Jen's Island Excursion

There was a beach the other side. And our German friend from the hotel and his childlike girlfriend, whose bikini made mine look like a burka! How did they get here so fast? I looked away.

"They seem pretty friendly," said my uncle with a chuckle.

They were in the shallows, he on a similar jet ski to ours, she on his lap, astride him, facing him, delicate arms round his neck.

Whether it was the fact that there was no-one here but us, the four of us, two 'couples' you might say, and the females were both young, and both showing a lot more flesh than clothes, and the males were exhibiting a need to touch the females -- breakfast surely suggested that my uncle wanted to feel me -- there was a sexual undercurrent present that was hard to miss. One could argue that I was at an age where hormones tended to zing much more than loll, but the musky scent of sex was in the air in this tiny bay. The man between my legs moved left, rotating against my crotch.

Zing!

"You wanna go?" my uncle said over his shoulder.

"To drive?" I stared at him.

"Sure. Piece of cake."

But it wasn't the piece of cake bit that worried me, it was the hardness of hip now settled in my groin, and the side of his leg against the inside of mine. I was astride and the movement... warm, male, muscular, hairy, combined with the gentle vibration of the idling beast beneath made it a potent mix.

"Okay," I said, needing to get him out of there, needing to close my legs, even if only for a moment or two.

"Climb around me."

How?

"C'mon, round this way, take my hand, hold onto my shoulders."

"What if I fall?"

"You won't. I have my arm around your waist."

Which he had. I stood just behind him, both feet on the running board, legs straight, tensed, giving my pussy a much needed squeeze. My hand was on his shoulder, his arm around my waist, hand spread on the skin, holding me against him, his cheek not a million miles from my left boob.

Which is when a breaking wave and our dumb jetski collided.

Was that my fault?

Whoever's fault it was, I lost my balance and fell against him. Next thing I know I'm draped over him, one arm around his neck the other round his head, a wayward boob against his face. His other hand had reached up to steady me and ended up gripping my other boob.

"Don't drop me," was all I could think to say, as the toes of my right foot slipped off the heaving craft's running board and into the water. The hand on my waist slipped to my butt, catching my fall. He swung towards me, broad knee almost knocking my other foot into the water.

I scrabbled for a grip, grabbed at his shoulders and head as my second foot slipped from the violently rocking jetski. Then I was flat against him, holding on for dear life. His knee between my legs kept me from falling in the water. A hand round my butt held me up. I held onto him equally tight. One of my feet, stretched left, had found the rail of the ski and held on then my other, wide right, did the same. Fall averted, I let out my breath. Then breathed in. And out.

A snapshot moment: heartrate no doubt heightened by the prospect of a fall -- though thinking about it later, it hardly would have been disastrous. I can swim, so can my uncle, and the water was warm -- but there had been an instinctive reaction to prevent the fall by both of us, and now that we'd succeeded -- a joint effort as it were -- in averting the 'disaster', we took a moment to relax (and thank our lucky stars!) It was the center core of this moment that offered the snapshot and caused the 'zing.'

I was astride my uncle's thigh, one toe right, the other foot left. Both knees bent. Putting the weight of my groin onto the top of his thigh, the front of me pressed hard against him. My arms were round his neck. My chest had slipped roughly from the level of his face, past his urgently turning shoulder and settled against his hairy chest. His arms were round me one hand cupping a buttock the other on the center of my back, fingertips where the strap of my top should have been, which is where a problem lay. A problem fighting for attention.

It was fighting with a bunch of other stuff: the effect of a broad, warm, hard and unexpectedly hairy thigh -- belonging to my uncle -- lodged firmly between my legs. The sensation of muscle and hair crushed pretty aggressively against my much more tender breasts. The feel of his rough unshaven cheek against my smoother version. The gasps from his mouth into on my ear. The knowledge of where his hands were and that they were spread around me.

But the problem won through in time.

Mainly through my nipples it has to be said. Nipples that tend to be sensitive. The top of my bra had slipped off. It was now round my throat. Which meant that what was pressed against my uncle's chest hair was his niece's naked breasts. Which meant I had to stay as I was, pressed against him, until I figured out what to do next. After all, I could hardly sit back and expose my breasts? Although I don't think he would have objected. He was always trying to catch me in the shower, or just coming out of it -- and once or twice had -- but I usually had a towel to throw over myself. This time I didn't.

