Unexpected Company -- (incest, tease, slow burn, niece, fM, fFM) -- PART 1

A bachelor gets a surprise visit from his sister's kid who turns his world upside down.

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Renate began to hum along with the lyrics of the chorus, her voice vibrating through her chest into mine, her breath floating from her nose onto my neck, a tingle working its way down my spine. Before I could react I sprouted another erection. I tried to subtly pull my abdomen away from hers, but she was pressed tightly against me. Fortunately I had put on my jeans, otherwise I'd have been poking insistently into her belly right now. As it was, each swaying movement allowed my penis to work its way up further and further until it was finally comfortable, flattened against my lower belly, pointing straight up, stifled by the waist of my jeans.

Renate was slowly swaying against me, putting gentle pressure on my erection with each measure of the music. Suddenly this song wasn't so bad! We continued to sway, each holding the other loosely, yet each pressed comfortably against the other. Since I was leading, more or less, I was dancing her in a slow circle to the left, she stepping back with each sway to the left, when out of nowhere another couple, dancing in a slow circle to the right, bumped squarely into Renate's butt, pressing her belly firmly against my abdomen.

Quiet "Oopses" and apologies went back and forth, and then Renate looked up into my eyes. She was smiling faintly, but in her eyes was that look of wonder they had when she first walked into the honky-tonk, as if she had just discovered something delightful.

"What?" I asked.

Renate simply let out a throaty giggle and buried her face in my neck again. I was helpless as my dick throbbed each time I felt her warm breath on my neck.

The song ended and a faster one kicked up, and Renate pulled away from me, looked right into my eyes and said, "I'm ready when you are.”

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This is a work of fiction. Love it or leave it.





Unexpected Company
by Eric Shon


She had a week to kill, and she'd see me Sunday. That's all she said on my answering machine.

I come from a large family, with birthdays spread over two decades. And since I came from the more recent decade, I actually knew very little about my older siblings because they were practically grown and itching to move out when I was just a little kid.

So when I got the call from Renate, the oldest daughter of the second-oldest of my sisters, I was quite surprised. Then I was a little pissed off that anybody in my family would just drop in basically unannounced, without discussion. I'm single and I live alone, so preparing for visitors takes quite a bit of effort (think back to when you were single and house cleaning came about eighth on your list behind the game of the week, beer, hitting the clubs, looking for some tail, and beer!), and since it was Friday night when I received the message, I was in quite a panic over how to clean the mess out by Sunday!

I dialed my sister's number in hopes of reaching Renate to maybe push her visit back by a couple of days. I was surprised when I said, "It's Al," and my sister replied with "Al, who?”

"Your baby brother, Al!" I replied a little tersely. I'm her own brother, for christ sake!

"Oh! I'm sorry Alvie! Since the divorce I've met so many guys, I forget whose names I've remembered!

We exchanged small-talk for a few minutes, and then I brought up Renate's phone message.

"She said she has a week to kill, and that she'll be here Sunday. What the hell, Connie!”

"Alvie! Don't you remember Christmas two, three years ago? When you came home to see the family? You told her she was welcome to drop in on you any time if she was ever in Kentucky!”

I scanned my brain for the event, and I vaguely remember talking to a lot of people through a wine-induced haze. I probably said it to about thirty of my family members-cousins, uncles, and siblings, but I couldn't recall any specific conversations.

"Well, Con, I really don't remember telling her that," I said, hoping to win a couple of days' stay.

"Alvie, she's talked of little else since that day. Well I mean that she brings it up all the time. She's always loved to travel, and now's her chance. You didn't call to break her heart, did you?”

"Well, I don't want to break anyone's heart, but I'd like to risk bruising it by putting her off for a couple of days. Can I talk to her?”

"Outa luck, bro," Connie said, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice. "She's been gone since Wednesday.”

"Gone?! Where the hell is she?"

"Somewhere between Chicago and Louisville. She's driving down to her Army friend's college to help her unload and unpack.”

I was shocked. "You let your daughter travel alone with an Army guy?! What the hell is wrong with you, Connie?”

"Alvie, when's the last time you talked to anybody in the family?”

I looked at the ceiling. "Shit, I don't know. A year? Two? A couple of months after the big Christmas gathering.”

Connie's laughter crackled in my ear. "You're out of the loop, little brother! She's in the Army herself, and so's the GIRL she's riding down with!”

"OK," I sighed. "Catch me up.”

Connie then proceeded to tell me that shortly after graduation from high school, Renate joined the Army to become a nurse. But the Army's program requires nurses to be officers, and you can't be an officer unless you have a four-year college degree. The Army signs you up, lets you choose a school for nursing, subject to the Army's approval, puts you through basic training, and then pays for your schooling. When you finish and get your nursing degree, then you owe the Army the rest of your life. Or something like that. That's what I got out of my sister, anyway.

"And so she's on her way to start school at the University of Kentucky, but she's sidetracking to Indiana University to get her friend set up there.. Then she's coming down to visit you. From the way you described where you live, it sounds like paradise.”

That's true. As an advertising consultant for several agencies, I make a decent buck, and being single, I get to keep most of those after tax bucks in my pocket. And then I lucked into an unbelievable, secluded patch of land high up on a river bank. It was property in foreclosure, so I got it for a song. It's only about 20 acres, but it's set between a farmer's field and the river, so there's no noise, no traffic, and only the occasional trespassing deer or two. Having spent my college Summers as a carpenter's assistant, and having a knack for carpentry anyway, I had managed to build myself (most of it, anyway. I had help) a modestly spacious home overlooking the river. At the time of Renate's phone call I had just cut the hole into the deck for the hot tub, but was still about two weeks away from getting it all set to go.

