Serendipity - Version Bravo

 

Serendipity

(Version Bravo)

by Robert Lubrican

Bookapy Edition

Copyright 2014 Robert Lubrican

Second edition edited 2023

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Rights to use cover art purchased at freepic.com

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Contents

Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten

Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Epilogue

 

 

When I decided to write a book named "Serendipity" it was based on one serendipitous moment in the plot where things changed for the primary characters from casual to something more sexual. As I wrote the story, though, my mind fragmented, as it usually does. I'd get to a certain point and think, "You know, the plot could go off this other way and that might be really interesting." But I didn't want to abandon the original plot idea. This is how multiple versions with the same title come into being, delineated from each other by a version identifier.

What this usually means is that the initial chapters of the different versions (sometimes there have been as many as four) are very similar. Sometimes they even share the same entire first chapter or so. This can be confusing to some and annoying to others, but it helps maintain the continuity of each different book. And they are very different books when looked at as a whole.

In the case of "Serendipity" there were three versions. For reasons I won't go into, I decided to publish only two of them. To keep everything from getting confusing, I decided to keep this story's original delineating military phonetic alphabet letter. That's why you'll see a version Bravo and a version Charlie for sale, but no Alpha. Alpha exists. It's just not being published for sale. As a bonus, if you purchase this book, I'll send you the Alpha edition free of charge. Instructions for that will be at the end of the book. Bravo and Charlie are very different books, but contain the same characters, who have different personalities. If that seems confusing then just read the free samples and compare them. I think you'll see what I mean. The word count for each book will also suggest big differences.

Basically, we all do crazy things sometimes.

But that's only because we're all a little crazy.

I hope you enjoy my craziness.

Also, it needs to be said that, at the time this book was originally written (2013), the US states listed in various places did allow marriage between an uncle and his niece. That changed in some places over the years. At the time this book is being published (2023) that kind of marriage is permitted in Georgia and among Jews in Rhode Island. Elsewhere around the world there are dozens of cultures and countries in which such marriages are common. I decided not to edit and rewrite entire sections of this book, even though what is put forth as possible is no longer possible. Just suspend your disbelief about that and we'll all have fun reading.

Thanks for reading,

Bob

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Chapter One

I looked up from my comfortable chaise lounge beside the pool, as the three bikini-clad girls burst out of the patio entrance to the house, screaming as if they were being pursued by ogres. I wasn't surprised. It was the same three girls who had been running around my back yard for years, screaming as if the world was coming to an end. It happened every summer, and it should have been as normal as the sun coming up.

But this time, as I looked up, the book I'd been reading was forgotten as my eyes took in the lush curves and bouncing breasts of my niece, Caitlin, and her two summertime friends.

Emma lived next door to me and was the first to form a bond with Caitlin when I took her in for the month of July one year so my sister could finish her doctoral thesis in art history. I gathered, at the time, that this process involved literally unbroken hours of final editing, and the fewer distractions there were, the better the final manuscript would be. An active, ten year old girl can be quite a distraction, so I agreed to be distracted for a month so Hannah wouldn't be.

I think there was another reason for Hannah's request. Chad, Caitlin's father, had been killed in a motorcycle accident when Caitlin was four, and she'd never had another man in her life, at least not for more than an hour at a time since then. I think maybe Hannah thought Caitlin needed a male role model in her life, and her brother, only four years older, didn't qualify. So I got the nod.

I gave more than one thought to the possibility that Hannah might also use this time out of her daughter's view to blow out her pipes, so to speak. She was a vibrant, good looking woman, and I'd always been a little amazed that some guy hadn't snapped her up in the years after Chad's tragic death. I had only mentioned that to her once, though. Her reply had been, and I quote: "Bobby, honey, I'm doing just fine. How about you keep your nose out of my sex life and I'll keep mine out of yours, okay?"

In any case, that first month Caitlin stayed with me worked out rather well. I was an intentional bachelor, which left me both the time and money to go do whatever I wanted to, within reason. I loved camping and rock climbing, among other active pursuits, and Caitlin did too. She was particularly fond of shooting, something she never got to do in California, where they lived.

And, of course, I had the pool in the back yard, which was surrounded by a tall privacy fence. Caitlin surfed whenever she could get her mother to take her, so she loved water.

Yet another thing that happened that year was that Caitlin saw Emma sitting in a tire swing next door. The constant wind every Oklahoman is familiar with kept the swing moving slightly, but otherwise Emma was just hanging there, looking a little forlorn. I would find out years later that her mother had made her turn off the computer and go outside for some fresh air.

"Who's that?" asked Caitlin, as she carried a bag of groceries from the car into the house.

"Her name is Emma. She lives next door. I get the impression she's kind of shy. You want to invite her to go swimming?"

"How old is she?"

I had forgotten how much age mattered when you're young.

"Your age," I said, cagily.

"Okay, sure," said my niece.