"You okay, honey," he said softly into my ear, keeping his arms around me, pressing me hard against him -- though this was probably in response to the force with which I held onto him! His head eased back. I did the same. Our faces an inch apart. He said it again, "You okay, honey?" He'd never called me 'honey' before.

I nodded, half smile, "Yeah," I said.

He gave me a peck on the tip of my nose. I blinked. I'd seen him do that to his wife. It made me feel ... adult, I think. I smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said again. But as I said it, I wondered how I could be. I was still sitting astride his leg, pressed hard against him, my thigh between his legs, naked breasts pancaked flat against a much more muscular chest than I expected. This was hardly an uncle and niece embrace. Too much holding, and pressing, and nakedness, and open legs.

But how could I break it when I was topless?

He was looking at me. Eyes an inch away. The tips of our noses touched. I could sense the wheels turning in his brain: 'I have,' he might have been thinking, 'a soft young female in my arms, intimately close, and I am...'

The family joke was how my uncle always tried to seduce other women, especially young, good looking ones... well, that was him. So I realized that the position I was in -- the position he had me in -- would no doubt cause a response. How could it not?

I had to break free.

I had to face the problem of my naked breasts, expose them if necessary, but I had to get out of his grasp.

While I was steeling myself for the inevitable -- baring breasts to my uncle -- although my breasts are quite nice -- but still, baring them to my uncle didn't seem right. He kissed me on the lips. Not a hard kiss. Not particularly urgent. The sort of peck he'd given my nose earlier. And the kind of kiss he gives Grandma on the cheek when he sees her. It was over before it started. He gazed at me kindly.

"Didn't mean to frighten you," he said, as if he were talking to my young cousins. I smiled back. He kissed me again. On the lips. A little longer this time. Long enough for me to feel I had to do something. So I pursed my lips a little against his. Eyes again on mine.

"But we saved you," It was almost a whisper. I'd rarely seen him look so loving, not even with his wife. Then he kissed me again.

I felt I had to kiss him back. Not really 'had to' so much as... should, I suppose. He was being so kind and thoughtful. And he'd stopped me from falling into the sea. His hand on my back was so gentle as it moved over my skin. The strong hand that cupped my buttock eased me gently into him some more. I could feel the hardness in his shorts against my thigh, between his legs, knee bent, foot trailing in the water. Another break from a kiss. Another loving look from one or two inches away.

"You're so sweet," he said, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe how sweet I was, though he'd never suggested it before. And before I could put my plan of withdrawal into action -- did I have a plan? -- his face came close again and I knew he was going to kiss me again. I think I told myself I should be doing something, about these kisses -- what was this, his fourth? I was also telling myself I had to break away from him, even though I was topless. And the two sort of got... tangled up.

This time his mouth was open over my lips. Then I felt his tongue against my lips. Not pushy or anything, but softly stroking the lips. Especially where they came together; the cleft between the top lip and the bottom. 'Open your lips,' the action seemed to say, then his lips eased back, and he did say that, and before I could reply, or object, or suggest we should go back to the hotel, his mouth was back on mine and his tongue was slipped in the cleft between my lips, and I let my lips drift apart.

Thinking about it later I wondered why I did that.

Parted my lips.

Let in his tongue.

I think it was because he was being so caring. He'd stopped me falling in the sea. And knowing my Uncle's attraction to women I was -- was I not? -- surely tempting him by staying in the position I was in. I had my arms around him. It was my breasts that were pressed against his naked chest, shirt wide. It was my indecision on how I could draw away, my embarrassment at the thought of exposing my breasts that put my body so intimately close. What else could he do? What else could he think, but that I wanted him to do what he was doing.

I'd had a man's tongue in my mouth before. School play. The drama teacher showed me how I should react to being kissed. Saying that he wanted to shock me into action. It had certainly done that. But my uncle's tongue was not trying to shock me into anything. I felt it slip under my tongue and lift it gently. I felt he might well be trying to 'encourage' me to do... something else. He certainly wasn't trying to 'shock' me. In fact he was going very slowly. I suddenly wondered if he could feel that my breasts against his chest were bare? There was a bump as our jet ski grounded on the sand. I didn't see it coming, my eyes were closed. My uncle knew how to kiss!

