Chapter 2

On the way back to my house, I kept trying to adjust to the fact that I had been given permission to appear naked in front of Heather. Of course merely having permission from her mother didn’t solve the problem involved with doing that. Heather was waiting for me. Somehow she seemed to know what had transpired.

“So, when can we start?” she asked.

“When do you want to start?” I asked, instead of answering her.

“What are you doing right now?”

“Let’s start tomorrow,” I said, stalling. I was going to have to do some serious preparation to keep from exposing myself - literally - for the dirty old man I was. Of course she already claimed she knew that’s what I was, but I was going to do my best to avoid presenting proof of it.

She agreed to my request and decided on six in the evening, at her house. That we would do this at her house actually made me feel a little bit better. There wasn’t anyplace in my house where I had not reflected, shall we say, on the charms of both Heather and her mother, at one time or another. This is not to say I have no control, and will masturbate literally anywhere, like a chimp or something. It’s just that when the mood strikes one, one doesn’t want to lose that piquant nature of the fantasy by getting up and going somewhere else to address one’s ... um ... needs.

In any case, it would be much easier there. She had a studio set up at her house, and all her materials and such.

I rang the doorbell five minutes late. She had told me she would have everything I needed. I had no idea what that was, but she’d said something about trying to provide for any modesty needs I might have. That was in a long string of instructions, like she’d done this a hundred times. As the bell rang I heard a teenager galloping down the steps with a shout of, “I got it.”

Heather opened the door dressed in that thrice-cursed thong bikini.

While I stared at all that cleavage, I said, “I thought we were painting, not swimming.”

Wolf eyes looked back at me. “I always work this way. You’ve seen this suit before anyway. Come on up.”

She turned from the door and bellowed, “Mom! Uncle Bob’s here,” and galloped back up the stairs. Her naked ass cheeks jiggled, and I got a shot of the all-too-nearly-insubstantial cloth that cradled her pussy lips, and the camel toe they made.

Beth walked from the back of the house, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

“Hi. I’m glad you decided to help. Remember. Just be yourself. She likes who you are, including your warts.”

“This is not a good idea,” I whispered. “That damn suit you let her wear already gave me a hardon.”

“I told her to wear it,” said Beth, smiling thinly. “That way you have an excuse that will be easy for her to understand. After all, that’s why she got that suit. She not only expects men to react that way ... she hopes they do.”

I was busy wondering whether that meant Heather had gotten that suit to tease me with, or to be a general tease to all men. I didn’t think about it until much later that the only place she ever wore it was to my house. Her mother shoved me toward the stairs.

“I have complete faith that you will do what’s right for Heather.”

Now what the hell did that mean?

Her studio was actually an extra bedroom that was cluttered with everything imaginable an artist might need. In the middle of one wall was a raised platform with a luxuriously upholstered chaise lounge on it. I had seen that before, but not in the studio. She’d bought it at a garage sale two or three months before, and told them she’d be back to get it. I helped her bring it home and move it inside. But the last time I’d seen it, it was sitting in the middle of the living room. She’d said something about needing to vacuum it, or something like that. She and Beth must have gotten it up the stairs and into the studio.

As if things weren’t bad enough already, I stared at that chaise lounge and realized that was what Beth had laid on ... naked. My cock got even harder.

Her easel was set up six feet away from the base of the platform at an obtuse angle. A tilted table beside a stool held what looked like hundreds of tubes of paint and nearly as many brushes. There were also pieces of charcoal neatly lined up, and colored pencils in a rack that was screwed to the edge of the table, and which kept things from rolling off of it. A number of finished or nearly finished canvases were scattered about the room in stacks.

She stepped around the easel and said, “You can get undressed over there” waving at a screen made of two-by-twos and cardboard. “There’s a sheet in there that you can wrap around your waist and hide the good parts with.”

I shot her a look, but she wasn’t grinning at me like she’d just teased me. Instead, she seemed to be absorbed in choosing which pieces of charcoal she was going to use. I stripped down and wrapped the sheet around me, covering my boner. There wasn’t anything else I could do, so I moved from behind the cardboard. She was waiting for me.

Heather appraised me with a critical eye. Evidently satisfied that I still had model potential, she pointed to the chaise and arranged me there the way she wanted me. She spent several long minutes making minute adjustments to my position. When she stepped away I was reclining on the sofa facing her. My right leg was bent, with the heel in front of my left knee, and my right wrist draped casually across the upraised knee. My left leg was extended and I was resting on my left elbow. The drape was covering my genitals and hip. When her fingers moved that material around, getting the folds and creases where she wanted them, I held my breath. She didn’t touch my manhood, though, and find out it was stiff.
She backed up and stood, studying me for a few minutes, and then picked up a charcoal stick and started sketching. She worked silently for a few minutes, and then asked me a question about a project I was working on. That led to another topic, and pretty soon we were talking just like usual.

We had been working about an hour when Beth stuck her head in the door.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“So far so good,” Heather replied, never looking up. She was brushing at a line she had made, softening it by spreading the charcoal with a fingertip.

“Don’t you look handsome,” said Beth, staring at my nearly nude body. “Have any of the ... issues ... you were worried about come up?”

“What issues?” asked Heather.

“Everything is fine,” I said. “Don’t pay any attention to your mother, Heather. She’s just trying to cause trouble.”

Beth ignored me. “I brought up some lemonade and cookies if you guys are ready for a break.”

“A cookie sounds good,” Heather replied.

I sat up and swiveled around, resting my feet on the floor. I took a glass of lemonade gratefully and drank deeply. I had not realized what a contorted position I had been in. My shoulder and arm were stiff and sore.

