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.


"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.


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.


"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.


"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?"


"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.


"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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