me, not just a couple of girlish fingers.

I got some direct experience with a dick in my sophomore year. I'd grown taller and thinned out almost everywhere except my chest, which made me kind of a boy magnet. By then I was dating, and got steady with a hot guy named Brian. I had no trouble getting his cock out of his pants, and by word and grunt he taught me how to jerk him off as we kissed. From the very first I loved the feel, and yes the taste on my fingers, of his silky, salty semen.

I let him do the same for me -- nuzzling my breasts, sucking and pulling at the nipples until I thought I'd come just from the sensation. I directed his hand to my pussy and the bud at the top. His fingers probed crudely, until I guided them to my hot center and let him slip them in. Neither of us was shy about expressing our preferences, and it wasn't long before we were very, very good at getting each other off by hand.

And it wasn't much longer after that, that I took his hardness into my mouth and sucked the sperm from his balls. It thrilled me to think that I had my first cock inside me. I loved the stiff and spongy feel of it as my lips and tongue gave him (and me) this new pleasure. It was heaven, and then even more when he responded in kind.

My experience with Julie hadn't prepared me for oral sex from Brian. His technique wasn't great -- he didn't have the practice parts that Julie had -- but he made up for it with enthusiasm. And he was a real guy, with a real cock. We spent that spring eating and stroking as much as we could. I was in love, that's how much I knew.

There was one thing we hadn't done, and while Brian was eager and I was willing, it never happened. I found he'd been using me to rehearse for more of the same with Karen, who let him fuck her on their first date. Then she let Brian and Steve both fuck her on their second. Bell curve? Karen wasn't even on the slope.

He'd also been bragging to his buddies, which felt like even more of a betrayal. We stopped going out -- I completely stopped dating, after some crude advances from his friends -- and while I missed the intimacy and the mutual orgasms, I didn't miss him. I decided to set my sights beyond the neighborhood, and beyond high school boys. I'd show these assholes.

Now 16 and with a driver's license, I found bars two and three towns away where ID was optional for a cute young girl, and tested the limits of my sexual power. I know now that I was overreacting to what I saw as Brian's betrayal, but I did learn a lot in a short time about what men and women did, not just boys and girls. And I slid off that hump in the middle of the bell curve...

I fucked my way to the bottom. Any guy who paid attention to me and treated me nice could take me to his truck for a blowjob, and if I liked his cock, we'd fuck in whatever position we could manage. Nobody knew my real name -- I was Lila here, not Alison -- and I didn't give a shit about theirs. This was the closest I could come to the faceless cocks that had filled my fantasies a few years ago. I probably blew twenty men that year, and fucked half of them.

So far it was one-on-one sex, until one night when I exceeded my two-beer limit. I was flying, and when two guys offered me a little weed, I jumped at it. We went into a back room and before I knew it I was stoned out loud, and the small space was filling with hot music, horny men and a few horny women. I giggled my way through a clumsy striptease, and once I was nude I started rubbing up against the two closest men, pulling out their hard dicks.

One of them felt up my tits as the other explored my pussy. I bent to suck one guy as another positioned himself behind and plunged into me with one sweet, brutal stroke. Cocks sprang from denim around the room, and one of the other women knelt to suck off her man. Soon she too was being stripped and fingered, and soon after that every woman was handling a couple of men each as lines formed around us. I'd sparked a full-blown orgy.

I was so wasted that I have no idea how many times I was fucked that night, or how many men -- and women -- I sucked off. Maybe ten? Whatever, it was a big-time wake-up call. I knew I had to shape up or I'd be in trouble. I passed a couple of scary weeks and visits to the doctor's office before I felt like I'd really come through it OK, by sheer luck.