Fooling Around 101 - Version Alpha

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Chapter Two

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I managed to get her alone and kiss her some more, to break down her resistance.

Wrong.

Nothing happened for six more months.

Well. She went on her dates ... lots of them, in fact. She was very popular. She went out for basketball and got on the team, though she sat on the bench a lot. But still, she was a "jock" and she was popular. I found this out from her brothers, who were a good source of gossip about things at school. But they didn't know anything about her dates, or what happened on them.

I remember one night Dennis and I had been assigned to go get ice cream, and as we were driving to the store I asked him if he was worried about how guys were treating her on her dates.

"No," he said. He didn't seem to feel like any explanation was required.

"Why not?" I asked, unhappy with that answer.

"Because the guys she goes out with know that we'd break their legs if they get out of line."

Well that was a little harsh. But I didn't tell him that, of course.

"I'm glad you guys are keeping an eye on her," I said.

"Not like she needs it," he said, yawning. "She tells guys right up front that there will be no kissing and no fooling around and that the only thing she's looking for is to have some fun doing something with somebody other than her brothers."

"You're kidding!" I said. She was a popular girl. She'd been going out every Friday night, and would have probably been out on Saturday nights too except Jill limited her to one date a week. Her popularity was one of the reasons I had been a little bit worried, in fact.

"Nope. I never knew what platonic meant until she explained it to me."

It turned out that one of his friends asked her out, and heard that word in her conditions. He didn't know what it meant either, but he bluffed his way through and then asked Dennis what it meant. Since Dennis didn't know, he just went to Cindy and asked her. But I didn't find that out until much later, during some pillow talk.

I'm getting ahead of myself. The point is that my relationship with Cindy was the same as always. We talked to each other, and did things together, and everything was just normal. She went on her dates. Somebody had fixed up the old skating rink, which had sat empty for three decades. Everything was still there and, from what I hear, the hardwood floor didn't even have to be sanded. They just cleaned it and put down a new coat of whatever. But apparently the younger generation had embraced skating again, and most of the kids hung out there a lot.

I even took Jill skating there once. Talk about feeling like a boat out of water. There were kids everywhere, whizzing along, some of them on sleek inline skates that made them look like speed skaters. But it was fun to watch, and the onion rings were to die for. We didn't see Cindy there that night, but one of her friends blew me a kiss as she flew by.

It made me remember what she'd said about her friends thinking I was hot. Made me feel pretty good.

Jill teased me about it by calling me a dirty old man.

So on a cold night in December, when I was staying over because there was a blizzard outside, you can imagine my surprise when I got to see Cindy's "upgraded" jammies.

Everyone else had gone to bed. The boys had been shoveling snow all day, trying to avoid having to tackle it when it was two feet deep, which is what the forecast called for. So they were bushed. Jill always went to bed early. And, once again, I was channel surfing, trying to find something other than cooking shows, great sales on jewelry no woman in her right mind would want, creams that would make your skin eleven again and on and on.

"Hey," said my niece as she walked into the room and stood to one side of me.

I looked up, froze, tried to breathe, couldn't, almost passed out, and then finally got some air in.

She had on another T shirt, but this one stopped just under her breasts, which appeared to have grown since I last inspected them. I don't know the technical term, but the panties she had on covered the really important parts, with sides that rose up to hang on the tops of the hips. When she turned and went to the light by the other chair to turn it off, I saw that the back of the panties covered exactly half of each butt cheek. It was obvious that if she did any exercise at all, those panties would suck right between her cheeks, like a thong.

The panties were red, with a little white heart right over the sweet spot in front. There was something written on that heart, but it was too small for me to read without staring.

Actually, now that I think about it, it was too small to be read even though I was staring.

My eyes started back up where they belonged, but when they got to her breasts again, I noticed that, suddenly, her nipples were very erect and thrusting proudly through the cloth of the T shirt.

When I got to her face, she was looking at me ... looking at her. Her eyes glittered in the relative darkness of the room.

"Aren't you a little under-dressed?" I managed. My voice cracked, but I managed.

"No. It's no big deal. You used to change my diaper ... remember?"

Now who would have thought that a girl would remember her uncle seeing her buck naked, five or six years previously, and then remembered what he'd said when it happened?

Cindy would. That's who.

"I admit it was slightly different back then," I said, shakily.

"Oh? How?"

I didn't stop to think about why she'd ask that question ... or even be having this conversation at all. I just reacted.