I was the only one on the block who had an in-ground pool, so Caitlin's invitation was eagerly accepted. As it turned out, they were like peas in a pod and the next thing I knew Emma was being included in most of Caitlin's plans. At least when the Wilkinsons let her. I had one of those nodding acquaintances with Emma's parents. His name was Jeff, and hers was Connie. I'm an architect and run my own business, so I'm home most of the time and see the other parents who are home during the day. Connie was one of those. She was a bright, goofy woman with hair that the wind constantly blew all over the place. Why she didn't put it in a ponytail I don't know. She had huge pink eyeglasses and slightly buck teeth, but she was a nice woman and we got along well on the relatively infrequent occasions we ran into each other.

I think one reason Emma took to Caitlin so quickly was that she only had one other friend in the neighborhood, a gangly girl named Ashley, who lived two blocks away. Our neighborhood was a little light on kids their age. There were a ton of teenagers running around, but ten-year-olds were relatively rare.

So, naturally, Emma introduced Caitlin to Ashley and, within two weeks they became the three musketeers. Their kingdom was my back yard.

That first year I wasn't really prepared to host a girl that age, much less three of them, at least in terms of planning out things they might like to do. So the pool, which is big enough to swim laps in, became the babysitter, so to speak, while I got more work done than I had thought I would. I did take Caitlin to a couple of the local attractions, but mostly she hung out with her two new best friends and there was a lot of splashing and screaming in my back yard.

She had a good time, which made me kind of inordinately proud for some reason. In fact, she had such a good time that the next year she asked her mother if she could to take a vacation at Uncle Bob's again. I found out when Hannah, who was now teaching classes at UC Irvine, called me.

"Hey, I thought I'd call you and make your day," she said as an opening.

"Okay, but wait a minute. Let me get out my Red Hawk."

"What's a Red Hawk?" she asked.

"It's a .44 magnum ... you know ... Dirty Harry? Make my day?"

"Ha, ha," she said, dryly. "How about I make your day without firearms being involved?"

"We can try," I said, trying to sound skeptical. "Give it your best shot."

I laughed at my own pun. She ignored it. Artistry is so rarely appreciated.

"Okay. It just so happens it has come to my attention that my studly brother is popular with the ladies. How about them apples?"

"Me?" I blinked. I hadn't been out with a woman in months. It's not that I don't like women. I like them just fine. But a girlfriend likes to fill up your calendar with things for the two of you to do, and pretty soon there aren't any days to lie around the house in your underwear, just drinking beer. Plus my business was still growing, and needed a lot of time. If I couldn't give a woman what she really deserved, I didn't want to have the stress of that kind of relationship.

And, I admit, I was relatively happy with my sex life. I didn't get to have sex with a real live woman all that often, but the rest of the time there was my hand, and my hand was really good at it. Plus it never had a headache. So I wasn't unhappy at all.

"I think you have the wrong brother," I said.

"If only," she said, with a smile in her voice. "You have no idea how many times I wished you had a bigger brother who would treat you as badly as you treated me."

"I didn't treat you badly," I scoffed.

"Says the bully," she quipped.

"I never bullied you," I objected.

"No, you spent all that energy on any boy who was interested in me."

"I had to protect you from them!" I complained. "Dad told me that was my job. You think I wanted to spend all my time worrying about you instead of going out and having fun with my friends?"

"You had plenty of fun, you jerk. You just tried to make sure I didn't."

"Are we arguing?" I asked. "Because I don't want to argue."

"Sorry. I'm just a little stressed. I didn't call to talk about that. I called to tell you that Caitlin had a really great time with you last year, and has asked me to beg you to let her come back this summer for a similar visit."

"Caitlin's the lady I'm popular with?" I laughed. "I can live with that."

"You're a strange man, Bobby. Why don't you have a woman in your life?"

"Why don't you have a man in yours?" I countered.

"I don't have time for a man," she said.

"Exactly," I agreed.

"So ... what do you think? I know you were just doing me a favor last year. You don't have to say yes."

"I had a good time too, Hannah. You have a lively and interesting daughter. She wasn't any trouble. Maybe this time I'll come up with something more fun for her to pursue than doing cannon balls off the diving board."

"Thanks. To be honest, I could use some me time."

"This is not a problem at all," I said. "Just have her call me and tell me when I need to pick her up at the airport."

And so a tradition was born. I wasn't the only one to be glad she came back for seconds. Caitlin and the other two musketeers did, indeed, have a fun-filled month, which included a trip to Six Flags over Texas. The following year we went rock climbing in the Rockies. Emma and Ashley didn't go with us on that jaunt. Rock climbing, it seemed, was a little too intimidating for their parents, who lived in a state where the highest point in the geographical area was Black Mesa, which was pretty much impossible to fall off of anywhere. Real mountains made them nervous.

But that was fine, because while Caitlin loved spending time with her two best buddies, she liked doing things with just me, too. Part of that was because she always came with a plethora of questions to ask. They weren't necessarily questions that required a man to answer, though she asked a lot about why boys did this or that thing. I think she just reveled in having an adult at her fingertips, who wouldn't tell her he was too busy to spend time with her or answer a plethora of questions.

