tagIncest/TabooMy Black Sheep Uncle

My Black Sheep Uncle

byUncleMichael©

My Uncle Mike had looked at me funny. I could tell that he had been trying not to look at my breasts.

He had met us at the airport. We had just got off the plane, and my dad and mom were arguing about where they had to pick up our luggage. My uncle had told them that he knew the airport, but they were ignoring him and arguing with each other. It's what they do. They "bicker" whenever they are around people. I think that they think that it's cute.

I was lying in bed, thinking about the way he had looked at me. We were in his house. His room was right next to mine. My parents had the bedroom downstairs.

We live in Idaho, and we were visiting him in Washington State. His house was right on "the Sound." We were going to spend the whole summer there, before I went to BYU, as an extended vacation to celebrate my 18th birthday. My folks were going to go on a mission once I was at the Y, a mission for retired couples to France, where my dad had gone on his mission a million billion years ago.

I kept thinking about his green eyes lingering for a moment on my breasts. He is like the age of some of my friend's grandfathers, but he was like checking me out and I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I reached down and stroked myself. The slit down there was so wet and it felt so good. Sister Coulter, our young women's teacher, had told us girls that masturbation was such huge sin, an abomination to our Heavenly Father.

I couldn't help it, couldn't help myself. The thought of a man or a boy looking at me had always excited me, even before I got breasts. When I was little I had played doctor with Billy Reese and we had gotten caught. My father had given me a bare bottom thrashing, the first and only time that he had done that.

I was my parents' youngest, their "baby," and they had always encouraged me to act like a girl much younger than I really was. I was surprised that they were letting me go off to Utah to go to college like my five brothers and three sisters had before me.

I was still thinking about my uncle and slowly stoking myself, using two fingers. I masturbated every morning and every night.

I had heard my mom on the phone, talking to my aunt June about my uncle. My uncle is the black sheep of the family. He had sort of fallen away from the Church when he was young. He had gone to Brown and not BYU. He had gone in the Marines instead of going on a mission. My dad had gone in the Marines after his mission and before he had finished up at BYU. But my uncle, my mom's older brother, had never gone on his mission.

I could hear the radio in my uncle's room so I figured that he was awake. We had talked in the car and then at dinner while my parents argued with each other and ignored us completely. I liked the way he had really listened to me. So that gave me an idea.

I pulled my panties back up and got out of bed. I was in my nightie. I always sleep in my bra, but I know that some girls don't do that. I took it off, feeling very naughty.

I put on my bathrobe and went and knocked on his door. My parents couldn't hear, and I knew that they were already asleep.

My uncle said to come in, and I let myself in his room.

I left the door open, but I knew that my parents wouldn't come upstairs, knew that it was only the four of us in the house. His wife had died ten years before and his son and daughter both lived in Los Angeles.

Even in our own house my parents never came upstairs.

I thought about making small talk, but I just couldn't think of anything to say. Instead I asked, "Can I ask you something, something really embarrassing?"

"Sure, sweetie, of course."

"It's just that, well, you know how my folks are."

My uncle laughed, and I liked the way he laughed.

"They treat me like such a baby, and you know how the Church is about some stuff."

When I said it, I realized that I was using my little girl voice, the one that I used all the time, except when I was with my best friend.

"You can ask me about anything."

"Promise not tell them?"

"Of course."

"I sort of wish that you were my aunt, you know, it's so embarrassing."

"You could ask one of your aunts. How many do you have, three dozen of them?"

He was smiling. My mom has five sisters and my dad has seven, so I really do have a dozen aunts, all of them married and with lots of kids themselves.

"Yes, but . . ."

"But they might tell your mom?"

"Yes, but not just that . . ."

He laughed and said, "And I'm your black sheep uncle?"

I blushed. I could feel it, feel my face and my neck get hot. I think that asking him what I was going to ask him wouldn't have made me blush so much, but I didn't want him to think that I thought less of him for having fallen away from the Church or for moving away to the Pacific Northwest instead of staying in the land of the Lord's One True Righteous and Chosen People.

I didn't know what to say about him being the family black sheep, and he didn't give me a chance to say it. Instead he asked, "So what would you like to ask me?"

