Fooling Around 101 - Version Alpha

by Lubrican

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

Chapter Five

I thought I'd pull a fast one on Cindy, so I left a note on the kitchen table that I'd had to go out of town on a project and didn't know when I'd be back, and for her to just go on to bed. Then, thinking I would outwit her, because she'd go get in my bed, I went to sleep in hers.

I was awakened by a naked body sliding into bed with me. Until, upon finding that bed occupied, when she thought I was at work, she shrieked. Apparently my bed wasn't as attractive if I wasn't in it.

I got her calmed down and then she got fired up again, yelling at me for scaring her half to death.

"Why are you naked?" I asked. She was standing there, shivering in the cold.

"I sleep this way!" she yelled.

"But what about your jammies?" I asked, truly flummoxed.

"Jammies are for certain people to see you in, not sleep in," she said, as if that made all the sense in the world.

I blinked. I had no idea what to say.

"And why aren't you naked?" she asked.

"This is how I sleep," I said.

"Not any more, it isn't!" she ordered. She came to me and started trying to pull my shorts down. I was trying to keep them up, of course, but all she had to do was tweak my penis and I let go. She neatly "pantsed" me, though I doubt she's ever heard of the process, and bullied me into stepping out of them.

"Now, it's freezing in here," she complained. "Where do you want to sleep? In my bed ... or yours?"

"Mine," I said.

"Then let's go," she said.

She led me to my room, pulled the covers back, put me in, climbed in with me, snuggled up to me, and rubbed her naked body all over me, no doubt to create friction, which was to generate heat.

It worked too. She felt like she was on fire against my skin.

She just wanted to cuddle at first. She was still shivering, her whole body shaking all over every so often. I told her about her mother and brother, and that Mark had been to the hospital. She agreed that I needed to take her there the next day.

Then she reached for my face and kissed me. I admit I enjoyed it. That's probably why I got grumbly again.

"We have to stop this," I said. "If we keep fooling around, we're going to have an accident."

"Accident," she said. It was dark, so I couldn't see her eyes. "It wouldn't be an accident, Uncle Bob."

"You know what I mean," I said.

"I do," she replied.

"That would be a very bad thing," I said.

"A bad thing," she repeated. She was rubbing her slippery pussy on my thigh now. "Hey!" she said, suddenly.

"What?"

"You know how I like to taste you?" Her hand moved to find Mr. John Thomas, who was standing tall, ready to be counted. "Down there?" she added.

"Yes."

"Well ... have you ever ... um ... tasted one of your girlfriends ... like that?"

"You want me to suck your pussy?" I asked, calling a spade a spade.

"That doesn't sound very romantic," she complained.

"This is class, not romance, remember?" I reminded her.

"Right. So have you ever sucked pussy?" Her voice was grim.

"Lots of times. I love to do it," I said. I did not offer to suck hers. I think I was trying to exert what little control over things I still had.

After a long, silent pause, she said "Well, do you think I'd like it if you did that to me?"

"Oh, you'd love it," I said.

"Really?" She sounded hopeful, now.

"Guaranteed," I said firmly.

Another long pause.

"So will you do it?" she finally asked.

"No," I said, also very firmly.

"Why not?" She was upset now.

"Because when I say you'd love it, I am understating things considerably. You'd love it so much that by the time I was finished, you wouldn't care that I was climbing up between your silky thighs, with my big, nasty, dripping prick hanging down, ready to skewer your virgin sex and put a cupful of baby makers in your sweet belly. And that's exactly what I'd try to do, because I love eating pussy, especially the pussy of a woman I adore, and it always makes me want to breed the ever-loving fuck out of her, so no, I will not be doing that with you tonight."

There was, what I thought was a shocked silence. But she didn't get out of bed and go to her own room. She trembled, but I chalked that up to her still being cold. Then she whispered "I love you too, Uncle Bob. I promise I'll be good."

And she snuggled even closer, and went to sleep.

Things actually calmed down a little bit. She got up the next morning and gave me a long, sloppy kiss before she left to go to school. A friend picked her up again. When I got home from work, she was ready to go to the hospital, and that went well. While I visited with Dennis, she talked to her mother. Then we switched. Jill was a little weepy, but she said it was just the meds they were giving her, and that she was actually happy with what she called "the progress being made." She asked me if everything perishable had been removed from the refrigerator and I told her most of it had, and she asked me to get the rest out so nothing spoiled before she got back.

Then, on the way home Cindy talked about various things, which I can't remember, and we stopped at Sonic and had supper. She was quiet until we got home, so I was too.

She sat up doing homework and then we watched a made-for-TV movie with her snuggled up to me on the couch. When the movie was over and I turned the TV off, she sat up, but put her hand on my leg, to keep me from getting up. She turned to face me.