Well, make that three weeks, now, with the impending week-long visit from my mousy little niece whom I hadn't seen since she was... how old? Sixteen? Fifteen?

One last attempt: "There's no way to reach her, Connie? I need a couple more days to clean up.”

"Sorry, Alvie. She calls me whenever they stop for the night, and the last time she called me was last night to tell me they had arrived at the university. They'll get her friend squared away, probably hit the bars tonight, sleep it off tomorrow, and she'll hit the road Sunday morning. She'll probably be with you by noon or earlier.”

"That's just great, Connie. Don't you think I deserved a little more notice?”

"Come on, Alvie! She's just a kid. You know how kids are. They plan maybe two days ahead, and that's it! What are you grumbling about? She's family, right? And you did say she could come by ANY time.”

"Well, all right. I don't remember saying it, but if it's something she remembered for two years, then I guess I said it.”

We said our good-byes, I canceled my plans to go out chasing tail, cleaned up areas of the most outrageous mess, and I immediately began to scan the yellow pages for maid services.


* * *


Early Saturday morning I was jarred awake by the phone. I answered it in a fog.

"Señor Simon?" came the timid voice.

"Yah, it's Mr. Simons." I tried to decipher the lady's broken English.

"Eedees may serbis," she chirped. It took me a few seconds to process the information, and to remember my agenda for the day.

"Oh YES! The MAID! When are you coming?”

"I loss.”

"Shit!" I murmured under my breath. "OK, I'll come get you. Where are you?"
After struggling through her broken English, I got enough information to where I was certain I could find her in town.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and trotted barefoot out to the pick-up truck, and then bounced along the dirt trail that led out to the highway. 10 minutes later I pulled into the Morden 7-11 and found her still sitting by the phone.

"Conchita?" I called out to her. She certainly looked Hispanic, with long dark hair, golden-brown skin, and deep black eyes. She had a clean, innocent face, and that wide-eyed smile that is so rare these days. She wore a big frumpy smock, and slacks that I can only describe as matronly custodial, underneath which she wore thick soled, sensible shoes. As she sat on the bench outside the 7-11, she held her big black purse closely to her body.

"Señor Simon?" she called in response, her smile beaming brighter.

"Yes..er, um...Si!" Since it is so hard to find my place, I wanted her to feel as comfortable as possible, and not to feel that I was angry at her for getting lost. And so I spoke entirely half of what I know of Spanish. "Um...follow me?”

"Oh! Si, Señor!" and she hopped up and skipped to her car.

In another ten minutes we were back at my place.

Conchita's eyes went wide as she entered the kitchen. She looked at me briefly, still clutching her purse to her chest, and then she scanned the rest of the areas visible to her.

"Señor...will take long time!" She had a sort of worried look on her face. I must be a bigger slob than most!

"That's OK," I said. "Just take your time, and I'll pay you a little extra.”

The maid looked at me with a blank stare, and I realized she didn't understand a word I had said. "Si!" I said. "OK." She smiled and headed out to her car for her supplies.

While she readied herself to clean my house, I readied myself to clean myself. I went to the bedroom and doffed my shirt and my jeans. I decided I wanted to hear music while I was showering, so I padded out toward the living room. I was two steps in when I heard the kitchen door bang as the maid pushed against it with her bucket. I darted back into the hallway cursing at myself for forgetting so quickly that there was a stranger here, and that my usual habit, thanks to the seclusion here, of walking around nude had to be curbed for the next week.

I ducked into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around my naked waist. I walked into the living room again, trying to remain unnoticed, and moved toward the stereo.

I was startled by Conchita's gasp, and I jumped around to look at her. She turned and covered her eyes. "I so sorry, Señor! I go to start in here, but I go back to kitchen.”

"No, Conchita. It's OK," I reassured. "I just wanted to listen to music." With that I turned the stereo on. "See?" I said, a little louder to rise above the smooth jazz that poured out of the speakers. Then, to ease her embarrassment, I offered her the choice of music she preferred: "Here. You pick.”

She smiled, still averting her eyes from my body, and, as I expected, chose a Spanish language station. She looked only at my eyes, "Ees OK?”

I smiled back at her and nodded my head. "Si...It's OK.”

"Gracias, Señor!" She backed away from me toward the kitchen, and I stepped through the doorway and toward the bathroom.

While in the shower, I heard the music kick up a notch or two in volume.. It was a lively song with horns and accordion, and I understood not a word of it. But I figured as long as the hired help is happy, what would I care?

The water coursed down my body as I lathered myself up. My hands reached my crotch and I felt the swelling begin. It had been a week since I'd had any pussy, and I'd been getting it pretty regularly since I met Carolyn at Waldo's Pub in town about two years earlier. She was out of town on vacation with her kids...and her husband, so I was on coitus hiatus for a while. I had planned to make a move on Waldo's new, young waitress, Stacey, on the previous night, but Renate's impending visit quashed those plans. So I closed my eyes and envisioned Stacey in her tight Waldo's half shirt (Waldo was inspired by Hooters, the nearest of which was about a hundred miles away), and the short-shorts that seemed to fit her better than any of the other girls' fit them. She was just bending over to serve me, displaying her ample cleavage, my hand slipping soapily over my fully stiff cock, when I heard the vacuum sweeper bang into the bathroom door. It startled me so much that I slipped and nearly fell in the shower. I shook my head and decided against finishing the job at hand, and I could almost hear my balls heave a disappointed sigh.