"Well, you were naked then, for one thing."

"Oh. Should I be naked now? Would that help?" She sounded so sweet and innocent!

My guard went up, though, because while her voice was sweet and innocent, what she'd said was definitely from the other end of the spectrum.

"Of course not," I said. "What do you want?"

She seemed to kind of deflate a little bit, like she had tried something and it hadn't worked.

"I need another favor."

With my guard up, not to mention that word "another," I was more careful.

"Maybe," I said, carefully.

"Gee. Try not to be too eager, Uncle Bob." Her voice was completely out of character for the situation. I looked at her face (For some reason I had looked back at her breasts. Don't ask me why) and she looked almost disgusted.

This was no twelve year old girl any longer. And even though the last time this scenario had played out was only six months in the past, she had grown a heck of a lot in that time. She looked like a woman on the prowl, every man's dream, with those long, bare legs, and that bare midriff, and that camel toe under that little white heart. I wondered, briefly, why I hadn't noticed the camel toe before. I had to figure out what she was up to, and how to handle things.

"Look, Kitten," I said, softly. "I know this growing up thing is weird, and confusing, and maybe even a little bit scary sometimes. But you need to be careful when you explore things, because the situation can go south in a hurry."

"What in the world are you talking about?" she asked.

"I'm talking about this sexual play you're doing," I said. "The kissing?" I nodded wisely. "And now, whatever it is you're after tonight? Dressed like that? If you were doing this with the wrong guy, things could get ugly. Some guys aren't nice guys, Cindy."

"Well duh," she said, unimpressed. "Why do you think I'm coming to you about it? I'm not stupid, you know. I know I can trust you."

"Oh really?" I let my eyes rake down her again, trying to look predatory. "And what if someday I turn out not to be such a nice guy? What if I wanted a whole lot more than some kisses and a little stinky finger or something?"

She bounced on her naked toes. "Do you?" she asked, breathily. "Really?"

I looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was crazy.

"Of course not!" I snapped, being responsible. And lying very believably, I might add. "What is wrong with you?"

It might have turned into a nice, intelligent, useful dialogue on her feelings, and what was going on in her mind and all that sort of thing, except that when I demanded to know what was wrong with her she got red in the face and burst into tears and the next thing I knew all that teenaged pulchritude was in my arms, and all that hair was in my face, smelling wonderful, and those hot not-so-little breasts were pressed against me and she was crying in my neck. Obviously I had wounded her horribly.

She calmed down after a little bit, but her arms were still around my neck, and her breath was still hot on my throat. She sniffled a little bit, and then pulled back.

"Nothing is wrong with me. I just have all these feelings and stuff, and I can't explore them with any of the boys I know, because they'd get the wrong idea and think I was giving in and I don't want that kind of reputation."

She had to stop and take a breath, and I really wanted to say something, but, for once I decided keeping quiet might be a better idea. So I did.

"And I know you love me, and would never hurt me, and I can trust you."

She was right about that, of course. I had tried to be the gruff old bear, and had hurt her feelings, but the fact was I'd cut off my johnson before letting it hurt her.

Well, maybe not cut it off.

But you get my drift.

"What's stinky finger?" she asked.

I swallowed. It was still a good time to be silent, as far as I was concerned. But she was waiting for an answer.

"Never mind," I said.

"Don't say that!" she said firmly. "I'm not a little girl any more. I need to know things, and you're the only man I can come to."

"That's the whole point," I said. "You're not a little girl any more. You have all your woman parts now, and they look good, and men are going to react to you from now on. And they all want just one thing, and that's to claim you for their pride." It was a pretty speech, if you ask me, but, of course, she was a woman, and didn't react to it like she should have.

"I'm not going to be in any pride," she said. "I'm a one man woman, thank you very much."

"I'm glad you feel that way," I said. "But I'm talking biology, and you're talking culture. Two different things. The biology is a lot stronger. Trust me."

"So ... is that why you said you might want more than ... stinky finger? How am I supposed to know what that means if I don't know what stinky finger is? Is that some code word for your penis or something?"

It was her use of the word "penis" that made me realize how grown up she really was. Partly grown up, anyway. I guess I should say she was trying hard to be grown up. So I decided to try treating her the way she was trying to be. Nothing else had worked ... you know?

"No," I said. "When boys fool around with a girl, one of the things they try to do is masturbate her with their finger. A woman's sexual fluids have a distinctive odor. The crude way of referring to it is called having a stinky finger, or playing stinky finger."

