Chapter 4: New York City, Fall 2004

I was thirty-seven that Autumn, a lifelong bachelor who had been slowly becoming set in my ways, and so I found the arrival of Amelie and her continuing presence both a trial and a pleasure. It was a joy to have a teenager in the house, with her youthful view of the world allowing me to experience life through a youngster's fresh eye.

But I had to also put up with her immaturity and her arrogance, combined with an anti-Americanism that threatened our uneasy peace almost from day one. Although she enjoyed her school, her classmates, her courses and loved being able to explore the world's most exciting city, inevitably she'd spout some half-baked European theory about the States that would infuriate whoever she was with.

"But Uncle Peter," she'd complained innocently to me one day when I admonished her for some ill thought out comment she'd made, "I thought this was the land of free speech."

"That doesn't mean you can insult us every time you open your mouth."

"But Uncle,"

"Don't Uncle me Amelie. You were brought up much better than that. You don't see your new friends insulting French food or French inefficiency or French waffling on every important issue they face or"

"We don't waffle on"

"Christ sweetie, French foreign policy is based on how many francs it will make them that day. Your President doesn't even understand the concept of long term planning, the long term to him is tomorrow... and America always has to bail you French out whenever you get in trouble. Remember Cherie, it was the good old US of A that chased the Germans out of France while you all cowered in your homes."

"Liar! Batard!" [Bastard], she yelled back. "You people are uncivilized, boorish, God Uncle, look at that fool you have as President," she raged, her haughty pride not even allowing her to see any other view than her own.

But it was also fun to watch her mind expand, growing exponentially as new ideas and sensations flooded in, being bombarded by the University environment and the richness of New York. As we'd talk over dinner I'd be continually delighted as she'd expound on some new philosophy or sociology or political science idea she'd been exposed to that day for the very first time.

And even her French haughtiness couldn't help but be impressed by the treasures of the MOMA or the Guggenheim or the Met or the Whitney and I loved the time I spent walking arm in arm with my pretty niece through the galleries of these cultural landmarks. And it was a delight to escort Amelie to the shows on Broadway, where the 'Phantom' or 'Rent' or 'Mamma Mia' or 'Chicago' or 'Lestat' would invariably bring a look of pure joy to her innocent face.

And then finally there was the sexual tension that slowly built between us that term. She was a beautiful woman who had a European's ease with nudity and sex, a casualness that we Americans often find almost shocking.

She had spent much of every summer on the Riveria, always topless, and often totally nude, as she swam and sunbathed among her friends and parents. She found our awkwardness with nudity amusing, our inability to discuss sexual matters an incomprehensible idiosyncrasy of the English speaking world.

And although I had spent time on the freer beaches of Europe, and had a more casual approach to nudity and sex than most Americans, Amelie immediately sensed my unease when she was half dressed in my presence. It was a soft spot in my armor that she loved scratching; loving the advantage my unease gave her.

It started innocently enough when she decided to join me in my nightly workouts in my basement gym, a one thousand square foot area that housed a sauna, whirlpool, shower and steam room next to a fully functional weight room which was also equipped with a stationary bike and a treadmill. She had explored it when she had first arrived and sometimes used the treadmill and spa, but until mid-October hadn't joined me when I worked out.

One night she trooped down to the gym in skimpy shorts and tank top, her midriff bare, and asked as I watched her approach, "Will you help me with the weights Uncle? Show me what I should do."

"Sure sweetie," I panted as I finished the last rep of a bicep set, "I've been hoping you'd want to try it. Weight training's good for everyone, even for young fit girls," I explained as I walked over to her, sweat glistening on my engorged muscles.

"Mon dieu [My God], your strong Uncle Peter,... I didn't know... your chest, your arms," she stammered, as her eyes roamed over my heaving body.

"Let me see you," I said, placing a hand on each shoulder and then moving them over her back and arms and sides and bare stomach, testing the muscles under her skin, and finally feeling the tremor that coursed through her as I slid my hand over her skin under her belly button. Kneeling before her I grasped each leg in turn, slowly running my hands over her calves, her quads, her hamstrings and then onto her firm glutes and inner thighs.

"You're fit sweetie, you just need a little more strength," I explained, excited by the feel of her silky skin.

"Will you show me? You don't mind me being here when you're trying to work out?"

"It's more fun to work out with someone else," I answered smiling, "You've made my day."

"I have?"

"Uh huh, c'mon I'll show you." And I then led her through a hard hour of work, fifteen minutes of cardiac followed by a full explanation of her muscle groups and the exercises she needed to do. My hands were continually on her body as I led her, supporting her, helping her, encouraging her, as she grew accustomed to the new movements.

"That's enough for tonight honey," I finally said, as she sat panting and sweating on the floor. "You'll be sore tomorrow but OK by Friday," I promised.

"God, I stink," she said as she stood, her nose sniffing under her sweating arm, "Do you have an extra towel down here?" she asked as she quickly peeled her top over her head, baring her perfect, firm, pink tipped breasts to my view for the first time.

"Yeah... sure Amelie... there, over here," I stuttered nervously, and then stumbled as I moved towards the cupboard next to the shower in the corner, an eight foot square tiled space that was open to the room.

When I turned back to her, I couldn't help but gasp loudly, Amelie's body now fully naked to my view. "Jesus", I groaned as my eyes locked on the pink gash casually displayed in front of me.

"Uncle Peter," the little vixen said laughing, "My nudity doesn't make you nervous does it?"

"No, no honey, you just surprised me," I answered lamely, as my eyes continually flicked from her face to her now erect nipples to her hairless groin.

"Are you going to shower now too?" she asked, a clear invitation in her voice.

"No sweetie, I'll get one later," I stammered as I backed quickly towards the door, my cock rock hard at the sight of my niece's nubile body.

The one constant in our relationship over the next two months was her delight in teasing me with her body and she took every opportunity to let me see her abundant charms. Casually around the house, she'd often appear suddenly topless or just in transparent sexy bras, and often appeared at dinner braless with décolleté tops, where each of her small movements would lure my eyes to her flashing charms.

And at least three or four times a week she'd work out with me, casually undressing and then showering when finished, always encouraging me to join her in the whirlpool or shower or steam room. Her perfect body came to haunt my dreams as the weeks passed and even when I made love to a favored friend, often wished it was Amelie who was writhing under me.

She finally caught me naked one night, arriving in the gym smiling as I showered after a hard workout. "I'm late Peter," she explained as she walked across the room toward me, an impish smile on her face, "Professor Chambers, he's my Poli Sci prof, took the class out for drinks. Brrrr, it was cold outside Uncle, oh I really need a hot shower and whirlpool to warm up," she added as she quickly stripped and moved next to me, her eyes twinkling as she blatantly stared at my cock.

"I was afraid you were deformed," she finally said laughing.

"What? Why?"

"Well, you were so shy. And maybe it is," she finished, her tongue licking her lips as she looked up into my eyes.

"D... d... deformed," I stammered.

"It's so big... so huuuge... so eeeeeeenormous," she purred, "No wonder you have all those old women chasing you.

"Ha, ha, ha. But you must remember my little niece," I teased back, finally having regained my equilibrium, "Everything is bigger in America."