Serendipity - Version Alpha
by Lubrican
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Epilogue
Chapter Two
It took two more days.
Her
friends seemed to get over it sooner than she did. By that, I mean that the next day they were right back at the house, trooping in without knocking, like they lived there. Of course it wasn't their pussies that I'd gawked at, so I suppose that wasn't surprising.
The
afternoon of the second
day, Emma had to leave early for some kind of family get together, and
Ashley
left with her, saying her parents were going out to dinner that night
and she
had to babysit. Ashley invited Caitlin
to come with, of course, to keep her company while she did that, but
Caitlin
declined, saying there was something else she needed to do that night.
It
turned out what she
"needed" to do was talk to her uncle.
I
didn't know what was up
until after supper, which she prepared while I worked on a project.
We had hamburger helper, carrots and fresh
bread from the bread machine.
"What
are we doing
tonight?" I asked, knowing the other two were out of commission for the
rest of the day.
"I'm
ready to
talk," she said, simply.
I
sat back, looking at
her. For the two days since "the
incident" she'd spent most of that time with her friends.
Both evenings she'd stayed busy, the first
with a long run and the second out at the mall with the other
musketeers. I had a credit card I'd gotten
just so I
could save a hundred dollars on my first purchase, and had intended to
cancel
it later. But she had arrived for the
summer before I did that, so I gave her the card, along with some
limitations
on its use. That had been the previous
year, and she hadn't abused the privilege, so I kept the card for her.
I mention this because she brought it up.
"I
used the credit
card last night at the mall," she said.
"Yeah?"
She was supposed to tell me when she used it,
and I thought that's what she was doing.
"What'd you get?"
"I'd
rather show you
than tell you," she said.
"Okay."
"And
then talk,"
she added.
"I'm
yours all
night," I quipped.
She
looked startled, and
then tilted her head, examining me in a way that made the hairs stand
up on my
arms. I'd never seen her look at me like
that. It's sort of what you think of
when you imagine the tiger, in the jungle, peeking through the
vegetation at
its intended dinner.
She
stood up.
"You
do the dishes and
I'll go get ready to show you what I got."
"Deal,"
I said.
It
didn't take long to get
the dishes taken care of. She liked to
do them by hand, but I put everything in the dishwasher and wiped down
the
table and was done in ten minutes.
"I'm
ready when you
are," I yelled up the stairs.
"Watch
TV for a little
while," she called back. "I'm
not ready yet."
I
yelled okay, and went
into the den, where I had a big flat screen TV.
There were no windows in the den, so I turned on a few lights
and sat
down on the couch, beside the table I kept the remotes on for all the
stuff in
there. I was still flipping through 119 channels when she came into the
room,
wearing my big, fluffy bathrobe.
"You
got yourself a
bathrobe just like mine!"I
grinned at my own ability to make such a clever joke.
"I
got what I'm
wearing under your robe," she said.
"Okay,"
I
said. I stopped smiling.
That's because she wasn't smiling. I
realized she was being pretty serious, and
then remembered that she'd said she was ready to talk.
That
meant this was serious
business.
"But
I want to talk
first," she said.
"I'm
all ears," I
responded.
"No
... you're
not," she said, quite seriously.
She said it so seriously, in fact, that I started to
get a little
worried.
"Sit
down, Kat,"
I said, adopting the nickname her friends constantly used.
I only used it rarely, but I wanted her to
feel she was with friends.
She
did, sitting at the
other end of the couch, facing the TV.
She turned her head to talk to me.
"Why
did you look at
me like that?" she asked, without preamble.
I'd
thought about this, and
what I might, or should say whenever the subject came up.
She hadn't seemed freaked out by the whole
thing, other than the fact that she'd steered pretty clear of me for
two
days. I had decided that the truth was
the best policy.
"I
didn't actually
mean to do that," I said.
"Stare, I mean. It surprised
me. I've heard of girls who ... um ...
go without ... but I didn't expect you to be one of them."
She spoke before I could say anything else.
"That
was the first
time we ever did that," she said.
"We?"
She
blushed." All three of us.
We left our underwear off after our showers
... to see what it was like. Then we
started jumping up and down to see what that looked like."
She looked uncomfortable, but went on.
"It was to see if it looked sexy or gross,"
she said.
"I
see," I
said. "Sounds like a reasonable
thing to experiment with. I know
trampoline videos are very popular, if that helps."
She
blinked and then got
it, but didn't smile.
"That's
why I was
jumping on the bed when I got hurt."
