Parenting Skills? Not!
Lubrican
Parenting Skills? Not!
By Lubrican
Chapter One
As I think back on it, I'm pretty sure it all happened because I didn't have any parenting skills. And, of course, because my sister trusted me to babysit her daughter for a month while she and her husband went to Europe to try to get contracts to make and sell this thing my sister had invented. It was some kind of kitchen gadget and she even went on Shark Tank with it. They said it was a pretty good idea, but nobody on the show backed it. So Molly and Paul, my brother-in-law, thought they could make a go of it on their own. They needed me to babysit Beth, though, because they didn't want to drag her around Europe with them. So I hopped on a flight to California to help my sister out. It was early July, which meant a plus to my situation was leaving humid heat and going to sunny, dry weather.
Let me say right up front that "babysit" isn't the right word. Maybe it was in Molly's mind, but "the baby" was having none of that.
"I don't need a fucking babysitter, Mom!" Elizabeth yelled, when I got there. "I'm not a baby!"
"First - language," said Molly, patiently. "Second, I know you're not a baby, but the decisions you've been making lately make it very clear you're not a responsible adult, either."
"Just because you don't like my friends, don't make me stay here with some guy I hardly know!" wailed my niece. "This is embarrassing, Mom! What if my friends find out?"
"Third, they'd better not find out," said Molly. "You are to have no contact with them while we're gone, other than to explain that you can't spend time with them. No parties. No sleepovers. No hanging out at the park until one in the morning. No nothing! If you want to tell them you're grounded, fine. If you want to tell them something else, I don't care. But you are not, under any circumstances, allowed to leave the house alone."
"This isn't the Taliban!" screamed Beth. "This isn't right! It isn't fair!"
"Beth, you're sixteen. You don't even have a driver's license, yet. I don't care how grown up you feel, or want to be, you're not an adult and I won't allow you adult freedoms, either. And Bob isn't a stranger, either. He's your uncle and you've met him before. He is going to take care of you while we're gone and that's that. I do not expect to get any frantic phone calls from him and if I do, you're going to suffer the consequences. We've already discussed what those consequences might be. Do you read me, young lady?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Now, we have to go or we'll miss our flight." She looked at me. "Beth will show you where things are. Maybe you can teach her some computer coding while you're here, or something. Thanks for doing this. I love you, little brother."
Then she was gone and I was alone in somebody else's house with an irate teenager who was under my care and control. I even had a power of attorney to prove it.
******
My sister had always done the right thing, for the most part. She had some problems in her youth that will be illuminated later, but after that she settled down and did everything right. She went to college, met a great guy, got married, had both a career as an engineer and a family. She could have posed for Norman Rockwell.
I had taken a slightly different path. I went to college, too, but I didn't get married. I met a ton of great girls and slid my horny boner into as many of them as I could, but I wasn't about to give up my independence and become a one-woman man. I was an engineer, too, but in computer science, rather than in civil engineering like my sister. Gradually, over the years, I had specialized in restoring systems that had been hijacked or taken for ransom. Generally those jobs only lasted a week or two, a month if it was a big company, so I lived in Lincoln, Nebraska, but worked all over the country. My sister sucked from the government teat in California and while I did work in that state, occasionally, I never had time to go visit a lot.
As a result, I hadn't seen little Beth since she was ten. At that time she had no interest in me. She was just a shy little girl whose parents had invited what she thought of as a distant relative into the house for a few days. Looking at her now, it was plain she wasn't so little anymore. I knew she was sixteen, but if I didn't know her and just saw her on the street, I'd have thought she was eighteen with no doubt. I hadn't had to think about age since college, when high school girls tried to sneak into frat parties and such. I met lots of secretaries and administrative assistants and coffee girls and even some junior execs in my line of work. Of course I never had to ask how old they were. They were employees, not blushing school girls. I'd dated the same girl for a month or two, before, but none of them had any kids, which meant I haven't been exposed to children since … well … since I was one.
So it's understandable that I had never learned much in the way of parenting skills. Add to that that Beth looked way older than she was and I was probably the wrong guy to be a surrogate parent for a month. It didn't help that she was killer cute, with jet black hair in a shag that went just past her jaw line. On this particular day she was wearing a peasant blouse that made it crystal clear there was no bra under it, and short shorts that were so tight they might has well have been a second skin. Sandals exposed pretty, painted toenails. Only the frowns and her attitude spoiled the image of a hot young woman on the prowl and ready to meet Mister Happy.
Mister Happy is what I call my cock, but you probably already figured that out.
Beth wasn't very sexy, though, because she was pouting and trying to pick a fight and that's just not sexy.
"You wanna show me where to put my stuff?" I asked.
"No," she said, both casually and sullenly.
"We don't have to get along," I said. "We do, however, have to live together for a month, and it will be a lot less miserable for both of us if we do get along," I said. "It's up to you."
She set her lips in a grim line and showed me the bedroom I had been allotted. Then she said, "I'm going to my room. Don't bother me."
******
The first three days were tense, but eventually things got a little better. I watched a lot of TV while I tried to watch her. She spent most of her time in her room, avoiding me. I treated those first few days as a vacation from work and binge watched several series on Netflix. I tried a Korean series about a guy who could see ghosts, and helped them get their unfinished business handled so they could go on to where deceased souls are supposed to be. Other than having to read the translations, it was really good.