So this was French kissing, I thought, a little absently, closing my eyes again once I'd seen what had caused the soft bump, aware that my tongue was now flattened under my uncle's. I was gently sucking it into my mouth. He sensed what I was doing and had gently drawn it out a ways then slowly pushed it back in. It was at this point that I sucked, as if granting some approval to the move, recognizing we were friends, woman to man sort of friends. And yes, still uncle and niece, but more... maturely ... connected than we had been. Had been this morning, for example.

We came up for air.

"Wow, Jen, sweetie. You make a man feel young!" His look was part smile, part wow, part awe.

The last two hit the button!

But enough. That was definitely enough. So I stepped back into the shallows, swept my hands up to cover my breasts -- fingertips seeking the top -- and tripped and fell backwards onto the sand. Flat on my back, arms out to each side, hair in the sea, breasts high and naked for the world to see -- where had the other couple gone?

My uncle smiled. Stepped off the beast. Reached down a hand to help me up. My face was beet red and felt hot. Boy had I made a mess of that! I resisted the temptation to cover my breasts as I let him help me up. My breasts are okay. Get used to it. No, in fact they're nice. I have good breasts. I pulled my bikini top over the parts of my breasts they could cover, to find the clasp at the back wouldn't close

"Here, let me help," my uncle said, still smiling. But the smile was kind.

I turned around and let him help, holding the front part in place.

I waited.

"Sweetie," he said. He'd called me that a lot today, never before, but here we were obviously friends. "The fastener's broken. A little bit's come out." More fumbling, the feel of his fingers against the skin of my back. "I can probably fix it..." it felt strange to have my uncle concerned about my clothing, I stayed still. I couldn't see the other two at their end of the beach. Perhaps they'd left. Would I have heard them?

"Nope ... can't. It'll have to wait until we get back to the hotel."

The contact went.

I turned around, still holding the top against my breasts with my hands.

There were the others. The girl on top... Jeeeeez.

I turned away.

"Yeah, I know," my uncle chuckled.

The fat middle-aged German was on his back on the sand not far from the water line, waves lapped around his feet. She sat astride him and, judging from their expressions and the way she moved her pelvis against him, he was fucking her. Or she was fucking him.

Was it legal to do it in public like that?

"So what'll I do?" I asked, staring down the beach the other way.

"Do without the top for a while," suggested my uncle.

WHAT?

But he moved past me, heading up the beach away from the rutting pair, as if it was really unimportant.

I watched him go then closed my mouth. I thought about the pair not far down the beach at behind me. Her top was off. The older man's hand was at one breast, kneading it roughly in time with his grunts. Maybe the rules were different here?

I released my nervous hold of my boobs, looked down and lifted the material away from my breasts. What was wrong with them? Nothing that I could see. I glanced at my uncle's departing figure. If the most important thing in his life right now was to see his niece's boobs, then he was disguising it well. I went over to the leering jet ski and draped the bikini top over its leering eyes.

Stupid machine!

That I had done the right thing was confirmed as soon as I caught up with my uncle. When he heard me, he turned and showed me what he'd found. He didn't even glance at my chest. I could have been dressed for church. Why was I making such a fuss about this? I resolved to stop behaving like a child. And I think it worked. I even stuck my chest out, just a little, and actually think I quite enjoyed being in the company of a man -- my uncle -- on an exotic beach like this, where another couple were happily... fucking... wearing nothing but a bikini bottom! If my bible class could see me now!

Where my uncle got his interest in streams and pools I don't know. It would not have struck me as obvious. But for the past ten minutes we'd been climbing up this stream. Big smooth rocks, pools here and there.

We stopped now and then to peer into crystal clear pools as my uncle talked about 'algae' and 'trout' and 'minerals, and 'maybe gold.' I could have told him you wouldn't find gold here. There was no gold in Thailand. (I'd read the guide book.)

At one point he absently brushed one of my breasts with the back of his hand. "Don't want to get them on you," he said. We were in a small clearing by a larger pool than we'd seen before. About ten yards across. I glanced down at my breasts. Funny how quickly I'd gotten used to having them uncovered. I quite liked it. I knew they looked nice. And it felt... free. Unfettered. Unconstrained.

"Don't want to get what on me?"

I looked up and just as I did, he reached forward a second time and gently brushed the back of his hand down my right breast. When his knuckles grazed my nipple -- boy, I felt it.