She
seemed to be finished
with her explanation of why they had been acting like ten year olds, so
I went
on with my own excuses.
"Anyway,
I was
surprised. But the thing is, I've seen
that sort of thing before and ... well ... yours is really very pretty.
I think that's why I stared.
It wasn't polite, and I apologize."
"Do
you mean
that?" she asked, staring at me.
"Yes,"
I said,
seriously. "I'm very sorry that I
took advantage of you and stared."
"No,"
she said,
shaking her head. I noticed her hair was
down, instead of up in the ponytail she normally kept it in.
Her hair went clear to the middle of her
back, and when it got tangled it was a pain in the ass to get straight
again. So she rarely let it down.
She even slept with it in a ponytail.
"I mean did you mean it when you said my
..." she swallowed before saying the word, "pussy ... is
pretty?"
Honesty
is the best policy,
right?
"Gorgeous,"
I
said, staying serious. "You're
going to make some boy very, very happy some day when you let him see
it."
"And these?" She cupped her breasts which, even under that thick robe, were a handful.
"Honey,
you're what we
used to call a stone fox," I said, gently. "You turn men's heads every day, even if you don't know it. I can't imagine what it's like
when you're surfing. That bikini you
were wearing shows you off nicely. I
suspect it looks like a battle field on the beach when you saunter out
of the
surf, with men dropping like flies, right and left."
"I
wear a one piece
wet suit when I surf," she said.
"That bikini wouldn't last ten minutes in those waves."
"I
doubt if that
matters," I said. "You look
good even sitting there in my robe, and it doesn't show anything.
Caitlin, honey, you're just a vibrant,
beautiful young woman, and the time is coming when you'll own any man
you set
your sights on, just by being yourself."
She
blushed again, but
said, "That's what I don't get.
I've seen you look at me hundreds of times.
Maybe thousands. But you never
looked at me like that. Not like that.
You looked ... I don't know ... hungry,
maybe? I've seen other guys look
at me like that, but not you."
"I
know, Baby, and I'm
really sorry I couldn't control myself," I moaned.
"Like I said, it surprised me. I
wasn't ready to see you like that. You're
all grown up, but I don't think I
realized it until then."
"So
it was ...
good?" There was hope in her voice
that was the quintessential example of a young woman looking for a
compliment
she didn't think she really deserved. It
almost broke my heart, because she deserved all the compliments I'd
given her
already, and many, many more.
"Understand
that when
I say it was good, I simply mean I recognized you were desirable and
beautiful
as a woman," I said. "And yes,
I got an erection, but that was just male instinct.
I don't want you to think I'd ever try
anything with you or anything like that.
I was just caught as a man, admiring a beautiful woman at that
moment," I said.
"Oh,"
she said,
and her shoulders slumped, like she was disappointed.
"It
was a good
thing!" I said, agonized that I had somehow hurt her feelings.
That feeling of mild panic might have
influenced what I said next, as I tried to assure her she was in the
upper
percentile of beautiful women.
"Most guys would have fallen all over themselves to get you
naked
after seeing that."
She
didn't perk up like I
had hoped.
"But
not you,"
she said.
"Of
course not
me," I said, confused. "You're
my niece, for Pete's sake. I'm not supposed
to have feelings for you like that."
"Oh,"
she said
again, just as dismally as the first time.
"What
is with
you?" I asked, getting frustrated.
"It almost sounds like you want me to have improper
feelings
for you!"
"Of
course I
don't," she said, suddenly standing up.
"Don't be silly. I know that's
not normal. I just don't know what to
think about it all. That's all.
I'm going to bed. Thanks
for the talk."
You
know that tone in a
woman's voice that, no matter how banal her words are, you get the
feeling that
her anger is like a crocodile just under the water, and its tail is
swimming
madly, propelling it toward its prey, and the prey has no clue what's
coming?
Well
if you don't, you need
to learn it, because knowing how to recognize that tone of voice could
save you
a great deal of anguish some day.
"Wait!"
I said,
using my grown up voice. I knew she was
unhappy, but not why. "What's
wrong?"
"Nothing
is
wrong," she said, her voice light.
"Don't
bullshit me,
Caitlin," I said. "Something
is wrong and I want to know what. This
was a big deal. At least I think it
was a big deal. And I want us to get
this worked out so that it doesn't harm our relationship. Now sit back
down and
let's talk about this."
"We've
been talking
about it," she snapped. "And
you made it very clear how you feel. I
understand that. It was an accident, and
it didn't mean anything to you, even though you leered at me
like some
slavering beast! I'm just your little
niece and that's all I'll ever be. Fine!