She also loved to camp out and see lots of different places. It was because of that that she asked me to drive her home that year, instead of putting her on a plane. We toured Yellowstone that year and it was great. She was a certified tree-climbing tomboy in those days. I guess you could say that I brought out the tomboy in her, and Emma and Ashley nourished the girl in her. It was a good match on all sides.

But our "jaunts", as she called them, were infrequent. We were rarely gone from home for more than three days. The rest of the time she hung out in the pool with her cohorts.

That was all fine back when they were prepubescent. They made a lot of noise, and they dashed around as if they were running from their worst nightmares, but I could still read and do lifeguard duty at the same time. They wore bikinis which, had they been on bigger, bustier girls, might have been interesting. But on these girls they were merely strips of cloth that covered the parts their mothers wanted covered. I honestly think they'd have been just as happy running around buck naked, like they probably did when they were toddlers.

It was interesting in several ways. As the years went by, I got a yearly update on how puberty was treating the musketeers. I watched those polka-dotted bikini tops begin to show that there was actually something under them, and those mounds got bigger every year. The girls didn't seem to notice, though. While their bodies changed, they otherwise seemed to stay exactly the same when they gathered in the back yard to jump in the pool and play the kind of silly games that kids play everywhere.

When they were fourteen, and puberty had its fangs deep in them, they seemed a little shier in some ways, a little less sure of themselves, perhaps. Ashley had braces and she hated them, thinking they made her look like a robot of some kind. I told her that was nonsense and that the braces would simply help her teeth become as beautiful as the rest of her.

It was just an offhand comment ... you know ... something designed to support her self-image, to help her get through a tough time. I had no idea it would have such far reaching effects on my life. In fact, I didn't even think she'd remember me saying it. After all, I was thirty, practically ancient in their minds. The only interest they had in me was that I had a swimming pool in my back yard and a niece who was fun to play with while she was in town.

Another reason it was obvious Caitlin's two friends had no interest in me was that once Caitlin and I got in the car to make the drive to the west coast, I didn't see them for the rest of the summer.

Then, the year she was fifteen, she arrived and, like magic, she was a young woman, with bulges in all the right places. I remember wondering how that could have happened in just a year. I'm sure I'd seen Ashley and Emma around. Emma lived next door and more than once I'd heard her call out "Hi, Mister Simmons," but I hadn't noticed her flowering like Caitlin had.

The first time they came to swim that year, though ... I noticed. They had done the same thing Caitlin had done.

Have you noticed how a girl who is fifteen these days, looks an awful lot like a girl who was eighteen in the forties and fifties? They grow up fast. It sounds silly, but if you've ever raised tomatoes, there's a point where the fruit has turned red, and you can't tell just by looking whether it's fully ripe, or not quite. It was kind of like that, looking at them. They looked like a women, but of course I knew they were just teenagers, not quite ripe, yet.

They had always been fun to watch. Maybe a tiny bit of that was a male, watching females, but I didn't think of them as sexual beings. Not until that year, anyway. When a girl has real hips, and real breasts, and lips that are full, somehow, and look kissable, you can't help but wonder what happens when they go on dates.

Assuming they were allowed to date. I had no idea about that.

Another thing that happened when I saw her for the first time that year was that I remembered Hannah calling me to ask if Caitlin could come back that second summer. My sister had complained that I cramped her style when we were teenagers. And I had. It had been intentional, and not just because our father had asked me to "keep an eye on her." Hannah was the first adolescent girl I'd ever seen naked. It had been an accident. I'd walked into the bathroom to pee while she was drying off after taking a shower. She'd been so shocked she froze, and I got a good look.

After that, the idea of any of the guys she knew getting to see that just made my blood boil. It wasn't that I wanted her to become a nun. It was just that none of those guys deserved a girl like her.

The year Caitlin was fifteen, I had a few flashbacks to those days when her mother had been the same age. Caitlin didn't ask if she could date any of the guys Emma and Ashley knew, but I'd have said no if she had. In any case, it didn't come up. Ashley and Emma never talked about boys while I was around.

The next year, when she was sixteen, she looked even better. And an odd thing happened. Just as she had matured into a more beautiful, sexy, desirable young woman, my fantasies about her matured too. That was the first time that I wished I could accidentally walk in on Caitlin, like I had walked in on her mother all those years ago. I didn't, of course. I just thought about it. And yes, I admit I thought about it while I masturbated. So sue me.

That year, she came back from being somewhere with the other two musketeers and, when she walked in, I happened to be cleaning my Rock Island 1911 pistol.

"You have a lot of guns," she commented.

"Yeah," I said, holding the barrel up to the window and peering through it so I could see if it was clean inside.

"How come?" she asked.

"It's fun to shoot," I said. "Plus I'd like to be able to protect myself if I ever need to."

"Everybody back home says that anybody who owns a gun is a paranoid wacko."