I "cooked", but the only appliance I used was a microwave. Over the years I had figured out how to cook almost anything in a microwave. It wasn't always tasty, but to me food was simply fuel to keep my body going. Beth, on the other hand, had some pretty impressive cooking skills. After the first four or five meals I "prepared" for us, she decided she needed to become the cook.
"I'm going to starve, or waste away to nothing, if I keep eating what you put on the table," she said one day.
I looked at her and I admit my eyes fell on her breasts, which were full and healthy-looking, cupped lovingly in the halter top she was wearing that day.
"I don't think you're in any danger of wasting away," I said. It didn't sound inappropriate in my mind, but she caught me staring at her boobs when I said it and her interpretation of things was on another plane.
"Are you a pervert, Uncle Bob?" she asked, clearly and plainly. It was the first time she'd used my name in a sentence.
"Nope," I said, understanding what had just happened. I was pretty good with women, all in all, and felt like I understood them better than most guys.
So, to recap, I had no parenting skills, and was under the illusion I understood women. I know that now. I just didn't think about things that way back then.
"It takes months on a starvation diet before you waste away, and you're not on a starvation diet," I went on. "You might not like what I serve up, but it's nutritious and you're not going to starve unless you decide to, on purpose."
She surveyed me with gray-green eyes and sniffed.
"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll take over cooking duties," she said.
"Fine by me," I said.
"We need to go to the market," she said.
"Okey doke," I replied.
Her parents had left the keys to their cars and she chose the SUV as our chariot for that day. We passed a Walmart, which I pointed out.
"I don't shop at Walmart," she sneered. "Walmart is for losers."
She directed me to a grocery store that clearly tried to appeal to the upper classes and I pushed the cart around while she chose things to put in it.
"Just give me the card. I'll take care of it," she said, casually. Molly had left a credit card for me to use in situations like this.
"Did your mother leave the card in your care?" I asked.
"No," she said. Sullen teenager was back. It was like magic.
"Then let's not mess with the established order of things," I said. "Besides, you don't need it for anything without talking to me, first."
She didn't talk to me for the rest of that trip, but she had calmed down by the time we got back to the house and were putting things away.
"I'm going to go lay out," she said, when the last item was stowed.
"Okay," I said. "I need to check in with a client. What's your wifi password?"
"Gee," she said, putting one finger against her lush lips. "I forgot."
"No problem," I said, catching on instantly. "I'll just call Molly and ask her. I'll explain you can't remember."
"Don't be a bitch," she snarled.
She gave me the password and stomped off to her room.
I spent maybe twenty minutes reading and answering emails and then went looking for her. They had a pool in the back yard, which was surrounded by a tall privacy fence. This was a good thing because the bikini she was wearing was the kind made for catching a man, rather than swimming. It was bright yellow, or at least that's what I surmised from the string across her back and the slim bit of fabric across her waist, which dropped and was clenched firmly between the golden globes of her ass. She was lying on her stomach, so I couldn't see what color the front of this "swimsuit" was.
It was obvious she spent a lot of time out in the sun like this, because she looked slightly toasted in an "amber waves of grain" kind of way. She was lying on a chaise lounge that flattened into a bed, with a four inch thick cushion on it. A bottle of tanning lotion (not sunscreen) sat on the deck next to her and a towel was crumpled up next to that.
Feeling a distinctly inappropriate reaction in my shorts taking place, I turned and went back in the house. I had brought a five-book series with me. It was called The Dark is Rising and I had heard it reviewed on NPR. It was originally written for readers in the eight to thirteen age range, but the reviewer claimed that thousands of adults loved it and re-read it all the time. It sounded good so I thought I'd give it a try.
I was four pages into the first book and had already been introduced to a mysterious, adventurist great uncle, and a suspicious, also mysterious yacht out on the waters of the bay this family was vacationing at, when Beth sauntered in and I got to see the front of the bikini.
The front was actually almost decent. It cupped and covered her breasts, and the panel of the bottoms covered things there, too. The modesty panels, however, were missing and both her nipples and camel toe were on display.
"You can swim, too, if you want to," she said.
Her attitude was off and I picked up on that immediately. She wasn't there to tell me I could swim if I wanted to. She was there to show off her nipples and camel toe.
She was teasing me. The question was … why was she teasing me?
"Okay," I said, looking back at the page in the book. It wasn't easy to ignore her, but I managed.
She sniffed and went somewhere else while I tried, unsuccessfully, to read on.
My conundrum was that, while she was clearly a girl of tender years, she had already learned (and was willing to practice) feminine wiles more appropriate for a young woman who had graduated high school and was looking for a mate. I couldn't "un-see" how hot she was, and I couldn't ignore the fact that she obviously had some sexual experience. I didn't know she had some sexual experience, of course, but the vibes were there and clearly detectable to my male mind. I assumed she was allowed to date (when her parents were there) and I knew any boy she went out with would go to extreme lengths to get her naked and panting. It was also common knowledge that girls, these days, lost their virginity at an average age of thirteen. So I assumed she was … average.
