Ralph Wrecked It

"And that concludes the reading of the will of Ralph L. Mazell. Thank you for your attendance."

The silence in the room was deafening, as they say. I could sense the angry looks from several cousins behind me, as if I had any control over what my Granduncle left to whom. They whispered among themselves, speculating about how I had manipulated a sick old man on his deathbed at the eleventh hour so I would inherit nearly all of whatever awaited in a safety deposit box in a bank across town.

Not even close. If they only knew what had really happened, they would have shit their discount store underwear.

1

My name is Myra Watts. I'm not crazy about my name, and usually go by 'MJ' when not with family. On the surface, I'm a typical, mid-forties housewife now, two divorces, adult sons, SUV and all. But one can never tell what dark secrets lurk beneath the surface, even in an affluent suburb.

Looking back, I was a spoiled only child. I had a rather privileged upbringing, as my maternal grandfather was a state senator, and even ran in the primaries for attorney general a couple times. My mother did all she could to keep up country club appearances, despite her erratic marriage. My non-monogamous, alcoholic parents eventually lived apart but didn't actually divorce. My dad was an army officer, and a few times a year Mom went to visit him for a couple weeks or so wherever he was stationed. That arrangement was a lot more peaceful than the constant bickering and booze-fueled, violent altercations that occurred when they lived together.

Late in the summer after my June '92 high school graduation, Mom planned to fly to Germany for a few weeks. I was looking forward to having the house to myself as an eighteen year-old 'official adult' and all the privileges and benefits thereby bestowed upon me. Prior to this summer during my mom's absences, I was made to stay at my grandparents', which despite its semi-rural location, wasn't really a bad deal since I had my own room, cable, phone line, a pool and my little BMW.

Good thing, because my solo summer at home never materialized. Disaster struck in the form of a rotted third floor balcony railing at a crowded party. Down goes drunk Myra headfirst, and snap crackle pop go both arms. I had luckily hit the grass and passed out, as I was told the pain of the several breaks and two dislocations would have been horrific. So even before Mom went to Europe, back to Grammy and Grampa's I went, with an angled white cast and metal external frame on each arm; one shoulder was nearly immobile, as was one wrist. Several fingers had aluminum splints taped to them.

I settled in at their house, a large brick 'mid-century modern' brick ranch that had changed very little since it was built in the mid-fifties. Unable to do a whole lot without help, I couldn't even reach my mouth except with a straw or utensil, so I was helped by Grammy or her part-time housekeeper. Luckily I could reach my crotch sufficiently with my left hand so I could wipe everything, although it was slow going. Getting dressed was of course a nightmare. Sleeveless clothes and elastic became my friends. Summer casual dresses, more easily slipped over the casts and more conducive to bathroom trips, were my main wardrobe.

A couple weeks later, drunken disaster reared its ugly head once more, but this time it didn't befall me. A very early Sunday phone call relayed the terrible news that second cousins on my Grampa's side from across the state had been in a bad car wreck. There were injuries, fatalities and DUI charges. As the family attorney, Grampa had to get involved immediately, and Grammy as well, sadly, to help make funeral arrangements. Of course dragging half-dressed, zombie-walk Myra around to hospitals and funeral homes was out of the question, so who to call to 'assist' me? My mom was in Europe somewhere and their housekeeper was in Florida until later in the week. I partially overheard them debating on their choice of last resort, and phrases like 'that was a long time ago' , 'he's an old man now' and 'it's just for a few days' were used. I was curious as to what type of monster they were going to unleash on me.

2

That afternoon, the 'monster' exited his car, a quarter century-old convertible Ford. My Grand Uncle Ralph, a slightly overweight man of about sixty, was dressed in light-colored suit with a bow tie and a straw hat. This seeming relic from a 1930's movie hugged his big sister, my grandmother, as I watched out the window, sipping my ever-present Diet Coke through a straw. Looking less like a monster and more like a refugee from a barbershop quartet, Ralph bowed to me and spoke as he stepped into the foyer, the sweeping, theatrical removal of his hat revealing his thin, dark but graying hair. His regional Southern accent and diction were quite traditional as well, for this part of the state.

"Well, well, Miss Myra June!" he exclaimed, using my proper name. He gently kissed the knuckles of my left hand; only the two outside fingers were available, the others shrouded by white tape. "Look at you, all grown up now! I was sorry to hear of your accident, but relieved you're going to be okay. I'm glad I'm able to help any way I can!"

