Lemons into Unexpected Lemonade

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if my parent's printer had been working, but it wasn't. We were going to my uncle's house to celebrate his birthday anyway, so I could just print my paper there. I did not want to be away from the party for too long, but I am fast with computers and it was just printing a paper.

We arrived; it was a small party. My uncle was single and it would be my parents, my annoying younger brother, and my grandparents. Uncle Andrew was ten years my mom's junior. My aunt was between them both, but she was off living her life in Sweden, so she would not be here. We parked in the driveway of the spacious home. It was a large house for one guy, but my uncle has made very good money in real estate. What started as a single two family was now six apartment buildings and a slew of single family and duplexes.

As we arrived, uncle gave me an awkward hug. Part of it was that he stood at 6' and had a good nine inches on me and part of it was, well, I think a lot of bachelors are awkward around teenagers. I smiled and wished him a happy birthday and went to say hello to my grandparents. They are good people, but even more awkward around teenagers. At least I had nothing to hide, and my starting college, being a straight A grades, making the college JV volleyall team and being a computer major gave many a safe topic. The conversation shifted to more adult conversations, politics and what not, so I smiled and asked my uncle if I could use his computer to print something.

He told me to go to his bedroom and that his computer was on. I wandered in and sat at his desk and plugged my flash drive. I took another sip from my soda and dug through the directories to get to my freshman history class paper. Once I found it, I selected the document and printed it. I already had the flash drive out before it had finished printing, grabbed the papers from the printer tray, and stapled the papers; wait, I did not staple the papers; out of staples. Top center draw would be where I would keep staples, so I put the papers down and, rummaging through the draw, I found some staples. Stapler loaded and . . .as I picked up the papers to staple them, I noticed that I had placed them right into the condensation pool left by my soda.

I drop them in the trash and plug the flash drive in. I go to the "recent files" directly as it is the fastest way to get back to my paper and I saw them, Val001.jpg. Val002.jpg. The list was long ending at Val026.jpg. They caught my eye, because I am Valerie, and everyone, including Uncle Andrew, calls me Val. I open val001.jpg. It is a picture of me, a good one. I am looking down and slightly away from the camera, a mix of embarrassed and amused. Waves of my blond hair are cascading over my shoulder and my green eyes are looking up into the lens past past the waterfall of hair. I knew the shot. I had it as my profile pic for a while until my mom told me it was not appropriate for a girl my age. At the time, I was not sure why, but looking at it now, I kind of got it. I looked a lot older, and curious I was about to open the second one when my mom called me to hurry up.

I printed my paper, made sure everything on the computer was restored to how it was, leaving no fingerprints behind that I had accessed the file and went back to the table. As I walked into the dining room, I felt Uncle Andrew's eyes on me. I never noticed before, or maybe I was being paranoid. Still, I felt his eyes walk up my legs. Jeans, I was wearing jeans, pretty tight, you know we all wear them like that now. I walked past him and I felt his eyes still. My sweater covered my butt at least. Sitting down, I felt the V of my sweater open a bit. The sweater was not that low cut, and I do not have all that much to show, but I thought about it. Was he thinking about it?

Why, Uncle Andrew, why me and, like, what the fuck. He was 25, today, and it is not like I have seen him a lot. He and my dad are not too close, so we see him a few times a year. I have never talked to him much, so why me? I was confused, curious but also annoyed. I had my flash drive on me. As dinner ended, I excused myself to use the bathroom.

Up the stairs, and down the hall, but then I slipped into his bedroom where his computer was. Computers, I can do a lot with them, and pretty much no one knew that. My flash drive had a lot more on it than just papers. It took five minutes, and his computer was mine. I could view and even control it remotely. I went back down for dessert and I avoided my uncle as much as I could. Suddenly the awkwardness seemed threatening. On the drive home I thought about what those pictures might be for. A series of photos, of me, in some numbered sequence independent of date. Is there any reason a guy would do that other than the obvious one?

