Fooling Around 101 - Version Bravo
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
Foreword: This story is written in two versions, Alpha and
Bravo. You are reading version bravo. Both stories are very
similar in the beginning, though they go in different directions
ultimately, with very different endings. Moreover, the
personalities of some of the characters differ from one version to the
next, even though they have the same names.
When I was a young and starving college student, my older brother had a
comfortable house, with a wife and two boys in it. I liked all of
them. Well, as much as you can like rug-rats before they can talk
and will obey you and such like that. But even when they were at
that stage, I spent a lot of my time at their house. Getting free
meals had something to do with it. Okay, a lot to do with it, but
Jill was a great cook, and any guy would like to eat as much of her
cooking as possible. Plus, she was easy on the eyes.
Not that I ever tried anything. I mean a little fantasy about
your sister-in-law is one thing, but actually trying to do anything
about it would have been the height of stupidity. I really did
like them all, and fooling around would have screwed things up for at
least two of us.
But I learned a lot, hanging around them. Take, for instance, the
time I was there when the boys were about one or so, and it was bath
"Want to help?" asked Jill.
I said "Okay," more out of a sense of duty than because I really wanted
to, but it was actually fun. They each had a rubber ducky and
they liked throwing them so we could fetch them. That kind of
thing. Then we were back in the nursery, with the boys laid out
side by side, drying them off. Jill had Dennis, the older one,
and I was astonished to see her grab his little pecker and give it a
wiggle. When she took her hand away, I saw he had a tiny little
erection! I was amazed.
"Did you just give him a boner?" I blurted.
She laughed. "No. They get hard all by themselves, but they
don't last long. Sometimes it just means they're about to
pee. But he likes it when I tickle it."
As if to punctuate her comment, Dennis' little peter became a geyser
while she snatched for a cloth which I later found out she'd put there
intentionally, just for that usage. Dennis, it seems, liked to
pee after taking a bath.
Two years after having the boys, Jill had a daughter, named
Cindy. And, when she was a little older than a year, I got asked
to change her. I knew that girls needed extra good cleaning,
because, as it turns out, their labia look pretty much grown up from
the start. Shaved, grown up, but if you've ever changed a little
girl's diaper, you know what I mean.
And in the process of cleaning her up, I learned that even at that age,
there's a little clitoris in there. When I ran the baby wipe over
it, she kicked and giggled. So I put a fingertip on it, just to
see if that reaction was real, and wiggled it just long enough for her
to kick and giggle again.
I was astonished.
I felt a bit like a pervert, but I wasn't trying to produce any sexual
pleasure, either in her or me. I knew my actions had been based
on purely curiosity. And I never intentionally did that again.
Well ... actually that's not true, but that jumps too far ahead in the
story, too quickly. For now, let's just say it was never my
intent to molest my niece.
Of course life is never black and white. And as she grew up,
little Cindy took a special liking to her Uncle Bob. Perhaps
that's because I was always willing to read her a book, or make up a
story to tell her. The boys were involved in boy things, which
were usually loud and raucous. And I got involved in that
too. But parents rarely have the time to read Princess Talula Tames A Dragon
eight times in a row, with sound effects and turning the pages only at
exactly the right time. And heaven help you if you leave out any
words, or try to change them, to make things go more quickly.
Between the ages of one and five, they may not be able to read, but
their memories are quite good.
Except about the rules. But that's a different story.
The point is that it was entirely normal for Cindy to crawl on my lap
and cuddle with me, for entirely non-sexual purposes, for the first
decade of her life. At that point, the lap sitting began to slack
off, happening only a couple of times a week, usually during TV time
between bath time and bedtime. Cindy always took a bath first,
and sometimes sat with me (or on me) to watch whatever was on, until
somebody made her go to bed. And, because the kids were growing
up, and I was needed less and less to help ride herd on them, I spent
more time doing other things.
But I need to be honest here. When a girl nears puberty,
especially in American, since the culture there demands it, the little girl gets gussied up and made to look older than she is. And
she almost inevitably appears to be more sexually mature than she
is. It's a very complicated mix of things that determined just
how that comes across.
