Fooling Around 101 - Version Alpha
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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.
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
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
"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
"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,
"Nope. I never knew what platonic meant until she explained it to
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
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
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.
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
"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
"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
"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
"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
"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,
I looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she
"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
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
"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
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
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,"
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
"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
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
"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
"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
Remember those panties? The ones that had something written on
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
"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
"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
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
"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
"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.
"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
"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
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