As soon as I got home I fired up my computer. I remotely accessed his files, and downloaded the photoset. Val001, me again with that shy look and little smile, almost like I wanted to agree to something or admit to something, but was too embarrassed. Val002 was also off of my Facebook. Full body shot of me sitting on a stool with a denim jacket over a tank top and a skirt, knee length but riding up a bit. The next six of seven were similar, of me dressed nice, but not super revealing, yet still attractive, and all from my social media account.

Then started the Volleyball pictures; they were taken last year while I was still playing for my club team. He had been to a match or two. Each photo by itself was just of a girl playing volleyball, but you know volleyball shorts. One had me on one knee returning a ball and it highlighted my thighs perfectly. Another of me squatting slightly for a return, and gosh, my ass looked good in that picture. And in another I am serving,, The shirt is normally not so tight, but my raised right arm reveals my small breasts, made smaller by the sports bra, but the shirt is stretched tight by the arch of my back as I flex into the serve. The last volleyball picture was from warmups. My legs are split and I am starting to bend over. It is the perfect crotch shot.

The last 6 pictures were the best, except maybe that first one. VAl021 showed me in shorts and a white blouse leaning against a wall with the sun setting behind me. The pose makes my legs look long and any pose makes them look toned. My eyes glided up those bare legs to the shorts, far leg has a foot against the wall behind my other knee and other foot on the ground. That left leg on the wall showed almost all of my thighs, but then my eyes were drawn to the shirt. The bright sky behind makes me somewhat backlit, and you can see a perfect silhouette of my bra through the shirt. And then there is my smile, a smile of satisfaction and joy looking into the camera. He sent me a copy of that picture after he took it. I always liked it. I never really noticed how clearly you could see my bra, at least not until now. I doubted he picked the picture solely for the wonderful natural color.

VAl022 is me coming down the stairs at a park toward the camera. My skirt is on the short side, and the photo has a hint of upskirt, although there were no panties to be seen. I am wearing a tank top and my breasts are high and perky. There is no sports bra here and maybe a hint of nipples. I am laughing and behind me my brother is chasing me. I remember the moment, but not the picture being taken.

Val023 was from a family picnic. I am dozing in the sun, and the sunlight turns my hair to honey and my skin a burnished bronze. My hands are behind my head and my breasts are taught against the t-shirt that I had tied at my sternum. My stomach looks smooth with the hint of a six pack and the khaki shorts put my legs on full display all the way up past mid thigh. The right leg of the shorts have opened up a bit offering some more thigh and a dark place one might slide a hand into.

Val024 was taken in my grandparent's basement at the pool table. I had the same sweater that I had on today, but I was leaning over for a shot and that V was wide open. I have a look of focused concentration, but I am sure his eyes take in the bra, not terribly modest, showing the top half of my breasts and more through the thin material. You can vaguely see my right nipple, through the translucent blue material.

Val025 and 026 were taken at his pool, and it must have been last summer, fourth of July. That evening I fell asleep by the pool in my bikini. The first shot is over my right shoulder. My head is resting on my left shoulder so you can see my whole face in profile. Also, the curve of both breasts rising out of my bikini. My breasts are only a 32A, but this photo enhanced them, not making them look huge, but prominent and curved. The second was from between my legs; left leg on the ground and right leg splayed to one side. The bikini may not have been skimpy, but was very tight. Even with the padding, you can see a clear camel toe and a hint of where my pubic hair ends.

I never felt so beautiful, but I was also angry. A lot of those pictures were taken without my knowledge and the rest were being used without my consent. I wondered why there were not more photos and I also felt certain I knew what he used them for. I dropped a simple script on his computer to turn on his mic, his camera and to record his screen the next time he accessed the files. Then I went to bed. It was hard to fall asleep, I was spooked and angry, but I also did like how I looked. I started to wonder if the boys I had largely ignored in my life all saw me that way.

It did not take long. Two days later when I checked, the program had collected data. I ran the video, dropping his screen view on monitor two and my view of him on monitor one. He was already seated at the desk and I could not see below his waist, but he was stroking himself down there. He took a long time on each of the early photos with no sound except my name whispered once or twice.