Grown up I was, at least physically. Genetics had been kind to me. I was not quite full-figured, but a narrow upper torso and a pair of obnoxious breasts that refused to stay still drew attention from what I considered an above average face, aside from a bit of acne, and sky-blue eyes. When my hair was short, I had been compared to the actress who was slashed up in the motel shower in that old black and white movie. I had kept my mousy brown, unruly 'mop' of hair lightened to a yellow blonde, but that was neglected during my recuperation, yielding long, dark roots at the top.

"Oh, it's so good to see you! Thank you so much for coming on such short notice!" I said, remembering my manners and that it really was very nice of him to accept the drudgery of cooking and waiting on me. I waved goodbye with my unbroken, un-sprained fingers as Grammy and Grampa drove away to their miserable tasks.

Many families have a member that never marries and lives alone. That was Ralph. I knew he had been in the Marines in Korea, and now was a retired magazine photographer, but everyone spoke guardedly about him, as if they were afraid of revealing some terrible secret.

Big scandal or not, he was very nice to me, and able to converse about any topic except maybe contemporary pop music. One activity I was able to manage was playing cards. I could hold a poker hand by tucking them into the edges of my cast. I had taken my uncle for about seventy-five dollars, mostly by bluffing, when dinnertime arrived. I felt we had hit it off, and that feeling was magnified when he consented to take me 'anywhere I wanted for supper.'

While I appreciated what my Grammy had done for me over the years, the woman ate like a bird and insisted I should also. Snacking was 'improper for young ladies', she believed, so I nearly starved this few weeks. Cottage cheese and peach slices were getting old fast.

After a windy drive in his big, classic convertible a while later, I was in heaven back in Grammy's kitchen as dear Ralph was spooning a cut-up chilidog into my mouth and holding up an ice cold can of beer for me to suck through a straw. I was supposed to keep travel limited to doctor visits only, and not mix alcohol with my pain meds. This breaking of the rules, as it was, endeared him to me even more. I could even see us keeping in touch after this ordeal, maybe visiting a museum or hearing an orchestra concert together. I was going to miss my first semester at Radford anyway, and most of my shallow, asshole 'friends' disappeared after I turned into a plaster golem with no makeup, dirty hair, smelly armpits, transformer-robot albino lobster arms and no parent-free house at which to have keg parties.

"I warned you I was disgusting," I said as Ralph, his blue eyes a contrast to his salt and pepper hair, used a bunch of napkins to mop a spoonful of hotdog, chili, cheese and onions off the front of my sundress near my cleavage. A little drunk just from a beer and the Darvocet, a poorly-timed sneeze had propelled the approaching spoon's contents out over my chest.

"Sorry, I'm getting kind of personal here," he said as the wad of paper bounced on and off the upper slope of my breasts.

"It's okay, sweetie, You've got to help me change out of this anyway." I grinned.

"Oh, um, well..." the normally articulate man stuttered for the first time. His complexion reddened.

"Not to be ungrateful, but I don't want to smell chili and onions the rest of the night. They didn't tell you there's a strip show included in your ticket price?" I said, kidding as I arose from the table and swiveled my hips. "Woo hoo! It's okay, Ralph. Just the dress. I'll face away. Just pretend you're at the beach."

After our arrival in my room, I had him pull a similar sundress from the closet, and then pointed to a pair of men's boxer shorts, hanging on the bed knob. The male underwear was an aberration to my Grammy, but easier to get on and off. "I'll have to step into'em as you pull'em up. Unless you wanna see my lily white ass," I kidded.

I stepped into the blue and white striped pair. Resigned to his fate as a valet to his grandniece, Ralph pulled them up into place on my hips gingerly and then quickly yanked his hands down and away as if there was something about to bite him beneath the hemline. Removing the dress was a matter of slipping it off the shoulder I could move on one side, gathering it into a bundle over my head and sliding it up and off the immobile arm. So here I was, in boxers and a red lace bra, its shoulder straps hanging loose and unused, its control of my breasts minimal as they slammed around restlessly, unsympathetic to the dull pain in their neighboring arms, and wondering why the attention they had been enjoying this senior year summer had suddenly ceased. Their only recent spectator had been my Grammy as she dressed me with full bra strap support for a doctor visit, lest my bouncy anatomy scandalously tempt the public.