Her head suddenly froze, and I was afraid I had gone too far, but her eyes went somewhere else and she took in a breath, frowning.

"Rod French," she said. Her eyes cleared and she looked at me again. "He's on the boys wrestling team. Every time he sees me he rubs his nose with his finger. He's obviously rubbing it, but it looks like he's sniffing it too. He does this while he says "Hi, Cindy." If there are any guys around, they always laugh. I didn't know what was going on! That son of a bitch!"

"Just kick him in the balls the next time you see him," I counseled. "Take him by surprise, but then lean down, when he's not moaning so loudly, and say, 'Hi, Rod'. Make it look like it's the most normal thing in the world."

"I'll get suspended," she said.

"Not if you show the principal what he was doing to you," I said. "Be sure to sniff audibly when you drag your finger under your nose. And the finger needs to be nice and straight."

"I'll get suspended for sure, then," she said.

"Then tell him you'll demonstrate that to the school board when we appeal the suspension."

She thought about that for a few seconds. Then she smiled. "See? I need to be able to talk to you about all this stuff."

"Talking is different than doing," I reminded her.

She stared into my eyes. "You were such a good kissing teacher," she whispered.

Then she kissed me. With tongue.

So I grabbed her breast. If she wanted to play with fire, I was going to teach her how hot it could be.

I'm not admitting anything ... but it's possible that I just wanted to cup that breast. She had me pretty worked up.

She didn't stop kissing me. Her hand came and held mine. But she didn't take my hand off her firm, adolescent breast. She just stopped it from moving around. Finally she pulled her lips from mine.

"You were not the first boy to kiss me. But you're the first to touch me there," she said.

"One - I'm not a boy. Two - all men wish they could touch you there. Three - you're supposed to be slapping me right now."

Instead of slapping me, though, she kissed me again.

And wiggled on my boner, dammit!

It turned out that what she wanted was to be touched by a boy. Plenty had tried, despite her lecture to them all about how platonic their dates were supposed to be. But she had fended them all off. Even so, she was curious about what it would feel like to be touched.

And, despite the fact that I had clearly told her I was a man, not a boy, I still got the nod.

"And just where am I supposed to touch you?" I asked, trying to keep things clinical.

"You know," she said, with puppy dog eyes again. "Places."

"Haven't you touched yourself?" I asked.

She turned beet red, which I thought was most interesting. I mean here's a teenaged girl, asking her uncle to molest her, for all intents and purposes, and she's embarrassed about admitting she masturbates?

"My friends tell me it's different," she said, in a whisper.

"You have two brothers," I said. Then I wondered why the hell I'd said that. I realized I was on such thin ice that I was trying anything that came to mind not to fall through.

She didn't laugh, or say "Ewwww" or anything that I expected her to.

"I've talked to the girls who went out with my brothers. They're horn dogs, who always try to get as much as they can from a girl."

"They're male," I said. "That's what I've been trying to explain to you."

"And that's why I'm coming to you about this," she said.

"I'm a male, Cindy!" I said.

"Yes, but you're a safe male," she argued.

I didn't scream, though I really wanted to. Instead I took her gently by the hand, and pushed her gently away from me, moving her hand downwards. I managed to get it under her and onto my erection before she figured out what I was doing.

"There is no such thing as a safe male," I said softly.

She didn't jerk her hand away. Instead she squeezed and explored.

"Stop that!" I barked.

"Well you put it there!" she complained. "Can I see it?"

"No! You may not see it, Cindy! And get off my lap!"

She got up. The only problem with that was that she stood right in front of me, looking at my lap, her feet spread shoulder's width apart.

Remember those panties? The ones that had something written on them?

It was "Yum," with a stylized tongue under the word.

And by how her camel toe was well defined and luscious looking. Her nipples were hard too. None of these things had been evident while she sat on my lap. She looked ripe ... ready ... sexy as hell ... and all woman.

"Where the hell did you get those panties?" I rasped.

She thrust her loins at me.

"Do you like them?" she asked, all perky. "Amanda Rollins got them from the internet. She gave them to me to wear when I ... she got them for me as a gift."

Her change of thought in the middle of the sentence might have gotten more of my attention, except that her new panties were ... well ... there was a stain on them ... a spot that was darker than the rest ... right where those lips were so well defined. She was turned on. It was obvious, and that made her even more sexy than otherwise.