I stepped out of the shower and dried off, and then followed my once-weekly ritual of shaving the pubic stubble from my pelvis and balls. It's a habit that stems from when I was in college. A friend of mine there had gotten me into working out at the gym with him, and after about a year of toning and firming, I looked in the mirror one day and realized that I was one of those guys who could wear a Speedo...in public! That idea in my head, I went out and purchased one at the university Rec center, which also happened to be where the swim meets were held. I brought it home and almost died laughing when I saw the thick tufts of pubic hair sticking out from the waist band and both leg bands! So then I went out and bought a pair of hair clippers at Wal-Mart, and proceeded to trim the excess. but it looked uneven, and it still poofed out the material of the briefs, so I trimmed the pubes down to stubble. Though the look satisfied me, it was incredibly uncomfortable because the stubble was prickly and I constantly itched. So I decided the solution was to shave it bare. Once done, I couldn't get over how sensitive the area was to touch, and how alien it looked without hair. I looked like a little kid with a man's cock! I couldn't wear the Speedos to the beach or the pool for several weeks afterward, however, because I had a constant hard-on from the snug feel of the material against my bare skin! But the biggest thing about it is the looks and attention I get from women. They never expect to see a bare pubic area on a man, and it seems to fascinate them! And the sensations of oral attention to that area are out of this world! They also seem to be more receptive to the idea of giving blowjobs without all that hair there to gag them and get stuck between their teeth. Anyway, after shaving it the first time, it became a routine.

While shaving, I got hard again. It actually helps because the skin is stretched, reducing the risk of nicks and cuts, but since I had decided against giving myself release, at least for now, I was mostly uncomfortable.

Once done, I pulled on my jeans again and ventured out into the living room. Conchita had already finished vacuuming and was dusting the furniture. "Ola!" I said, exhausting the other fifty percent of Spanish I knew.

"Oh! Ola, Señor!" she said as she turned toward me, but once she had me in view she averted her gaze again. I felt a little twinge of self-consciousness at being bare-chested, but it's my house, damn it!

"Coffee?" I said as I padded into the kitchen and grabbed a cup from the dish drainer.

"Oh! Si, Señor! Gracias, Señor!" I poured her cup and she walked over and sipped it black.

"Please, Conchita, call me Al." I poured myself a cup.

"Ol?" she blurted

"Al," I corrected.

"All!"

"No, AL.”

"Si. Oll?”

"Just call me Señor Simons." I conceded with a roll of my eyes. "It's easier for both of us.”

"Si, Señor." And with that she put her cup down and went back to work.

While Conchita finished dusting the furniture and moved on to dust and vacuum in my bedroom, I busied myself by going over some proposals I was preparing for submittal the next week. The Latin music and the clatter and bang of Conchita's cleaning became an audial blur in the background of my mind until I heard a sharp sigh behind me in the kitchen. I turned to see Conchita just as she had set her bucket down on the kitchen floor. With her back to me she removed her loose fitting floral smock and lay it on the counter. Underneath it she was wearing a rather tight tank-style white shirt. What amazed me was how I had seen her as somewhat fat and round, when in reality she had quite a shapely figure with a strong back and shoulders. Thus she suddenly appeared much younger to me than I thought she was!

I cleared my throat, half conscious that it was as much to get her to turn around for me as it was to clear my throat, and she turned briefly. It was long enough for me to see that she had a truly magnificent body! Her breasts weren't large, but they were round and full and sat high on her chest. I didn't get a long enough look to decide whether she was wearing a bra or not, but at this point it didn't matter. Her "matronly custodial" slacks hugged at her tiny waist, but were baggy around her legs. She nodded her regard of me, and then proceeded to her task of washing the kitchen floor...on her knees! I was about to protest and show her where the mop was, but as she bent over the bucket and then began scrubbing the floor, I was treated to one of the most delectable views of cleavage I have ever seen! As she pressed her weight down onto the scrubber in her hands, her arms pressed her tits together, which made the clingy cotton shirt separate and fall away slightly, and I could see to her smooth belly. No nipple was exposed, but at that point I didn't care.

I watched her for several minutes, my hard-on growing again to swell in my jeans, before she noticed me. She let out a slight laugh and turned her body around to continue the kitchen floor's scrubbing. This gave me a pleasant view of her ass. Bent over in this manner, the baggy pants she wore stretched tightly across her buttocks, revealing to me that this Latin lady was quite hot!

I had to force myself back to work, otherwise I was going to explode in my pants! As one would expect, I couldn't concentrate on my work any more, so I started thinking of a way I could get Conchita to polish my pole. How do you say "Wanna fuck?" in Spanish?

I heard her get up and drag the bucket to the bathroom. With the music drowning out her grunts and sighs of physical exertion, I was able to get some of my concentration back. After about a half hour she walked past where I was working and said, "I do weendows, now, Señor, and then done.”

Had I thought she would understand, I'd have made a joke about cleaning ladies who do windows, but I didn't bother. It was almost sad. After about a half-hour of hearing the occasional thump and squeak of glass, she went out the door.

My coffee had long since grown cold, so I went into the kitchen to dump and refill my cup. In my peripheral vision I noticed movement outside the kitchen sink window, so I looked up, and my hand went limp, my cup dropping into the sink and breaking into several large pieces. Conchita was wetting the glass down with her cleaning solution, and in reaching up to the highest parts of the window, her body was pressing against the glass. The cotton fabric of her tank top was getting soaked by the solution, and the combination of those elements quite graphically revealed to me that my hot Latin cleaning lady was indeed bra-less! I stood there drooling as she went about cleaning the window, oblivious both to her gorgeous revelation and to me, standing there drooling. She moved around the corner to the next window, and I followed like a monkey at the zoo, slathering as she pressed up against the glass again, her breasts flattening and sliding left and right, the dark brown nipples centering my vision as clearly as if they were uncovered and within my reach. I continued to watch her as she worked her way around the entire house, ending up at the kitchen door. She was startled to see me standing there when she opened it, but then she spoke. “Señor?"