Now, can I please go to bed?"
She'd
yelled most of that,
and screamed a word or two. It had all
sounded pretty normal except for one little piece, which was something
about
her never being anything more than my niece, but I could have been
wrong about
that. All I knew right then was that she
was still trying to run away from some conflict, and I wasn't going to
let her
do it.
"No!"
I yelled
back. Then, feeling stupid, I tried to
change the subject to give us both time to calm down.
"You never showed me what you bought at
the mall. Let's do that now."
"Let's
not," she
said, her teeth firmly closed.
"Why
not?" I
asked.
"Because
you won't
want to see it, that's why," she said angrily.
"Of
course I want to
see it," I argued.
"Oh yeah?" She put her hands on her hips. "Oh yeah? Well you asked for it, buster. This is what I got, and I got it just for you!"
She
untied the belt of the
robe and shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor in a heap behind
her. The image of what she looked like
is still burned into my brain, even after all the years that have
passed. Still, it's not easy to describe,
because
words just don't do it justice. I'll
start by saying it was all black, but in differing thicknesses.
I'll
just go from the top
down.
Her
shoulders were bare
except for two spaghetti straps that held up the bra, which was half
fancy
patterned lace set on a see through foundation.
Her nipples were clearly visible, and yet teasingly covered at
the same
time. From the bottom of the bra hung
more of that see-through veiling material, which fell to cover her
flat,
athletic stomach and the thong panties that hugged her mons below that.
The front of that thong was exactly as wide
as the gap between her legs, and I would find out, later, that it hid
nothing
at all. Rather, it framed those bulging
pussy lips while denying a man the ability to touch them directly.
She had a garter belt on over and above the
waistband of the thong, which held up some kind of thigh-high stockings
I'd
never seen before. There was a lacy
pattern to them that wasn't net, and wasn't geometrical in the classic
sense of
that word, though the pattern did repeat down her legs.
She wore no shoes, and among the tumult of
things that flashed through my mind was how I hadn't noticed she was
wearing
black stockings underneath that robe, which only came to her knees.
If
it had been white, it
would have been the absolute perfect thing for a bride to wear on her
wedding
night. Being black, with her long, pale,
blond hair hanging down, it suggested she was a woman who didn't feel
she had
the right to wear white any more ... and didn't want to anyway.
It
was devastating,
because, even mad, she oozed the kind of sexuality that went with her
twenty-six-year-old pussy lips. I knew
she was seventeen, but I was also convinced that she had as much, if not
more
sexual experience than I did, and I'd never tumbled to that fact prior
to this
night.
I
felt like a country
bumpkin on his first night in the city, facing a thousand dollar a
night call
girl.
And
all I came up with to
say was, "Why'd you get that for me?"
I think I might have whined it.
"Because
I love you,
you jerk!" she wailed. "I've
loved you since I was ten, and when you got a boner for me, I
thought
you loved me too!"
She
burst into tears and
fled.
I
confess I noticed her
naked ass bouncing up and down as she ran out of the room.
That film flew up in the wind of her passage
and left nothing to the imagination from behind her.
But I only told you that in the interests of
honesty, because the next thing I thought about was that she was in
pain, and
it was the worst kind of pain. It was
the heartache of being rejected.
Which
was insane, because
no man in his right mind would reject her while she was wearing that
getup.
I
followed her
upstairs. I always knocked and, even
though her door was open and I could hear her crying, I still tapped my
knuckles on the door frame.
"Can
I come in?"
I asked.
"No!"
she sobbed.
"Thank
you," I
said, as if I'd been invited.
I
went to sit on the edge
of the bed. She was curled up, facing
away from me, which put the pale globes of her ass beautifully on
display. I noticed the tan lines left by
her bikini
and admired them shamelessly.
Sorry.
More honesty.
I
started to reach to put
my hand on her hip, but as naked as it was, I was afraid I'd do
something
stupid, like caressing it.
"I'm
sorry," I
said, opening with the line my mother said was the first thing any man
should
say when a woman was crying, whether it was his fault or not that she
was
crying. I followed that up with an
excuse. "I didn't know."
She
looked over her
shoulder at me with tearstained cheeks.
"Then
you're an
idiot. Em and Ash have known about it
for years!"
"Let
me ask you a
question," I said, trying to figure out a way to salvage things.
"Do you consider me to be an average
kind of guy?"
She
stopped crying and
looked over her shoulder at me again.
This time she pushed her hair out of the way.