"Oh Val," he said again a little louder as we went into the volleyball pictures. His stroke started to become more insistent and rapid. I kept looking at his eyes. There was lust there, but there was a sadness and a longing. Part of me was angry, but those eyes tempered my anger. He got to the picture of me on the wall with my breast backlit. He moaned a little louder. He pushed his chair back a little and I could see the head of his penis; large, swollen and flush, with a shine of liquid on it.

Soon he was looking at my breasts between the V of my sweater. "Val, Please, yes, please, Val," he moaned and his body was almost shuddering. Suddenly a lot happened at once. He jumped forward two pictures to the crotch shot of me in my bathing suit. As he did so he put a towel on his desk with his left hand and he stood...and he stood.

His penis was long and firm, and a little curved to the right. His left hand started cradling his balls as his right hand stroked long, rapid strokes along his shaft. His body stiffened and his head went back. He then refocused, and aimed the tip of his penis at the towel and .....and, it was a lot. The towel got most of it, but his hand got some and so did his keyboard, the very keyboard I had been typing on just earlier that afternoon.

My mind was a blur. Part of me was a bit turned on; he was good looking, and watching a man orgasm is a huge turn on for me, and watching him do it to pretty tame pictures of me was a turn on as well. However, he had no right. I was going to turn the bastard in and....but, the video kept going. After orgasming, he sat down with his head in his hands. Recovery? No, his shoulders were shaking. Fifteen inches away from me I watched him start to cry, and words tumbled out of his mouth, "I am so sorry Val; I am so sorry; you don't deserve this.

Anger and pity were foremost in the sea of swirling emotions. I needed to think. Three days later, the same routine from him, and I watched it again, and again, it ended in tears. My options seemed limited, and I was torn. Indecision often leads to inaction and days turned into weeks. Once or twice a week it would happen again. Each time the same. I kept watching; watching him watching me, and then the guilt. I felt beautiful, violated, angry and pitying.

Thanksgiving came and he would be at dinner. I wore a burnt orange dress which came just past my knees and with a high neck. It was tight around the waist chest, and blousy beneath a black belt. He arrived; awkward as always and I felt awkward too. I hugged him and felt a firm chest, a chest I had never noticed before and one I had not seen on video; he always kept his shirt on. I felt the buttons of his shirt against my breasts during that brief hug, and part of me wanted to see the chest beneath.

We sat in the living room and my eyes kept sliding down to his pants; I knew what hid there now, and there was no evidence of it before me, but I could not unsee it. I felt his eyes on me as well, or at least I thought I did. I gathered my shoulder-length blonde hair into my right hand and guided it over my shoulder, letting it drift across my breast, glancing at him as I did so. Yes, he was watching. I could not sort out my emotions. Annoyed and honored? A little of both, I guessed, with some anger underneath, and, regardless of whether or not I wanted to admit it, I was also a little turned on. I thought about watching him tonight and how much I turned him on, and I began to braid my hair down across my right breast. Yes, he was watching and part of me very much liked it; he also had his phone out, texting, reading and probably doing a little photography.

He was the last to leave. I checked my computer and I saw he left his on. I reconfigured my spyware so I could watch all of his activity. Forty-five minutes later and he was adding a new picture and renumbering the files. Now there were twenty-seven. I downloaded the updated photoset and opened the new photo. It was of me braiding my hair, my head down slightly and eyes raised slightly as if I was trying to peek at the photographer without his noticing. Well, it was exactly what I was doing and he noticed. While I was looking at the picture, he browsed some online erotic literature, mostly slow seduction stuff, and then read in full a story of a man's gradual seduction of a bright young girl. She was naïve and googly eyed for the older man as he introduced her to her sexuality and to sex; her surrender to him was inevitable and final.

I closed my software, thoroughly pissed off. Is that how he really saw me? Did he really think I would be seduced so easily? Yes, he was good looking, but did he really find such condescension toward a girl as a turn on? And did he really think I was some naive virgin? I got ready for bed angry and at a loss for what to do, but as I drifted to sleep, I was replaying his hand bringing himself to orgasm.

A week passed and I resolutely had not opened the software again when I got a text from him. He said he was in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by. I was home from school in an empty house. So this would be the start to his grand seduction scheme, I thought to my self. I was ready to say no, but then saw it as an opportunity for revenge without the high stakes accusations and legal proceedings, so I said yes.

