Chapter 6

I woke up when the bed moved. I opened my eyes to see Cindy, naked, standing on her knees in bed beside me.

She pushed hair out of her eyes.

“The bed is wet!” she exclaimed.

“I’ll change the sheets,” I mumbled. Guys always want to fix things, whenever a woman says something is out of kilter.

“Stuff is leaking out of me!” she squealed, reaching between her legs.

“Sorry,” I muttered. There wasn’t anything I could do about that.

She leaned over and put one hand on my chest, her face inches from mine.

“I will never be sorry about what happened last night. Never!“ That was followed by “Ewww, your breath is awful. Is mine? I have to brush my teeth! I have to take a shower! I’m starving! Oooooo I’m so happeeeeeeee!”

With that she bounded out of bed. I wasn’t as perky. That “stuff” leaking out of her was dangerous, and I felt bad about putting it where it was leaking from. Then I remembered her speech. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what sperm could do, and she wasn’t sorry about it. Of course, she might be later, but her giddy happiness was communicable.

As soon as I rolled over the wet spot we had created, and sat up, I actually felt pretty good. And by the time I got to the bathroom and sat on the throne to ease my bladder, I felt great. And as I sat there, looking at her naked body, turning under the water through the frosted glass of the shower door, I realized I felt fantastic.

She squealed as I barged into the shower with her. We kissed a bunch - somehow a shower temporarily negates the morning, pre-kissing toothbrush requirement - but all we did was wash each other off, with gusto. We didn’t couple right there in the shower, and after we were dried off, I didn’t take her back to bed. I think we had had enough sex to actually satisfy us both for a while.

On the other hand, she didn’t wrap a towel around herself, or deny me the chance to look at her beautiful body. She ran to her room to get clothes, and brought them back to my room.

“Have you seen my bra and panties?” she asked. “I can’t find them anywhere.” She pulled on the T shirt and sweat pants she’d retrieved, so I’d know she had nothing on under them. I was getting wise to her tricks, so I went to her room and opened the top drawer, which was full of bras and panties. I picked a set and tried to give them to her in the kitchen, which is where she was by then. She took them and set them on the counter, and kissed me and thanked me.

They sat there all day.

If you’re an aficionado of stories like this, I know you’re expecting me to tell you that I got her naked four times that day and fucked her until my cum oozed out of her nose.

But that wasn’t what was going on between us. She had realized her dream, or at least one of them, and it was a Snow White, dancing-through-the-house, humming kind of day for her. For me, it was the most intense, almost spiritual event of my whole life. I had bonded with a woman on a level I had been trying to find for years. I knew it wouldn’t last. I knew she’d grow up and find a guy her own age to have a family with, but for that one, shining moment, she had accepted me as that guy, and that was enough to keep me happy for probably years. I’d never forget that night.

And when she danced by me and paused for kisses, I gave them to her. And when she rubbed her loins against me, I let her.

But I didn’t drag her back into the bedroom, to sate my lust with her.

Yes, I did play, during the day. I did slide my hands inside that T shirt and those sweat pants. And yes, I did give her a couple of orgasms. And yes, I did let her coax what was in my balls into her mouth, while she knelt on the kitchen floor while I tried to do the lunch dishes in the sink.

But we saved intercourse for when we went to bed that night. And I showed her what it can be like if you’re not in a hurry, and just want to make it last.

I also told her I was going to take it out of her when I came, but she wrapped her legs around me and panted “Please don’t take it away.”

And that is what led to the talk we had the next day ... the talk about consequences, and the future, and all that grumbly stuff I was so fond of.

“You know,” I said at breakfast the next morning. “We can’t just keep having unprotected sex.” To the casual observer, this might have sounded strange, considering the fact that all she had on was panties, and I didn’t have much more on.

“I know,” she said, examining her toast and picking off a dark spot.

“You’re going to have to talk to your mother about getting you a prescription for the pill,” I said.

“No. She doesn’t like the pill. She had some side effects from it and she doesn’t want me to suffer the same thing. She’s said she’d get me an IUD, but not until I turn eighteen. She can be just as grumbly as you sometimes.” She took a bite, her eyes staring into mine.