This teasing continued, and she thought she was being clever about it. She wasn't, though. She was an amateur and that actually made things better for me. If you've ever been around someone in the "in crowd" who looks like an adult but behaves like a child, you understand where I was. She paraded around in the yellow bikini and a couple of other ones that were a tad more age-appropriate. When she took a shower, she did that in the guest bath, instead of the one in her room, and walked out in a light robe that she left open. She didn't face me and flaunt the fact she was naked under the robe, but she tried to make sure I saw her from the side or back while she was "relaxed."
Her choice of dress was always sexy, or at least showed off her assets to the maximum. I found it to be a sort of exercise wherein I tried to figure out what her motive was. I knew she wasn't actually trying to seduce me. That was ridiculous. So why was she teasing me like that? I decided it was her effort to try to get me to reduce or abandon my feeling of responsibility for her. If she didn't look like a baby, then I wouldn't think of myself as a baby-sitter. If she looked fully adult, then I might let her act like one.
Of course I didn't tell her I was onto her. She was a fine bit of eye candy, after all, and a bit of fantasy, now and then, as I stroked out a load. I didn't feel bad about that. It wasn't going to hurt anybody. I had to suspend my usual … social activities … while I was there, and that put a bit of a strain on me. I knew there were tons of spicy women in California who would appreciate my approach to bedroom games.
But I had to be a big boy for a month, so Mother Palm and her five daughters were my only dates for a while. I could live with that.
When she thought she'd set the hook she showed her hand.
"Jennifer says she and a few girls are having a little party right down the street. It's an … um … birthday party and I'd really like to go. She's my best friend."
It was obvious no birthday celebration was planned. This poor girl had a ways to go before she could pull the wool over my eyes.
"No," I said. I wasn't going to enter into any kind of negotiations. "Your mom said no parties."
"Come on," she groaned. "It'll just be for an hour or two. You can give me a curfew and I promise I'll obey it."
"No parties," I said, firmly. "Unless I come with you. You can go if I come with you."
"Are you crazy?" she yipped. "Do you have any idea what would happen if I showed up with a geezer to a party?"
"Twenty-eight is not a geezer," I said, wounded.
"You're old enough to be my father!" she yelled.
"No, your father is thirty-seven, or something," I said. Molly was thirty-seven, so I assumed Paul was, too. My sister was nine years older than me. I was a "surprise" to our parents, who had thought they were finished with babies, but weren't, as it turned out.
"You're still old," she sneered. "I'm not bringing you to a party so my friends can laugh at me."
"That's fine," I said. "You can Zoom in to the party. That will solve your problem."
"Ohhh!" she yelled, stamping her foot. "This fucking sucks!"
"Life is hard," I said. "And then you die." I shrugged my shoulders at her.
******
I was all proud that I was exerting control and obviating her juvenile attempts to influence me. It never once occurred to me that she'd sneak out.
I discovered this when I got up from bed to go get a snack and saw that the light in her room was on. It was almost eleven and she'd said she was going to bed around nine, so I tapped on her door and opened it to ask if she was okay.
There was nobody there and the big window that looked into the back yard was open. She was nowhere to be found.
I couldn't believe it. Surely she didn't think she could get away with this. And clearly she didn't know how to sneak out. You don't leave the fricking light on. And she hadn't even tried to arrange the bed to make it look like there was a body in it.
Again, she had displayed her youth and inexperience.
I didn't know what to do. I wasn't going to call the cops. That would get too messy. I thought briefly about going out and looking for her, but I had no idea which direction she'd gone in. I thought about walking up and down the street they lived on, listening for party sounds, but decided that wouldn't work out. I imagined myself knocking on a door in the middle of the night and finding a party she wasn't at. That would go over like a lead balloon.
So I waited. I left her light on and settled in her walk-in closet, leaning against the wall. I dozed until a noise woke me up. I looked at my watch. Mickey's little hand was between the two and three and his big hand was approaching the seven.
I got up and looked out, to see her clambering over the window sill. Her purse was hanging from her hand, but she dropped it and the contents scattered on the floor as she rolled over the sill and landed with a groan and a thump on the floor under the window.
She was obviously drunk. She was lying there, legs akimbo, and the short skirt she was wearing exposed the fact that there were no panties hugging the delicious-looking split peach of her pussy. She sat up blearily, and I saw the makeup she'd put on was smeared. She looked a mess.
I walked over to stand over her, amazed that she hadn't noticed me, yet. Among the things that had spilled out of her purse were a balled-up bit of cloth and what looked like a three pack of condoms, one of which was missing. Her blouse had five buttons, but only the bottom two were fastened. Her generous cleavage was exposed almost to the point I could see nipples.
It must have been a whale of a birthday party.
I picked up the little ball of cloth and it unrolled into a pair of panties, a thong, actually, with a front panel that was see-through lace.
Finally she noticed me.
"Uh oh," she said. She giggled. "Busted."
"Yeah," I said. "Busted. Jou gots some 'splaining to do, Lucy." I have no idea why I thought Ricky's classic comment was appropriate for the occasion, but that's what I used.
"Fuck you," she slurred.