“What did you mean, Mom?” asked Heather, taking a cookie and biting into it.

“Your uncle was worried that you’d react badly to his manhood.”

“I haven’t seen his manhood,” said Heather. “He’s too shy. It would be nice if I could see his manhood, but he’s too shy.”

I spewed lemonade all over the floor between me and the easel. Both women stared at me. I pulled some of the material closer to my dick.

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Heather.

“He thought you were saying you wanted to see his penis,” said her mother.

“I do want to see it,” said Heather. “How can I draw it if I can’t look at it?”

“He’s worried that you’ll think badly of him if you see it,” said Beth.’

Heather looked at me. “Why? Is it tiny or something? Guys seem to be all worked up over how big they are. I hear them talking all the time about how big they are. Sounds like Texans bragging to me.”

“No,” I said, weakly. “That’s not the problem.”

“Well, the sooner you can share with me what the problem is, the sooner we can come up with a solution.” Heather still didn’t get it.

Beth glanced at me and said, “Well, I have things to do. Keep working on him, dear. He’s being silly, but I’m sure you can get through to him. You have a need, and Bob always likes to help. I’m sure Bob will help out if need be dear,” Beth said as she left the room.

I was left to stare at the artist, after her mother abandoned me.

“So?” she asked, hands on hips. Bare hips, I might remind you.

She obviously wasn’t going to give up. So I figured to just get it over with.

“You’re what guys refer to as a Stone Fox,” I said.

“That’s good ... right?” she said.

“It means you’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks got pink. “Oh. Okay. That’s good. Thank you.”

“And men respond to that,” I said. She stared at me. I connected the dots. “Physically,” I added.

Her eyes dropped to the drape.

“You mean you... ?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m a guy. I’m normal. You’re a babe and I responded. That bikini didn’t help, but even if you’d have been fully clothed, being naked with you ... well ... you’re a Stone Fox and I’m a guy. Sorry.”

“So you have a boner,” she said.

“I believe the politically correct word is erection, especially considering your age.”

“What does my age have to do with anything?” she asked. “I know guys get boners.”

“Great!” I said. “Problem solved. So now you know why I don’t want to let you draw me au naturel.”

“I’ve never seen a real one,” she said.

“That’s as it should be,” I suggested.

“But I can’t draw it, unless I can see it,” she said, with forced patience.

Obviously, she wasn’t going to yield to the wisdom of an elder. So I figured I’d just scare her and get it over with.

So I simply dropped the sheet. I didn’t have to look down to know that my rod was pointing at her like a heat-seeking missile just begging to be fired at her 98.6 degree sexual core. I felt my balls jump in expectation as her eyes fastened on my manhood.

She didn’t scream.

Instead, she stepped to one side, to get a profile view.

“So are you, like, normal size?”

Curiosity. That’s all she was displaying. I felt like an idiot. Her mother was right. I did have an inflated sense of my self worth.

“Pretty much,” I said.

“Is it really for me?” she asked, stepping closer.

It bobbed, in response to her question, which could be interpreted more than one way.

“It’s because of you,” I said, “not for you.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, taking another step closer.

“Think of it as a Cadillac,” I said. “You get to look at it, but you can’t have it. It’s out of your price range.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “Get back on the lounge.”

She had posed me again, and was standing there, just staring at me, when her mother came back into the room. She had a bunch of what looked like rags, that had been laundered and folded. She set them on a table and turned to look at me.

“Oh my,” sighed Beth. “I had no idea.”

“What?” asked Heather.

“Your uncle is what we women call well hung.”

“I cannot believe you said that,” I gasped.

“Well you are!” said Beth.

“He told me he was about normal,” said Heather.

“He was being modest,” said her mother.

“Why?”

“He’s trying to downplay all this. He is just protecting you from himself. He knows his limits and tries to manage them so that he won’t do something that scares you.”

“He said I caused it,” said Heather. “And I know what that means, but I could never be scared of Uncle Bob!” said Heather.

“The other side of it, darling, is that he has the experience to realize he may need to protect you from yourself too.

“That’s silly,” said Heather.

“No, it’s not,” said her mother. “There will come a time when you decide you want to become fully a woman, and it would be really nice if it was with the right man. You only lose your virginity once, and that memory will be with you your entire life. Bob knows that.”

“We’re not talking about having sex!” complained Heather. “I just want to draw him, and I want to get it all right.”

“So seeing his erection ... and knowing you caused it ... that doesn’t make you feel anything?”

“Of course I feel something. I’m all warm inside. He paid me a very nice compliment. Any girl would want a handsome, wonderful man like Uncle Bob to be interested in her. But that doesn’t mean anything is going to happen.”

“Famous last words,” said Beth.

“How about if you stay here,” I suggested. Both women looked at me.

Beth said “I’d enjoy that very much.”

“Why?” asked Heather.

“Because I like looking at him like this,” said Beth. “I’m all warm inside too.”

“Mom!” said Heather, sounding shocked. “You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Why? I’m at least a grown up. And I love him as much as you do.”

“This is all fine, and makes me feel good, but it’s not helping the ... situation,” I said. “It would be nice if we got this finished, so I could go...” I stopped. I’d been about to say “do something about this boner,” but I realized things were already bad enough. “Just go,” I said.

Beth wasn’t stupid. She laughed.

Heather frowned. She wasn’t stupid either, but all she knew was that something had happened that she didn’t understand. She went to her easel, picked up chalk, and began making marks on the paper. Beth just looked at me with those wolf eyes. I noticed that her nipples were poking through her shirt.