Bob Sanders left the kitchen, walked across the minuscule patch of green that was called his back yard and entered the four car garage behind his house. It was brightly lit and he had an unobstructed view of a 1968 Shelby GT 350 Mustang that was in the stall closest to him/ It was one of the first convertibles Carroll Shelby had ever made, or at least made for sale to the public. It had once been forest green, though right now it was a patchwork of different colors, most of them primer of one shade or another. It had no wheels, was up on blocks and the hood was up.

Hanging over the fender, coming from under that hood, was a pair of well-filled, tight cutoff jeans, with a pair of legs dropping out of them that were slim, tanned and slightly spread. The feet on the ends of those legs were equally bare and pointed. The owner of the ass and legs was balanced, with her upper torso inside the engine compartment and the rest of her hanging out from under the hood. Had the cutoffs been missing, it was an ass that would have been perfectly positioned for a doggy style rear entry that would soon have the entering prick fountaining its seed.

Bob's own prick began to fill with blood at the sight. Then he shook his head and reminded himself that this particular ass was that of his niece Heather, who was not only his brother's daughter, but was just sixteen to boot. He shook his head again. She was a mixture of things that was beginning to confuse him. Of course he'd known her since she was a baby. All through her life she had been coming to her Uncle Bob's house on the beach in California from her home in Montana where she lived with her parents and, of course, her brother, who was a year younger than she was.

There was a clang that Bob recognized as a wrench hitting the floor and a muttered oath from inside the engine compartment. The ass wiggled in front of him as she changed her center of balance and began to drop backwards, off the car. Bob stepped forward and grabbed her hips as her upper torso and a brown pony tail appeared. He set her down gently on the cement floor. She turned before he could let go and his hands brushed across the front and back of the jeans as her front came into view.

There were a series of confusing images that flashed through Bob's consciousness: white teeth, the tip of a pink tongue, substantial cleavage, arms going around his neck.

Then her body was pressed against his and he went into sensory overload as she chirped "UNCLE BOB! Hi! Guess what? I got that broken stud out! Isn't that cool? Now we can put the headers on and start it up!"

All the while her braless breasts were rubbing against his chest as she draped her arms around his neck and talked to him from three inches away.

He didn't have a chance. His prick flashed to full erection and pressed into the front of those jeans he had just been admiring and touching. He tried to pull away from her, but she tightened her arms which just pulled her closer, and pressed her groin more firmly against his.

She didn't bat an eye or even indicate she felt it.

In truth, she probably didn't. Heather was all girl, but she didn't think of herself as one. At least not until lately. Her body had matured ahead of schedule, which disgusted her as it began to get in the way of the things she liked to do. That's because Heather was the quintessential Tomboy. She loved football, climbing trees, cutting wood, riding the range and working on her father's farm equipment. But most of all she loved muscle cars and working on them with her Uncle Bob.

He had a collection of sorts. He had a '67 GTO that was completely restored as if it had just rolled off the assembly line. He had a '32 Deuce Coupe that had been built as a street rod, with canary yellow paint and red and orange flames all across the hood and front fenders. He had a '72 Super Bee that was a pile of junk, sitting in the end bay. They hadn't started on it yet. And, of course, he had the Shelby, which was their latest project.

Heather had helped work on them all. She was even the one who found the Super Bee behind a barn in the county where she lived. She managed to talk the farmer who had inherited the place from his father, out of the car, in exchange for helping him get his hay in one summer. He let her dig through the junk in the barn, where she found an extra engine, transmission, seats and some extra fenders. Bob had gone to pick up the car and his niece, who was staying with him for the whole summer between her junior and senior years in High School. She had gotten her driver's license since she last visited, and couldn't wait to drive the Shelby. She didn't care that the seat was mostly just springs and that it still needed some body work. She loved power and speed. The exhaust was the last thing keeping the car in the garage. That and finding some wheels and tires, but that was easy. Bob reminded himself to call his supplier and order a set to be delivered. Bob was rich and could do things like that. He could have had the cars rebuilt for him, but it was his hobby.