I reached to grip an arm and pulled.
"Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you cleaned up." I wasn't going to just ignore her breach of my trust. This was going to be discussed. I took her into the kitchen and made some coffee. She sipped at it and then folded her hands into a pillow and laid her head down to sleep. This was not going to be easy. Then she suddenly sat upright her eyes opened wide. I heard her stomach warn us both.
I grabbed the trash can and directed her face towards that as the volley of puke shot out of her mouth. Another, and another, she puked for a minute or so and then collapsed back into the chair. Looking over at me, she blinked, as if she was surprised to see me, and then spoke.
"I screwed up again," she moaned. "I'm really, really sorry." Then she retched again, too suddenly for me to get the trash can. She covered her mouth with one hand, which only made what was left in her stomach splash down over the front of her outfit. She leaned over the trash can but by then there was nothing left. I got her up and pulled her to the shower, where I shoved her in, clothes and all.
The shower woke her right up. I admit I didn't give the water time to warm up, but it did get warm as she opened her eyes and spluttered. She looked down at her clothing and I think she saw the purplish-brown stain on her lavender-colored blouse, as well as the bits of puke that were being washed from between her breasts downward, towards her skirt.
"Fuuuck," she groaned as she tried to brush the barf off of herself. Her fingers fumbled at the two buttons and she pulled the edges apart, trying to take the blouse off. It was plastered to her body, though. I was treated to the sight of two fabulous, very adult-looking breasts, with dark brown areolas, supporting nipples that the cold water had caused to become very erect. I watched them bob and wobble as she struggled with the blouse.
"Turn around," I said, reaching to help her do that.
"What?" She looked at me with eyes that didn't quite focus. "Uncle Bob!"
"Yeah, Uncle Bob," I said, tugging the blouse down off her shoulders and then down to her ass. She pulled her arms out of it and, I'm sure by habit, from muscle memory, she undid her skirt and pushed it down to the floor of the shower. Bent over, like she was, she presented me with that lovely bubble butt she'd exposed to me in her bikinis before. She also exposed her fat-lipped pussy to me and I thought about those condoms in her purse. Had some adolescent prick penetrated those fat lips? Her state of dress pretty much guaranteed it. Our little sixteen-year-old princess was obviously sexually active.
I wondered if her mother knew, but was distracted when she turned to face me, covering her tits with one arm and her mons with the other hand.
"I'm naked," she moaned.
"Being naked is appropriate for being in the shower," I said. "You need to clean the puke off of you and then we'll talk."
"You're mad at me, aren't you?" she moaned.
"Why don't you get cleaned up and we'll talk about it after you sober up. Are you alright? You still look pretty wobbly."
"I'm okay," she said, looking at me owlishly. "Go away. I'm naked."
"Right," I said. "If you need help, just yell."
I went to her walk-in closet, where I'd seen a white, fluffy robe hanging, and got it. I took it back to the bathroom. The shower was still running and she was washing her hair. Her clothes were still lying in a sodden puddle on the floor of the shower stall, but I figured she'd take care of them later. Maybe it would teach her a lesson.
I told her the robe was there and went back to the kitchen to get some coffee. I looked at the kitchen clock, it was a few minutes past 3:00. I thought about the fact … probability … that Beth had had sex while she was out. I got a boner thinking about it, which bothered me a little, but then I decided it was normal. She was a little hottie, after all, and she had at least one foot firmly in the adult world of sexual behavior. You can't 'unsee' that kind of thing and my cock had reacted to it.
Maybe ten minutes later she came into the kitchen, wrapped in the robe. She had cleaned up pretty well. The makeup was gone and her hair was wrapped up in a towel. I warmed up her coffee and made some toast. She sipped at the coffee, making a face. I'd served it to her black and it was obvious she was more of a latte kind of girl. She nibbled at the toast.
It is important, at this point, to speak briefly about those parenting skills I mentioned before. They say we raise our kids like our parents raised us. That makes sense, because nobody ever decided that kids should get parenting classes in school. Yeah, I know that there are some schools that have those mechanical baby dolls that you have to carry around and change and feed. They cry like a real baby and the whole idea is to teach kids how hard it is to take care of a baby, so they won't make babies themselves while they're young and in school. But that's restricted only to care of an infant. Those classes don't teach you what to do when the kid grows up.
My own parents were marginal, in terms of having good parenting skills. That was my own assessment, of course, but I felt okay about it. My mother worked, so I only saw her in the mornings, before school, and in the evenings, when she was tired and just wanted to relax. My dad's parents were in the "don't spare the rod" camp, and he inherited that attitude. If I got in trouble, he whaled the shit out of me, usually with his belt. Molly got in trouble, too, but it was trouble of a different kind than I was involved with. He whaled the shit out of her, too, but always in private, where I couldn't see it. I could hear it, but never saw it. I was five when she got in big trouble, but I didn't understand what that was about until I was much older. What I did understand was that we were both miserable, much of the time, and that I wasn't going to adopt my parents' attitudes about raising children. When I got around to getting married and having kids, I was going to do things differently.
Sound familiar?
So, instead of going all Godzilla on her, I took a different approach.
"Want to tell me about it?" I asked.