"Do you think I'm a paranoid wacko?" I asked, putting the gun back together.

"Of course not," she said. "Can I hold it?"

She had shot my .22 rifle dozens of times, but I hadn't put a pistol in her hand yet. I taught her how to lock the slide back and how to determine it was empty of ammunition. When I explained the slide release, she pressed it and the slide snapped forward.

"It's heavy," she said, pointing it at the couch.

"That helps absorb the recoil of the round going off."

"Can I shoot it?"

"You might turn into a gun nut," I kidded.

"Are you a gun nut?"

"I suppose I am," I said. "At least that's what your surfer friends would probably call me."

"Then being a gun nut can't be as bad as they say. I'm willing to take my chances." She grinned.

So I took her to the range. I didn't start her with the .45. I put a Ruger Mark III in her hands and, after half an hour of instruction, she started shooting better groups than I did. An hour later we'd worked our way through my nine mil and a Taurus chambered in forty caliber, and the Rock Island was singing its song as if it had fallen in love with the girl holding it.

That's the kind of girl Caitlin was.

Have you ever gone on You Tube and seen those silly videos of girls shooting guns? They're supposed to be sexy, but they're usually not. I've broken them down into two types. The first is the girl who shouldn't have a gun in her hands, no matter how she's dressed. She doesn't know what she's doing and all I see when she's flailing away with her eyes closed is a dangerous situation. But the second type are the women who do know what's in their hands and how to use it. Why they pose in bikinis to do it is beyond me, but there's a difference between these women and type one. It's hard to describe. They are focused, for one thing, with all their attention on working the tool in their hands. Their stance is right, so they're not wobbling around. They lean into the recoil. It's just a thing of beauty.

And the type-two women really do look a little sexy.

Caitlin wasn't wearing a bikini, but she looked sexy as all get out, wearing a ball cap with her ponytail through the hole above the adjusting strap in the back.

Quite suddenly, I wished she was naked, even though those are the stupidest videos of all out there.

And yes, I know, she was only sixteen, but like I said earlier, you couldn't tell it by looking. On that day she looked like she should be in college, instead of finishing up high school.

Which brings us to this year. As a seventeen-year-old, she presented an image that I knew meant I was in trouble. She was bouncy, and sultry and sexy. She knew me well enough that she was comfortable with me under almost any circumstances. As an example, I'll just say that, as a ten year old, her PJs consisted of a long T shirt with panties on underneath. That hadn't changed, and she was just as comfortable being around Uncle Bob that way now as she was then. Except that now, under that T shirt, was a beautiful, full grown woman, rather than a cute little girl.

And her friends were right there with her. All of them had the lush curves of young women ready for being mated with.

Still, I kept my fantasies to myself, and tried not to let them catch me ogling them. It seemed to work. Unless they needed something from me, they usually pretty much ignored me when they were together.

Which is why I was somewhat surprised on this sunny day when Ashley changed direction from the other two and came running directly toward me instead of continuing to the pool. I saw a packet of paper in her right hand.

"Here's your mail, Mr. Simmons," she panted, bending over and extending her hand.

I suddenly had a premonition of what the Grand Canyon might be like as she held her pose, bent over, waiting for me to take the mail from her hand. Then my mind flashed through a little, admittedly silly, fantasy wherein her much too small bikini top failed in its attempt to keep her entirely too large breasts cupped in their embrace. The bikini parted between the cups and, in this fantasy, her breasts fell about a foot to land on my chest, bouncing up and down like basketballs.

I told you it was silly.

I realized I was staring at her cleavage, and that my mail was still in her hand. I didn't know how long she'd been bent over like that, but I knew it was longer than propriety demanded. I dragged my eyes from her truly luscious cleavage up to her face, whereupon I realized I was busted big time. But instead of screaming at me for ogling her breasts, there was this little half smile, a sort of almost smirk.

"Your mail?" she reminded me.

I grabbed it. "Thanks," I croaked.

"No problem," she said, smiling normally.

I would never have known anything was up, except that as she ran back to the group my eyes saw that they'd been watching this delivery of mail entirely too intently, and my ears heard her excited whisper as she got back to them.

"You were right! He did stare right at them!"

I heard one of the girls say "I told you!" but I couldn't tell which one it was.

The point is that quite suddenly, from my perspective, the girls were all grown up ... and not just physically. I was pretty sure that Ashley Paddington, who had just gotten her driver's license a couple of weeks ago, had also just flashed me her boobs.

Okay, so it was only some of her boobs ... but it was on purpose!

And that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that, if my instincts (and ears, of course) were running smoothly, there were other partners abetting her in that particular crime.

Hmmmm. Bad analogy. Sorry. The word "crime" suggests there's a victim, and believe me, there was no victim in this little social offense. No sir. None at all. I almost called her back to ask her to bend over again so I could give her a second opinion.

