My uncle and I have a very interesting relationship. When I was a teenager we drew very close. He lived across the country, but would call me at home in southern California at least twice a week. He was a night owl. He would sneak out of his house in upstate New York and take a path out through his wooded neighborhood, to a high point in the road where he could get a decent signal on his cell phone, and call me. I had my own private line, and would wait for him, lying in bed with a book, phone muffled under a pillow, until it rang.
We weren’t exactly related. His wife was my father’s sister, so there was no shared blood between us. They’d always lived on the east coast, and my father and I had always lived on the west. We saw each other at family reunions once a year, and the few times when my uncle would get sent out to LA for business meetings.
I’m not entirely sure when our relationship took its turn from innocent and detached uncle and niece to flirty, bawdy, unbridled desire. I do know that he was the first to notice this attraction between us, and definitely the first to mention it out loud. I was about eighteen when our nightly meetings began. Each secret phone conversation made us both more brave. We talked about a lot of things we’d never told anyone else. I spoke to him frankly about being a virgin with a body full of lust, and he told me intimate things about his wife and their sex life. Soon enough, he began complimenting me, making little comments about how he thought I was sexy. Finding the perfect word to describe me, ‘yummy’.
I have to admit, I was not the most beautiful teenager. Tall and skinny, I had olive skin and green eyes. My hair changed color constantly, usually just different shades of red, and I never wore makeup. I had a fondness for tight baby tees and big baggy jeans. My skirts were always too short, and my nose a bit too big for my face. My breasts were barely a B cup, and although I thought of myself as somewhat pretty, the boys at my school never seemed interested in me. My uncle’s confessions of lust gave me delightful boosts of self esteem. My heart would race when the phone would ring, and I’d giggle for no reason.
Yes, he had a wife. And he was my uncle. I understand that some people would frown on our relationship, but it began so innocently, and brought us so close together, that I cannot think of it as bad. I do not think my uncle was a pervert of any kind. He fell in love with me when I was just eighteen, with my body, my youth, and my spunky personality. In some ways I was in love with him too, in the romantic, forbidden feel of it, the secrecy, the confessional nature of it all. I spoke to him like I was writing in my diary. I told him of my fledgling attempts at masturbation, tried to convince him that marijuana was fun. When he visited on his business trips, a country-wide away from his wife, he would lavish attention on me. He’d take me on road trips, staying in beautiful hotel rooms (with two beds, of course), and spending as much money on me as possible. Never once did he touch me. Our conversations and manner around each other in person, even when we were alone together, was always friendly, but never more. Our attraction for each other and our honesty were left to our phone conversations.
I was young, shy and afraid of my feelings. I felt like I should be disgusted with him, but I wasn’t. I was egging him on.
When I finally lost my virginity, I couldn’t wait to tell him. Afterwards, he got quiet, and murmured, almost sheepishly, something about his fantasy ruined. I brushed the comment off with a light laugh. He’d never outright made a comment about us having sex, and it surprised me. It made me wonder how often he thought about me, what he thought about me. He had confessed once to having a fantasy where we both masturbated in front of each other, and I had brushed that one off too. I was too scared of where the conversation would lead.
Years went by and eventually our conversations tapered out. When they finally had stopped, I hadn’t really noticed. Other events in my life begged my attention. Almost ten years after our first talk, it struck me that my uncle was acting weird. He never called anymore. The few times I caught him on the phone, when he called to speak to my father about something or other, he was polite but not overly friendly. I spoke to him like I always had, cussing and telling dirty jokes to try to break the ice, but he was determined. He completely closed himself off to me. When he came out on business, he didn’t spend much time visiting with me. He never took me out anymore. His conversations were dry and boring. Strictly, ’How’s the family,’ type of talk.