****************************************

My plan was simple; humiliate him while giving him nothing. I changed into a baggy pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweater; no pictures for you, you condescending shit. He arrived with a backpack; I was expecting a charming outfit, or at least his version of it, but he was just in a sweatshirt and jeans. I expected him to try to hug me and to reject him partially, to get him thinking. Instead, he stood near me, flustered, nervous and almost looking anguished.

I stood nonplussed; "We need to talk," he said. I silently waved him into the living room. I sat on the couch where he had photographed me braiding my hair. He sat in the seat from which he had photographed me. The contrast was stark. Neither of us looked dashing, although both of us were still awkward and nervous. The silence stretched and I gave him an annoyed look telling him to get on with it. He looked away and took a deep breath, "You are going to probably hate me after this, but that is okay. You just need to know."

He paused. Was this going to be his profession of love to me? At least he seemed to know he was in the wrong. He wanted me to say something to nudge the conversation forward, but I just stared at him. He made and broke eye contact twice, and then continued. "My computer was hacked. They got a lot of stuff, but my core financials are okay. There will be a lot of paperwork, but nothing I cannot easily replace, but none of that is important. They also got some pictures of you, and they intend to charge me in return for not putting them on the web. I can and will pay, but with people like this, well, they tend not to always keep their word, so I think the pictures will get out."

"What pictures?"

"Not completely appropriate pictures, not at all..."

"What the hell are you doing with pictures like that of me?"

"They were never meant to be shared, they were never..."

I slammed my fist on the coffee table. I knew very well what pictures, but I was going to make sure he never knew I knew. "What pictures? Show them to me."

"I...I..." he stuttered, but I demanded. "I thought you would want to see them. You are so going to hate me.."

He booted up his computer with shaking hands, as I looked forward to seeing some sanitized version of his little slide show with the most incriminating photos removed. He opened the directory and handed me the machine. Twenty-seven images, all there. I spent time taking them in, and taking him in. He was almost in tears, his nerves tapping out a random beat through his feet. Five minutes, and not a word from me. Ten minutes and still silence. Finally, I looked up at him. "What were these for?"

"Isn't it obvious...."

"No, I have guesses, but I want to hear your explanation."

"They were never meant for anyone else to see, but I like them. I like you, and I know it is wrong, more than wrong, and I know that I am scum, but I never meant to hurt anyone, and I have not been doing it for too long and..."

"You are lucky or smart, I am over 18 in all the pictures that could hurt you." I went back to the downshirt picture at the pool table. " So what did you do with them? You never said that part."

"I looked at them for pleasure...I..."

I think it was there that my anger broke. I had to give him credit. He was being honest, and he was giving me the power to destroy him. "Okay, I think I get the picture. What do they want?"

"They want $500 a week to keep the pictures off the web. I will pay it, and I can afford it. I also have to tell my sister and your dad. They need to know."

"What do you think they will do?"

He shrugged and gave a slight shudder as he sighed, "What would you do? What would I do? At the very least I doubt I will be here for Christmas. They could maybe sue me, or maybe go public and humilate me. I don't know, but ... well, I kind of deserve it."

I sat and thought. I did not really want my parents to know. I also realized I did not want Andrew cut out of my life completely. He had fucked up and violated me, but he also apologized and came clean once he saw I was at risk. Then again, it was too late; those pictures seemed bound to get out, even if he did pay. Andrew owed me, but maybe I saw a path forward.

"What you did was stupid, a violation, and really creepy, but the only ones who are vile are the ones blackmailing you. That is vile. This," I waved at the computer, "is just creepy and kind of pathetic. I mean, Andrew, can't you find a girlfriend?"

Andrew blushed, thought about saying something, and then just put his head down and shrugged, so I continued, "You owe me, I think we can both agree on that, right?" He nodded. "We also both know those pictures will get out, regardless, right?" He nodded again. "Okay, so fuck them. You pay me the $500 a week starting in January. I am going to tell my parents I am applying for a prestigious cash scholarship. You have two or three weeks to set up a shell company to cut the checks for my scholarship." He quirked a small smile. " What so funny," I asked?