"Yes."
"How
about you? You about average?"
"I
guess so."
"So
imagine some other
average guy and his average niece. Now
imagine that one night he stumbles into her room and climbs into bed
with her,
and starts kissing on her and grabbing her and saying how he loves her
and
wants to make a baby with her. How do
you suppose this average girl would react?
Do you think she might be a little freaked out?"
"I
guess so," she
agreed.
"Exactly,"
I
said.
"But
you didn't do
that," she said.
"That
doesn't mean I
didn't want to," I replied softly.
"All it means is that I was trying to be the right kind of
uncle."
She
sat up and turned
around to face me. She sat Indian style,
completely comfortable with the fact that she was practically naked in
front of
me.
"Did
you really feel
that way?"
"You
think a babe like
you and your two little babe friends can run around here in bikinis,
and
braless, and commando, and I wouldn't notice?
"
"But
you never said
anything," she complained.
"Because
the average
uncle would never admit something like that to his average niece," I
said. "It would freak her out ...
remember? And then, when she went back
home to California, she'd tell her daddy 'I don't think I want to go
back to Uncle Bob's any more,' and then he'd never get to see her in that
bikini,
running around braless, and with no panties on.
And her hot little friends too."
I grinned.
"You
leave my friends
alone," she said, leaning forward and not smiling.
"You're supposed to be all mine. They
said so."
"Ashley
and Emma think
you and I should get together?" I
was amazed and I didn't try to hide it.
"Ashley's big brother, Kevin, the one who's a marine, remember?"
I
nodded. I knew she had an older brother
and that he
was in the military.
"He
came home on leave
when she was thirteen and got drunk one night and popped her cherry."
"You're
shitting
me," I gasped.
"Nope.
In fact, the way she described it, it was a
lot like that theoretical uncle and niece you were talking about.
And she didn't freak out about it.
She's done it with him again, several times
since then. But nobody else.
He's the only guy she'll let touch her. And
Em's cousin got her cherry at a family
reunion two years ago."
"Good
grief," I
sighed. Who'd have thought those two
were sexually active? Not me, that's for
sure.
It was silent for a long stretch, as my imagination produced images, unbidden, of Ashley and Emma becoming women. I don't know what Caitlin thought about. Eventually Ashley and Emma were replaced, in my imagination, by Caitlin, and my nuts hurt as something in my groin tightened.
"So
who ... um ...
popped your ... cherry?" I asked.
"You
were supposed
to," she said with a completely straight face. "Kevin
wanted to, but Ashley got mad at
him about that. Still, she might let me
have him when she finds out you aren't interested in me after all."
"Let's
not make any
hasty decisions," I said, hurriedly.
"You
mean you'll do
it?" She leaned forward more.
I could feel her breath on my chin.
"This
is crazy,"
I groaned. "Your mother would kill
me. She'd kill me even if all she found
out was that you wore that outfit in front of me."
"My
mother doesn't
have to know everything," said my seventeen-year-old niece, with
seventeen-year-old confidence.
"That's
not how it
works," I said. "Moms can
tell. There's something about a
well-fucked woman that other women can recognize."
"But
you want to? Don't you?"
There was pleading in her voice. And
admitting that I wanted to wasn't
the same as trying to ... right?
"Let's
just say I've
had a fantasy or two about doing that with you, in the past."
"Uncle
Bob?"
whispered Caitlin.
"Hmmm?"
"You
just made my
pussy really wet."
Now
this might sound to
some of you like a done deal. There she
was, dressed to kill, with a wet pussy, and having just confessed that
she
loved me. No seduction required, right?
Except
that it wasn't that
easy for me at all. I had a lot on my
mind and, believe it or not, I was as limp as a wet noodle.
Why?
Well, let's just look at that for a minute.
First
off, this had all
been dumped on me without warning. Yes,
she had pranced around the house, bouncing her ponytail and looking
delicious,
but she was forbidden then. And I really
didn't know how she felt about me.
Speaking of the whole taboo aspect of things, while she was just
fine
with it, apparently based on the fact that her two best friends were
involved
in incest (and loved it), I hadn't even entered that ballpark.
I was still in the parking lot and hadn't
been aware I even had a ticket to the game.
But
probably the biggest
thing that kept ramming an ice pick into my libido, just then, was
worry that,
if something happened, it would turn out badly and she would end up
hating me.
Imagine
your best friend
shows up at your house, one day, unannounced, driving a brand spanking
new
Lamborghini. He tells you he's worked
all his life to earn this car and he's so proud of it that he's almost
peeing
his pants. Then he offers to let you
drive it. What do you do?