"I don't have the words to tell you what you mean to me," she said. "You've always been there for me, no matter what. You never get mad at me for doing stupid things. All I can ever remember coming from you was love. It's like sunlight, and I want to bathe in it."

No woman had really ever talked to me like that. I sat there, sort of stunned.

"And I know I've been asking a lot, and that I've made it hard on you." She reached for my lap, which for once did not have a hard penis in it. "No pun intended," she said, apparently not at all unhappy that I was soft. "And I promise that I'll try to be good, and not so hard on you. But there's something you need to understand. I've always had these feelings inside me, for as long as I can remember, that you were special. And when I started feeling ... things ... feelings ... strange emotions ..." She paused for a breath.

"Hormones," I said, gently.

"When I started feeling hormones, I knew, somehow, that I could only explore them with you. And I still feel that way. I like boys. I like going on dates and having fun with them. But when it comes to serious things, I'm not interested in doing them with boys." She stopped to take another breath.

"That's fine," I said. "You're growing up. You'll go off to college and meet men, instead of boys, and things will happen naturally. You'll love that too. You don't have to be in a hurry to get there, though. And it's good that you're not in a hurry to get there."

"Will you be quiet and let me finish?" she asked. She was frowning. "I thought about this all day long, and I had it all planned out what I wanted to say!"

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"When I was little, I had a monkey that I took to bed with me every night."

"I remember," I said. I slapped my hand over my mouth, but she ignored me.

"Then, when I turned thirteen, I decided I was a grown up girl, and I threw him in the trash. I didn't need him any more. I outgrew him."

I remained quiet.

"And for years, I was miserable, because my bed didn't feel right. I should never have thrown him away. I missed him so much that I cried ... not every night ... but lots of nights. It was especially bad when I was unhappy or mad, or afraid about something."

She was quiet for so long that I almost said something.

"The other night, when I got in bed with you? That's the first night I felt like I had my monkey back."

"Thanks a lot," I groused. I couldn't help it. I had been reduced to the status of replacement, stuffed monkey.

"You don't understand," she said, patiently. "I felt complete again for the first time since I threw him away. I felt safe. I felt like the world was right again. I know you don't want me to sleep with you, because it's hard on you, but I need to sleep with you. I need you, Uncle Bob!"

I started to say something, but she held up her hand to stop me.

"But that's only part of it. I told you, you were special to me. But you don't understand that either. Whenever I dreamed I was a princess, you were my prince. Whenever I dreamed about taking a step towards adulthood, you were right there, holding my hand. When I thought about going to prom, I wanted to find a way for you to be my date."

She stood up. Then she moved and sat down on my lap.

"I haven't been practicing," she said softly. "I've been living my dreams of being with a man who makes me want to do things I never wanted to do before. When you warn me that you might force me ... that doesn't frighten me in the least, Uncle Bob."

She kissed me. It was a very tender kiss.

"You wouldn't have to force me at all, Uncle Bob," she whispered. "No other man will have me before you do."

She kissed me again, and because I had nothing to say now, I just let her. I mean how to you respond to that? Sure, you know she's still dreaming, but you can't just shatter those dreams and call her silly. She was too young to be injured ... shattered ... that way.

I thought about it as she sat there and kissed me. I had no idea what to do. She finally stopped kissing me.

"Your mother is going to kill me," I said.

"No she's not."

"You don't know how a parent feels about her baby," I said.

"Yes I do. And she's not going to kill you."

"And you know this because?" I admit, I said it a little nastily. This girl had put me between a rock and a very hard place.

"Because I made her promise me that, when I told her how I felt about you."

I went cold. "You told your mother about us?"

"No, silly. I didn't know if there would ever be an us then. I just told her I was in love with you, and that if I ever got married I was going to marry you."

"And when was that?"

"When she told me I could start dating, of course," she said.

For a year and a half, I had been sneaking around behind Jill's back, fooling around with her daughter. I had felt bad about that, but not badly enough to stop doing it. Of course I had rationalized it in my mind as actually having the potential to be helpful to Cindy, as she threaded her way through the minefield that is youthful emotions and hormones.

And now, suddenly, I had learned that the woman I had been trying to hide all this from had been told, point blank, that I was the guy Cindy might want to fool around with.

To say I was puzzled and off balance was putting it lightly.

"I don't understand," I said. "Maybe you should tell me exactly what you said to her."

"I can't remember exactly what I said. It was a long time ago!" she said.

"How did all this come up?" I asked.

"I told her a guy had asked me out on a date, and she said I couldn't date until I was sixteen, and I said that was fine, because I loved you and didn't want to go out with any boys anyway, and we had an argument and it ended up that she said I could be in love with you all I wanted to, but I still had to go out with boys my own age. So I said that was fine."