"Leaches," he said. "There are leaches here." He did it again, this time brushing his knuckles slowly over my nipple one way, then back the other.

My eyes were on my breast, and his hand, the back of it, ever so gently, brushed this way and that on the tip, where my nipple sat.

Zinging!

I looked at the tree... looking for leaches, or hiding my expression?

Being almost naked like this seemed to constitute a form of... almost 'pride' in exposure... together with the risk inherent in being practically naked so close to a man, especially one who obviously wanted me. I'd always thought he did. Animals in heat must experience something like this, the full zinging pride of arousal set against the imminent, dangerous, risk of attack. Did I want to be attacked? I knew I didn't, but the feelings it aroused, the risk, the po-ten-tial, was a definite turn-on... as was being willingly dressed in so little.

"Can we swim?" I found myself asking, partly to cover my embarrassment at the fact that the back of his hand was still softly brushing my breast, and my nipple, and the fact that I could think of no easy way to make him stop, other than being rude, or unpleasant -- and I didn't want to do that -- and partly because I couldn't think of anything else to say. My mind was off somewhere else, prey to the mood, like playing truant from school, worried you'd be found out, tingling from the risk. I suppose I also wanted him to say we could swim, it would give me an excuse to let me move away form him. I felt I must. Should.

Must.

(See how confused I'd become!)

"Why not?" he said, and smiled.

But I didn't step back from his hand. I didn't feel that would be right, or fair. The fact that I was half naked wasn't his fault. My breasts were free, available, bare, so there could hardly be any objection to his touching them. It was my uncle's way, he liked to touch. So, to remedy the situation, rather than pull away I reached my hand to his, took it, and drew him towards the pool. But it felt a little strange. As if, suddenly, I was in charge. The 18-year-old niece controlling the 40-something-year-old uncle, who was financing this trip. Why? Because I was female and practically naked?

Yes ... I think.

At the water's edge I gave him back his hand. He shrugged off his shirt and laid it on the small patch of grass by the edge then stretched out his hand. What did he want?

For a moment I thought he wanted to touch my breast again, but the hand was held too low... and then I got it! I reached out and retook his hand, and hand-in-hand we walked into the pool. It was cool, crystal clear, and had a perfume of herbs, fresh plants and minerals. I bent my knees, sunk in. It was heavenly. No more than three feet deep but the stones on the bottom were smooth as eggs. I ducked my head beneath the surface. Magical. We were still holding hands. I'd never felt so close to my uncle. All his grossness, rudeness and lecherous ways dissolved in the moment, and in the adult way he was treating me.

Sometime later, relaxed, sated at the peace and quiet and how nice my uncle was being, I lay on my back on his shirt on the grass by the side of the pool. He was stretched out beside me, turned towards me, up on an elbow looking down. He asked all sorts of questions, about me.

"What do you want to do with your life?"

"What do you like at school?"

"What do you look forward to in college?"

"What kind of foods do you like?"

He asked pretty near everything. He had never made so much fuss over me before. I felt as if I was the center of the universe, with a much older man -- my uncle no less -- giving me all his attention.

When he offered me his shirt on the grass to lie on I never thought to it on to cover my nakedness. I no longer thought of it as nakedness. It seemed to go with this place. This secret corner of ours. And this was a secret -- of that I was sure. I didn't think my uncle would tell his wife their niece had been with him here alone, wearing only her bikini bottoms. And I knew I would never tell Grandma. This was between the two of us. So when, as we talked, he casually ran his fingers over my tummy, I didn't think to object. This was a secret moment, why spoil it by being uptight.

Was that what it was in the real world? Being 'uptight?' Taking offense if we were touched by a member of the opposite sex? I could see the obvious objections, the risk of exploitation, worse still... force. So many hideous stories, so many horrible facts. But this was my uncle. And this was... here. So when, while talking about what I wanted to do with my life, his fingertips traced a gentle path from tummy... to belly button... to tummy, higher up... to breast, to nipple, and stayed there, circling it carefully, talking now and then, just an interjections, or a comment, or a smile, I went on with my answers as I had been, leaving him free to amuse himself with me, as he talked about me. It was a quid pro quo situation that seemed about as adult as it could be. Grown up. Comfortable in my own skin. So he wanted to touch me -- liked to touch me -- isn't that good? Isn't that what all girls want... to be wanted, touched, open with members of the opposite sex?