Of course you'd love to hop in and floor it,
leaving wavy black lines all down the street.
But
what if you're not man
enough to drive something like that?
What
if things go off track
and you can't control such a powerful machine?
What
if you wreck it?
Maybe that's not the best analogy, but it's all I can think of at the moment. The point is that a car can be repaired or replaced.
Caitlin could not.
Finally,
while I'd never
thought about it in quite this way, what dropped on me like a ton of
bricks in
those crazy moments, was the realization that I loved her too. I'd always loved her in the family way.
Shit!
That phraseology just
got complicated.
What
I mean is that she was
my niece and I liked her, and liked being around her, and was
proud that
she wanted to spend a month with her uncle each summer.
I mean that meant I was cool, right? So
it was no chore letting her dominate my
time for a month. Plus, these last few
years, there had been those hot little fantasies too.
But
the problem with that
was that after having one of those fantasies, and ... um ...
resolving the
associated physical effects in the shower ... I always felt guilty.
There she was, sweet, innocent Caitlin, who
trusted me, and I had just thrown her on the bed of my imagination,
mauling her
and leaving her limp, sperm soaked body lying there while I smiled at
the
thought that I might have left my son in her flat, tanned belly.
And
you don't magically
stop feeling guilty about that sort of thing just because sweet Caitlin
throws
her arms wide and says, "Fuck all that imagination stuff, Uncle Bob.
In fact, fuck me!"
And
G, assuming we're up to
G by now, I was still having a hard time actually believing what was
happening.
So
I hate to burst your
bubble, but I didn't just rip that lace off her soft, willing body and
mount my
mare like a wild stallion.
Instead,
I thought about
all that stuff I just told you. In fact,
my thought processes were stopped only when she spoke again.
"This
was all a
mistake," she said, sadly.
"No
it wasn't," I
said immediately.
"It
sure feels like
it."
"That's
because it surprised
me," I said. "Think of it like
us both going to Disneyland, but on separate trains.
Your train got there and you got off and got
your Mickey ears on already. My train is
just pulling into the station, that's all.
"
"This
is Mickey
ears?" For the first time in what
seemed like forever, her voice didn't sound sad. She
plucked at the killer outfit she'd had
such high hopes for.
"Not
even close,"
I said. "Mickey ears are cute.
What you have on that body is a lethal weapon.
If somebody created a new comic book called
'The Heart Stalker' you could be the model for the cover of the first
issue. There's a reason it's against the
law for you to walk around in public wearing that.
Commerce would stop. Cars would
crash. Women would kill their husbands
because of
the way they looked at you. The world
could actually grind to a halt!"
"Now
you're just being
silly," she said. But now she
sounded actually happy.
"Maybe,"
I
said. "But here we are, and I have
to be something. I'm scared to death of
being what you want me to be. It's a lot
easier just being silly."
"You're
not scared of
me," she scoffed.
"No.
I'm scared that something might happen to
make you hate me, and I can't think of anything in the world right now
that
would be worse than watching you leave and knowing you'd never come
back. "
"You
couldn't beat me
off with a stick," she said, smiling that smile that young people smile
when they don't believe anything bad could happen, and that the old
person in the
room is just being ... silly.
Her
phraseology brought me
back to the issue at hand. She was
dressed to kill and I'd rejected her.
Somehow, suddenly, I didn't want to reject her any more.
I'd think about the incest issue later.
But right now, it was important to make her
understand that she had not been rejected.
And that wasn't as big a deal as it might
seem.
I'd
just make sure that
things went slowly. Glacial was the
speed I had in mind. Besides, once she
saw me naked, she might run screaming for the bed.
Not to have sex in, but to hide under the
covers in.
"Tell
you what,"
I said. I swallowed. I
was about to commit to something, and it
really was scary.
"What?"
she
prompted, as I tried to get some moisture back in my mouth.
"We
can ... um ...
explore our feelings a little. This is a
big step in your life and there's no need to rush into it.
We'll just take our time and talk about it as
things ... um ... progress. Okay?"
"I
think that sounds a
lot better than that you don't want to touch me," she said.
"Besides,
I don't have
any condoms."
Her
eyes widened, and she rushed to speak.
"I
know what I said,
but I didn't mean for you to fuck me tonight!" she gasped.
"It's just supposed to be you who does
it. I didn't want to do that tonight.
I just wanted to fool around a little and see
what that was like!"
So
much for my train
arriving at Disneyland.