"Please don't do this," I croaked.

"Awww, come on, Uncle Bob. I just want to fool around a little bit. I'm not asking for all that much."

"I asked you if you touched yourself," I said. "And you do. That's obvious from the way you reacted. You masturbate. Well I do too, and I need to do that right now. That's how much you've affected me. I want to have sex, Cindy, not fool around a little bit. That's what I've been trying to explain to you!"

I think I was trying to get her uncomfortable by talking about the intimacy of things. And yes, I know how stupid that sounds, considering just how intimate she wanted things to be.

And I thought I might have succeeded, because she got all red in the face again, and shifted around, moving her feet. If she'd have been three I'd have suspected she needed to pee. But that wasn't it at all. She was not intimidated.

"You could teach me how to masturbate you," she said. "According to all my friends, I need to learn how to do that too."

But, believe it or not, that was nothing, compared to what she said next.

"But I don't want to put my mouth on it." Her body gave a cute little shudder. "I'm not ready for that yet."

I think what saved me, in that situation, was the fact that she was so casual about all this. She wasn't excited, leaking pussy lips and stiff nipples aside. She was trying to make a sale, and she knew it was going to be a hard sell. And I think it was that that sobered me up a bit, and gave me back my brain.

"You've really given this a lot of thought," I observed.

She gave me a very level, very unembarrassed look.

"I see how my friends act when things get all screwed up. It doesn't look like they're having all that much fun. But I know it's part of growing up, and I have to do it sooner or later. I just want it to be with a guy I can talk to about it. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "Yes, sweetheart, and that's a laudable concept. But a lot of this love stuff is kind of trial and error by nature."

"I don't see why it has to be," she complained.

"Okay," I said. "Since you've come to someone you think you can talk to about it, then let's talk. Exactly what do you want out of this?"

"I'm not sure," she said.

"That's not helpful at all," I said. "I'm going to need a lot more guidance than that, or I may take things too far."

"Then you'll do it?" She was all perky again.

"I didn't say that," I said, holding up a hand. "It depends on what you want me to do. Believe it or not, I'm old fashioned about this kind of thing. There are some things I think you should save for the person you marry."

"Have you saved those things?" she asked.

I had painted myself into somewhat of a corner there. I tried to leap past the paint.

"That's complicated," I said. "I thought I was going to get married to the women I ... um ..." I frowned. "I thought we'd get married later," I finished.

"To all of them?" she asked, as if there had been a hundred, instead of only eight or nine.

"Never mind that. There are some things I think you should save. If those women would have saved it, then I'd be married now, okay?

"Oh. Okay. Well, all I want to do is fool around and see what that feels like," she said.

"Fool around," I said. Visions of pretty much everything flitted through my mind. I found myself staring at that "Yum" and that stylized tongue, and wondered if she'd taste as good as she looked.

"And learning how to ... um ... masturbate you ... might come in handy too. That's what I'm told, anyway," she said, pragmatically.

Well, at least she was getting a little less eager. Her hesitation to use the correct word suggested that.

Something occurred to me. Actually, I got a little paranoid. I wondered if we were alone. Was there someone ... several someone's ... listening in the dark ... watching to see what the dirty old man would do?

"And what happens if, while you're involved in Fooling Around 101 with professor Bob, someone walks down the stairs and sees what you're doing?"

"That would be awkward," she said, frowning.

"Indeed."

"We could do it at your house," she suggested.

I thought about that for exactly five seconds. If she ever came to my house with the current agenda in mind, she'd get fucked. Plain and simple. This girl had no clue as to the emotions that were going to be unlocked in her while she played at learning about sex. I was quite sure I could get whatever I wanted from her, and if I had her alone at my house I would want it all.

"Your penis moved," she whispered, looking at my lap.

"That's because I was thinking about how completely helpless you'd be at my house," I said, quite honestly, "and how I could get you naked and under me in bed."

"You were not!" she chided.

"You do have a lot to learn," I said grimly. "But not at my house."

"My room?"

"You have people on both sides of you," I pointed out.

"So, they all snore. I can hear them through the walls."

"Sweetheart, if I start working on you, you're going to squeal like a cute little piglet. People could hear you next door."

"They could not!" she chided.

I honestly think that attitude was what made me decide to do it. I'd show her whether or not she'd squeal like a pig.

The only question left was where and when the squealing would take place.

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