I joined her at the table for a cup of coffee. She kept staring at her cup and didn't respond.
"You may as well," I said. "We're going to discuss this whether you feel like it or not."
She looked at me and frowned, but apparently decided to participate. I preened a little, on the inside, when she gave up some information.
"I got to the party and it was really jazzed. They had a great punch there that tasted like Kool-Aid. I guess there was some booze in it. Can I have some more toast?"
I got up and dropped two more pieces of bread in the toaster. Beth continued.
"There was a guy there I really liked."
"Who?"
"Chuck. Good, old Chucky." Her speech was still somewhat slurred.
"So what happened? You were a mess when you came home."
"I didn't know the punch was spiked. Honest. We were dancing inside the house, but after a while he took me out to the back yard. That's where everybody was making out."
"So you made out?"
"He was cute!" she said in her defense. "Yeah, we made out a little."
I handed her the toast and poured us some more coffee.
"Your parents made me responsible for you, Beth," I said. "You did more than make out a little. Your panties were in your purse."
"You looked in my purse?" she objected.
"Half of the contents were scattered all over the floor," I said. "Including some condoms," I said.
"Shit," she said, softly. "Please don't tell my parents. Mom says if I keep getting in trouble they're going to send me off to boarding school."
"I can understand why," I said. "You went out and had sex with what amounts to a stranger." It was a shot in the dark, but I had a pretty good idea I was spot on.
"It wasn't very good sex," she mumbled. She was obviously still smashed. Apparently, in her book, if the sex wasn't any good, it didn't count.
"Well, at least you made him use a condom. You did make him use a condom … didn't you?"
"Yeah," she sighed. "The little prick just shoved it in me and came. He's an asshole."
"Well that's enough for tonight. You need sleep and to be completely sober before we decide what to do. Time for you to hit the sack."
"I can't walk," she moaned, without even trying to get up.
I picked her up. She grasped me around the neck, and I carried her into her room. I laid her down on the bed, still in the robe. It rode up her thighs and, as I covered her with a blanket, I got another shot of what Chucky had slid his adolescent penis into. I covered that up, turned out the light, and left her to sleep it off. She was snoring before I left the room.
******
The next morning I had finished breakfast and was enjoying a cup of coffee when she straggled into the room, still wearing the robe. It was obvious she had a hangover.
"Remind me not to do that again," she mumbled.
"Oh, you won't need to be reminded," I said. "You're grounded for a while." That seemed off, somehow. My sister had virtually grounded her already. "More grounded than you were," I added.
"You can't do that," she complained.
"Of course I can. Your parents left you in my care and when I gave you a little freedom you went out and abused it."
"My head hurts," she moaned.
"It should be your ass that hurts, because I should paddle you," I said. Somehow my pledge to do things different than my dad had, seemed to slip away.
"You can't do that!" she yelped.
"We'll see," I said. "You need to eat something. I suggest cereal, in case you toss your cookies again."
"I'm not going to throw up," she muttered.
She ate and started feeling better.
"Are you going to tell on me?" she asked, finally.
"That depends," I said.
"On what?"
"On whether or not you toe the line from now on."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you have to obey the rules," I said.
"You didn't make a rule that said I can't make out," she said. Snarky, even hung over. My niece was a piece of work.
"I shouldn't have had to," I said. "You know good and well that a sixteen-year-old shouldn't be running around having sex."
"Nice try," she said. "I've been having sex since I was thirteen." She stuck her chin out at me.
Yup. She was average.
"And does your mother approve of that?"
"She doesn't know," said Beth, finally looking away and wilting a bit. "Besides, it's only been a few times. I don't do it all the time."
"Well good for you," I said, sarcastically.
"You can't yell at me," she said. "It was a guy like you who popped my cherry!"
"What?"
She looked uncertain, suddenly.
"Never mind," she said.
"No way, little girl," I said. "Tell me about this man who had sex with you."
At first I thought she wasn't going to tell me, but finally she gave in.
"It was one of my teachers," she said. "My soccer coach, actually. I mean I wasn't in his class at school or anything."
"You had sex with your soccer coach?"
"Lots of girls did," she objected. "He fucked some of the moms, too."
"So that made it fine for him to do that with you?"
"Well …"
She didn't finish and I knew she was embarrassed about it.
"You were thirteen," I said. "You weren't old enough to make those kinds of decisions for yourself. That guy should be in jail."
"He is," she said, dully. "He got a girl pregnant and they put him in prison."
"I'd think that should have told you how wrong it was for him to have sex with you, too," I said.
"I'm not thirteen anymore," she said, getting rude again.
"Let me ask you a question," I said. "Did you have a great time last night?"
"I had fun," she hedged. Stubborn, too, even while hung over.
"Was it great sex? Did it take you to places you've never been before? Did you have multiple orgasms?"
"Of course not," she admitted.
"Well, that's how it should be, and how it can be if you're with the right guy and you're both old enough that you don't have to feel guilty about doing it," I said.
"That's what all old people say," she groaned. "They get to have all the sex they want, but they don't want us to have fun, too."
"I'll remind you it wasn't that much fun," I said.
She was silent for a while and it was clear she was thinking.