I just stood there looking at her tits shining through the transparent fabric in the soft, late afternoon light coming through the sparkling clean windows, my cock an ominous presence straining against denim. "Señor...?" She followed my gaze down to her breasts, and then she shrieked when she realized that she was on display.

She threw her hands up to her chest and covered herself up, and then dropped her head in abject shame and embarrassment and began to cry.

"No, no, Conchita. It's OK!" I tried. I placed my hands on her shoulders. "It's OK. Don't worry. You're beautiful." In reply, I got more sobs and muttered Spanish phrases. My natural reaction was to pull her to me and hug her gently. She buried her face in my chest, the wetness of her tears cooling on my bare skin and causing my nipples to harden. The feel of her hot body against me was intoxicating, and I rubbed my hands down her back. I pulled at her waist gently, trying to rub my straining cock against her belly, but she was pitched too far forward with her face in my chest, so I didn't push it. Instead I leaned my head down and kissed her bare shoulder. Then I slid my lips along her shoulder, licking subtly along the way toward her neck. I felt goose-bumps raise in her skin as I made my way. My lips moved over the bend from shoulder to neck and I began suckling softly there. She craned her neck in pleased response, but then suddenly she pulled away, looking directly into my eyes, confusion and fear in hers. I whispered, "No. It's OK." I reached for her and gently touched her wet breast. I stepped toward her and placed the palm of my hand flat against her breast, and I heard a raspy sigh escape her lips as she slowly rocked her head back. She leaned forward, pressing her breast harder into my palm. I slid my hand around to the back of her head and tilted it forward so that I could kiss her lips. She reached up with her lips for mine, but after the first electric touch there, she went rigid, panted, "No!" and then rattled off something in Spanish, and grabbed her smock. She kept muttering as she put it on, her head hung as if in shame. She picked up all of her cleaning supplies and ran out the door and to her car. I followed behind her, apologizing and asking her to wait when I realized she was about to leave without getting paid! "Wait!" I cried. I stammered. "M-money. Uh... Di- de- dinero!" A third word of Spanish that I know! I ran back into the house, grabbed my wallet and pulled out five 20 dollar bills, and ran to her car just as she was backing away from the house.

"Wait!! Here's your money!" She spun the wheel to the right, swinging the front end of the car right at me, so I tossed the bills into her open window and dived out of the way. She popped the transmission out of reverse and into drive, and spun the tires in the dirt. Just as she passed from my view, she flashed a look at me. Her eyes still filled with confusion and shame, and, I was afraid, anger.

All I could think of was what she was going to say to her employer. And whether the cops were going to be here before the weekend was up! How stupid can a man be? I slumped into the kitchen and found her bucket, still full of water, sitting there.

I figured to wait until Monday, then call the cleaning service and tell them that Conchita had left her bucket. I grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and sucked half of it down in one big swig. I thought of going into the bedroom and easing the pressure on my balls from a week of abstinence and a day of abject torture, but I decided I'd finish this beer, and perhaps another, first.


* * *


The ringing phone next to my head rattled me out of my slumber. By the second ring my eyes were open, but I was disoriented. By the third ring I discovered that I had racked out in the recliner, the TV still going and now on some religious show, and that it was mid-morning. I picked it up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?"

"Uncle Alvin? It's Renate!”

"Hi, sweetheart! How are you? Where are you?”

"I'm great! I'm in town, but I don't know how to get to you!”

"Hold tight," I grunted.... For the second day in a row I climbed out of my slumber to the ringing of the phone, and then climbed out of my bed, as it were, to drive into town to bring someone to my home.

Strangely enough, Renate wound up at the same 7-11 store in Morden, and was sitting on the same bench as Conchita the day before. I couldn't mistake her for the shock of red hair that she had always had. The only difference was the length. Where the last time I saw her I remember long locks of fine red, now there was a very conservative cut with little hang and almost no movement when she turned her head. She was wearing a pair of cutoff blue jeans and a plaid shirt buttoned up half-way over a strapless halter.

Renate recognized me as soon as I hopped out of the truck. She sprinted toward me screaming, "Uncle Alvin!" She leapt up to me and wrapped her arms around me and planted big kisses all over my face.

"Uncle Alvin! I'm so happy to see you!”

"Same here kiddo," I said, not really sure why this kid I barely knew was so happy to see me.

"I followed your directions as best I could remember them, but I just couldn't find your house!" she said, panting excitedly.

"Rennie, when did I ever give you directions?”

"Back when you came home for Christmas!”

"That was two years ago!”

"No, Uncle Alvin," she said, shaking her head. "Three years. I remember.”

"OK, kid. Hop in your car and follow me." She spun immediately and plopped into her car.


* * *

"Oh, Uncle Alvin! Your house is awesome!" Renate looked around in fascinated awe.

"How 'bout a tour?" She answered with a nod. I gestured toward the kitchen. "There's the kitchen..." She looked at me with a sly grin.

"Duh! I thought it was the out-house!" Her girlish laugh reverberated off the tile walls and seemed to fill my home with warmth. I laughed back and walked into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.

"You want some?" I said over my shoulder as I emptied yesterday's coffee into the sink.

"Sure. So I see you did some last minute cleaning for me, huh?”

I turned to see her looking at Concita's bucket. "Well, no. If I had started on the mess, I'd be working on it until Wednesday. I had some help.”

Renate smiled at me and turned out of the kitchen. "Come on. Show me the rest of the house.”

I followed her into the living room where she sprinted across the open space and dived into the couch. "Uncle Alvin, your house is so cool! You built this all by yourself?”