I could feel a bit of Ralph's warm breath on the back of my neck. He was taller than me, so I wondered if he was creepily peeking at my tanned cleavage as it trembled and warped with my motions. We wrestled on the new dress, a lightweight crepe-like cream colored open-shoulder A-line without incident, and he seemed to relax a little, until I made my next announcement.

"Now you have to pull off the boxers."

"Are you serious, dear?" he asked skeptically.

"Yeah, unless you want to come into the bathroom with me every time I piss."

"Oh I see," he chuckled. "In that case then..." He deftly slid them back down my legs.

Soon we were in the den, watching a rented VHS tape of The Hunt for Red October. Full stomach, drowsy from the meds and two beers, I fell fast asleep on the sofa as the undersea cold war raged on.

3

I awoke to the sound of the radio drifting in from the kitchen, tuned to Public Broadcasting, based on what I thought was Vivaldi. Without moving, I partially opened my eyes. It was dark out, and the TV was off. Grampa's television at that time was one of those huge, wood-sided consoles, almost as big as a washing machine. The darkened green screen, of course, basically took on the properties of a mirror when the set was at rest.

In that mirror was the unobstructed image of my Uncle, changed into his robe and pajamas, standing a few feet behind me. Between the sides of the open bathrobe, his hand was inside his waistband, jerking on his dick. At first I thought maybe it was just a lengthy adjustment, but no, he was spanking it.

My first reaction was anger. How dare that old pervert masturbate while looking down my cleavage! However, as my groggy but sick brain began to process the situation, I became more amused than upset, even a little intrigued. He had seemed like such an elderly prude, but now this! I moaned quietly and began to move my limbs to stretch. The man in the reflection quickly turned and retreated for the safety of the kitchen.

I arose, gathered myself and sauntered in, squinting from the bright florescent lighting.

"Oh hello Miss Myra, how are you feelin?" he asked, a bit of a tremble in his voice. He wouldn't look at me.

"Fine, thank you," I replied with a yawning grin. Ralph was perspiring, flushed, and breathing quickly. He avoided eye contact, pretending to read the newspaper. The flaps of his open robe had been piled into his lap to hide his boner, no doubt. "Thanks again for dinner, I'd been dyin' for a coupla those," I said, referring to the chili dogs. "Speakin' of hot dogs..." I reached up with my foot and caught his bunched up robe between two toes and flung it off to the side. A surprisingly large bulge was obvious in his pajamas, curving from its base above his balls to where a right pants pocket would otherwise be.

"Young lady!" Ralph exclaimed, his eyes wide in shock as I giggled. I had originally planned to simply expose his masturbation and kid him about it. Today had been kind of a tease, considering the episode with the boxers and bra only, not that I had a choice. But seeing that substantial male bulge, that nice dick, made me act on an hormonal instinct to touch it somehow.

He reached down to re-gather the robe, but I planted the ball of my still-raised foot onto the upper end of the protrusion in his pajama pants. It was rock hard. There was no going back now; this sick thing I began doing could never be construed as accidental.

"Damn!" Ralph cursed for the first time today, grabbing my ankle.

Touching a dick with my foot seemed kind of whimsical, but perverted as well. My uncle tightened his grip, trying to free his compressed hard on. My foot jolted around as we struggled, and Ralph grunted in apparent pleasure and definite frustration.

"Myra June! Jesus, girl!" Ralph yelled sharply, losing his aristocratic tone. There was nearly a pleading in his voice as I kept resisting his efforts. My years on the track and gymnastics teams and as a competitive swimmer, had given me quite strong legs, able to hold my position against the older man, even as his other hand joined in.

"Are you crazy? We're family!" he yelled as I laughed and began to wiggle my toes and dig deeper into his crotch. His boner, out of his boxer fly and covered only by the pajamas, was curved up like a banana, and sweetly thick. Without thinking, I began to rock my foot back and forth, stroking his shrouded erection, my dirty soles leaving a gray cloud on the thin cotton.

"My-ra!" He paused. "My-ra, stop!" he whined, his breath quick.

My raised knee had placed the hem of my dress within reach of one of my hands. To further torment my hapless, perverted uncle, I was able to hook the lower edge on a finger splint and raise it nearly level with my chin. I felt cooler air on my bare pelvis. Ralph's eyes of course focused downward. My tan lines were a trapezoidal pale patch surrounding my short 'summer' bush, the rest vague due to the varying stringy bikinis I wore. Burgeoning pubic hairs, unshaven for a month, were once again taking over the surrounding region, I had seen in the mirror recently. My slutty exhibition was intended to be just a quick flash, but I kept my dress raised as long as Ralph continued to stare.