"Okay, so what now?" she said.
"I have to punish you," I said.
"What?" She sat up and looked alarmed. "How?"
"I don't know, yet," I said. "I have to think about that for a while."
"You don't have the right to punish me," she said, extending her stubborn streak.
"Of course I do. I even have it in writing. Your parents gave me power of attorney. Do you want to see it?"
"No," she mumbled. She'd been there when her mother handed it to me.
"Finish eating and then we'll talk," I said. "I need to figure out what to do with you."
Chapter Two
It was almost ten when we reconvened. She was still wearing the robe, which was fastened only loosely. That disturbing cleavage was peeking at me a lot. I wondered, briefly, if this was a product of how she'd teased me so much she was used to me seeing her body like this.
I had done some thinking. The main thing that needed to happen was for her to learn how to control her own libido. I knew I couldn't get her to stop having sex, but I hoped I could teach her how to pick and choose her partners more carefully.
"Tell me more about this teacher," I said.
She groaned.
"Why?"
"Because you need to learn some things you obviously haven't thought about," I said.
"And you're going to teach me?" she said, obstinately.
"I guess we could tell everything to your mother and she could do the teaching," I said.
That got her settled down.
"What do you want to know?" she asked, finally.
"I want you to tell me what he did," I said.
"He popped my cherry," she said, sullenly.
"I want details," I said.
"You really are a pervert," she said, snarkily.
"Okay, the first thing we need to do is adjust your attitude," I said. "I think you do need to be spanked." Somehow my vow not to be like my father had been negated.
"By you and what army?" she challenged.
"You have two choices," I said. "You either submit to my discipline or we call your mother and tell her what happened," I said.
"That's blackmail!" she yipped.
"Call it whatever you want," I said. "You want to be all grown up. There are consequences to your actions and now you have to make a decision because of those actions. Make your choice."
She stared at me for a long time but slowly, she crumpled.
"You're really going to spank me?"
"On your bare bottom," I said.
"You are a pervert!" she blurted.
"Did he spank you first?" I asked. It was obvious who I was referring to.
"Of course not," she said.
"Come over here and take your punishment," I ordered. I patted my thighs. "Or call your mother. Take your pick."
She stood and came towards me, slowly.
"I don't believe this," she whined, as I pulled her down across my lap.
I lifted the robe until her beautiful ass was exposed. The way she was lying gave me a view of her split peach pussy lips and I felt blood rush into my cock.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I really was a pervert.
"Now," I said, resting my hand lightly on one cheek. She flinched. "Tell me what this guy did to you."
"Just beat my ass and get it over with," she grunted.
I slapped one ass cheek - hard. She yelped and squirmed.
"Tell me!" I ordered.
"He said I needed a massage to help me with sore muscles!" she yipped.
I slapped her other cheek, a little less hard.
"Go on," I said.
"I'd heard of his massages and I was curious. He was hot. All the mothers fawned over him," said Beth.
I slapped the original cheek gently.
"Keep going," I said.
"He said I had to be naked for the massage. He touched me all over."
I slapped the other cheek, but not hard.
"I got excited," she moaned. "He put a finger in me and told me I was beautiful."
"Okay," I said. I was rubbing her ass, now, where I could see my handprint.
"Then he put it in me and he fucked me until I thought my head would explode," she cried.
"How many times did he do this to you?" I asked.
"Just once more. Then he got caught."
"Did you have an orgasm each time?" I asked.
"Yesss," she sobbed.
"And the boys you've done it with since then. Did they give you orgasms, too?"
"Noooo," she sniffed. "They're all assholes."
"So why do you want to have sex with assholes?" I asked. My hand slipped between her legs.
"Why do you have a hardon?" she asked, straining to look over her shoulder at me.
"Because I'm a normal man," I answered. "You do the same thing to me that you did to him and all those boys."
"There were only two boys," she whined. "And Chuck," she added.
"And none of them treated you right," I said. "That should have taught you something. Boys your age have no idea how to treat a woman."
"I knoooow," she moaned as the side of my fingers grazed her pussy. She spread her legs. Then she looked over her shoulder at me again. "You do have a hardon, Uncle Bob!"
"I know I do. You're a little hottie," I said. "I fully understand why boys and men want to fuck your pretty little pussy. What you need to learn is how to choose who to let fuck you and who to tell to fuck off."
"Do you want to fuck me?" she whimpered.
"Of course I do," I said, pushing my fingers into her split. "You've been teasing me ever since I got here. I bet you teased Chuck last night, too. Didn't you?"
"Let me up," she said, starting to struggle.
"We're not finished, here," I said.
"I know that. Just let me up. I won't go anywhere. I promise."
I let her roll off my lap and she thumped onto the floor. She got up and, to my surprise, sat on my lap and leaned against me.
"I get so horny," she moaned.
"That's normal, but there are better ways to deal with it than having sex with strangers," I said.
My hand was on her thigh, on top of the robe. She lifted it, pushed the robe aside and then put my hand down on her bare thigh. I wondered what that meant, but didn't have time to think about it.
"I had a dildo, but Mom found it and threw it away," she said.
"Did she talk to you about it?"
"No. She just said it was nasty and threw it in the trash."
