🔞🔞🔞. A year ago I would not have recognised what he was doing. Out in the country we don't learn a lot about life. But now that I had turned eighteen, and started sex education classes in college, I knew what he was doing. He was trying to excite me. Excite me, sexually. 'He', was my Uncle Gary. He wasn't playing with me like he used to, like with dolls and games and jigsaws and stuff. This was grown up.
Uncle Gary was my mother's older brother, from Vermont. Auntie Elsie was his wife. I was sitting watching TV in the den, pretty late, the rest in bed. I couldn't sleep. Uncle Gary had joined me. Said he couldn't sleep either. He stood behind the big chair I was sitting in, legs stretched out in front of me. He had draped his arms over the back of the chair. They hung down either side of my head. His hands were lightly on my shoulders.
'You can sit over there,' I had said, nodding at the sofa and the other leather lounger. But he said he was fine where he was, didn't want to move.
'I'm fine here, poppet,' he said, fingertips stroking my shoulders. I was wearing a pale blue teddy, matching briefs, and a short towelling wrap from the bathroom. Uncle Gary massaged my shoulders and neck. Now and then he fingered the collar of my wrap. I let him. Uncle Gary was okay.
The two on the TV screen looked about to make out. I didn't watch this stuff much, in fact I was 'locked out' of cable, but my uncle had switched it on for me. He usually does what I ask. He likes me. Always has, I think. Though now that I'm older, I notice he looks at me more. And this … sexual thing is there.
I was becoming aware of his fingers stroking the skin in the 'v' of my robe. I could tell it was becoming sexual because I'd had one or two boyfriends, nothing too serious, and they had tried to touch me there. All they wanted was to 'into my pants' according to Vivienne, my best friend. They started at the top, worked down, again, according to Viv. I reached up and gently moved my uncle's hand. I was keeping my body for my husband. One of Mom's ideas.
'Got any boyfriends?' my uncle asked, his hands back to gently massaging my shoulders over my wrap.
'No,' I shook my head. The girl on the TV was kissing the man. She looked about my age. He was older. Her eyes were closed, mouth open. I wondered if I should really be watching this stuff? But I went on watching anyway. I hadn't seen anything so … blatant … before. Though I wasn't sure I wanted my uncle to know that.
'Ever kiss like that?" asked my uncle, in a whisper, nodding at the screen.
I shook my head. In fact I had, but not very well. Certainly not as well as the girl on the screen. I'd tried it once with Barry, boyfriend number two, behind the bicycle sheds at school one Friday afternoon.
'Like to?' said my uncle.
I shook my head again.
The girl on TV looked about my age, but Boy, She was really into kissing!
(How many hours behind the bicycle shed and she put in as practice?)
'Sure you would, honey,' said my uncle, fingers again at the 'v' of my wrap. 'I'll teach you,' he whispered, a chuckle in his tone, fingers gently stroking the skin at the 'v'. I suddenly found myself wondering what it might be like to kiss Uncle Gary. His fifty-year old lips. His bristly moustache. 'I'll teach you,' he repeated, fingers slowly spreading the collar of my robe. I shook my head and reached for his fingers.
'I don't think so,' I said, moving his fingers away. My eyes were on the hands that were running over the girl on the TV screen.
'How do you know you wouldn't like it if you've never tried?' he asked, persistent as ever, head forward over my shoulder, cheek touching mine.
'I just don't think I would,' I said, trying to sound firm.
His hands were back at the collar of my robe, spreading it, fingertips back on the skin at the top of my breasts. 'Come on, Connie, sweetie pie,' he said, voice soft. 'Give it a try, you might like it.'
It was amazing what the man on TV was doing with the girl, and she little more than my age. 'I really don't think so, Uncle Gary,' I said, trying to sound grown-up. He had spread the collar of my wrap. Slipped a hand inside. The man on the screen had a hand between the girl's legs. My knees were pressed together. She was gasping and sighing, eyes closed. Uncle Gary's fingers lightly stroked the upper swell of one of my breasts. He was getting bolder.
'C'mon honey pie,' he whispered, head coming further over my shoulder, fingers stroking my breast. I shook my head, eyes flipping quickly to his then back to the screen. His face was so close! The girl on the screen had a hand up her dress. It wasn't hers, it was his. Stroking her thigh. Both my uncle's hands were inside the top of my wrap. I could feel the effect on my breasts, the larger they grew the more sensitive they became. I'd discovered that myself, though Mom says it's best not to touch. 'Leave it til later, leave it to your husband,' was her advice.
'Please, Uncle Gary,' I whispered, reaching for his hands. "I don't do that.'
'Mom say it's for your husband, right?'
I didn't reply.
'That's what our Mom told us. Load of bollocks. Trust me.'
But of course, I wasn't likely to trust Uncle Gary.
All men are the same, Mom says. So does Viv, though I'm not sure she knows what she's talking about!
'Just a quick kiss,' said Uncle Gary. 'See if you like it or not.'