Bob finally gave up trying to separate his erection from the front of her jeans. "Excellent" he said, not knowing what to do with his hands, which had raised to her bare midriff. She was wearing one of his old short sleeve button up shirts, with the tails tied in a knot just under her breasts. The shirt might have had some buttons fastened on it originally, but they weren't now. His eyes were drawn to the smooth white valley between her breasts. She saw where he was looking.

"Uncle Bob!" she chided him. "You're as bad as the boys back home! All of you are all the same! Even Mark! I caught him trying to peek at me in the shower last month. All you guys think about is sex sex sex!" she didn't push him away, though. And her groin was still plastered firmly against his big bulge.

Bob figured honesty was the best policy. He hadn't been confronted with his niece's maturity quite in this manner before, but he banked on their prior ability to talk about just about anything.

"Well, sweety, when a girl looks as beautiful as you do, and smells as good as you do, and feels like you do, there isn't a man on the planet who could resist trying to get a peek at your charms."

Heather looked down at her chest. Then, to his amazement she pulled the knot of the shirt away from her body, leaning back from him, until they could both see her bare breasts. His stunned eyes took in puffy pink nipples on the tips of nice heavy looking globes of white flesh.

"Charms ... I've never heard them called THAT!" she stated.

Then, as if she realized she had just exposed her breasts to a man, she blushed and pushed him away. "I thought I could at least trust YOU!" she said accusingly.

He grabbed her hands before they were too far away and held them.

"Heather" he said in his no nonsense voice. "You CAN trust me. I will NEVER do anything to you to hurt you. I LOVE you. I may SEE you as a very desirable and sexy woman, but I will TREAT you like my niece. THAT you can trust!"

She looked at him with something in her eyes he couldn't quite interpret.

"Well, OK" she finally said. "At least you TRIED to get your boner off of me. Most guys try to push it AGAINST me."

Apparently she HAD felt it after all.

"Sorry about that" he said, sincerely. "It just sort of happened when I came in and saw your ... butt ... hanging out from under the hood of the Shelby."

She giggled "You sure it wasn't just the Shelby?"

He snorted. "Trust me. You're MUCH sexier than that car."

She made a mock bow, exposing most of her teen breasts again.

"Why THANK you sir. A girl's always happy to know she's sexier than a car." She straightened back up and leaned back against the fender of the car, looking thoughtful. Her eyes dropped until he knew they were fixed on the front of his shorts. "Uncle Bob?" she said, more seriously.

"Yes?" he said back, folding his arms and ignoring what he knew was a tent in the front of his baggies.

"I don't understand this girly stuff very well," she said. There wasn't much he could say in response so he said nothing. "I mean the guys really do act all funny around me now ... not like they used to. When we go out they all want to sit next to me and touch me and dance with me and stuff and it's weird. And my own brother? Trying to sneak peeks at me? And Ralph Watkins? He's the captain of the football team at school where I go? He tried to KISS me when a bunch of us were at the drive in just before you came and picked me up! I had to sock him one in the stomach to get him away from me! I don't know what to do about all this. Why do boys act like that Uncle Bob?"

She looked so sweet and gorgeous. His prick was still at attention and he knew there was nothing he could do about it right now. Later maybe, but not now.

"OK" he said. "Like I said, you're pretty." She frowned. "No, listen to me Heather. I mean it. You may not think so, but from a guy's perspective, everything about you is the kind of thing that makes men want to make babies."

Her eyes got a little wider.

"It's hard to explain," he went on. "It's not like we look at you and, in our minds, say 'I want to make a baby in Heather'. But our subconscious mind, that we aren't even aware of, sees you and IT thinks that, and our bodies react. Hormones flow and that affects how we act. We're not actually in charge of our own bodies sometimes. Until we use our thinking mind to stop the process. It's sort of like the prehistoric part of me wants to make babies with every good looking woman I see, while the modern part of me says 'Gee Bob, that's not appropriate behavior, so don't do it'."