This dramatic change really dawned on me at our family reunion. For some reason, this year I was particularly nervous around him. I couldn’t stop staring at him when I was sure no one was looking. I’d give him coy smiles when I walked past him, alone, on the lawn outside where everyone was staying. He smiled back, and I think I caught him looking at me a few times, but that was it. Whenever I showed up within three feet of him, he’d immediately leave, saying he needed to find his wife. We had a few starchy conversations, where he was polite as all hell, but for the most part he avoided me. For some reason, this was particularly maddening to me. I finally felt like I was brave enough to really take this bull of a relationship by the horns. I was a good match for him now, not shy and scared, but open and feeling some lust for him too, not just for his words. My stomach was in a queasy state all week, keeping me awake at night, lurching around during the day. Whenever he was near I could feel him, imagining his eyes on me, trying to make my every move cute and sexy. I was never obvious about it, but I imagined he knew it, that our bond was not completely severed.
When I arrived home from the reunion, I sunk into a deep pit of despair. It all hit me at once -- He didn’t love me anymore. Or maybe he did, but couldn’t show it for some reason. His wife? Did she find out about our conversations somehow? Did she have her suspicions, and force him to tell her everything we talked about? I felt a horrible wave of embarrassment, which quickly turned to anger. If he told her all the private things I told him, I swore I’d make him regret it. But maybe he was feeling guilty. Maybe he feels like our attraction for each other is wrong. I found a song that best described my feelings and listened to it incessantly. In it, the man is in love with a girl he knows can never truly love him back, that although he could make her miserable, he could never make her love him and stay with him, not for all the world. This was how I felt. I curled up inside my romantic anguish for about a week, then woke myself up and resolved myself to the situation. He didn’t care for me. He wasn’t even attracted to me anymore. He’d become his wife’s puppet, hiding his feelings inside himself. If this was the way he wanted it to be, so be it.
I tried to ignore my hurt for awhile. Eventually I began fantasizing about ways to trap him, to force him to feel that lust for me again, to make him act it out. When I learned that he would be coming to visit on business for a week, and staying at our house, I made my move.
First I assessed myself in the mirror. I was now twenty three. I was still tall and thin, but my bony body had filled out in the hips and thighs, giving me the most gorgeous pert ass. Besides my long legs, it was my most sexy feature. No one’s ass looked better in tight blue jeans. My breasts were still small, but there was nothing I could do about that. My skin was tan and smooth, my hair longer than it had ever been, shiny, thick and soft, the color of honey. My green eyes were bright, and a light spattering of freckles dusted my cheekbones. I’d taken to wearing a very small amount of makeup, a pale sparkle of eyeshadow, a touch of mascara to make my eyelashes stand out, and a kiss of lip balm.
In my own opinion, I looked much prettier now than I had my entire life. Feeling that I was armed well against my cold hearted uncle, I took one last stare in the mirror, smiling wickedly, and left the bathroom, deciding to ransack my closet.
The day my uncle arrived, I was in the kitchen, preparing dinner and sipping on my second margarita. I was wearing a short worn jean skirt and a comfy tight tee shirt. My feet were slipped into flip flops and my hair was tied down into two long girlish braids. The second margarita was taking its effect on my body, making my cheeks pink and my movements slightly clumsy. I was also giggling profusely at the rather mundane story my father was telling me about his day at work. He was sitting on a bar stool at the island I was cooking on, drinking a beer and pleasantly ignoring my tipsiness. As the doorbell rang, my dad got up and trudged out towards the front door, letting in my jet lagged uncle.
Throughout dinner I lavished attention on my father, coldly ignoring my uncle. The few times he said anything to me I gave him a short answer, never looking him in the eye once. I decided to see if treating him the short way he’d been treating me would affect him the way I had been. It seemed to be working. As I stood at the sink doing the dishes, (my father must have been wondering what had come over me, cooking dinner and doing dishes) my uncle came to stand at what he must have thought was a safe distance beside me, picking up a towel and drying the pots and pans.
“Thank you for dinner, it was delicious,” He said, with the same caution he had been treating me with for the past few years. I took a step closer to him, placing a wet pot on the counter in from of him.
“Not a problem, I like to cook. I don’t do it enough these days.”
I set to work trying to wash the pans faster than he could dry them, using the opportunity to step even closer to him while placing the clean wet pan on the counter.
“How’s college going? What classes are you taking?” He sounded and looked nervous. He tried to shift to his right, away from me, but the dishwasher was open at his shins, pinning him in.
“It’s August. The semester ended in May.”