"She's worried about you," I said.
"Yeah, right."
"She was a little round-heels like you when she was your age. She knows what can happen to a girl."
"What are you talking about?" she asked.
"Your mother had sex with lots of boys when she was your age," I said. "It almost got her in trouble. She got pregnant, but had a miscarriage."
"No way," said Beth. "My mother?"
"She learned her lesson the hard way," I said.
"Why wouldn't she talk to me about that, then?"
"Because she's embarrassed about it," I said. "She doesn't like to admit she was a slut."
"I'm not a slut!" she objected.
I slid my hand up her thigh and pressed the side of my fingers between her dewy folds.
"You let me do this when you were over my lap," I said.
"That was different," she said, making no move to get away from my fingers. "I couldn't stop you."
"You're not stopping me now," I pointed out. I pushed one fingertip into her hot channel.
"I know that," she said. I heard just the hint of obstinacy in her voice, tinged with passion.
"Why not?" I asked, moving my finger deeper and searching for her G spot. She spread her legs a little.
"I don't know," she moaned. "Because I like you?"
"You like a pervert?" I said. I felt the rough patch I was searching for and stroked it.
She groaned, and spread her legs further.
"You like that," I said, tickling her passion spot.
"Why are you doing this?" she said, beginning to pant.
"Because you make me want to be a man," I said. "Just like you wanted Chuck to be a man last night."
"He left me high and dry," she breathed.
"I wouldn't do that," I said. "That's my point. If you're going to be sexual, you need to be more choosey about the boys … or men … you let touch you."
"I'm not letting you touch me," she argued.
"Of course you are. You could push my hand away. You just don't want to."
"I don't like you very much right now," she panted.
"How about we give you a little orgasm to take the edge off so you can think more clearly?" I suggested.
She sat … and wiggled, as I continued to stimulate her pussy.
"You just want to fuck me," she gasped. "You're just like Mr. Carson."
"Is he the man who robbed you of your virginity?"
"He didn't rob me. I wanted what he did."
"He was just using you," I said.
"I knew that. I knew he didn't love me. But I wanted to know what it felt like. I let him do that."
"Did he ask you?"
"No. He just got me excited and then put it in me."
"Like I'm getting you excited right now?" I said.
"Just like you're doing," she gasped.
"The difference is I won't use you," I said.
Her head jerked around and she stared into my eyes.
"You won't?" I heard frustration in her voice. She wanted it bad, now and she expected me to react like Carson and her boyfriends had.
"I'll give you an orgasm," I said, softly. "I won't do any more than that unless I'm sure it's the right thing to do."
"Well, do something, because you're killing me," she whined.
"Oh, Sweetheart, I'm nowhere near killing you," I said. "Not yet."
******
She was lying on my bed, now. The robe was gone and her nakedness caused her confusion. I could see her looking at my face, searching for what she'd seen before on other men's faces. At the same time she was vulnerable, defenseless as I stared down at her. I think what made it almost comfortable for her was that I was still dressed.
"Maybe two orgasms," I mused, as I got on the bed beside her. "Did Carson kiss you?"
"No. He just fucked me."
"He was a rat bastard and deserves what he got," I said.
"You're doing the same thing," her argumentative side tossed out.
"I'm not," I said. "I'm not going to fuck you. I'm going to make love to you."
"I don't understand," she whined. Her hand moved to her pussy and a finger split her folds.
"Don't do that!" I snapped. Her hand jerked away and she looked alarmed.
I rolled her towards me, onto her side.
"That's my job," I said.
Then I kissed her. I didn't hold back. I let my own passion flow through my lips to hers. She tensed, and then relaxed as she returned the kiss. I held it for maybe fifteen seconds and then pulled back.
"That was weird," she said. "I've never kissed a grown man."
"Was it unpleasant?"
"No."
"Then let's do some more of that," I said.
This time she kissed me back. In the middle of that I slid my hand between her legs and she cocked a knee, spreading her legs to give me room. I slid my middle finger in her, over her G spot to her cervix, and rimmed it with my fingertip. She arched and groaned. I crushed her clit with the base of my finger and moved it an inch, back and forth, fingerfucking her, but with short strokes. She was primed and went off within a minute. I pulled my lips back to watch as her face scrunched up and her eyes glazed over. She groaned and held her breath, only to let it out explosively, draw in deeply, and hold it again.
"Maybe three orgasms," I whispered, pushing her to her back. Her legs flopped over.
I feasted on her nipples while I used my finger to bring her off again. This time she whined and groaned loudly as her head rolled back and forth.
"Having fun?" I asked.
"Uh huh!" she gasped.
"You ain't seen nothing yet," I said.
I moved rapidly so she didn't have time to react and pushed my face between her legs. Her pussy lips were loose and flushed now, and I sucked them in as she bucked her hips upwards. I found her clit and nipped it with my lips.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" she whined.
I reached with my hands and found her turgid nipples. I squeezed and rolled them, using a lot of force, but her reaction told me it wasn't too much.
When she went off this time she screamed, babbling nonsense words. Her fingers came to pull hard at my hair.
I licked her split with the flat of my tongue as the orgasm passed and then got off the bed. I took off my clothes and showed her my erection.