"Well, you were married and you've had girlfriends, right, girlfriends before you got married and, well, since you became a widower?" I had heard that one time when he was angry with my grandfather he had even brought a black girlfriend to Idaho to meet our family, a loud, funny, tall woman who everyone remembered singing very beautifully when they came to church.

That was back in the old days, I guess, back when the Church said that blacks suffered the Curse of Cain and black men and boys couldn't hold the Priesthood.

"Yes."

I was blushing again, but I just said it. "Well, I get these feelings."

"Like what?"

"Well, I wake up at night, sometimes, and I'm like, oh, it's so embarrassing." I really was blushing again, I could just tell.

"It's okay, sweetie, you can tell me."

"I wake up and between my legs . . ."

He was quiet. I could tell that he was holding his breath.

"I wake up or I think about certain things, and it just happens."

"What happens?"

"It gets all wet down there, sort of like I peed myself. Only it's like it leaks out of that other hole, the one that momma told me is the sex-hole, the baby-hole, and sometimes it feels all weird and warm down there, sort of like a few tiny fireflies are crawling on me down there."

I actually made the part up about my mom and the sex-hole and baby-hole thing. My mother had told me about sex, but she never really told me much. What I knew about it I had heard from other girls at school. And I made up the word "sex-hole" right then when I was say it, all on my own, but some of the girls do call it the "baby-hole," but only to be funny or naughty.

I don't really know where I was going, where I wanted my telling him to go, where I wanted it to lead in the end. I just liked the way that he had looked at me. I think that I wanted to tell him that I masturbated. I had never told anyone. I wanted to take my nightgown off so that he would look at my breasts the way that he had when we were at the airport, only this time with me not wearing a bra. Not with me naked but with me in my threadbare old nightie. But I couldn't think of any reason, any excuse, to take my nightgown off so that he'd see me like that.

I could tell that he was trying his best not to laugh, so I laughed and then he laughed.

"It's so stupid, I know . . ." I said, "but I get so worried sometimes that something is really wrong with me, that I have some disease or something, and of course I can't ask momma or anyone else."

He said, "The Church teaches LDS to be so uptight about sex, sweetie. I remember reading that they wouldn't show girls in Utah educational movies on menstruation because they were afraid that it would give girls 'ideas,' as if they would only start having their periods if someone suggested the idea to them."

"LDS" is what Mormons call themselves. It means "Latter-Day Saint."

"So what I feel has to do with sex?" I tried to act like it didn't make any sense to me. I was enjoying, really getting a delicious sinful pleasure, I think, in talking to him about my feelings and especially about that place right between my legs and even that secret hole down there. I didn't want him to act like everyone else I knew and to simply end every interesting topic by saying that oh, that had to do with sex and so was settled and properly left as a murky and forbidden mystery until we were married.

I was thinking fast and blurted out, "But it's not like I'm married, not even like I'm a sinner gentile girl with a boyfriend. How can I have sex feelings when I'm alone or asleep even?"

LDS call non-LDS "gentiles."

I thought that that was like a really clever answer. I thought that I knew enough about sex. I had gone to the library and looked it up online. I'm sorry that I only said that I'd heard about from other girls, but going online to look at anything having to do with sex is a big sin too, even if you only look it up on Wikipedia.

But I didn't really want to talk to him about sex, I think. Instead I wanted to talk to him about my body and how I felt and maybe even how I touched myself.

He said, "It sounds to me like you just get aroused, sexually excited. Men and boys' penises get hard and girls and women get wet, even when they don't have boyfriend or whatever kissing them or touching them or whatever."

I giggled, nervous and a little bit scared. I don't think that any man had ever said the word "penis" to me before. It's so stupid to non-LDS, I know, but good LDS boys don't talk about such things to girls or even make jokes about it to each other, and my parents were very careful to keep me away from bad boys. And in our little hometown everyone was LDS. It was one of the first in Idaho that Brigham Young had sent out settlers to.

But I really wanted to talk to him about that place between my own legs, so I said to him, "How can I tell for sure that I don't have a disease or something?"

"You could go to the doctor, I suppose."