I took another step, and our shoulders were pressed together. Again my uncle tried to sidestep towards the dishwasher, but I had him trapped. Finished with the pots and pans, impressed with myself, and sipping quickly on my fourth margarita, I grabbed a plate, rinsed it off, and turned towards my uncle. He avoided my gaze. I brushed the tips of my breasts against his arm and leaned behind him, grabbing his elbow with my left hand to steady myself, slipping the plate into the dishwasher. As soon as I straightened myself, my uncle excused himself and left the room.
When I was finished with the dishes, I walked upstairs to my bedroom. I slipped into my favorite pair of pajamas, which admittedly were too small and hugged my ass and breasts and showed off my tan tummy, and headed back downstairs. I made sure to take the route through the family room, where my dad and uncle were sitting on the couch watching television. As I passed in front of them, somewhat scantily clad, I smiled at my uncle. He looked up at me and swallowed. I swore I could smell his fear. My dad leaned around me, trying to see the television, and dryly said, “You make a better door than a window, honey.”
I was foraging in the freezer when my uncle stepped in, presumably for another beer. I didn’t want to get my hopes up that he just wanted to see more of me in my sexy sleepwear. He waited patiently for me to find what I was looking for, reaching way into the back of the freezer, my pajama top lifting up so high he could almost see my ribs, my cold nipples hard as rocks and screaming to be noticed. I pulled out a banana Popsicle, long and slim and oh so wonderfully phallic.
Stepping out of the way with a satisfied smile on my face, I watched as my uncle opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a beer. I peeled off the wrapper of my frozen treat, gave it one big lick from base to tip, staring right into my uncle’s eyes, then ferociously bit an inch off the top.
I turned on my heel and left the kitchen. I was not too convinced my uncle wouldn’t cry himself to sleep that night, in utter frustration.
The next morning I got up fairly early for me, the infamous sleeper, and took a shower straight away. Stepping out of the bathroom, clad only in an impossibly small towel and drippy long hair, I ran into my uncle who was coming out of his room with some travel size toiletries in hand. He smiled nervously, and I gave him a sultry look. The steam escaping the bathroom door around me could not have better suited what I was convinced was a very erotic image.
“Good morning, uncle. Bathroom’s all yours. I even warmed it up for you.”
I swear I could detect a rosy blush on his cheeks before I turned away and headed for my bedroom.
At breakfast my uncle began telling my father of his business plans for the weekend. He had a few meetings early the next morning in Santa Barbara, and a business dinner that night. He would be staying in a hotel there for tonight and the next night, driving back to our house the morning after the dinner, and leaving on a plane back to New York the next day. I was greatly disappointed on hearing he’d be gone for two days. I’d assumed he’d be at our house the whole week, with a few meetings in LA and plenty of time left around the house, where I could continue my torturous teasing.
“Santa Barbara, eh?” My father was thinking. You could practically smell the wood burning. “Pity you’d have to go by yourself. Why don’t you take her with you?” My father gestured towards me. My heart leaped.
“Uh, well I don’t think it would be much fun, and the company’s already made hotel reservations for one room.” My uncle was politely trying to say no way in hell. Alas, my father was determined to have two nights alone in his house for the first time in months.
“Oh that’s no big deal, I’m sure she’d find plenty to do in Santa Barbara, and she can just get one of those roll away dealies. You really shouldn’t have to go by yourself, it’s no fun traveling alone, and it’s a few hours drive from here. Yes, that would be very nice for all of us. I mean, both of you.”
I think it was pretty obvious to my uncle that my father would not take no for an answer, not without feeling offended. My uncle agreed, and told me we’d be leaving that evening after dinner. I went upstairs and packed, slipping in two books to read on the way: Anais Nin’s Erotica and Nabokov’s Lolita.
As we hit the road, I made myself comfortable, my right foot propped up on the dash, revealing a creamy expanse of inner thigh. I pretended I didn’t see the frequent glances my uncle gave my exposed flesh, trying to hide my giddy smile. I pulled out Lolita first, leaning the car seat back a bit, stretching out the leg on the dash, and pretending to smooth down my skirt. The window was open and a salty breeze would blow in from time to time, lifting the edges of my flirty miniskirt and giving my uncle a peepshow of my white panty lined crotch. My heart was skipping in my chest. My entire body was aflutter, excited about my naughtiness, anticipating the night ahead. In truth, I didn’t really expect to have sex with my uncle on this trip. I merely wished to either know he still lusted after me, or torture him viciously as he tried to deny it. I figured the torture should come first, then perhaps later he could have a chance to redeem himself.