But I didn't. Instead I lifted the book, as if nothing was wrong, and pretended to read while I surreptitiously watched the three hooligans over the top of the pages. Their heads were together and they were giggling like they were ten again, instead of seventeen. As I watched, my niece reached back with both hands and did that thing girls do to reposition their bikini bottoms. You know what I'm talking about. They hook a finger under the cloth and pull it away from the skin and down. It's an unconscious thing most of the time, just instinct encouraging them to be a little more modest or make things more comfortable. I'd seen these girls do that at least a hundred times, if not more.

But not since they were all grown up and teasing me like Ashley just had.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking they had all decided to offer up their virginity to the older man they all thought of as Caitlin's cool uncle, and that I had to satisfy all three of them that night as I taught them how wonderful it was to have orgasms while full of hot, stiff prick.

Okay. So maybe that's what I was thinking about. But it wasn't like that; wasn't like that at all. After splashing around for half an hour, they all ran into the house, where I knew they were taking showers and getting dressed for whatever was actually planned next. It might be a trip to the mall, or it might be a session of (re)painting each other's nails or doing each other's hair. They might even go for a run together. As I said, Caitlin was a surfer, and liked to stay in shape. And I know Emma played soft ball. She had that muscled slightly broad build that reminds you of those gymnasts in the Olympics, except that her chest was way too busty for that particular group.

And when had that happened? I had a sudden mental image of the girls going into the Narnia wardrobe, where they spent half a dozen years growing up, before coming back out in what, to me, seemed like ten minutes. Suddenly, my day was much more interesting.

Not that I thought anything would actually happen. I knew better than that. Caitlin wasn't a vamp. She was a sweet girl whose major struggle in life thus far had been that she wanted to do whatever her older brother got to do, and ran afoul of her mother's desire to protect her from harm in the process. American culture wasn't too happy with her either, for that matter, because she loved encroaching on what most people would call "male territory".

In any case, I was on solid ground now. They'd been taking showers (together?) for as long as they'd been using my pool, and I had fantasized about what that must look like for more years than I will admit to. Even at twelve, with those svelte, curveless bodies, I'd wished I could watch them scamper around Caitlin's bedroom naked. And now that they had found all those missing curves, it would be oh, so much better.

So I thought about that for a few seconds, and then adjusted the erection that had suddenly bloomed in my shorts, and went back to reading. If they needed anything from me, they knew where I was.

What I was not aware of was that Caitlin happened to be looking out the window at me from her bedroom when I did the adjusting.

And she was completely aware of what I was doing when I did it.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Things might have ended right there. After all, it isn't unusual for a young woman to experiment a little with trying to see what it's like to get a man to notice her. But it rarely goes farther than that, at least when the man is almost old enough to be her father. I certainly didn't expect Ashley to do anything else, much less Caitlin; at least not with me.

But little things happen that, like the fabled wings of the butterfly on one side of the planet, can eventually lead to the creation of a hurricane on the other side.

And that little thing that I think changed everything for all three of the girls that summer happened just about the time I closed my book and got up to go inside and find something to divert my mind from imagining those three little beauties frolicking naked together in the big walk-in shower in the bathroom Caitlin had claimed as her own while she was staying at my house.

The diversion I chose was to make myself a three layer sandwich of Black Forest ham, smoked turkey, cheese and Miracle Whip. I was slicing the tomato and lettuce to complete the masterpiece when I heard a thump upstairs. About a minute later, after I had taken only one bite of a really delicious sandwich, Emma came tearing into the kitchen.

"Cat's hurt!" she blurted. "She fell and hurt her ankle! You need to come quick!"

I put down the sandwich and followed Emma, not really expecting to find anyone really hurt. How many times have you heard a woman's agonized cry and then heard her say, "I broke a nail!" I was also distracted by Emma, who was now wearing shorts and a tank top. Her blond hair was cut in what used to be called a pageboy style, and as I went up the stairs behind her I noticed there was no bra strap marring the smooth surface of her back. I was thinking about what the front of that shirt might look like when I heard Caitlin moaning in pain and forgot about Emma.

She was lying on the bed on her side, with her left leg out in front of her. She was holding her ankle with both hands. Ashley was beside her looking concerned, but otherwise doing nothing.

"What happened?" I asked, automatically being that adult who always wants to get to the bottom of things. It showed how worried the girls were that they told the truth instead of making something up.

"She was jumping on the bed and she bounced funny and that foot went on the floor instead of the bed," said Emma.

"Jumping on the bed?" I asked, incredulous. These girls were in high school, not eight years old.

"Is it broken?" asked Ashley, obviously very worried.

"Let me see it," I said.

I went to the foot of the bed and sat sort of sideways while I reached for Caitlin's foot. I didn't grasp it, but instead just told her to lay it on my lap. She did that, scooting around on the bed and ending up lying on her back with her right foot behind me.

That's the "little thing" I mentioned earlier. She just happened to position herself with her legs spread.

I formed a cradle with my hands and she gingerly let her calf down on one hand while I supported her bare heel with the other. The ankle was swelling, but didn't show any bruising yet.

"Can you move your toes?" I asked.