Our doctor back home was LDS, of course, and my women's doctor was LDS too.

"I'd feel too shy to even ask!" I was blushing again, I could tell.

He laughed and said, "Well, I can't certainly check for you."

I giggled nervously at the idea, picturing myself taking my panties off and then lifting my nightie hem so that he could examine me between my legs like my mom's lady doctor had done just one time, back after I had turned sixteen. The thought just made me so wet. I had done just that for Billy back when I was four years old and he was five, other than that I was wearing a sun-dress back then. We had snuck into our ward's baptismal font to do it. I felt so weird when I got baptized by my dad when I was eight.

"You saw girls, women, down there before, right? So you know what to look for, I guess."

Now it was his turn to laugh nervously.. "I'm no doctor."

"I know, but I don't want a doctor, a stranger, looking at me down there, unless I really need to." I didn't mention that one already had done just that.

"They have lady doctors."

"That'd just be too creepy, another girl looking at me down there!" I guess I'm just a total liar, but when you think about it, isn't that more creepy, having a woman look at you down there than having a man, even a male doctor, look at you down there?

He laughed and tickled my foot with his and teased me and said, "Besides, where's the fun in that?"

I giggled.

He asked, "But where's the fun in having your mom's older brother check you down there? Can't you find a nice boy your own age to do it?"

"I ain't even looked for a boyfriend. But I just want to know if I'm okay, you see, and I trust you and feel safe with you. It's not like I want you too look, of course." There we go again, me being a big fat liar.

"But maybe you won't feel that way after, won't feel the same about me if I looked at you down there."

"Please, I'm just so worried. Could you just check what is leaking out of me? I could just put my finger down there and show you it."

"You'd have to wake me or something when it happens again."

I giggled nervously and blushed again. "It's happening right now. I think my talking about has made it happen. Isn't that so weird?"

I didn't wait for him to say okay but instead lifted my butt off his bed. He turned his head away from me while I pulled my panties down to my knees. I reached between my legs and pushed a finger into myself and then rubbed both sides around that spot right over the hole, just one time. Oh, boy, it felt so good.

Then I pulled my nightie hem down with my other hand and reached my hand out to him. He turned toward me again and took my wrist into his big hand held my fingers up to his nose and smelled them and then looked at the clear wetness on them.

My robe had opened and I knew that he could see my braless breasts. My nightie was white and old and so thin that I knew that he could see the chocolate-brown shadows of my nipples, which were all pointy and sort of tingling.

"It seems like normal, everyday, horny girl-juice."

I giggled. I knew the word "horny," of course, and of course I knew, could "infer," as my favorite English teacher would say, exactly what he meant by girl-juice.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm no doctor, sweetie, and I'm only looking at your wetness."

His eyes were excited. I hadn't pulled my nightie hem all the way down and he could see some of my thighs and my light blue panties around my knees. He was looking at me that way again, the same way he looked at me at the airport, only this time he wasn't really trying to hide it. The light beside his bed was on and he kept moving his eyes from my breasts to my legs.

I felt so excited just then that I had to show him. I remembered the way that little Billy had looked at me so long ago, the way his eyes were so wide and excited.

I said, "Please check, I just have to know." I lifted the hem and propped open my knees as wide as I could, stretching my panties as far as they would stretch. This time he didn't turn away. He was looking right between my legs, looking right at that spot that was covered with my curly red-blond fur.

He was still looking at me right there. I lay back on my back onto his bed. He put his hand on my knee and then his other on my other knee and helped me lift myself up so that I scooted oven and centered myself on his bed more. He slipped my panties down and took them the rest of the way off me, and I pulled the hem of my nightie up over my belly. I opened my knees wide and he moved his body so that his face was right over me down there.

I asked, my voice tiny, "Does it look okay?"

"Sure, honey, everything looks normal."

I took his hand and guided it, limp and warm, to that spot between my legs. "Please check, please, uncle Mike."

I put his hand there and his finger went into me. I knew that I was maybe the wettest I'd ever been in my whole life. I was holding his wrist just like he had held mine when he smelled and looked at the juice on my finger.

He was looking and touching me. He said, "Everything seems normal, sweetie."