For one thing, some girls learn how to tease men before they fully
understand what they are doing. They learn it from a variety of
sources. In some cases their mothers even teach them how to tease. I do
not know why they do this, because it's pretty rare for a girl between
ten and, say thirteen, to be genuinely interested in things
sexual. There might be some curiosity in there, but nobody is
capable of having any kind of meaningful sexual relationship before
fourteen or fifteen. Even then it's too early for a successful
relationship, meaning one that isn't fraught with emotional danger and
disappointment. But girls in their mid-teens at least have a
chance of understanding things. They got married and started
families for thousands of years in early adolescence. But not at
ten and eleven. Not successfully.
All that is just to preface the comment that it's fairly normal for
males to perk up and take notice when a little girl starts to look like
a young woman.
And all that is just to say
that I don't think it was perverted for me to notice that little Cindy
was growing up and was going to be a real heart-breaker someday quite
This is not to say that I had some wish to be her sexual partner, later
on. She just had potential, and I appreciated that. It's
like when you see a good looking girl walking confidently down the
street, and you think "Some lucky bastard will get to tap that some
day. I sure hope he knows how lucky he is when it happens."
Of course there are things that cause complications, and which lead to
later consequences. I'll give you an example.
When Cindy was twelve, I went camping with the family. We had
gone swimming in the lake for a couple of hours, and I laid out on the
dock for half an hour in the sun to dry off and get a little
tan. I heard the rest of them take off on a hike,
after which we planned to have supper. I was the assigned cook
that night, so I didn't go on the hike. What I didn't
know was that Cindy had stayed behind, to help me
cook. So when I got up and went into the big cabin
tent to change clothes, I didn't know Cindy was in there changing
too. She was stark naked, bent over, getting ready to step into a
pair of panties when I threw back the flap and walked in. She
looked up at me, stood up automatically, and squeaked as she tried to
cover all parts of her naked body at the same time.
During that split second, I saw budding little breasts, with puffy
nipples. I was almost amused to see that her adolescent vulva
looked almost the same as when I had last seen them, ten years
previously, and a few sparse dark hairs scattered across her mons.
And do you know what I thought? I thought she was
cute. Not sexy. Not ready for sex. She was just
cute and adorable and I was really sorry I had scared her, and hoped it
wouldn't ruin anything between us. So I said something to try to
make it less traumatizing.
"Oops. Sorry. No big deal, though. I've seen it
before. After all ... I used to change your diapers."
Then I turned around and left. I got the fire going, and
got the pans out and then she came out dressed. All she said was
"You're supposed to knock!" but that was all. We cooked supper
and everything was just like it had always been. When the family
got back, we even told them about it, and everybody had a good laugh.
But what I did not know, at the time, was that Cindy saw appreciation
in my eyes when that happened, and I didn't tease her or reject her,
and that was something fairly pivotal in her sex life, at the time. A
grown man ... a man she liked ... had seen her naked. And he
hadn't laughed at her, or called her a little girl. His eyes had
told her she was pretty, and that made all the difference in the world to her.
That's what makes all this stuff complicated. It's like shifting
sand. Sometimes it changes right under your feet.
It got more complicated when her father, who worked for the university
in the nuclear radiation lab, somehow got exposed to enough radiation
that it fried his bone marrow, or whatever it is that causes
leukemia. They didn't catch it soon enough. There was a big
scandal, because none of his radiation badges showed the contamination,
which meant either one was defective, or he hadn't been wearing it when
it happened. Plus they never found the leak. I only tell
you this because all that made it even harder on his family when we
So my role changed a bit, and I went from being a once a week visitor,
to missing a night or two a week. Dennis and Mark, who were then
sixteen, traded off being the man of the house. For a month,
whenever I showed up, Cindy burst into tears and hugged me, not wanting
to let go for an hour or more. Then she'd wipe her nose and dry
her eyes and ignore me for the rest of the night. I offered to
stop coming, but Jill said it was actually helpful, and that they'd
work through it all.
So I got used to being on that shifting sand, where my role changed a
bit, depending on what the family needed.
Which is what happened, I suppose, when she was fifteen.
Of course, by then, I didn't read her books any more, or let her serve
me tea in tiny cups, or play frog prince to her princess or any of that
kind of thing. By then, the way I supported her was by going to
her softball games and track meets and the plays she was in and that
sort of stuff.