"That's it?" I said. "She never asked any questions after that?"

"Not really. When I turned sixteen she asked me what I was going to do about dating, and I told her I was going to try to get you to show me how to kiss. She got all weird and said she didn't want to hear anything about it. So after that I didn't say a whole lot."

I had come to the conclusion, in the last few moments, that Cindy, saying something simple like "I didn't say a whole lot," could mean vastly different things to her than it might mean to me. So I kept asking questions. Basically, in the next half hour, it became clear that her mother was well aware that her feelings had not changed since that day when she turned sweet sixteen. It seems that every date she'd been on got reported in terms of how the boy stacked up against Uncle Bob. And none of them did all that well, though some boy named Ron told funnier jokes than I did.

And yet, Jill had never told me to keep my hands off her daughter. And then she'd actually sent her home with the man she had a serious crush on!

"Sweetheart," I said. "When you told her you loved me, I don't think your mom took you quite as seriously as you feel about this."

"Why do you say that?" she asked. "Did she say something to you?"

"No," I said. "But I'm sure she thought it was just a crush. I don't think she'd have let you come stay with me while she's laid up if she thought anything was happening between us."

"Shows what you know," she said. She wiggled on my lap.

"Stop that."

"Yes sir."

"Why do you think she knows more than I think she knows? You said you didn't tell her about what we were doing."

"And I didn't! She always asked me how my dates went, and I told her. Then she finally asked if everything was working out the way I hoped it would, so I knew she was interested. I told her I was very happy about how things between us were going, and that was it."

"When was that?" I asked.

"Tonight," she said. She wiggled again. "Then she said she was sorry for snooping, but couldn't help it."

"She asked you that when we were at the hospital, three hours ago?" I asked. I suddenly sounded like I was about twelve, with a cracking voice.

"Yes. Are you sure she didn't say anything to you?"

"She said she was happy with the progress that was being made, and that she wanted me to get everything out of the refrigerator at your house."

"See? She's not going to kill you!"

We all have dreams. It's one of the things that makes humans unique in the animal kingdom. We dream, most often about what can never be, but which we think would make us happier. In fact, once we get something, we only wish for something else. But that's another issue. The point is that we get used to dreaming and never seeing the dream come true, because that's what happens more often than not.

What have your dreams been? Wealth? Fame? A Maserati? A villa on the beach of some sun-drenched island? To fly?

They can be of anything. But for me, they were less grandiose than those kinds of things. What I dreamed of was a woman I could be worthy of. I had searched for this woman for the better part of two decades. I'm including those crazy mid teen years, when our dreams scatter like a shotgun blast, because even back then I knew that true happiness, for me, would involve a woman I could love with everything in me, and who loved me back the same way.

And for twenty years, fate had shoved in my face the prospect that my dream would never be realized. If I had enough to eat, and a roof over my head, and my woman ... I'd be happy.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I realized Cindy was my woman, and we all lived happily ever after. But you've had dreams ... so you know it doesn't work that way.

Actually, the first thing I tried to come to grips with was that Cindy's mother, and possibly the best female friend I'd ever had, not only didn't mind that I was giving her daughter male attention ... she approved? I use a question mark there because it didn't seem possible.

And then I realized I didn't have the faintest idea what to do.

Oh sure, it's easy for you horndogs out there to say "Fuck the girl, stupid!" But if you gave it any thought, you'd realize how completely terrifying that concept would be to a guy like me.

Remember, my motto is "Casual meaningless sex is merely complicated masturbation." Remember that every time I had had sex with a woman ... I proposed to her. And yes, I know there was a flaw in my reasoning there, but that's who I was. That's how I thought. It was still how I thought.

So, suddenly, I looked at Cindy as a potential wife.

And of course, the first thing that smacked me in the face was that she was only seventeen, followed by more slaps, such as, "She's going to college, you dope" and, "She'd never think about marrying you anyway, you dope" and, "She came to you to find out how to treat other men, you dope."

You think I'm just rambling on, here, and that I've gone off on a tangent, but if you're paying attention, you now know why none of those ten or twelve women wanted to marry me. I tend to dither when something important is going on.

"Uncle Bob?" I stopped dithering and looked at my niece.

I looked at her, which was about all I was able to do at the moment.

"Could we go to bed now, Uncle Bob? I need to do my homework."

"Homework?" I said, sounding about ten.

"Yes ... practice," she said.

"Okay," I sighed. It was the easiest choice at the moment.

She took my hand and led me to the bedroom ... my bedroom. I was pretty much a basket case. That's because I kept thinking about how Jill knew we were here ... in my bedroom ... together ... and she wasn't calling the cops about it.