I frowned. My hands round his wrists, his fingers still stroking my breasts. Uncle Gary was about the most persistent man I'd ever met. Way more persistent than Dad. I was going to have to agree.
"No," I said.
"C'mon," he urged.
"Why won't you take no for an answer?" I said, eyes locked on the screen.
"Just one," he pleaded.
I sighed. Let out my breath like a steam train to let him know he was being a real pain. 'Okay, but just one,' I said, figuring then he'd leave me alone then.
"You won't regret it," he whispered, leaning over my right side.
I leaned my head back on the chair, and pursed my lips.
'Loosen your lips,' he whispered, fingers still stroking my breasts, causing my nipples to tingle, as if they sodding wanted this! I loosened my lips, closed my eyes, lifted my chin for the kiss, my fingers still holding his wrists.
His lips felt softer than I thought they would. The pressure wasn't hard. More like gentle, kind. I let my lips relax. As his softened more, so did mine. A fingertip brushed against a nipple. I squeezed his wrists, cautioning him. His fingers brushed my nipple again. I tried to move his wrists, but couldn't get purchase. He fingered my nipples a third time. His lips had gently spread. I could feel his tongue toying with my mouth. His own lips circling mine. I felt his hands move down, cupping my breasts, lifting their weight. I pushed my lips to his to end the kiss. But his lips kept working on mine.
His hands were gently fondling my breasts. I pushed my lips to his as I let my mouth fall open. I softly arched my back, pushing my chest to his touch. I actually liked the feeling of being touched, there. By myself, of course. There, just where he was touching me now, cupping me, holding me. My eyes had closed. His hands on my breasts were soft. Very soft. Tantalisingly so. They felt so different from mine, when I touched myself. Not that I did. Not often, at least.
His fingertips were back at my nipples, gently brushing each, making them erect. As his tongue slipped into my mouth, and my lips closed around it, I felt my nipples … tight and hot. We seemed to kiss forever, till I was out of breath, and then it ended. He lifted his mouth off mine. My breasts were still in his hands, his hands and fingers still working on each. I tried to catch my breath. My hands were closed loosely round his wrists, but made no effort to move them away. I would, of course. In a minute or so. God, but my uncle could kiss! I opened my eyes.
'That wasn't so bad, was it, poppet?' he whispered, face still inches from mine, little explosion of breath on my lips as he spoke.
'No,' I heard myself whisper back, eyes drifting back to the screen. My breasts felt about to explode. The nipples swollen and hard. The skin hot. As if crying out to be treated more firmly … or strongly … or harshly … or some damn thing! He started to nuzzle my neck. I moved a hand to his head to move it away, my hand round his wrist tried to pull his hands off, to give my breasts peace. 'Just a caress, five seconds, no more,' he whispered, kissing me just below the chin.
So I let him be, my hand resting lightly on his cheek. I felt the brush of this moustache, the smoothness of his chin. Had he just shaved? The girl on the TV lay back on a sofa, eyes closed, letting the older man kiss her breasts. She had lovely breasts, thought no larger than mine, I guess, nor as firm, I felt. My breasts are pretty. Mommy says I shouldn't say that. Not even think it. 'Leave your looks to others to remark upon,' is her advice.
Uncle Gary's hands continued to fondle me. I glanced at them. The collar of my wrap was open. The swell of my breast had his hands on top. The neckline of my teddy was nearly at my nipples and, as I watched, so were my uncle's fingertips. I should move them away, I felt, moving my head to one side to let him kiss me again. His time was up, I thought, as his fingertip brushed my nipple again. My back arched. I reached for his hand. 'Please,' I whispered. My eyes had closed. Then his other hand was back at my other breast. It fairly leapt to his touch. 'Please,' I said again, tightening my grip on his hand, trying to ease it away.
'My lips are warmer now, so the kiss will be better,' he whispered, his head leaving my neck, returning to my face. An inch away. 'C'mon,' he urged. I lifted my chin. 'Open your lips,' he said, and as I did I felt his tongue on my lip's inner surfaces. The brush of his moustache on my lips. The feel of his hands on my breasts, working warmly, fingers round a nipple, the other caressing my other breast. His tongue ran into my mouth. I opened it further, my own tongue nervous, tentative, not sure what to do. Both breasts were hungrily squeezed, moved together roughly, pressed against each other as if he was rolling dough. One of my hands tried to free my breasts, but my other had curled round his head.
My boyfriends had never kissed like this.
French kissing. That's what it was called. I remembered now. Some girls at school had talked of it. Older girls. Wilder girls. Girls with Mom's less strict than mine. My tongue had come out and was tasting his. My hand at his head pulled him closer. I arched my back, feeling my breasts fill his hands, surprised at how wanton that made me feel, surprised at how much I wanted him to stop, yet how much I wanted him not to stop. I pushed myself into his hands, rolling my chest to increase the pressure – jerking, surprised, as he flicked the tip of a nipple.