Her toes moved just a little, then more.

"Yes," she said, tears in her voice.

"Now point your toe," I instructed her.

Very slowly she extended. I watched the ankle, which looked pretty normal, and then looked up to see what her face was registering.

At least that's what I intended to do. Along the way, as my eyes went up the length of her leg on the way to her face, they encountered the hem of the denim skirt she was wearing. That skirt, had she been standing, would have come to a point maybe two inches above her knees. But she wasn't standing, and in the process of scooting around to get her leg in my lap the skirt had slid up a bit.

That wasn't the problem, though. The problem was that my eyes just sort of naturally followed the smooth, flawless skin of her inner thigh as it led to the juncture of her legs. I didn't mean to ogle her. It was just a normal, instinctive thing for any man to do ... you know ... get a shot of panties.

Except that she wasn't wearing any.

That was the problem.

Dear, sweet, innocent little Caitlin was going commando.

More than that, because her knees were a good foot apart, I got a crystal clear view of labia that belonged on a woman twice her age. By that, I mean her outer lips weren't tight and rolled in to create the classic camel toe. No, these lips were pushed apart by inner lips that looked something like a rosebud, trying to blossom. The blossoming inner lips were composed of wrinkled skin that was full enough that I instantly imagined sucking it between my lips and sort of chewing on it. I literally couldn't help thinking of that.

Those lips were gorgeous. They had nothing to do with an innocent girl. They announced this girl was now ripe, and ready to be mounted as a woman. It didn't hurt that there wasn't a trace of hair anywhere around that pretty, grown up looking pussy.

I hate to break the mood. I could sit, with my eyes closed, and remember that little glimpse of her pussy for ten minutes and be quite happy. Hell, I won't lie. I have sat for ten minutes while remembering that lucky, serendipitous glimpse. More than once. But it's important to clear something up here. I don't want you to think that Caitlin did this on purpose - exposed herself to me, I mean. They really were jumping on the bed, and it really was an accident that she landed wrong and hurt her ankle. Now, she had put that skirt on without panties intentionally ... but not for the purpose of giving me a shot. That part was just a happy accident. Not for her, of course.

But it was for me. It was simple serendipity. Suddenly, though nobody had planned it, I got to see something I'd dreamed about for years.

I heard Emma gasp beside me. She had ended up standing right at the bottom of Caitlin's foot. When Caitlin had pointed her toe, in fact, it was right at Emma.

So, basically, Emma could see exactly what I could see.

I think it was the gasp, combined with the fact that things didn't hurt as much as she expected them to, that caused Caitlin to move her gaze from her injured ankle to her friend's face. I know this because I tore my eyes away from her delicious looking pussy and finally looked at her face.

"What?" she asked, sounding worried. She hadn't seen anything wrong with her ankle, and the pain hadn't been bad. But Emma's gasp had alerted her that something was wrong.

Emma was apparently still rattled, because again she just blurted out the truth.

"I can see your coochie!" she whispered, breathlessly. Her meaning was obvious. If she could see it ... so, too, could Uncle Bob see it.

Now I could have tried to bull my way through and pretend that Emma was wrong. In the short second or two before I had to address this issue, my brain decided that deflection was the better course of action.

"Coochie?" I had to keep myself from laughing. It actually helped calm me down. "What? Are you guys in third grade? Let's worry about her ankle instead of her ... coochie." I said the offending word in a high-pitched voice, trying to sound very young. I also tried to give them the impression that I saw "coochies" regularly, the better portion of every day. I went on immediately without knowing why I felt that was important. I've thought about it since then, and have decided that something in my brain wanted to defuse a potential mine field and reduce the whole incident to merely a humorous anecdote.

I wanted to make it look like I was blowing the whole thing off. I also wanted to keep looking, of course, but I didn't realize it just then.

In my defense, I did examine the ankle. It was swelling even more, but I was pretty sure it was just a sprain. I gently used the hand cupping her heel to begin moving the ankle through larger and larger arcs of movement.

But I confess I didn't look at the ankle while I did this. Instead, I used my side vision to stare at that luscious young pussy. I was even so perverted as to move her ankle away from me a little, probably trying to see if those sticky looking lips would part and hint of the cavern my cock had stiffened for.

A second "little thing" happened at that point. Caitlin had been in pain and had been worried, which had caused her to forget about her nudity under her skirt. Now, however, she was well aware of what I (and Emma, who had not moved) could see. She could have reacted like I expected her to react. She could have screamed and blushed and jerked her foot out of my hand. She could have closed her legs and pulled her skirt down to achieve some measure of modesty.

But she didn't.

And while you, the reader, have time to reflect on that, and make assumptions about it and so on and so forth, I was in the heat of the moment, so to speak. So was Caitlin. So were Emma and Ashley. We didn't have time to parse it all out. We just reacted.

Basically, I ogled my niece's pussy. And, basically, she let me stare!

Which led to a third of those "little things" that happened that day.

