Chapter 3

Once I had agreed to give her “lessons”, then we had to figure out when to do that. It wasn’t like we needed a regular night to fool around. I figured I could pretty well show her the whole ball of wax in one twenty minute session. It was just a matter of getting those twenty minutes in circumstances where her squealing, which I was dedicated on producing, wouldn’t get me thrown in jail.

The opportunity came without warning. Jill was baking cookies one night, and ran out of brown sugar. She asked me to go get some. The store was on the opposite side of town, which meant it was going to be a thirty minute trip, if not more. But I had an unopened package of brown sugar in my pantry, which was only five minutes away. That violated my rule about getting Cindy alone at my house, but in a flash of brilliance, it occurred to me that what she wanted to learn how to do was usually done in a car anyway, right?

“Hey,” I said to Cindy. “You want to go with me? I hear they have a special on beauty products, and you could sure use some.”

“Bob!” barked Jill. “That was a horrible thing to say!”

“He’s a horrible old man,” said Cindy, who wasn’t stupid at all. She knew I was up to something. “So I’ll punish him by talking girl talk with him aaaaall the way there and aaaaall the way back home!” She grinned maniacally.

Dennis groaned. “A fate worse than death,” he intoned.

“See how you affect the children?” Jill complained.

When we got in the car, Cindy listened while I laid out my plan.

“Are you hard?” she asked, reaching over to feel around in my lap.

“Not yet, you hussy!” I laughed.

Things started going off plan as soon as we got to my house. It was January, and the car hadn’t warmed up from the short trip. Plus we both froze our tails off as we ran from the car to my house. While I got the brown sugar, Cindy decided the car would be too cold, and took off her coat. And her shirt. And her bra.

It turned out she wanted to know what it was like to have her breasts played with.

And she didn’t want the crash course, either.

She didn’t squeal. She moaned a lot, and sighed like crazy, but there were no squeals.

Once I caved about doing it at the house, and realized we only had fifteen minutes left, I went to work on her breasts. I say “went to work” because that’s how I was trying to think about it. As I touched her, I told her what I was doing, talking about nerve endings and areolas and nipples.

Then she said, “Please just shut up and touch me, Uncle Bob. We don’t have much time, and I can’t concentrate on the feelings if you babble.”

So I got her nipples nice and stiff, and pinched them different ways, and flicked them, which took all of five minutes. And I had to taste them. Right? I mean that’s part of the experience. Right?

She liked that. She liked that a lot, and her hands did what most women’s hands do in that situation, and that’s cradle the head to her breast, just like it’s an infant. And I happily sucked those nipples until she was twisting and groaning and even though I’d been told to shut up, I informed her that what she was feeling right now required an orgasm to make it go away, which was the problem with letting boys do what I was doing.

“Then give me an orgasm,” she panted.

She was wearing jeans. I didn’t dare undo them. My feet had already turned into hooves inside my socks and shoes, and there was no doubt fur growing on my arms and legs. I was halfway through the transformation to satyr already.

But, as it turned out, she didn’t even need skin to skin contact. Just the unfamiliar touch of a male hand outside her jeans was enough to tip her over the cliff. Of course I knew where and how to rub her, which I’m sure helped. But she didn’t squeal. She groaned in what sounded like agony, but then, as soon as her legs let my hand loose, she had her lips on mine, giving me tongue like we were lovers.

“Thank you so much,” she panted. “I can’t wait to do that again!”

“You’re not supposed to be planning on doing things again,” I complained. “This is just so you know what things feel like ... remember?”

“All I remember is feeling wonderful,” she said, her eyes bright. “Next time I’ll concentrate on what’s happening. I promise.”

Ahhh, callow youth.

“We’d better get going. Don’t forget the sugar,” she said, hopping up, all perky and beautiful. I suddenly wanted to see her all naked, instead of just topless. And that reminded me of why I had put my house off limits.

It wasn’t until we were parking back at her house that I realized my fantasy of knocking out Fooling Around 101 in twenty minutes was a bust.

It was going to take a lot longer than twenty minutes.

Whether I wanted it to or not.

As if to punctuate that thought, Cindy leaned over and put her hand on my erection, which was still there, and still needed attention.

“Maybe next time we’ll have time for you to teach me how to help you out down there.”

There was a subtle change to our normal relationship after that. That was, primarily, that whenever Cindy and I were alone, even if it was only for twenty seconds, she kissed me. And they were the good kisses, not the uncle kind. Each time she did this, she whispered, “Thanks” when it was over, and grinned and went on about her business.

Once I smacked her on the ass after she did that. It was a nice, full contact, perfect slap, and it had to sting, because I didn’t hold much back. She was making life tough for me, and I wanted to warn her, you know? And I thought it had worked, because she stopped like she’d been turned into a statue or something, just frozen, with her back to me.