She was still staring at his crotch. She pointed at his boner.

"So that's the prehistoric part of you, wanting to make a baby with me," she said it very matter-of-factly, as if it weren't taboo.

It unnerved him a little. "Well, um ... yeah ... I guess it is."

She looked up at his face now. "But the modern you doesn't want to touch me."

That sounded pretty harsh. "Well, it's not quite like THAT. I mean I'm aware of how beautiful you are, and how nice it would be to ... to be able to have a physical relationship with you, I suppose ... except it isn't allowed. So I don't."

"But you want to." She was implacable.

He had a feeling that if he said "No I don't want to bone you" it would somehow be the wrong answer. But he couldn't admit he wanted to fuck her brains out. He tried to moderate.

"Yes, if you put it that way, but it isn't appropriate." This was getting a little strange. "Let me put it this way, have you ever wanted to bash in somebody's head? Because they did something you didn't like?"

"Sure" she said.

"But you don't ... right?"

"Sure, you'd get caught and get put in jail."

"OK" he said. "It's the same thing. I may have an urge, but I don't follow through on it because there are consequences."

She thought for a minute and then smiled. "I'm hungry. Is it lunch time yet?"

Just like that she was a kid again.

They ate lunch and she reminded him that she needed a new bathing suit since she'd outgrown the one she had last year. He could believe that after seeing her luscious titties. They were big and juicy. They hopped in the Deuce and he let her drive. She didn't rod it, even though it could do sixty in about four and a half seconds. People stared at the car and the girl driving it. She was having fun, he could tell. They meandered through the mall until they came to a surf shop that sold swimwear. He looked at boards while she picked through swimsuits. "I'm gonna try some of these on" she said, with an armful of colorful cloth. "You sit over there so you can tell me what you think." She pointed to a chair that faced the changing booth. He sat and was chatted up by a sales girl who saw money in his attitude and was hoping for a date with the handsome man. She was cute, but predatory, so he kept it cool.

"Ahem," he heard and turned his head. He choked back a gasp. Heather was wearing a bikini ... what there was of it ... that was the same color as the Deuce Coupe. It was typically Californian, consisting of two Band-Aid sized circles that covered her nipples, and a long strip of cloth about an inch and a half wide that cupped her pussy lips while it covered them. Her pubic bush, while not thick, was visible on the sides of the bottom. There were 'strings' too, that held it together. She twirled. The strings that went over her hips disappeared between her buttocks, which were completely bare. "Well?" she said, turning back to face him.

Bob gulped. He'd seen girls wearing these things while he was at the beach, but he generally looked at them out of the corner of his eyes. this was the first time he'd actually fixed his full attention on a girl wearing one. His mouth was dry. He had to swallow again.

"It's kind of brief, don't you think?" he croaked. He was glad he was sitting down. He hadn't been this hard in a long time. "I like it" he said, a little more strongly "But your Daddy would KILL me if I let you wear that out in public."

She dimpled. "Silly ... this is for sunbathing in the back yard ... not the beach. I wouldn't go out in public in THIS. And ... I'll have to do something about this."

Her fingers grabbed the errant pubic hairs outside the suit and pulled them gently. Then she turned and vanished back into the changing booth. the sales girl had disappeared as soon as she realized Heather was with Bob. She knew she couldn't compete. Bob sat there, trying to get his rampant prick to relax. He saw movement and looked up.

This one was a one piece. It was between red and maroon and sparkled, like it had metal flake in it. It covered her front, while leaving her sides completely bare. Again, the strings that held it on did nothing to cover her back and slipped between her buttocks, leaving her ass bare.

Again she twirled "Public or private?" she asked.

Bob groaned. "Private, though not as private as the other one."

She grinned.

