Chapter 2

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I managed to get her alone and kiss her some more, to break down her resistance.

Wrong.

Nothing happened for six more months.

Well. She went on her dates ... lots of them, in fact. She was very popular. She went out for basketball and got on the team, though she sat on the bench a lot. But still, she was a “jock” and she was popular. I found this out from her brothers, who were a good source of gossip about things at school. But they didn’t know anything about her dates, or what happened on them.

I remember one night Dennis and I had been assigned to go get ice cream, and as we were driving to the store I asked him if he was worried about how guys were treating her on her dates.

“No,” he said. He didn’t seem to feel like any explanation was required.

“Why not?” I asked, unhappy with that answer.

“Because the guys she goes out with know that we’d break their legs if they get out of line.”

Well that was a little harsh. But I didn’t tell him that, of course.

“I’m glad you guys are keeping an eye on her,” I said.

“Not like she needs it,” he said, yawning. “She tells guys right up front that there will be no kissing and no fooling around and that the only thing she’s looking for is to have some fun doing something with somebody other than her brothers.”

“You’re kidding!” I said. She was a popular girl. She’d been going out every Friday night, and would have probably been out on Saturday nights too except Jill limited her to one date a week. Her popularity was one of the reasons I had been a little bit worried, in fact.

“Nope. I never knew what platonic meant until she explained it to me.”

It turned out that one of his friends asked her out, and heard that word in her conditions. He didn’t know what it meant either, but he bluffed his way through and then asked Dennis what it meant. Since Dennis didn’t know, he just went to Cindy and asked her. But I didn’t find that out until much later, during some pillow talk.

I’m getting ahead of myself. The point is that my relationship with Cindy was the same as always. We talked to each other, and did things together, and everything was just normal. She went on her dates. Somebody had fixed up the old skating rink, which had sat empty for three decades. Everything was still there and, from what I hear, the hardwood floor didn’t even have to be sanded. They just cleaned it and put down a new coat of whatever. But apparently the younger generation had embraced skating again, and most of the kids hung out there a lot.

I even took Jill skating there once. Talk about feeling like a boat out of water. There were kids everywhere, whizzing along, some of them on sleek inline skates that made them look like speed skaters. But it was fun to watch, and the onion rings were to die for. We didn’t see Cindy there that night, but one of her friends blew me a kiss as she flew by.

It made me remember what she’d said about her friends thinking I was hot. Made me feel pretty good.

Jill teased me about it by calling me a dirty old man.

So on a cold night in December, when I was staying over because there was a blizzard outside, you can imagine my surprise when I got to see Cindy’s “upgraded” jammies.

Everyone else had gone to bed. The boys had been shoveling snow all day, trying to avoid having to tackle it when it was two feet deep, which is what the forecast called for. So they were bushed. Jill always went to bed early. And, once again, I was channel surfing, trying to find something other than cooking shows, great sales on jewelry no woman in her right mind would want, creams that would make your skin eleven again and on and on.

“Hey,” said my niece as she walked into the room and stood to one side of me.

I looked up, froze, tried to breathe, couldn’t, almost passed out, and then finally got some air in.

She had on another T shirt, but this one stopped just under her breasts, which appeared to have grown since I last inspected them. I don’t know the technical term, but the panties she had on covered the really important parts, with sides that rose up to hang on the tops of the hips. When she turned and went to the light by the other chair to turn it off, I saw that the back of the panties covered exactly half of each butt cheek. It was obvious that if she did any exercise at all, those panties would suck right between her cheeks, like a thong.

The panties were red, with a little white heart right over the sweet spot in front. There was something written on that heart, but it was too small for me to read without staring.

Actually, now that I think about it, it was too small to be read even though I was staring.

My eyes started back up where they belonged, but when they got to her breasts again, I noticed that, suddenly, her nipples were very erect and thrusting proudly through the cloth of the T shirt.

When I got to her face, she was looking at me ... looking at her. Her eyes glittered in the relative darkness of the room.

“Aren’t you a little under-dressed?” I managed. My voice cracked, but I managed.

“No. It’s no big deal. You used to change my diaper ... remember?”

Now who would have thought that a girl would remember her uncle seeing her buck naked, five or six years previously, and then remembered what he’d said when it happened?

Cindy would. That’s who.

“I admit it was slightly different back then,” I said, shakily.

“Oh? How?”

I didn’t stop to think about why she’d ask that question ... or even be having this conversation at all. I just reacted.

“Well, you were naked then, for one thing.”