But the look she gave me when she turned around was one that suggested hungry lioness, and I was the rabbit. Or ibis, or whatever lionesses eat. She clearly wasn’t unhappy about it. I was reminded of Jeanette, a woman I went out with for a while, who liked to be spanked as a prelude to what she called making up. If I got her butt nice and pink and mottled, she was so wet we needed a towel.

So I resolved never to do that again. After all, that wasn’t part of Fooling Around 101. That was part of an upper division class.

Twice, during these little impromptu ambushes - that’s what they were, ambushes! - she let her hand drift to the front of my pants and just let me know it was there. Both times, when she stopped kissing me she said “I love you a lot, Uncle Bob.”

The next time we had a class was because the boys were in wrestling, and had a meet. I was there for supper and Jill invited me to go to the meet.’

“You want to come with us?” she asked. “The whole family is going.”

“I’m not,” said Cindy, immediately. “I have no desire to see a bunch of boys, dressed in eighteenth century swim suits, groping each other on what amounts to a bed.”

“Wrestling is not gay!” barked Dennis, who was suddenly red in the face.

Cindy laughed. “I know. But it was sure fun to see you get all worked up about it.”

“So you’re going,” said Jill.

“No. Rod French will be there,” said Cindy. She darted a look at me, and I remembered that Rod was the stinky finger guy. Apparently she hadn’t kicked him in the balls yet.

“Of course he will,” said Mark. “He’s the star of the team.”

“He thinks I’m interested in him,” said Cindy. “And I’m not, so I don’t want to encourage him.”

“He did say he thought you were hot,” said Dennis. “Of course I told him he needed to see a doctor and get glasses.” He smirked, and his twin brother said “Good one, dude.”

“Uncle Bob can stay here to keep an eye on me,” she said, carefully, looking at a forkful of green beans.

“Do you need someone to keep an eye on you?” asked her mother, one eyebrow arched.

“You never know. I might invite a boy over while you were gone, or throw a wild party or something.”

“She might,” said Mark, grinning. “She’s gone out with so many guys, and shut them all down, she’d have to throw a beer bash just to get a guy to talk to her any more.”

“Well you’re not invited!” snapped his sister.

Jill commenced to complain about the way her children treated each other, but the end result was that Cindy decided to stay home, and Jill asked me to stay with her.

So the rest of them got ready and left. Cindy disappeared up to her room, and I settled in on the couch, with the clicker.

This time, when Cindy appeared, all she had on was the Yum panties.

“What are you going to do if one of them forgot something and they come back to get it?” I asked, after I worked up enough saliva to actually speak.

“Run like crazy,” she said, not smiling. “Is it normal for me to feel so horny when I think about fooling around?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good, ‘cause I feel really horny.”

“That’s part of the biology I was talking about. Your body is trying to get you laid.”

“I don’t want to get laid. I just want to fool around.”

“I didn’t say you wanted to get laid. I said your body wants to get laid. There’s a big difference. Do you think that thousands of teenage girls actually want to get pregnant before they get out of high school?

“No,” she said, looking a little uncomfortable.

“And yet, somehow, they do,” I said. “That’s biology, dear one. Your body wants to get laid, and mine wants to lay you.”

“Really?” She suddenly exuded sexual interest, as if she’d already forgotten my recent warning. “Do you really want ... that ... or are you just trying to make me feel good?”

I sighed. “Sweetheart, I know tons of women I’m not interested in having sex with. If any of them came to me and asked me to fool around with them, just for fun, I would politely decline. Mr. John Thomas doesn’t stand to attention for just any old woman.”

“Mr. John Thomas? I thought we were talking about you.” She did look confused.

“It’s just a name for my ... um ... manhood.”

She laughed. “You call him Mr. John Thomas?”

“It’s a traditional name,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster.

“I think it’s time I got to meet Mr. John Thomas,” she said.

It is difficult for me to describe what it was like, sitting there on the couch, having this conversation with a beautiful young woman dressed only in panties that invited me to lick her pussy. You could look at a picture of a girl dressed like that, but it wouldn’t communicate what I was feeling. I had cared about this girl her entire life. She owned parts of me, in a sense, as did the others in her family. I loved her. And that was the problem. I loved her the wrong way. And though I was sure she was only experimenting, the way she loved me was off too. It would kill me if I ended up hurting her somehow, and lost her in my existence. And yet, sitting there looking at her, I wanted her more than I’d wanted any woman in my life.

I’m pretty sure it was biology that made me stand up and drop my pants. But I’m also sure I know how a woman feels when she spends a whole lot of time getting all gussied up, and then watches a man see her efforts for the first time. She has a lot invested in whether he likes what he sees or not.

Yes, of course I know I didn’t have anything but my age invested in Mr. John Thomas. But I was still worried that she might laugh, or run screaming from the room, or whatever.