Like my niece (though I wasn't aware she was on the plan too), I don't wear any underwear. I just like the feel of the freedom of movement. Makes going to the john quicker too. You just have to ensure you shake well.

Unlike my niece, I was wearing shorts that covered everything up - barely. They were running shorts, to be exact, the kind that are mostly cotton, but have some other stuff in them too. The legs were short and they fit me pretty well. For running they were perfect, but they are in no way designed (or intended) to camouflage an erection inside them. Such a condition is practically advertised, in fact. What made it even worse was that, because I had sat down while the thing was soft, it was aimed at the opening of the leg, and when it decided it needed to be ready to plunder Caitlin's luscious pussy, and therefore stiffened, the tip peeked barely out of the leg opening.

I heard Emma gasp again and looked up to see her looking at my crotch.

That's when I looked down and learned what I just told all you nice people.

"Sorry," I said, for some insane reason. My right hand abandoned Caitlin's heel and reached to pull on the leg of my shorts, covering up the one-eyed snake that had been trying to slither out to introduce itself to the girls.

"Oh-Em-Gee!" gasped Emma, who on this day, at least, had some strange compulsion to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. "He's got a boner, you guys!" She pointed, just in case anybody in the room might not understand which "he" she was referring to, or where said boner might be found.

My mind whirled. While I didn't have the luxury of lots of time to think about all this, that didn't mean I was just slobbering and staring. I didn't understand why she was bare under her skirt. I didn't understand why she hadn't reacted badly to me seeing she was bare under her skirt. But I knew there was the potential for unhappiness in this situation.

I looked up at my niece's face. I loved Caitlin, and did not want to hurt her feelings. Further, I didn't want her to be afraid of me. We'd had too many good times to fuck things up now.

I actually saw the pink flush bloom at the top of her chest, which was exposed by the tank top she was wearing. It was identical to the ones her two friends were wearing, except that hers was yellow, while Emma's was powder blue and Ashley's was lime green. My eyes were drawn to two distinct points on the front of that shirt, just below that bloom of pink, and then I dragged them back to watch the blush stain her cheeks, eventually going as far as her forehead.

But she still didn't reach to press her skirt between her legs, to obstruct anyone's view.

She met my gaze and I saw what I almost thought was defiance there. I don't know why, but I decided to mess with her a little. I looked back at her stiff nipples, and then up to her face. I was sure she saw exactly where I was looking. Then I looked up her skirt again, and back to her face. That's when the blush reached her forehead, by the way.

"I think it's just sprained," I said, looking right in her eyes. "I've got an ace bandage in the medicine cabinet. I'll wrap it up and we'll see if you can put any weight on it. If you can't, I believe there are some crutches out in the garage, too. Okay?"

"Yes," she said. Her breathing was both deeper and faster than her circumstances would normally have suggested. "Thank you," she added.

I looked at the dimples her excited nipples were making in the thin fabric of the shirt, and then up her skirt one last time. She watched me do that and I heard her swallow.

"It was my pleasure," I said, softly.

I looked at the other girls, who were smart enough to know something besides the ankle had just happened. Boners were not part of the usual interaction I had with them. At least I hoped that's what they thought. They had wide, round eyes.

And their nipples were spiked as well.

Chapter Two

When you're removed from a situation like that, you have time to think. What you think about is the key to things. You can think about why everything happened, and what led to things happening. You can try to figure out what to do next. Or, like me, you can close your eyes for ten minutes and think about that pretty, pink pussy that's just begging to be skewered by a spurting prick.

So, when I returned with the ace bandage and interrupted an excited conversation that was cut off like the end of a carrot with a meat cleaver, I was still reacting to things, rather than pursuing some actual plan. What kind of plan I should have been pursuing will forever remain a mystery, because I didn't think about that, as I mentioned. I say this because, considering how things eventually turned out, I do not want anyone to think I became a predator, who stalked those poor girls like the pervert I was.

I was still a little rattled, but I couldn't miss the fact that the skirt had been rearranged. It was now tucked demurely between her thighs. Only an idiot would have thought about reaching for the skirt and putting it back the way it had been. So I ignored that urge and all I did was pay attention to the ankle as I wrapped it. That wasn't as easy as it sounds, by the way. That's because she put both feet in my lap when I sat down to wrap her ankle, which meant while I was holding her left one, her right foot was lying smack dab on top of my penis, which was still somewhat firm. Lest you get the wrong idea about her, she didn't move that foot around, trying to feel my cock. It just lay there, all pink and bare. When I was finished I looked directly at her still pink face (meaning I didn't let my eyes stop anywhere else on the way from her foot to her face) and said, "Gently, now ... try to put a little weight on it."

She lifted her legs and rolled to sit on the side of the bed. Emma went to lend her a shoulder as she scooted forward and touched the floor.

"It's not so bad now," she said.

Pervert that I am, my mind flashed to that fantasy every guy has had at one time or another, where a girl, who is naked and underneath him, says those words in a very different context. Such is the power of pussy. And even when all you do is glimpse it! I tried to push that thought away.