"You're big!" she groaned.
"Do you want it in you?" I asked.
"You know I do," she blurted.
"I don't have a condom," I said. "Will you let me put it in you bareback?"
"Yes!" she gasped.
I shouldn't have put in her. I should have jerked off and shot it on her. I knew that in some part of my messed up brain. I certainly shouldn't have done it without one of her condoms, which I knew existed, in her room somewhere. But I actually thought I was doing the right thing. Or a good thing. At least it was a necessary thing. It was ironic that I was "teaching her a lesson" about making bad decisions, and was making made bad decisions, myself. But I didn't see it that way, then.
Looking back on it, I should have been thinking about my urges, instead of giving her advice about doing the same thing.
I mounted her and slid in slowly as she groaned and wiggled, trying to get away from the too-large invader. I knew I was larger than average, according to most of the women I'd been with. They said I was both longer and bigger in diameter than other men they'd been with. I didn't let her get used to it, but I didn't just slam it into her, either. It took maybe sixty seconds before my balls touched her ass and I crushed her clit again, this time with the base of my penis.
Then I stopped. I didn't move at all. Her hips still bucked and twisted, but I waited until they calmed. She was getting used to being more full than she'd ever been before.
"Beth," I said.
Her eyes had been closed, but now they opened.
"You just let a man put his naked penis in you. This is what I was talking about. You got so excited you exposed yourself to pregnancy. This is exactly what you can't do, Baby."
"I didn't let you," she huffed.
I pulled out, letting my prick hang at her sexual entrance.
"What are you doing?" she gasped.
"You didn't let me," I said. "I promised not to use you. If you don't want this then I won't do it."
"I do want it, you prick!" she panted.
"You want it bareback?"
"I just want it!" she wailed.
"If I put it back in, I'm going to cum in you," I said. "Is it safe for me to cum in you right now?"
"I don't know," she groaned, as her hand stretched, trying to find my cock.
"Shouldn't you think about that?" I prodded.
"I need it," she cried.
"No, you're just horny and you're letting your body make the decisions, instead of your mind."
I got up and crawled off the bed. I was still hard. It had been very difficult to pull out of her like that, but I felt it was important.
"What are you doing?" she yelled.
"Giving you time to think," I said. "That's the kind of man you need to look for in the future, Beth. You need to find a man who cares enough about you that he won't just use you for a sperm bank."
It made her mad, and her anger flushed the passion out of her. She sat up.
"I hate you!" she yelled.
"You hate me right now," I said. "When you've calmed down we can talk about it."
I picked up my clothes and left the room.
******
I was so confused about all this that I didn't even feel the need to finish my own lust. I just got dressed and let my cock wilt on its own.
I made a grilled cheese sandwich and sat down at my laptop to do a little work. I didn't get much work done. I spent quite a while trying to figure out just what the fuck I thought I was doing. I recognized that what had transpired had absolutely nothing to do with parenting, but I had no idea what else to do. She wanted to be in the adult world, insisted on being in the adult world, so I had to respond to her on that level … didn't I?
It was after two when she appeared. She was wearing the robe again.
"I'm ready to talk," she said.
I saved the files I was working on and swiveled in the chair to face her.
"You still mad at me?"
"No. I'm confused."
"Well, let's work on your confusion, okay?"
"Okay."
"You want to sit down?" I asked.
"I want to sit on your lap again," she said.
That was interesting. I went to the living room and sat on the couch. She sank down on my lap and leaned her head against my shoulder.
"Did you think about your cycle?" I asked. She nodded. "Where are you in it?"
"That's a weird thing for a guy to ask a girl," she said.
"That's a responsible thing for a guy to ask a girl," I said. "After all, he's the sperm donor."
"I guess so," she said.
"So, where are you?"
"My period ended a week ago," she said.
"You're close to being fertile right now?"
"I guess so."
"So if I had finished in you, I could have gotten you pregnant?"
"I guess so."
"And doesn't that bother you?"
"Of course," she said. "I'm not ready to get pregnant. I'm too young to have a baby."
"Finally, you say something responsible," I said.
"I'm not stupid, Uncle Bob," she said, sitting up and looking at me. "I just get so horny I can't think."
"Again, that's why you need a good man to be with. You need a man who will do the thinking if you can't."
"Like you did?"
"Yes. Most men wouldn't do that, but at least you need a guy who will respect your wishes, like your wish not to get pregnant right now."
"Boys will never do that," she said. "And I'm not interested in men. I can't have a man as my boyfriend."
"So you're not interested in me?"
"You're different," she said, casually. "You don't count. You're my uncle. You can't be my boyfriend."
"No, but I might be useful when you're feeling extra horny and it's dangerous to be around a boy you like."
"You mean come to you when I need to get off?"
"That's one thing I could do to help you."
"Except you're not going to let me go on dates unless you're there," she pointed out.
"We're speaking hypothetically," I said.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course," I responded.
"Did you want to fuck me?"
"Yup. I wanted to get as deep in you as I could and fill you with millions of sperm cells."
"Why?" she asked.
"To make that pretty, flat belly of yours swell up with my baby in it," I said.
She blinked.