Actually,
knowing that
Caitlin just wanted to swat a pesky fly, the fact that she'd brought a
howitzer
to do that with calmed me a little. She
looked like Mata Hari, but I was gently reminded that she was, after
all, just
a seventeen-year-old girl. Further, I now
knew she was a virgin, which meant her sexual experience was limited.
Interestingly,
it was that
thought - that she was a virgin and sexually innocent - that got my
penis back
on board the train. It might not be on a
train to Disneyland, but it wasn't hitchhiking either.
Still, there was more damage control to
do. We couldn't have poor, innocent
Caitlin thinking her uncle had unreasonable expectations.
"That's
not what I
meant," I said, smoothly. "But
while you are pure as the driven snow, I've been around the block
enough times
to know that sometimes things get out of control. I
mean they go farther than anyone
planned. Good old Mother Nature arranged
things so that people want to have sex, even when they don't want to
have sex, if you get my meaning."
"You
mean like when Em
is licking me in that special way and I want her to use Lester?"
"Em?
Licking you? Lester?"
I was confused.
"Lester is her dildo," she said, as if she were saying something like "You know, sometimes Em eats with a fork."
"I
thought you said
you were a virgin," I croaked.
"I
am a
virgin," she said. "I've been
saving myself for you." She
frowned. "But not tonight."
"But
Lester?" I
pointed out.
"Oh,
he's just to make
sure when you pop my cherry that it won't hurt," she said.
"And the cums he gives me are different
than the ones Em and Ash do."
Suddenly
a whole new raft
of images flooded my brain. Poor, sweet,
innocent Caitlin had, apparently, lain writhing in sexual bliss plenty of
times in the past. The image of the
three musketeers, naked in the shower together had been a good one.
But now that picture was replaced with a
daisy chain of lesbianistic delight as they prepared my luscious and
lusty
niece to have her pussy speared by the man she loved.
I
know, I know. I go a little overboard on
the imagination
sometimes. It's the curse of creative
people, and whether you know it or not, the field of architecture is
populated
by creative people.
"You
know you're
killing me," I sighed.
"I
don't want to kill
you. I want to love you,"
she said, demurely.
"Well,
we're going to
need a condom," I said. "And
not next week. We need one now."
"No
we don't. I told you that's not what I
planned for
tonight."
"And
I'm telling you
things don't always go as planned," I said. "Right
now, the thought of the three of
you playing around in bed has me ready to go, and I don't mean ready to
go and
jack off. Right now I want the real
deal, Pumpkin, and right now the real deal is you."
She
actually leaned away
from me and frowned.
"Oh,
you're not in any
danger," I said, hastily. "I'm
just telling you how I feel. If we do
anything at all tonight, I'm going to want to do it all.
I don't think you understand how powerfully
you have affected me tonight."
"I
have?"
"You
wanted me to love
you ... right?"
"Yes."
"Well,
mission
accomplished. I'm your slave."
"You
are?"
"Absolutely
powerless
to stop you from running my life," I said.
"You
love
me?" She frowned. Even
she was wise enough to be suspicious
about the speed with which things had changed.
"This
is not a new
love," I said, patiently.
"Like you fell in love with me, I've loved you too, ever since
you
came into my life. It wasn't the same
kind of love you felt, or wanted me to feel, but love can grow and
change, and
that's what has happened to me. I did
want you sexually before this. But I
was ashamed of that, and tried to hide it from you.
Think about it this way. Imagine
somebody told you that you were allergic
to chocolate. You saw it, and wanted it,
but couldn't have it. You imagined
eating it and could even taste it in your imagination, but you never
touched
it. Then along comes someone who says,
'Oops, we made a mistake. You're not
allergic. You can have chocolate
now.' You'd go out and gorge on it ...
right?"
"I
guess so," she
said, doubtfully.
"That's
me. I just found out I'm not allergic to
you
after all. So I'm ready to gorge.
And I promise I'll try not to eat all of you
at once, and save some for later, but don't be surprised if I try to
gobble you
up whole."
She
lowered her lashes.
"That's
one of the
things I'm curious about," she said.
"What?"
"I
know what it feels
like when Em and Ash ... eat me ... but I think it would feel different
if you
did it."
"Oh
fuck," I
sighed. "I am so not going to be
able to control myself."
"It's
okay," she
said, with the sweet certitude of youth.
"I'll keep you under control.
It's not like I haven't been on any dates. I've
been on lots of them. I know how to
control a boy. I'm sure I can control you
too."
Famous
last words.
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