I had been to her last softball game of the season. Her team had
a seven and eight season. And, while most of the girls were in it
for love of the game, not winning, the fact that they won that last
game was exciting for them, and they partied hard at the pizza place
afterwards. There was lots of improvised singing along with the
songs coming from the speakers in the joint, and dancing and the
Did you ever notice how healthy young women, who are singing and
dancing, just can't help but look sexy?
Of course you have. What am I thinking?
Anyway, Cindy had volunteered me as taxi driver, to take some of the
girls home whose parents hadn't come to the game or whatever, so after
a long and exhausting celebration, I made the rounds, dropping girls
off until finally Cindy was the only one left in the car. It was
after nine, but the next day was a Saturday, so it wasn't a problem.
We got to her house and got out. I had planned on staying the
night, so I could get an early start at removing their old water heater
and installing a new one. Inside, on the kitchen
table, was a card and some helium-filled balloons, taped to the
surface. It was from her mom, who had been at the game, but had
not gone to the pizza place, seeing as how parents, in that situation,
were embarrassing to girls of that age.
"Awww," she said, as she read the card. Then she bounded off to
find her and thank her. She came back a few minutes later and
said "My mother is a geezer! She's already in bed, can you
"You have to cut her some slack," I said. "She's raised you, and
that's a terrifying and exhausting job."
She stuck out her tongue at me.
I have no idea why her sticking her tongue out at me caused me to drop
my eyes to her breasts, but it did. She had big ones, for a
fifteen year old. I admit I had watched them flopping around a
bit as she ran the bases. Of course I had watched all the other
girls' breasts doing the same thing, some more, some less. I mean
... I'm a guy.
It probably would have helped if I hadn't been between
girlfriends. I have this problem where my upbringing kind
of made me believe that sexual intercourse is a very serious and
important thing, and you don't just hop in the sack with any old
body. If it gets to the point where sex is involved, then it's
time to start thinking about commitment. Serious
commitment. The marriage kind of commitment.
Unfortunately, a lot of other people my age weren't raised the same
way, and some women are looking for "uncomplicated, casual sex."
Of course very few women come right out and say "Let's just fuck for
fun, with no strings attached." In my case, I learn that's
how they feel when I propose to them. That's why I'm often
Anyway, when I realized I was staring at Cindy's breasts, I looked
away. Up, as it turned out. And there were her eyes, full
of the knowledge that Uncle Bob had been staring at her precious
It was an awkward moment. At least for me. But she
just licked her lips and said "Hey. Don't go to bed yet. I
want to ask you a question. But I'm all sweaty. I'm going
to take a shower and put my jammies on and then I'll be right back,
And off she bounded, like a deer, spooked by a tiger.
At least that's what I thought. I mean if your
thirty-five-year-old uncle stares at your developing breasts, wouldn't
just about any girl get spooked? That's what they call an
"Ewwwww" moment ... right?
Well ... as things turned out ... apparently not.
I've been around enough women that when one of them goes to the powder
room, I settle in and make myself comfortable. That sounds
awful, I know, like I'm stereotyping women. But if all women do
something in basically the same way, that isn't stereotyping.
It's just fact. Is it stereotyping to say "All women squat
to pee,"? Of course not. It might be inaccurate in
.00001% of instances, but you won't lose a lot of money betting on that.
Anyway, I was sitting on the couch, flipping through 169 cable
channels, which is just ridiculous, by the way, when there was movement
in my peripheral vision and I glanced up to see Cindy come back into
the room. I blinked. She had obviously changed her mind
about putting on her jammies. That's because I'd been there lots
of times when she was walking around in her jammies, and I had never seen her in what she was
Since then, I have developed a theory I call "The Jammie Curve," which
is based on the quantity of material that it takes to build a pair of
jammies during a woman's life. When they are very young, or
very old, there is lots of material involved, relatively
speaking. By that I mean that a lot of the body is covered with
material. The reason is obvious. Lots of material
provides lots of warmth and comfort, which both the very young and very
old are interested in. So those are the ends of The Jammie
In-between those ends, though, warmth and comfort sometimes take a back
seat to other interests. Let's just be honest. I'm talking
about sex here. Right in the middle of the curve, during a
woman's sexual peak, it's quite possible that jammies simply consist of
a string of pearls, artfully draped across some part of the
body. Or it will involve very little material that is
required to cover lots and lots of flesh. I'm talking lace, here.