"Um...well, yeah. Sorta." Renate faced the floor-to-ceiling windows and stretched, basking in the mid-day sun. She reached her arms up over her head and stretched, her back arching, cat-like, her half-buttoned shirt pulling open and her chest jutting out, her breasts straining against the underwire of the strapless top. I took her in from head to toe, her long legs writhing in the pleasure of her long stretch, her rear end pressing back while her flat tummy pushed its way forward above the snap of her jeans, snaking its way up to her chest. On her face was pure joy, and she looked at me with half closed eyes, icy blue and clear. My mouth was thick with saliva when I tried to speak: "Um... C-call me Al.”

"Hmmm?" She blinked.

"You don't have to call me 'Uncle Alvin.' Just call me Al.”

"OK, Uncle Alv-- Uncle Al." she giggled at her awkwardness. "Is it all this beautiful?”

"That's just what I was wondering," swam up into my brain as what to say next, but luckily I caught myself. What was I thinking? This is my sister's kid! KID!

"Uhh...Well, see for yourself!" I decided to just show her around without any narrative. I had planned it to be a fairly simple dwelling with touches of modern convenience, and what I wound up with was the rustic elegance of a mountain lodge. I showed her my den with my portfolios and papers sprawled out mid-project. She seemed genuinely interested in my brief explanations of what I do for a living and what my current project was.

We walked down the hallway through the rear of the house. When we came to the master bedroom--my bedroom-- she looked in and asked, "Is this where I sleep?”

I chuckled and said, "Nope, this is my room." Then I looked in and saw the bed, covers still strewn about from yesterday's wake-up. Anyone would have to assume that this room was already occupied, so why did she ask me that?

I led her to the next room and said, "This is yours." It's equally as big as the master bedroom, but it isn't attached to the bathroom like mine is.. A guest has to walk down the hall to enter the same bathroom that my bedroom is attached to.

"What's this room?" Renate asked me as we entered it.

"I'm not sure yet," I said, looking around at the exposed studs and the bare pine floor of the unfinished room. "I first planned it to be a workout room, but working out alone sucks. I'd rather keep going to the club. Then I thought of it as a rumpus room, maybe with a bar, but I never have friends over...just one at a time." My mind flashed briefly to Carolyn from Waldo's pub, and then to Stacey, whom I hadn't had over...yet. "But maybe it'll be a playroom for my kids...if I ever have any.”

"It's the idea room!" she said with a big smile. She looked at me and said, "You'll think of something!”

We made our way outside and she leaned against the rail overlooking the river. The soft, late Summer breeze sang in the leaves of the trees, and it played with the strands of her hair, seemingly aflame in the bright sunlight. She took a deep breath and tilted her face up into the sun, squinting her eyes shut. She stretched, once again arching her back so languorously, only this time she removed her shirt and dropped it to the floor. This time the vision was more than I could bear. The sun danced on her shoulders and traced lines down her right side. It blazed in her hair. With her shirt gone I had a full view of her rear end in the cutoffs, and as I gazed upon it, the word "perfect" ran through my mind. She turned to me, seemingly as if in slow motion, and she placed her back and hands against the rail. My eyes ran a slow race up her legs, over the womanly swell of her hips, her velvet-smooth tummy, her breasts pushed up and in by the wires in her halter, her lips a faint dash of pink in her pale, freckled face, her eyes blue daggers framed by the orange corona of her sun-flamed hair. This was one incredibly beautiful woman standing before me, and she was of my own flesh and blood. But I couldn't help the reaction I was having as the blood swelled my penis to full erection in my jeans.

The sounds of the wind and the birds in the trees faded to silence as her lips very slowly parted and her eyelids approached each other, kissed, and parted, and she spoke to me: "Great Dick!”

My soul smiled briefly, but then my brain interrupted with the warning that something terrible had just occurred. Renate slammed back into harsh focus and my mind screamed. I jumped, perhaps a bit noticeably, and stammered, "What?!" I tried to cover up without actually covering up. Had she noticed? What would she think?

"I said, 'This is a great deck!'" She walked over to the spot where the hot tub was to go in. "What's this hole in your deck for?”

Very briefly the image of her beautiful face accepting a direct shot from the erupting head of my cock flashed across my brain. What the HELL is wrong with me?!

"That's where the hot tub's going." I felt a thin sheen of perspiration erupt on my forehead.

"HOT TUB! Oh, Uncle Al...er, Al! You are too cool! A hot tub! I can't wait! When are you putting it in?”

"Well, Rennie, it'll be another two weeks or so before I can get it in. You'll be gone by then.”

"But I'm here now! I could help you! Two sets of hands ought to get it done quicker than one!”

"Well, I have to work this week, and I still have to pick it up from the showroom. But if you really are willing to help, I guess we could do it by Saturday.”

"You are too cool, Al!" she said leaning over the edge, looking into the hot tub hole.

"Tell you what, we'll get it in and then celebrate your going away to college in it. What do you say?”

She ran to me and wrapped her arms around me tightly. "Oh, Al! You've always been my favorite uncle!" She squeezed me tighter and I could feel my erection throbbing against her lower belly. I only hoped she didn't notice....or did I?


* * *


The next day, Monday, I decided to take the week off. It seemed rude to just abandon my niece all week, so I went in to the firm I was contracting with to tie up loose ends, reschedule meetings, and finish what could be finished that day.

