Chapter 6: Thanksgiving Morning

I rang the door bell and I heard Lissa excitedly call to her mom "It's uncle Jason." She opened the door, and I beheld my gorgeous, exotic, spritelike 14 year old niece. She leaped out and hugged me, and although it was cozy, it was tentative and completely chaste. Then my sister came out and gave me a warmer hug, and I knew right then that at least she hadn't been making everything up, as I could plainly see the shape of the cones and peaks of her nipples through her lovely emerald blouse. Though the cloth was dark enough and thick enough to conceal the coloration, it was still evident she wasn't wearing a bra. She had her hair in an unexpected "corn-rows" style I'd never seen on her before, and she looked very sexy and exotic.

For the first time it occurred to me that I was, in a way, setting myself up for a profoundly frustrating weekend, if these two women carried through with even half of what I'd outlined for them. For that matter, it occurred to me that they could do absolutely nothing, and solely driven by my own imagination, I was going to be spending an amazingly stimulating Thanksgiving, as I searched for any minutiae of evidence that would suggest that the strange fantasy that had developed over the last several months had any elements of truth to it. Such as my sister's bralessness I was noticing upon the moment of my entrance. And was that a musk of female horniness I smelled in the air? Or rather, just something cooking or having been cooked in the kitchen?

We chatted for a while, and I told Denise how well they both seemed to be doing. She said, nonchalantly, "I've been in a really good state of mind the last month or two ... can't really say why." Let him read that as innocently as he wants, I imagined her thinking.

Both she and I had inherited a strong tendency to "double-entendre" humor and irony from our parents (clearly an argument in favor of nurture over nature, given her status as an adoptee). Not to mention apreference for sarcasm. But we'd always been a bit shy about deploying such double-entendre directly at one another -- it was more something that would come out with our respective spouses, for example, but in each other's presence.

As mother and daughter sat next to one another on the couch, I observed to them that they indeed seemed very happy. Lissa piped in, "Me and mom are getting along really well, too -- no fights for like a couple weeks now." We all laughed.

Finally, we wound down the "haven't seen you in so long" small talk, and comments on work, work, school (respectively), and I said I was exhausted from the flight (which was true) and should be heading for bed. They agreed it had been a long day, and without further incident I was ensconced in the guest room (actually the small den off the living room), and, despite how horny the whole situation had me, in the spirit of the solidarity that I felt with the two of them, and with what I was asking of them, I only edged myself very briefly before allowing myself to drift off to sleep.

I woke in the morning with a raging erection. Now, that's not unusual, as anyone who is a male (or knows one) can attest. But the circumstances meant that I was a) more conscious of it than usual, b) I would have to traverse their living room to get to the hall bathroom for my morning shower, while c) they were both evidently already awake -- I could hear voices outside, probably from the kitchen or dining area. Normally, I'm an early riser, but, without the obligation of an alarm clock, I discovered I'd slept almost to 8 am.

I stretched and yawned. It was a holiday. I dug out my kimono, and, daringly, removed my other clothing before slipping it on. With hands in pockets, it wasn't too obvious, I decided.

Grabbing my bathroom kit, I opened the door to the guest room and saw them both. Lissa was at the table, reading the comics page from the newspaper. Denise was in the kitchen (the whole kitchen / dining room / living room were open to one another), doing something with a casserole pan on the kitchen island. "Good morning, little brother of mine," she said with a chipper, almost flirtatious voice I hadn't heard from my sister in years. She was clearly in an extremely good mood. "Good morning," I said. "Hi uncle Jason," said Lissa somewhat distractedly, not looking up from her comics.

Denise offered me coffee, and I said I'd get some as soon as I got out of the shower. And as I walked past I realized that both were still in their sleepwear: Denise had on a matching set of silken, olive green real old-fashioned pajamas, while Lissa was in one of those long t-shirts so common with girls as sleepwear. I wondered if both of them were truly pantiless and braless beneath, but decided to defer closer inspection, partly because my already raging woody was getting more aggressive under the kimono.

Holding the bathroom kit strategically to conceal the situation, I went into the bathroom. I took a very relaxing shower and, rather than stroking myself, I tried to will myself to a more quiescent state, and cursed at my not having brought in a pair of jockeys to put on after I was showered.

Finally, after an extra few minutes thinking deeply about some mysterious database error messages from work, I felt under control enough to come back out. I was feeling a kind of weird, nervous, erotic arousal I hadn't experienced since adolescence.

I came back out and Lissa was missing from her seat at the table, but Denise was there, and she patted a chair at the table and invited me to have some coffee. "You remember where the cups are, right?" she said, as I strolled into the kitchen.

I got my coffee and added some cream from the fridge. With the cup, all steaming hot, I sat cattycorner to my sister at the table and took in her sheepish grin. "You're really doing well," I commented.

She just nodded, and suddenly we were in a very serious conversation about David's suicide, the hard months after, her own depression. I completely forgot the games for a little while, and was relating to my sister in the way we always had, emotionally close but devoid of sexual baggage of any kind. I felt some relief that the dynamic wasn't lost between us, and felt a huge pang of guilt over the deception I was engaged in.

"But I'm really doing much, much better the last few months," she concluded.

"I can see," I smiled, and patted her arm.

At that moment, Lissa emerged from her room, now wrapped in a large bath towel. Not part of a task I'd given them ... but who's to rule out improvisation? Or, in the event it's all fantasy, who's to rule out coincidence, for that matter?

She actually strolled over and stood at the corner of the table between her mother and me. "I'm going to take a shower now," she announced, a little superfluously.

The white, fluffy towel was wrapped, modestly enough, at her breast line, and hung to what I judged to be 5 inches below her crotch. Nothing was uncovered that shouldn't be, but it'd been a very long time since I'd been so close to a nubile teenager who was so close to nakedness. Just under there, I thought to myself. And was that a muskiness I smelled? If things were as the emails had said ... she'd been masturbating on and off all day yesterday, and she hadn't showered last night that I was aware.

"Go ahead, dear," said Denise.

"Are you done in there, uncle Jason?" she asked me, turning my direction. I nodded, trying not to stare at the way the towel squished her tiny breasts into two quarter-spheres above its bunched up edge, and the long, never motionless, crinkly black hair that flowed freely around her cheeks and shoulders and down her back.

So Lissa ran off to the bathroom. Denise grinned at me, "she's growing up, isn't she?"

I raised my eyebrows, inviting her to elaborate, pretending ignorance.

"It's ok, Jason ... you're male, of course you'll notice such things."

I smiled sheepishly, and cleared my throat. "Sorry, was I staring so obviously?"

"Not too obvious. Don't worry about it. Do you want me to make more coffee?" she changed the subject. As she stood to go to kitchen, I studied her pajamas carefully, trying to see if she was pantiless. Braless, obviously ... the pooky outlines of her cones and nipples were there to be seen as they bounced under the silky button-down top.