“Oh. Should I be naked now? Would that help?” She sounded so sweet and innocent!

My guard went up, though, because while her voice was sweet and innocent, what she’d said was definitely from the other end of the spectrum.

“Of course not,” I said. “What do you want?”

She seemed to kind of deflate a little bit, like she had tried something and it hadn’t worked.

“I need another favor.”

With my guard up, not to mention that word “another,” I was more careful.

“Maybe,” I said, carefully.

“Gee. Try not to be too eager, Uncle Bob.” Her voice was completely out of character for the situation. I looked at her face (For some reason I had looked back at her breasts. Don’t ask me why) and she looked almost disgusted.

This was no twelve year old girl any longer. And even though the last time this scenario had played out was only six months in the past, she had grown a heck of a lot in that time. She looked like a woman on the prowl, every man’s dream, with those long, bare legs, and that bare midriff, and that camel toe under that little white heart. I wondered, briefly, why I hadn’t noticed the camel toe before. I had to figure out what she was up to, and how to handle things.

“Look, Kitten,” I said, softly. “I know this growing up thing is weird, and confusing, and maybe even a little bit scary sometimes. But you need to be careful when you explore things, because the situation can go south in a hurry.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” she asked.

“I’m talking about this sexual play you’re doing,” I said. “The kissing?” I nodded wisely. “And now, whatever it is you’re after tonight? Dressed like that? If you were doing this with the wrong guy, things could get ugly. Some guys aren’t nice guys, Cindy.”

“Well duh,” she said, unimpressed. “Why do you think I’m coming to you about it? I’m not stupid, you know. I know I can trust you.”

“Oh really?” I let my eyes rake down her again, trying to look predatory. “And what if someday I turn out not to be such a nice guy? What if I wanted a whole lot more than some kisses and a little stinky finger or something?”

She bounced on her naked toes. “Do you?” she asked, breathily. “Really?”

I looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was crazy.

“Of course not!” I snapped, being responsible. And lying very believably, I might add. “What is wrong with you?”

It might have turned into a nice, intelligent, useful dialogue on her feelings, and what was going on in her mind and all that sort of thing, except that when I demanded to know what was wrong with her she got red in the face and burst into tears and the next thing I knew all that teenaged pulchritude was in my arms, and all that hair was in my face, smelling wonderful, and those hot not-so-little breasts were pressed against me and she was crying in my neck. Obviously I had wounded her horribly.

She calmed down after a little bit, but her arms were still around my neck, and her breath was still hot on my throat. She sniffled a little bit, and then pulled back.

“Nothing is wrong with me. I just have all these feelings and stuff, and I can’t explore them with any of the boys I know, because they’d get the wrong idea and think I was giving in and I don’t want that kind of reputation.”

She had to stop and take a breath, and I really wanted to say something, but, for once I decided keeping quiet might be a better idea. So I did.

“And I know you love me, and would never hurt me, and I can trust you.”

She was right about that, of course. I had tried to be the gruff old bear, and had hurt her feelings, but the fact was I’d cut off my johnson before letting it hurt her.

Well, maybe not cut it off.

But you get my drift.

“What’s stinky finger?” she asked.

I swallowed. It was still a good time to be silent, as far as I was concerned. But she was waiting for an answer.

“Never mind,” I said.

“Don’t say that!” she said firmly. “I’m not a little girl any more. I need to know things, and you’re the only man I can come to.”

“That’s the whole point,” I said. “You’re not a little girl any more. You have all your woman parts now, and they look good, and men are going to react to you from now on. And they all want just one thing, and that’s to claim you for their pride.” It was a pretty speech, if you ask me, but, of course, she was a woman, and didn’t react to it like she should have.

“I’m not going to be in any pride,” she said. “I’m a one man woman, thank you very much.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” I said. “But I’m talking biology, and you’re talking culture. Two different things. The biology is a lot stronger. Trust me.”

“So ... is that why you said you might want more than ... stinky finger? How am I supposed to know what that means if I don’t know what stinky finger is? Is that some code word for your penis or something?”

It was her use of the word “penis” that made me realize how grown up she really was. Partly grown up, anyway. I guess I should say she was trying hard to be grown up. So I decided to try treating her the way she was trying to be. Nothing else had worked ... you know?

“No,” I said. “When boys fool around with a girl, one of the things they try to do is masturbate her with their finger. A woman’s sexual fluids have a distinctive odor. The crude way of referring to it is called having a stinky finger, or playing stinky finger.”