At lunch I went home, stopping at McDonald's along the way, to have a meal with Renate. I walked in to the house and into a fairly sturdy wall of sound coming from my stereo. It was obvious that Renate hadn't heard me drive up or enter the house. I stepped into the hallway to the bedrooms and called her name, but there was no answer. The only other place she could be was outside, so I walked to the deck windows and saw her. My heart leapt out of my chest momentarily because she was lying prone on a towel taking in some sun, her feet toward me, the thin band of her thong snaking up from her slightly parted thighs and disappearing briefly where the two half moons of her ass gently touched each other. Her bikini top was unsnapped in the back, pinned under her breasts, their untanned white flesh peeping out on either side. Her back, buttocks and thighs glistened in the sun, a mixture of her suntan oil and perspiration. I couldn't help but stand there for a few minutes, my trousers quickly forming a blunt point, pointing right at my niece. I absently slid a hand into a pocket and began idly stroking myself, repeatedly beating a path with my eyes up one glistening, shapely leg, over her shiny, tight ass cheeks, and back down the other leg. Back up the leg, on past her butt, and riding the hills and valleys of her muscular back. I was shaken into reality by a sudden spasm in my cock and the pleasant shiver it sent through me. I withdrew my hand from my pocket and pulled myself together.

As much as I wanted to watch her get up, as much as I wanted to get a glimpse, however brief, of her breasts, I knew I'd be taking advantage of her. So rather than walk out and startle her, I went to the stereo and turned down the volume to an audible murmur. I kept my back to the deck until I felt the vibrations of her footsteps throbbing through the floor. I turned just as she entered through the kitchen door.

"Oh, there you are!" I lied. She smiled and walked to me. "I brought lunch," I said, holding up the bag of burgers and fries. "I hope you like Mickey D’s."

"Thanks," she responded, reaching me and placing a gentle hug around me, the tantalizing triangle of the front of her thong disappearing beneath us, her bikini-clad breasts flattening against my chest, the heady coconut aroma of her suntan oil mixing gingerly with the sweet tang of her light perspiration.

"No problem," I said as I placed my free hand in the small of her back and bend my head down to breathe in the fragrance of her hair. It wasn't a long hug at all--no more than a second or two, but I was dizzy when she stepped away with the McDonald's bag and began transferring its contents to the table.

We chatted idly about her morning, which began around 10:30 with her heading out to the deck for some sun. A lazy day. After I finished my food I looked up the number to the maid service again and told them about Conchita's bucket. They thanked me and said someone would be by to pick it up by the weekend, if not in a day or so. For a brief moment I worried that Conchita no longer worked there, and I feared that it might have everything to do with me and what I did...or attempted to do.

As my lunch hour neared its end Renate was over by the stereo skimming through the stations. I stood up and announced that I was heading back.

"OK, Unc... OK, Al!" she stammered, smiling, and she walked to me and gave me another hug, and this time a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for lunch!" Her eyes peered up at mine, her face awash in a broad smile, her eyes glimmering blue.

"Be ready to work when I get home tonight," I said right before I realized what I had just done. It was a gesture of familiarity, what a father might do with his daughter in a happy moment. I gently swatted her bottom while she held her embrace. What I had forgotten was that she was wearing a thong (HOW could I forget THAT?!), and the room reverberated with the pop of my hand on her bare butt cheek!

Renate jumped up and into me, a startled "Oop!" escaping from her lips, and then a wide-eyed giggle.

I quickly retreated. "Oh. I'm sorry, Rennie," I said with a light chuckle, acknowledging that I had mistakenly violated a personal area.

"Uh huh," she said, still smiling as she broke off the quick embrace.

"I'll try to be back early this afternoon, and then we'll go pick up the tub." I headed for the door.

"Cool!" she said, and smiled her good-bye to me. I was two steps out the door when I heard the stereo jump up in volume. As I walked to the truck I looked down and noticed a small stain on the front of my khaki trousers where my engorged penis had leaked some pre-seminal fluid through the fabric of my briefs and into the pants. "I've GOT to find some privacy soon to get rid of this tension, or I'll go nuts!" my mind shouted.


* * *


The hot tub had to be delivered in the store's truck; I knew that Renate and I alone could not maneuver that thing around the house and onto the deck. But I needed to pick up the hoses and clamps and pumps and the heating unit that make a hot tub the magical thing it is, so we led the truck back to my place, and then helped the delivery guy unload my stuff.

I had seen Bobby on several occasions at the store, but only during the Summer, as he was attending some college somewhere. He had delivered my bathroom fixtures when I was finishing up the house, which had allowed me to engage in some conversation with him. He seemed like a decent kid, quiet, in pretty good physical shape, strong; not the most intelligent man on the planet, but...strong. I had him figured for a jock of some sort. Probably not football; he didn't seem quick enough. From the moment he saw Renate in the store, he was like the puppy you gave a treat. He followed us around, helping us pick up everything we needed, and not taking his eyes off of Renate the entire time.

Renate was not without blame. She wore her cutoffs again, with a pair of hiking boots, white socks peeking out the tops, a white tank top under a short sleeved, button-front shirt that she left unbuttoned and untucked. When I had gotten home I blinked a couple of times to see if she was wearing a bra underneath the tank top, but I decided not to wade into that pond any further; there was work to be done. After a few minutes at the showroom, however, I couldn't tell if Bobby had figured it out to his satisfaction yet.

The longer we stayed at the showroom, the more irritated I found myself becoming. At first I couldn't figure out why, but then it dawned on me that it was Bobby's attention to Renate. Every time his eyes flashed down her body, stopping here or there to take a visual taste, I felt a flaring in my chest. By the time we were loading the last things into his truck I was certain I would pop him at the next leering glance he sent Renate's way.

But then she was hopping into my pickup truck with me, and all seemed right with the world again as Bobby followed behind in the delivery truck. She stayed quiet on the ride back, opting to sight-see and get her bearings of the town. The solitude gave me the chance to sort out why I had become so enraged in the showroom. Was it jealousy? Was I feeling threatened? Or was it more of a paternal type of concern a father might have for his daughter, the helpless dove flying amidst dangerous hawks? I calmed myself by agreeing that it was the last of the three.