Apparently things were not quite as easygoing with her mother ... about what we were doing, which she didn’t want to hear about ... as Cindy had wanted me to think.

“So you’ll get an IUD,” I said.

“If I want one.” She said it in the same voice as if she was deciding whether or not she needed a new pair of shoes.

“That’s five months away,” I said.

“You are correct,” she said.

“Come on, Cindy, throw me a bone here,” I pleaded.

“I believe you’re the one who is supposed to throw me a bone.” She smiled and then giggled. “I made a funny!”

“What I’m going to throw you is a baby, if we keep having unsafe sex!” I yelled.

She got up and came around the table. She straddled me to sit on my lap, facing me. She had chosen the Yum panties again, and the Yum settled right on my penis. The tips of her breasts touched my chest.

“I love your bone,” she said, softly. “I love it every time you put your sperms in me. It makes me feel like I’m twenty feet tall, like an Amazon warrior princess.” She wiggled the Yum against my penis, which was already reacting to what she’d said. “I don’t know if you’ll get me pregnant before I’m eighteen or not. I’m not really worried about that.”

“What about college?”

“I have to do pay as you go,” she said. “I’m not going to mortgage my future with enough student loans to buy a house with. That means I do my first two years at Kaw Valley Tech, right here in town. After that, we’ll see. I don’t really know what I want to do for work anyway.”

“Trying to do that ... going to school and deciding what to do with your life ... it’s not something you want to do while trying to raise a baby,” I said. “This is serious, Honey. We’re talking about the rest of your life, here.”

She sighed. “You are so dense. Did you know that? I’ve known it for years, but I thought you’d grow out of it. Especially now!” She kissed me. She rubbed her pussy against me while she did that. When the kiss broke, she stood up, pushed her panties down and kicked them away, sat back on my lap, licked my lips and said “I’m horny. Make love to me.”

Have you ever tried to resist a beautiful naked woman, while she’s trying to get to your erection so she can mount it while you sit there on a kitchen chair? It’s not easy, let me tell you that!

And then imagine when she settled down, with her hot pussy surrounding that erection, and demands to have her nipples sucked, and she tells you all about the new muscles she discovered, and how she needs to practice with them, and they turn out to be her milkmaid’s muscles.

I should have known something was up when she didn’t go for her own orgasm. She just rocked and moved and kissed me and told me how good this felt, until I gripped her waist and squeezed.

“I’m going to cum if you keep doing that,” I panted.

“I know,” she said, smiling.

“What were we just talking about?” I moaned.

Her muscles didn’t let up. She had a look of concentration on her face.

“We were talking about you putting your sperms in me. I want you to. I’ve wanted you to for years. And now you can. Please. Give me your warm sperms. I love you, and I love it when you cum in me.”

“Ohhhh babeeeee,” I whimpered.

“Cum in me, Uncle Bob,” she said, her voice low and throaty.

And when I did, she smiled a dreamy smile.

“I love you so much,” she whispered.

And she kissed me while I fertilized her garden.

Of course I was well aware that “my little talk with Cindy” hadn’t resulted in the outcome I had anticipated. Later, when she said it was time to go visit them in the hospital, she had dressed up a little, wearing a nice blouse and skirt. She lifted the skirt and flashed me, showing she wasn’t wearing any panties.

“I can’t go with you to the hospital with you like that,” I groaned. “I’m not even sure I can face your mother to begin with!”

She giggled.

“Don’t laugh!” I snarled. “I love your mother, and I don’t want her to be unhappy with me.”

“She loves you too,” said Cindy. “When I told her how I felt about you, we had a long talk. I won’t tell you exactly what she said, but basically it was that if I didn’t get you, she was going to try herself.”

“Get out!” I said. I immediately felt foolish for using a phrase that teenagers use.

“We talked for hours. She said she trusted both of us to do the best thing, but said I couldn’t tell you how I felt until I started dating and had spent some time with boys my own age.”

“That’s insane. She let you date when you were sixteen!”

“Um ... gee... ‘I remember that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She also said that if I got pregnant, I’d have to raise the baby. She said she’d help, but I would be the full time mommy.”

“She said that?” I was incredulous.