The next one was just like that one, except it was green. The one after that was basic white. It covered her butt, sweeping forward to meet in a tied gather between the bottom and top, then swelled out to cover her breasts. A string went around her neck. It covered everything, but drew attention to everything it covered. Still ... it covered everything.

"And this one?" she said, twirling and looking in the mirror.

"That one I can let you out of the house in." said Bob.

They took their purchases home and Heather immediately wanted to go to the beach in her new suit. Bob was already wearing his baggies, so he grabbed his board and they trouped down to the beach, about 200 yards behind his house. He didn't own the beach, of course, but it was relatively lightly used, because it was a long way from the public entrances. There were only twenty five or so people lying around, swimming or surfing when they got there. Heather went running into the surf, laughing and jumping while Bob put a coat of wax on the board. He'd promised Heather he'd teach her how to surf this summer. Her visits in the past had been too short to give her good instruction.

"I'm ready" he heard her yell as he buffed the last coat of wax. He turned and his mouth fell open. He should have thought about that white suit.

It had no foundation in it. When it got wet it was translucent. Her strawberry nipples showed through quite plainly. They were erect from the water and her excitement. Her brown bush showed through just as plainly. But most devastating of all were the two plump pussy lips that were clearly defined by the wet suit, just below that patch of brown. It drew the eye, and it drew that eye right to her pussy. The suit just screamed "Fuck Me!"

He groaned. He was hard as a rock again. Heather saw the twist of his face and his glassy eyed-stare.

"What's wrong?" she shouted as she got closer.

The suit did nothing to support her bouncing breasts. He wanted nothing more than to throw her down and breed her right then and there.

"Your suit" he gasped. She looked down, but it was difficult for her to see what he was able to see.

"What?" she said, looking at her legs.

"I can see through it," he said in a strangled voice.

She strained and gawked, but still couldn't see it straight on, like he could. "No you can't" she said in a chiding voice.

"Yes he can" came a voice from about ten feet away.

They both turned and looked at the woman who had spoken. She was bronze and slim, probably in her late twenties or early thirties. She had the sun-bleached good looks that were common on the West coast. She was wearing a copy of the Band-Aid suit that Bob had classified "private" for his niece.

"Though" she went on "on you it looks pretty good. You have a really nice camel toe" she said conversationally, as if strangers commented on each other's pussy lips all the time. "But you should probably shave. You can leave a long thin vertical strip, but you have just a little too much. You have good nipples for that kind of suit too. All in all I'd say it was a very good choice for you." She turned to Bob. "I had in mind to introduce myself. I was watching you work on your board. But..." she looked back at Heather "I can see that would be a waste of my time. Too bad." Then, as if she'd just done the most normal thing in the world, she went back to reading a thick paperback book.

Bob's mouth was hanging open. He started to explain "But she's my..."

Heather cut him off "She knows who I am Bob. I said I was ready. Let's go. I want to take a shower and get all this salt water off of me." She picked up her towel and stood, waiting for her Uncle to figure out she had just changed the rules and wanted him to take her back to the house instead of teach her to surf.

Bob was still trying to figure out where he fell off the turnip wagon. Why had she called him Bob instead of Uncle Bob? Then he realized she was probably trying to gracefully get off the beach in her transparent suit.

"OK ... sure honey" he said, picking up his board. They trudged up toward the house.

"Sorry" he said. "I shouldn't have said anything ... but it was so obvious. I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of that woman."

"Oh, I wasn't embarrassed" she said, taking his arm as they walked through the deep sand. "I just didn't want her to know I was your niece. She thought I was your girlfriend."

"What?" said Bob, stumbling in the sand. Her hand on his elbow saved him from sprawling on the gravelly sand.

"Well" she looked hurt. "It doesn't hurt anything does it? I mean she was gunning for you Uncle Bob. If she'd have found out I was your niece she would have swooped and swallowed you up. I'd have been all alone on the beach in a see through suit." She craned her neck again "Even though I can't tell.

"No she wouldn't!" yelped her Uncle, a little belatedly.