She sat me on the bed and disrobed, standing in front of me. It wasn't a striptease or anything. She just got undressed. Then she stood me up, stripped me just as efficiently as she'd denuded herself, and turned the bed down before pushing me until I was lying on my back. She got in beside me and, without wasting any time at all, started practicing kissing me. She spent about twenty minutes at it, until she was sure she had it just right. She did, by the way, just in case you're wondering.

Of course by then I was dithering again. And it was easy to lie there while her head retreated under the covers as she kissed her way down my chest. She played with my pubic hair, tugging at it gently while she licked the head of my cock, and kissed that half a dozen times too. When she pushed her lips down over the crown, forcing the foreskin back, I groaned. She cupped my balls and squeezed them gently, almost like she was trying to urge the little sperms in there to leave the nest and fly into her mouth.

But then, while I was distracted, her legs appeared by my head, one of them swinging over my chest until that succulent, teenaged pussy was right above my face.

She let it down slowly. I can't pretend I didn't have time to stop her. But just like she had kissed me gently with her oral lips, she kissed me gently with her genital ones too. And it was so easy to just kiss them back, and tease them with my tongue, and suck and lick them.

And she groaned then.

I put my arms around her and ate pussy. That's all I can say. I tried to put my head into her birth canal. I know it's not romantic, but that's what I did. I made more love to that pussy in the next ten minutes than I'd made to eight or nine pussies combined in my past. I didn't stop until she bit me, and I realized she was saying "Stop, Uncle Bob!"

So I stopped, and she reversed herself, panting wildly.

"I don't want it to be that way!" she gasped.

I was confused. I didn't understand. I needed clarification.

"I want it to be this way," she sighed.

She said that as she unerringly found her sexual opening with the tip of my rampant prick and sank down on it, taking it into her to the balls.

Most women, when they engage in coitus, particularly the very first time, tend to be relatively silent, vocally. This is just based on my own experience. But not Cindy. A deep, satisfied groan used up all the breath she'd taken in. Then she talked.

"I knew it would be good," she sighed, sitting up and moving her loins forward, experimentally. "I knew it would be you, and I knew it would be perfect." She moved back, leaned forward and tried that set of motions again. She had always been a quick learner, and it was child's play for her to determine that her clit was stimulated if she leaned forward. So, having learned her lesson, she leaned forward a little more, supported her upper body with her hands on my shoulders ... and practiced.

Let's be honest here. What she did was just plain fuck me to tears.

"I love you, Uncle Bob," she panted. "I love you so much. I've wanted to do this with you since I was fourteen. I told Mom you'd be my first, way back then, and she laughed at me, but I knew it would be you."

She stopped talking while she had an orgasm. It seemed to last an incredibly long time, but I know that's what it was, because her pussy milked me until I was helpless. I think I might have said, "No" once, weakly, as I realized I was about to ejaculate into her. I was fully aware she wasn't protected, but I was also practically paralyzed by what was happening. And I think it was at the very moment when semen rocketed through my penis and into her, that I realized why I was so paralyzed.

This had never been a game, with her. She hadn't wanted to learn how to kiss some guy on a date. None of this had been "school" to her. Rather, she had been pursuing her goal ... me! And even though I had been played like a Marlin ... the fact was that I wanted this as much as she did.

I wasn't fighting, because I didn't want to fight.

And I didn't want to fight, because I loved her, as much as she was telling me she loved me.

So at that moment, when I gave her what I thought of as my gift, I gave it to her with all my heart.

She collapsed on my chest, whispering "Oh thank you, Uncle Bob. Thank you so much. It's so hot! I didn't know it would feel hot!"

And then there were more kisses, and tears that even I could tell were happy ones, and she wouldn't get off of me, or let me out of her, and wouldn't let me roll her over because she wanted to be there, on top of me, where she could kiss me. I've never been on a honeymoon, but back when you really didn't have sex until you were married, the honeymoon was a very special event, partly because of the sexual beginnings and exploration you could finally engage in. For a lot of couples, they had been eager to get to the sex part for an entire year, since engagements were often that long back in those days. So there was a lot of frustration and eagerness built up, and it was all used up in the explosion of sexuality that a honeymoon allowed them to be.

For Cindy, it had been four years since she decided her Uncle Bob would be her first. And I'd secretly and unconsciously lusted after her for years too. So that night was a little like a honeymoon for us. I think we went a little bit crazy. I know that as soon as it got hard again, she demanded that I put it in her again. And I was so submerged in the pure joy of being with a woman who really loved me, and didn't have an agenda, and wasn't planning on leaving when we were finished making the two backed beast that I just floated there. If sex could burn you, like the sun does, I'd have had third degree injuries all over my body.

We finally fell asleep out of pure exhaustion.

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