When we got to my place Bobby was at it again; leering, chatting up, sweet-talking. But this time I chose to watch Renate's reaction to his attention, and my heart was filled with joy. She was hardly paying him any attention at all! She helped move the lighter things from the truck, flashing me her beautiful smile every now and then, courteously acknowledging Bobby's existence. I don't think he felt shunned or rejected, but Renate was certainly not accepting his attention. She was amazing!

With Bobby's help we maneuvered the tub next to the hole and propped it up against the railing of the deck, and then laid out all the gear next to it. It hardly resembled a hot tub this way, still shrouded in the industrial strength shrink-wrap and boarded up in its shipping crate, but I knew what it was; I had seen the picture!

Bobby lingered about, still focused on Renate and her various parts. Then, as we were finished with all of the unloading Renate looked right at Bobby and said, "Thanks for all your help, Bobby. Uncle Al and I could never have gotten this big ol' thing in here without you!”

Bobby grinned, his white teeth flashing, a bead of sweat clinging to his chin. "It's nothin'. It's my job.”

Renate reached up and slapped him on the shoulder, just like one of the boys, and said, "It's almost quittin' time, isn't it? How 'bout a beer...for the road?”

Bobby looked up at me, and then at Renate, and said, "Well, no, if my boss found out I'd lose my job.”

Then Renate said, "Well, how 'bout I give you one and you don't drink it right away? Just drive back to the store real quick, finish up there first, and then drink it. It'll still be cold!”

"Cool!" Bobby beamed as he followed Renate into the kitchen. Just a few seconds later I heard her calling her good-bye and thanks again to him, and then the truck started and left.

She came back to the deck and said, "Whew! I didn't think we'd get rid of him!”

"What's wrong?" I prodded. "He seems nice enough.”

"Yeah, he's nice, and kinda cute, but kinda dumb. And did you see the way he kept looking at me? It was like he thought my eyes were down here." She parted the open shirt she wore and poked her breasts through the fabric of her tank-top, right on each nipple. The move was so unexpected and so natural that my eyes followed without any urging. She was indeed bra-less, her just-poked nipples pressing out the cotton shirt subtly. "He was giving me the creeps!" She obviously didn't see me earlier that day with my face practically plastered against the window, slathering over her ass and playing pocket pool as she sunbathed in her thong!

I gave a little chuckle but otherwise remained silent, staring at the hot tub and its guts strewn about the deck. I felt Renate shift her gaze there, too.

"Well," I sighed. "I don't feel like starting this tonight. What say we go out to dinner?”

"Great!" she beamed. "Should I change clothes?”

I looked her up and down, pausing here and there for a little visual taste of my own. Then I looked at myself, still dressed in the dress casual I had worn to the office. "Just throw on a pair of jeans, and maybe button up a little and tuck your shirt in. The place I have in mind doesn't expect a whole lot.”

"Back in a sec!" she sang as she headed toward the kitchen door. I stayed outside for another minute, staring at the hot tub paraphernalia, and wondered at which point exactly I was going to explode. I then went into the house and changed into a pair of jeans myself.


* * *


When she got out of my truck in the parking lot at Betty Jean's, Renate hooked her arm in mine for the walk to the building. Betty Jean's is a sort of refined country honky-tonk...if there can be such a thing. One side is a pretty noisy bar on any day of the week, with country music bleeding out of every door and window in the place. I've never been one for country music, but the other side of Betty Jean's is a fairly nice restaurant with the best steaks in town, and I've always been one for a good, juicy slab of beef!

The entrance foyer is probably the weakest barrier between the two sides of Betty Jean's. Restaurant patrons stand between the doors to either side to wait for a seat, and every time someone goes into the honky-tonk the foyer is blasted with steel guitar, fiddle, and adenoidal vocals. Sometimes conversations in the restaurant are drowned out when both doors happen to be opened simultaneously, and you can almost taste the heartache. The wall that separates the two bars must be a foot and a half thick to defeat the noise that occasionally bleeds through the open doors!

Despite the fact that it was Monday, and early for that matter, there was already a good crowd. While we waited Renate bounced to the country beat and swung slightly back and forth, her arm still hooked in mine.

I looked down at her. "You enjoying yourself?" Sarcasm.

"Oh, I love country music. Don't you?" She stared off into space, as though trying to see the notes as they soaked into the room.

"Nah. I come for the food.”

"Can we go in there after we eat?" Renate gestured to the honky-tonk doors.

Her blue eyes gently pleading, gently cut into my soul and found a place soft enough to tolerate country music. "Sure," I said. "Maybe for a little while.”

"Good!" She hugged my arm. I noticed something catch her eye as she looked at me.

"What?" I felt one eyebrow raise on my forehead. Renate reached up and rubbed at something on my cheek with her thumb. Her forehead knitted as she rubbed harder, then she licked her thumb and rubbed some more. Then she looked up at my hair and reached up and fluffed and groomed it.

"You need someone to take care of you, boy!" she said with a sly little smile on her lips. It was strangely gratifying to have her grooming me in public like that. She seemed very comfortable with me, very familiar, despite the fact that we'd only seen each other two or three times since she was born. Family is family, I guess.


I had my usual rib-eye dinner, and Renate went with a chicken dish. After some idle conversation, during which she kept playing with my hands, I paid for the meals and escorted Renate to the honky-tonk.

It was dark and smoky inside, but Renate's eyes seemed to glow with wonder as she looked around, holding my hand. It dawned on me that she was just out of high school, so this may have been her first time in a bar. How was it that this young woman's essence was so ethereal? Why did she seem ageless to me? So wise, but yet so innocent? Things I assumed she would know, she didn't, yet things I assumed she shouldn't or couldn't know, she did.

