Uncle Quim Comes to Town

750, not one word more.

Hearing Uncle's footsteps coming up the front steps off the porch never failed to excite me.

Regular, the familiar, rhythmic sound-pattern on the wooden planks from his workboots, supple on his sturdy feet.

I sat on my sofa in the front room, overlooking the wind-rippled salt marshes of Cape Cod Bay, deserted in the off-season, my hands gripping the hem of my skirt just so they had something to do. The off-shore breeze that crept in through the closed but drafty windows and doors of the family summer cottage was salty, oceanic, elemental.

Four strides across the porch, vibrations coming through the floor, then his hand on the knob and the door opening.

"Uncle Quim, excellent to see you!" I was breathless. I knew my face was flushed.

A smile came easily to that broad, English face with the long, sharp nose. I don't think he was capable of an inauthentic expression.

"Camille, my same feelings in return."

He closed the door, and in five steps was in front of me, bending in for a kiss.

His eyebrows were dark and craggy, his temples just the barest hint of gray. Even when I was still at university I had found myself drawn to men, rugged men, older than myself. My father's brother had always been handsome, now he had become irresistible.

His eyes met mine. It seemed that they gleamed.

"The drive from Ipswich alright, Uncle Quim? The slog through Boston is never easy."

"It's never tiresome when I have an end-goal in mind, Camille."

My quim tightened, needing no other prompting. My nipples, bare against the inside of my coarse, woolen sweater, were erect. I was aware of his eyes on their protruding humps.

He put his shoulder-bag down, its surface worn and leathery.

"How many quims have you had, Uncle?" I began our foreplay early.

He laughed.

"You always ask me that. And I've always answered." He held up five fingers of his open right hand.

"More than this."

"Two hands-worth, Uncle?"

"A bit more," he smiled. "But fewer than three. Yet none sweeter than yours, Camille. Might I see it, love? It's been ages."

"Three whole weeks."

"Long enough...?"

"Yes, Uncle, no baby made this month."

"Let's have a peek."

I slowly pulled my skirt up, an inch at a time, until my uncovered quim faced him. Its furry canyon was slightly parted, and well dampened I knew.

"Ah, sweets, an oasis in the desert of life."

He gazed at it, my hairs resplendent in the late morning sunlight, chestnut and smooth.

"Untrimmed, always the best. Trimming is for Christmas trees, or when speaking of Thanksgiving turkeys and their fixings."

"Or hedgerows," I smiled. "But no razor or blade of any sort has come within a yard of its being."

He bent down to nuzzle. I felt the soft hairs of his beard exchange greetings with my groin thicket, tickling, rustling.

He closed his eyes and inhaled.

"Uncle, that warty ballsac of yours, let me see it as well. It has haunted my dreams." This was true.

He stood up, unbuttoned his fly, lowered his drawers.

His erection was already pronounced, a sign of his own expectancy, the length of time since we had been apart. It had likely been stiff as he ascended the stairs, and I imagined its hard, excited flesh pressed against his belly.

His balls came out, resting on top of his drawers. At times I lusted for them more than his penis.

All retracted in their wrinkled holding-net, each egg large and impatient. I liked them in all their phases, even loose and hanging, but more so now, their drawn-up condition a sign of their desire and the relief they knew I could provide.

"You should greet them properly, Camille."

He stood still. I was to come to him.

I leaned forward, pushed my nose into them, forcing them apart. Manly smells suffused my nose and dampened me further.

A kiss to each testicle. A lick. Then I could no longer help myself, as I took each egg inside my mouth for a suckle.

I could feel the stiffness of the underside of his penis on my forehead.

When I pulled away for a look it stood proud, arching upward. I salivated.

"A kiss, Camille, a kiss." His voice was low.

I kissed. I slid my lips over the head and tongued his tip. His cock-skin was taut and excited, my crotch gave a squeeze.

Uncle Quim had come to visit.