Once we were about three quarters of the way there, I tucked Lolita away and pulled out the erotica. The book was clearly titled, and out of the corner of my eye I could see his eyes widen a bit. He shifted in his seat. We’d been chatting off and on during the ride, a few safe conversations. I didn’t try to steer the conversation to that of a more sexual nature, I simply relied on my bared skin and reading material to keep him deliciously uncomfortable.
I wiggled around in my seat while I read the short stories, licking my lips from time to time, sighing very softly off and on, even sneaking in the quietest little moan, my uncle probably thought he imagined it. I let the backs of my fingernails play along the inside of my exposed thigh, rubbing lightly back and forth, moving slightly closer to my pussy with each pass. Then I ran my hand up along the side of my neck, dropping it down to my collarbone, still rubbing softly, then down between my breasts, all the while making it look nonchalant, as if I wasn’t even aware of it. I could feel my cheeks grow pink, my nipples harden, and my pussy lips begin to swell from the stories. I could faintly smell a girlish warmness down there, and wondered if my uncle could smell it too. My mind began to run it’s own path, fantasizing about my uncle doing to me what the men in the book were doing to their lovers.
As my imagination went wild, my conscious mind began to forget about the presence of my uncle in the car next to me. My eyes closed, the hand holding the book going limp at the wrist. I ran my fingers over one of my nipples lightly, rubbing the tip through my shirt. I moaned a little, not even realizing it, and pressed harder. I tweaked the nipple, dropping my book from my other hand, and sent that hand running down between my thighs, heading for my panties.
The car pulled quickly into a driveway, narrowly missing an exiting car, and braked hard in front of the hotel. I was jolted out of my reverie, a bit embarrassed at how far I’d taken it, and scrambling to get my stuff together. My uncle was moving very quickly, not looking at me, red in the face. As he stepped out of the car, much as he tried to hide it, I could see the outline of his erection through his pants.
We checked in, then took the elevator up to our room. My uncle stood far away from me in the elevator until a young couple got on and pushed us closer together. The couple looked like they’d just arrived from the Prom, dressed in tuxedo and frilly Cinderella dress. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I watched them openly, getting the feeling that they wanted us to. The boy had his date pinned to the wall of the elevator, knee pressing between her thighs, lips devouring hers. He was even so bold as to slide a hand inside her low neckline and attempt to cup her bare breast. The girl slapped his hand away, and the elevator doors opened at their floor. They ran off down the hall together, giggling.
“Looks like they’re going to have some fun tonight,” I murmured, watching the numbers climb towards our floor. My uncle glanced quickly at me, then turned away. He had his hands clasped in front of him, shielding what quite possibly could have been the same erection he’d had in the car.
Once we got to our room it was fairly late, and as I was coming out of the bathroom, teeth nice and minty clean, my uncle mentioned he had a meeting very early, so he was hitting the hay.
“Okay,” I said slowly, smiling at him, and standing too close for his comfort as usual. “Let’s go to bed.”
He rushed into the bathroom to change. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the roll away. I knew I should sleep on it, being the uninvited guest and all, but I was also supposed to be torturing my uncle. In the end, I took the scandalous route, turned off all the lights, stripped naked, and crawled into the bed. I lay on one side, leaving plenty of room to suggest that I wanted him to join me, my back towards the bathroom door. I pulled the sheets up to cover my ass and breasts, leaving just my back bare to his eyes.
I was very nervous. My intentions were merely to drive him wild with lust, perhaps so much so that he wouldn’t be able to sleep like I wasn’t able to at the family reunion. I wondered what I would do if he really did crawl into the bed beside me. What if he crawled in naked as well? Was I really prepared to fuck my own uncle? I calmed myself down, reminding myself that he had been acting like a castrated coward for the last few years. There was no way he’d have the nerve to even sleep in the same bed as me, much less fuck me.