On either side of the middle, there can be wild fluctuations. A
little girl, for example, is used to covering most of her body, and
that habit, if you will, can
last a decade or two. But as she becomes aware of her own
sexuality, jammies take on a different importance in her life. If
she is with girlfriends, the jammies look like this. If she is
with her family, they look like that. But if, for some reason,
she gets to be in jammies with a boy or other object of "romance" then
the jammies look entirely different. Of course later, as having
sex becomes old hat, and not such a big deal any more, women learn that
exposing too much skin may invite attention they no longer want quite
as often. So they begin to camouflage their bodies again.
For Cindy, she was right smack dab in the middle of that special time
during a woman's life, between little girl and eager sexual partner,
where jammies take on an experimental kind of aura. Girls stretch
the boundaries with their jammies sometimes, experimenting with what it
feels like to expose more and more flesh. We're not talking lace
here. An example is a girl who wears a T shirt and panties
to bed. Most of her lower body is on display, depending on how
long the T shirt is. She might wear one that offers glimpses of
her panties, just to see how that feels. It's a kind of the
spreading and flapping of wings, before she actually flies away from
the nest, I suppose.
Cindy's jammies, that night, consisted of a crop top T shirt, and a
pair of what I believe are called boy shorts that looked positively
glued to her lush, plump camel toe.
She didn't look nervous, which was insane. The ambiance in the
room sure felt that way,
though. Do you know what I mean? Maybe it was me. A
man can't see that much skin and not think about what's under the
little material that's there.
As if she were half her age, she walked over to me and plopped down on
my lap. She put her arms loosely around neck and looked at me
with those devastating blue eyes.
"Can I ask a favor?" she asked.
"I thought you wanted to ask a question," I responded
automatically. My right hand slid up her back. I think it
was just obeying an automatic command from some deep part of my brain
that wanted me to stroke this woman/child. No bra.
Those shifting sands I mentioned earlier made Mr. John Thomas awaken.
Suddenly, Cindy Caldwell, my niece, was a sexual being, rather than
just my niece. Mr. John Thomas, being completely shameless, and
incapable of either tact or cultural niceties, attempted to tear his
way through my pants and into hers. I had no idea of what to do
or how to act. I'll be honest. I was in shock. But
she started talking, which let me off the hook, in terms of making any
"Mom says I can start dating when I turn sixteen," she said. She
wiggled on my lap, as if she was trying to get more comfortable.
The state of Mr. John Thomas might have had something to do with
that. He was a lump to be proud of at that point. At least
if it had been a different girl sitting on my lap.
That is not to say I wasn't interested in the fact that she was
obviously trying to act in what she thought was a sexy way. I was
very interested. But I hasten to say that this was just a normal,
knee jerk reaction that nature has equipped all males to
exercise. Nature makes us all want to be the alpha male, at least
on some level, and the alpha male gets all the females.
Even his nieces.
Don't be so shocked. Watch a pride of lions. They do
that. Practically all species do it. And the only reason
homo sapiens doesn't do it routinely is because a bunch of beta males
figured out a way to create some rules so that they get some of the
females for themselves.
Anyway, that Alpha male thing is probably why I responded to her
announcement by saying: "I think that's a terrible idea."
"What?" She looked confused, there, four inches from my face ...
squirming on my lap.
I realized what had happened, and silently scolded my libido.
"Nothing," I said. "Does this have anything to do with the fact
that you came out here dressed like that?"
"Dressed like what?" she said, but she blushed. I glanced down -
again, don't ask me why - and I actually saw her nipples become erect,
through the crop top.
"Oh come on, Cindy. We've been buddies a long time. You're
showing me just about everything you've got. Do you know what the
big girls call that kind of outfit?"
"Jammies?" she said, stubbornly.
"That's a 'fuck me' outfit, baby."
"Uncle Bob!" she gasped. "I
can't believe you said that!"