I giggled and then laughed and said, "Good, I'm so glad. So now you're just molesting me?" I was still gripping his wrist, not letting him pull his hand away. He laughed too.

He said, "Girls touch themselves, they masturbate, and so do boys."

I laughed again. "The Sin of Onan? That's an abomination! I could never ever!"

I had never heard someone in the Church call it the Sin of Onan. I had read that online too.

He was still touching me.

I said, "I don't know how. Would you show me, please?"

Of course I had been doing it to myself ever since I was seven years old, but I didn't want what we were doing to stop yet.

He started to stoke me. He was doing it all wrong. I did it myself the same way every time and no one had ever touched me like that before.

He said, "Do this," and stroked me on the most sensitive spot of all. I only ever touched myself there when I was cumming.

I did as he said, trying to do it just the way that he had done it. I said, "that feels like, like, like, too much, like rubbing myself with sandpaper."

He rubbed me next to it, but it was too much too. He said, try this, and I did it too.

I needed to cum so badly, but I couldn't masturbate with him there, couldn't have him know that I masturbated. I said, "It's too much, too much." I was moaning and very wet.

"If I just knew what I'm supposed to do," I said. "I feel so weird, so weird, so good but so weird. Please, show me, please, please, just show me, please." Now I was the one who was begging. I knew that boys sometimes did that, but I had never heard that girls do that too.

Then his mouth was on me and was licking me and sucking my flesh down there part way into his warm wet mouth. It was so good, so very good.

I came, my entire body shaking. I cried out, moaning, and my thighs clamped on his head tight and then my hands were on his head, trying my best to shove his whole face into my womanhood.

He kept licking me, and I kept cumming and thrashing.

Then I was giggling and thanking him, telling him how very very very good it was. He put his hands on the inside of my thighs and pushed them open, so that his head was free again.

He laughed and I let him up and sat up myself. I pulled the hem down on my nightie, covering myself again.

He said, "That was an orgasm, the place you want to go to, what you want to happen, when you do it."

I said, "Can I do that every day?"

"Some girls can do it several times a day."

"Wow. Will you teach me?"

"Sweetie, if I started giving you lessons, there's no telling what else we'd do."

I giggled and asked, "What do you call what we just did if it wasn't a lesson?"

He laughed again.

"Would you just show me what to do tonight?"

"Okay, I guess so."

"Thank you, uncle Mike."

I put my head on his shoulder and he put his arm around me.

After a while I said, "Wow, that was so good."

He said, "Take off your nightie."

I wanted to do it, I really did, really wanted him to look at my naked body as much and for as long as he wanted. But I didn't want him to think that I was some kind of loose woman, so I said, "I feel shy."

"That's okay, sweetie. Pinch your nipples through your nightie."

I didn't do that either, when I masturbated, but I did as he said while he watched.

He said, "Girls usually don't rush right to the place between their legs like we just did. They warm themselves up first."

"And guys?"

"We think sexy thoughts."

"Like what?"

"About getting a beautiful girl naked, maybe."

I giggled. "So that's why you asked me to take off my nightie?"

He laughed. "Well, that and I thought that it would be easier for you to touch your nipples."

I was still pinching them and they had started to tingle in a new way that surprised me.

I laughed and said, "Look away," and when he did I lifted up and pulled my nightie over my body and over my head so that I was naked. "Okay, you can look now."

"Wow, sweetie, you're very beautiful."

He was looking at me and I loved it so much.

"Thank you."

Absentmindedly, I went back to pinching my nipples. He said, "Twist and pull them."

I did as he said and moaned. It felt good.

He said, "Some girls like to have them hurt a little." He brushed my hands away and took my 34-C cup breasts into his big strong hands and squeezed them hard and then pulled and twisted my nipples hard, hurting me so much that I cried out. It was weird. Even though it hurt so much it made me throb wonderfully between my legs.

He said, "Rub between your legs again."

I did as he said, but I pretended to fumble around down there, pretended that I had no idea what to do. I looked at him pleadingly. "Show me, please, show me, teach me, please, I want to feel that way again, please, please." There it was, I was begging for it again, just like a sex-crazy teenage boy.

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