"Yes she would." said his niece. "Have you looked at the front of your pants lately?"

He looked down. It looked like he had a grapefruit in his shorts. "But that was because of you, not her..." he said it before he could stop himself. "I mean ... it was already there when she ... I mean ... ohhhh fuck." he gave up as Heather's laughter tinkled beside him.

"Uncle Bob" she said in a voice she might have used with a five year old, "We've already established that your body wants to make babies with my body. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Wow" thought Bob. "She sure is taking this pretty well."

By then they were back at the house. She went in and went straight to the master bathroom, which she rarely used. He heard the shower going and saw the door was ajar. He thought about closing it, but before he could the shower stopped.

"Uncle Bob?" she yelled. "Don't you have a full length mirror in your room?"

"Uh, yeah" he yelled back.

She came breezing through the door, still dressed in the suit, and was dripping wet. "Sorry about the water" she said, as she walked to the mirror. She stood, looking at how transparent the material was. Her face bloomed bright red.

"I might as well not be wearing it" she gasped.

"I told you" he said, somewhat smugly.

She was still looking, turning this way and that.

"She was right. I DO need to shave. I mean I knew I'd have to lose some of it for the back yard suit ... but ... yeah, I think she's right." She turned to him. "Do you have a razor I can borrow?"

Bob thought about the Shick Velvet Glide he used every day on his face. With a new blade it would be good for what she was talking about. But, could he ever shave his face with the same razor she used to shave her ... pussy? If he tried he'd probably rip himself to shreds, just thinking about it.

"I've probably got something" he mumbled.

She stood, facing him, in her transparent suit. He finally figured out she was waiting for him to get the razor. Still painfully erect, he got the razor, a new blade and some shaving cream. He handed them to her. She gave him a dazzling smile, turned and disappeared back into his bathroom. This time she closed the door.

Bob decided to beat off right then and there, to ease the pressure. His prick had been hard most of the day, it seemed, and his balls were beginning to ache. He didn't dare get naked, so he just pushed his baggies down and started jerking off while standing in the middle of his bedroom. His towel was on the bed and he hobbled over to get it to catch his spend. It felt better already, knowing he was going to get to shoot, and he slowed down a little, to enjoy the feeling. He worked himself closer and closer...

"Uncle Bob?" came her yell through the door.

He looked and saw the knob turning. In panic, he jerked his shorts back up, pinning his iron hard cock to his stomach. He jerked his hands away from his shorts just as the door opened and her head stuck through.

"I need a really big favor," she said.

Bob was standing in an unnatural pose, with his knees slightly bent and his hands hanging at his sides, but away from his body a little, almost like he was on a surf board. He straightened up.

"What" he said distractedly.

"I can't do this" she said. She frowned and peered at him closely.

"What do you mean you can't do it?" he said.

"I can't even shave my legs without cutting them to ribbons. This is even harder. I can't seem to get the razor to cut anything at all." She seemed to be distracted by something.

With sudden crystal clarity, Bob understood her problem. She needed scissors first.

"You need scissors first. I have some. They're in the drawer ... in there," he said. She looked at him a little longer and then disappeared back into the bathroom.

"I can't find them. Come find them" she yelled.

He went to the door. "Are you decent?"

She laughed. You saw me in that suit. What more is there to see?" there was a long pause. He knew if he went in there and she was naked, he'd fill his pants with spooge.

Finally she said "Yes I'm decent. Don't be such a boob.". He went to the door. She had a towel wrapped around her. She was staring at his waist. He went past her into the bathroom, got the small scissors out of the drawer and then saw himself in the mirror.

The head of his cock was sticking out of his waistband.

When he'd pulled his shorts back up he hadn't pulled them quite far enough. He wasn't circumcised and the hood covered most of the head. But he could see his piss hole and a little circle of skin around it. HE wanted to smash his head. But he couldn't. He fixed it, turned and handed the scissors to her. He tried to go back past her again but she stopped him.