I lifted a hand and gripped the hem of the crop top. I tugged
upwards and saw her eyes widen. I stopped with my finger where I
imagined the lower edge of her areola was.
"Isn't that what this kind of top is for, Cindy?" I asked, staring into
her baby blues.
She swallowed. She was breathing faster.
"Okay ... yes," she said, finally. "But don't do anything yet ...
I let go of her shirt. "Why would I do anything at all?" I asked.
She frowned. "This isn't working the way it's supposed to!" she
barked. "Will you please be quiet so I can ask you the question I
was going to ask you?"
I pantomimed zipping my lip. I glanced down at her
breasts. Her nipples were still nice and pointy. I wondered
what in the world was going on.
"Mom says I can start dating in two months. But I don't know how
to act with a boy. I don't even know how to kiss a boy. And
I was wondering if ... well ... if you would kiss me so I know what
that feels like." She swallowed. "I mean a romantic kiss,"
I ran my hand up and down her back again. Mr. John Thomas was
practically growling in my pants. Suddenly, the song from The Little Mermaid burst into my
mind ... Kiss The Girl!
I had only watched that DVD with her a hundred times.
"First, tell me why the ... um ... revealing clothes," I said.
She looked nervous for the first time. "Marianne Simms said I
should dress like this when I tried to get you to kiss me."
"You talked this over with Marianne Simms?" I asked. That was all
I needed ... rumors of me molesting my niece getting around, courtesy
of her friends.
"Oh, come on, Uncle Bob. All my friends think you're hot.
She asked me if she could be here too, so you could kiss us both."
"You are to tell Marianne that I laughed in your face and made you feel
awful," I ordered.
She started to cloud up.
"I didn't say I'm going to
laugh in your face, you little vixen," I said. "But that's what
you have to tell her. Got it?"
"You mean you'll do it?" she gushed.
"I'm at least willing to talk about all this," I said. "Let's
leave the doing until later."
"When?" she asked, wiggling on my lap.
"I don't know when, yet. This is a goofy idea, Cindy. And
you don't need to be in a big hurry to go on dates or do anything with
any boys. You have all the time in the world to do all that stuff.
"Can't I just have one little kiss?" she asked. "Pleease?
I've thought about it so much, but you're the only guy I'm brave enough
to do it with. Pretty please?"
"Listen to yourself," I said softly. "You're asking me like a
little girl asks for something. But what you're asking for isn't
for little girls. It's for big girls ... very big girls.
Kissing leads to touching. And touching leads to fondling, and
fondling leads to all sorts of other things that are for very, very big
girls. So don't be in a rush."
"Can I tell you something?" she asked.
"Remember that time when we were camping, and you came in the tent and
saw me naked?"
I smiled. "Oh yeah," I said.
"Well, ever since that day, I've wanted to kiss you like I'm asking
for. All those years I wished I could kiss you and thank you for
treating me ... I don't know ... like I was grown up, I guess.
You didn't tease me. You made me feel special. Couldn't I have
just that one thank you kiss right now?"
That stupid crab, or whatever it is started singing in my head again,
telling me to kiss the girl.
My penis insisted it was just one, little kiss.
She wiggled on him, and he was elated about that. It was clear
that she had to feel what was
under her rump. She knew I had an erection, and she was still asking for a kiss.
So I kissed her.
I admit I went a teensy bit overboard. I kissed her with tongue,
like we had been lovers for a while,
now. My left hand, which was clearly under the control of
my penis, slid under her crop top and cupped her right breast. It
was warm and soft. She didn't jerk. If anything, she leaned
into that hand. And, she kissed me back.
I broke the kiss because I was about to pinch her nipple.
"Wow!" she gasped, panting rapidly.
"I tried to warn you," I said, removing my hand from her breast.
"Wow," she sighed. "Can
I have another one?"
"No!" I said firmly. "And stop wiggling on my lap.
"Is that a boner I feel?" she asked.
"That, little lady is none of your business," I said.
"Of course it is ... if I caused it." She sounded giddy.
"Get off my lap or I'll turn you over it and paddle your bottom!" I
"No you won't," she giggled.
"Yes he will!" came another voice ... a female voice. There was
only one other female voice in that house, at present.
And that was Jill, the mother of the girl I had just frenched and
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