She led me around the entire place, my ears splitting under the stadium-sized speakers placed every three feet up in the ceiling. She watched the people on the dance floor, which was a dirty patch of vinyl tile about 20 square feet in size. She watched a young couple smooching in a corner. She watched a group of younger men and women playing a game of quarters. We had made two complete circuits of the room when Renate discovered the sliding glass doors that led out to the deck overlooking the river where a smaller crowd of people, undaunted by the humid night air, gathered and danced. "Oh, AL! Look!" She pulled me out onto the deck just as a new song started. The whole place seemed to erupt in a roar from the crowd, and half of the people in the place tried to cram onto both dance areas.

I felt another tug at my hand. "Come on! Al, let's dance!”

I shouted back, "Rennie, I don't do this!”

"Come on, it's easy! It's the two-step! Watch me!”

The two-step sounded easy enough. Hey! It was just two steps, right? And watching Renate was definitely easy! I tried to mimic her steps, but the more I tried, the more I laughed, and the more we just sort of held hands and jumped around, laughing.

After that song finished the deck cleared some, and I was able to pay closer attention to the step she was trying to show me. I was more used to flailing about to a good, loud rock song where any contact with another person was probably accidental and, if you played your cards right, might end up in a fist fight!

I wasn't improving any, so we just started stepping back and forth, moving our hips and bouncing to the beat. As the chords of the song signaled that the end was near, the DJ spoke up: "OK, you love-birds, now's your chance!" A quick cross-fade, and the wail of a steel guitar and a flood of red light out onto the deck changed the mood to sultry. Without skipping a beat, Renate slid her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder. I reacted by placing my hands on her hips and rocking with her slowly. I felt her heave a heavy sigh, her face turned away from mine. We rocked a little while more, and then she turned her face toward mine and said something that I didn't make out.

"What?" I said into her ear.

"I said, 'This is such a sweet song.' Don't you think so?”

"I guess." I listened. It was some woman wailing about her lazy husband and her wild kids. She thought the life had gone out of her marriage. But wait! She comes home from work one day to find the kids are gone, the house is clean, and the table is set for two. How sweet.

Renate began to hum along with the lyrics of the chorus, her voice vibrating through her chest into mine, her breath floating from her nose onto my neck, a tingle working its way down my spine. Before I could react I sprouted another erection. I tried to subtly pull my abdomen away from hers, but she was pressed tightly against me. Fortunately I had put on my jeans, otherwise I'd have been poking insistently into her belly right now. As it was, each swaying movement allowed my penis to work its way up further and further until it was finally comfortable, flattened against my lower belly, pointing straight up, stifled by the waist of my jeans.

Renate was slowly swaying against me, putting gentle pressure on my erection with each measure of the music. Suddenly this song wasn't so bad! We continued to sway, each holding the other loosely, yet each pressed comfortably against the other. Since I was leading, more or less, I was dancing her in a slow circle to the left, she stepping back with each sway to the left, when out of nowhere another couple, dancing in a slow circle to the right, bumped squarely into Renate's butt, pressing her belly firmly against my abdomen.

Quiet "Oopses" and apologies went back and forth, and then Renate looked up into my eyes. She was smiling faintly, but in her eyes was that look of wonder they had when she first walked into the honky-tonk, as if she had just discovered something delightful.

"What?" I asked.

Renate simply let out a throaty giggle and buried her face in my neck again. I was helpless as my dick throbbed each time I felt her warm breath on my neck.

The song ended and a faster one kicked up, and Renate pulled away from me, looked right into my eyes and said, "I'm ready when you are.”

I blinked in confusion, and then it hit me that she was just ready to go home. In the truck on the way back to my place I couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't actually a double meaning to her words. But what was I thinking? What would a beautiful girl like Renate want with an old guy almost twice her age? And if she really did notice my erection, she was probably mortified. Of course. Why else would she have been ready to go home so suddenly? I started to feel ashamed and embarrassed, and a little sick with myself.


When we arrived at my place Renate went straight to the bathroom, came out, gave me a goodnight kiss on the cheek, and headed straight for the guest room.

"Bright and early tomorrow, Rennie? I'm off the rest of the week. Gotta get that tub in!”

"Not too early, OK? I've only got six days left to sleep in. I don't want to lose that.”

"OK," I said. "Whenever you're ready.”




==========================

Coming in PART 2...



Renate cocked her head at me. "Are there any other neat places around here to explore?”

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I made it this far and never thought about going any farther.”

"I don't blame you. This is paradise. What do you like to do here by yourself?”

"Ohh.." I sighed. "Just think. Work through problems I have at the clients'. Write down my ideas. Swim…"

"Yeah! A swim would be great right now!" Renate chirped. "Too bad I left my suit up at the house.”

"I usually just go naked. There's nobody else around." I said it without thinking, with a casual wave of my hand. It was the truth, as natural as can be. When the mood strikes me, I just strip and dip. I didn't even realize what I had said until I caught the expression on her face as she looked at me.

Her face flushed slightly as she smiled. Then she bent her head down and giggled. "I haven't gone skinny dipping since I was in sixth grade!" Her hands went to work on the front of her jeans.

My heart leapt out of my chest. "What have I done? Oh my god the child is stripping!" My mind was screaming at me.

"Rennie, wait a minute," I stammered. My penis, having had a chance to rest most of the morning, was suddenly stirring to life. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea right now.”

Renate unsnapped and unzipped her jeans, then rose to her knees and pulled the tails of her t-shirt out, then she looked down at me. "What? It's been at least a half hour since we ate. We're OK." And with that said, she crossed her arms in front of her and grabbed the tails of her shirt. In one quick move her arms were over her head, as well as the shirt, and I was staring directly at her breasts bobbling up and down while she fumbled with the shirt above her head. Her bright, pink nipples stared back, smooth and shiny in the speckles of sunlight....


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