“She understands how I feel about you,” she said, looking superior.

“It’s not even legal, Cindy!” I groaned.

“That depends,” she replied. “There are six states that allow marriage between an uncle and niece. Some of them put restrictions on it. Canada does not. But I don’t care if we’re married. I only care that I get to be with you, and love you, and be loved by you. And you can do your job from anywhere ... right?”

I was dumbfounded. She was talking about marrying me!

I held up a finger. She waited, looking at me interestedly.

“Just let me think a minute,” I said.

“Well make it a quick minute,” she said. “We need to get going if we’re going to have time for a good visit.”

I have a friend who was in the Army for a long time. He’s always talking about how his motto came from there. That motto is: Adapt, improvise, overcome.

It had always seemed like a pretty good way of looking at the world. Most problems in life can be dealt with if you can do one, or a combination of those three things.

That I only call what was happening to me a “problem” should be a pretty good indicator that I was in over my head. I was, to use an analogy, drowning in Dom Perignon. I had something rare and priceless, but I had been given so much of it, so quickly, that I couldn’t cope with my good fortune. I was having trouble adapting, I suppose.

And I had already been improvising. I’d been doing that for most of a year and a half.

So the last thing I could try to do was overcome. But overcome what? Overcoming means restoring order to chaos, right? And all I could think of was a recurrent dream I’d had since I was a teenager. In this dream I am flying, my arms outstretched. I’m not using my arms to fly. I am somehow able to ignore my weight and keep myself in the air by using my mind alone.

But then I realize, while still in the dream, that this is impossible. And begin to fall. That fall quickly turns into a plummet toward the ground, far below, where certain death awaits me. But then I remember that my mind held me aloft before, so I know it’s possible ... if I just try hard enough.

And, slowly, my mind re-establishes the order of being in control and keeping me up in the air. I swoop low and laugh at the ground, knowing I have beaten it. I climb back to the clouds ... and the whole thing happens again.

Loving Cindy ... being loved by Cindy ... being in a sexual relationship with Cindy ... thinking about marrying Cindy ... all that was like flying. But then doubts would make me fall towards the earth, and I would despair, knowing that what I wanted was impossible ... against the laws of nature.

Long story short, I was a basket case.

So, ironically, it was left to Cindy to overcome.

The only problem with that was that Cindy, while years ahead of her classmates on the emotional stability level, was still a teenager. And teenagers get spectacularly frustrated.

Apparently, she saw my dithering as a threat to the princess view that living happily ever after is what is supposed to happen.

I’ll just say it. She threw a tantrum. I won’t even try to repeat what she said verbatim, because she said a lot. Screamed a lot, actually. Suffice it to say I was reminded that I was supposed to recognize the boon I was being offered.

And, believe it or not, it was when she started acting like a teenager, I was able to act like an adult again. I guess it kind of restored equilibrium to the relationship. Sort of. I’m not actually sure. I just know that I felt like our traditional roles had gotten all screwed up, and now things were back to normal. Sort of. And in that instant, I had an epiphany.

I had been played.

This slip of a girl had been setting up this emotional ambush for years, and had lured me right into what my Army buddy would have called “the kill zone.” She had planned my seduction, and then gotten her mother’s approval to set it in motion. I had been led, like a lamb to slaughter, all the time thinking I was the shepherd, and trying to protect the little virgin lamb, who was actually the big, bad wolf, who had then eaten me up.

Almost literally!

So as she stormed by me, still ranting, I grabbed her, sat down, and put her over my knee. I flipped up that skirt as she yelled and demanded to be let go, and made both of her butt cheeks bright red with the flat of my hand. And all the squirming and yelling she did, didn’t make a bit of difference.

Finally she went limp, crying pitifully, saying “I’m sorry ... I’m sorry ... I’m sorry.”

And, of course, I felt awful. Her cheeks had taken on that mottled appearance that suggests there might be a hint of bruising, later on. I was horrified that I might have actually injured her.

She gave another jerk, and fell off onto the floor. She scrambled up immediately, though, and flowed onto my lap, straddling my right leg and throwing her arms around my neck. She was still sobbing.

“I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me,” she bawled.