I was about to finally let my dress fall back to its normal level, end my cruel foot-and-bush torture but drop to my knees right next to his chair to see what he would do when I was within blowjob range. But I was too late; his body began to stiffen. Granduncle Ralph said the name of the lord loudly, twice, as his butt rose off the chrome and vinyl kitchen chair. He seemed to levitate there, eyes wide. Grunting, his mouth hung open as a large dark stain appeared and quickly expanded like bursts of fireworks on the outer leg of his pajamas. After a few seconds, he collapsed back onto the seat, his chest heaving beneath his pastel yellow top.

"Aw shit! How old... are you... now?" he asked, quite short of breath.

"Eighteen and four months!" I replied. "I'm legal. Disappointed?"

"Oh, thank God," he mumbled.

Although I was suddenly proud of my handiwork, I really didn't mean to make him squirt in his pants.

4

My slouching, winded granduncle flopped his head back and looked at the kitchen ceiling. He covered his face with both palms, then took a deep breath and spoke from beneath them. He sounded like he was nearly in tears.

"And the gentlemanly facade crumbles. Myra dear, I'm so sorry... I just ruin everything. I didn't plan it, you were just so beautiful lyin' there....What you must think of me...It's too late tonight, but I'll call in the morning and hire a private duty nurse to stay until your maid gets here Thursday. I knew I shouldn't have come...I..."

He stopped talking when I leaned in and kissed him sweetly on the forehead, longer than a peck. "No need for that. You didn't ruin anything! It's okay." I said.

"Myra!" Ralph's gently wrinkled face appeared, skin tone flushed, eyes watery and red. "This is not okay!" He pointed with both open hands to the spreading splotches on the side of his thigh, milky as the sperm seeped through. "What we just did is wrong! Sinful!"

"Just a little accident," I smirked. "Sinful but fun!" Our generational differences suddenly became starkly evident. He had said he found religion in recent years, but I had apparently re-corrupted him in less than two minutes.

"Damn it! You're my niece's daughter! Shit! Shit! Shit!" My uncle stood, his bulge still substantial, and the gooey sperm in his pajamas plastered to the side of his thigh. He tugged at them, gestured in frustration and closed his robe.

"That's what makes it so excitin'," I replied.

"Goodnight," he said sadly, without looking at me, and walked away.

"I don't want you to leave!" I called down the hall before I heard his door shut.

5

As I sat at the table, I felt a bit guilty about teasing my uncle after he had been nice enough to come take care of me on short notice, but he was creepily jerking off while I slept. Even though he was handsome, I guessed he didn't get a lot of dates at his age, and his carnival barker outfits didn't help.

As for me, I was wondering why I was suddenly so intrigued. Maybe it was Ralph's calm, confident male maturity. Maybe the guarded family secret. Mostly, it was the fact he was family. In the midst of my sick thoughts, I realized I had never pursued and been told 'no' before. Sure, I had issued plenty of rejections to offers during my self-centered romantic career, but was never turned down on a demand for continuance or escalation. Okay, enough of my conceited bragging.

After my clumsy fall and two arm surgeries, I had been drained of energy, and libido. Now my hormones were beginning to return, almost overwhelmingly, in the last few hours.

Ralph's sudden departure from the kitchen left me without help to slip out of my dress for the night. I would use this as an excuse to go enlist his 'help'. I did manage to use a pair of salad tongs to yank the bra down my ribcage, and spin it around my stomach to unhook it. I left it on the kitchen table so, if I was unsuccessful in my twisted quest for his dick, he would at least see a reminder in the morning.

At that point there was nothing to reign in my emancipated breasts and their peaked, slightly rounded projection. For a few minutes, I sat at the kitchen table, butterflies in my stomach, and thought about my next moves. In order to become a damsel in distress, I was able to close a drawer on the hem of my dress and squat down far enough to tangle it on the metal bar on my left cast. I looked like I got stuck in the middle of extracting myself from beneath it. It left me exposed from my right hip above my bush up to my armpit, a breast playing peek-a-boo as I moved. Of course the package deal I received from nature with my audacious tits included proportional nipples, to be easily found by even the most incompetent nursing infant, if that was ever to occur.