"You want to try standing up?" I asked.

She nodded, looking down at her ankle. I think the pain had all her attention at that point. Ashley came around and her two friends became her crutches as she stood, first on one foot, and then letting her weight settle on both.

"It hurts," she said. "But I don't think it's broken or anything."

"I don't either," I said. "But we need to keep an eye on it. First, though, let's get an ice pack on it for a while. You can try walking on it later."

I went to put ice cubes in a quart sized zip lock bag and returned. My cock was under control now, and hanging harmlessly again.

"Twenty minutes lying down," I said, "before you try to stand up again. I'll go look for the crutches."

"Yes, sir," she said, looking at me. I saw her blush again. I wondered if something bad had just transpired, and I wasn't thinking about the ankle. I hoped not. I really did think the world of her, and the last thing I wanted was for her to decide that her summers with Uncle Bob had come to a screeching halt.

"We'll stay with her," said Ashley, needlessly.

I hadn't really expected either of them to come help me search for a pair of crutches.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I found the aluminum crutches in the garage, right where I thought they'd be. When I got back to her bedroom, the girls had recovered their composure. I say that because I didn't interrupt an excited confab this time. They were confident again, and there were no traces of giggling or tomfoolery, though all those nipples were still erect. Now that I think back on it that should have told me something ... warned me that there might be further consequences from this little serendipitous incident. It would have been better if they'd been a little giddy and "girlish" about things, if you know what I mean.

But young women who are stretching their sexual wings, in an environment they feel safe in, are often less wary than would be wise.

Again, I want the kind reader out there to understand that I wasn't trying to help these girls explore their sexuality. Not at all. But girls do that, just like boys do, and they do it whenever and wherever they feel is the "right time" to open up to new experiences. Every girl decides, usually quite suddenly and without warning, to intentionally try something sexual for the first time. It just happens.

But I didn't recognize any signs that something like that might be going on, so all I did was deliver the crutches, remind her to keep the ice on her ankle for at least ten more minutes, and call me if she felt like she needed to be seen at the hospital.

Then I left them in her room to return to my sandwich.

The bread had dried out and was all crusty.

I sighed and ate it anyway.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I'm an architect, and I have my own business, so I get to work when I want to. I was working on a project in my CAD program when Ashley tapped on the open doorway of my office.

"She's going to take a nap," she said, leaning into the room just a little. "We didn't know if we should leave the ice pack on her ankle while she falls asleep or not."

"Won't hurt a thing," I said. "No more jumping on the beds. Got it?"

"It was just this once," she said, immediately. "It was just to see ..."

The silence made me look from the screen to the nervous looking girl at my office door.

"Just to see what?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said, obviously lying. "We're going to go now."

"Okay," I said. "See you tomorrow?"

I don't know why I asked that question. Maybe it was just me on autopilot. The musketeers got together every day that Caitlin was in town, unless she and I were doing something that excluded her friends. That didn't happen all that often. We'd done all the museums and sights-to-see things when she was younger.

"Really?" She sounded worried, somehow. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" I asked. "She jumped on the bed, and now she's living with the consequences of it. It's just a life lesson in making better decisions," I said.

"Decisions," she said, softly.

"Yes," I said, looking at her. I suddenly realized she was wearing a bra under the tank top. She hadn't been wearing a bra earlier. "You make decisions as you grow up, and then you have to live with the results of those decisions."

"Of course," she said. "Okay. Good."

I wondered what that meant, but she turned and was gone like smoke from a good cigar in a cool breeze.

I gave it another twenty minutes at the computer and then went upstairs to check on Caitlin. She wasn't in bed.

I found her outside again, on a chaise lounge by the pool. The crutches were lying on the concrete beside her and the ice pack, or what was left of it, was draped across her ankle. She was in her bikini again, laying out in the sun, eyes closed.

"Well, you made it down here," I observed.

She opened her eyes. "Yeah. It's not as bad as I originally thought."

"Good," I said. "You need to take it easy for a while, though."

"I know," she said. Then, "Uncle Bob?"

"Yes?"

There was a long pause, until she eventually said, "Never mind."

Now she wasn't so confident. Gone was the brash young woman who put herself out there to see what would happen and didn't worry about it before hand. It made me a little sad to see that. I was used to the fearless tomboy, who was willing to take on just about any challenge. We'd always been able to talk about things, just about anything, in fact, and I did not view her reticence now as a good thing. I think that's what made me say what I said.

"You want to talk about it?"

"About what?" she responded, still firmly reticent.

"I think you know," I suggested.

She blushed beet red, and I knew she knew that I knew she knew.

"Maybe," she said, softly.

"Whenever you're ready," I said. "I'm going for a swim."

"Is it okay for me to get in the water with my leg like this?" she asked, obviously glad that the subject had been changed.

"Sure. In fact that's probably the best thing you could do for it," I said. "The water will support your weight, and you can work the ankle, loosening it up."

"Will you help me get to the water?" she asked, sitting up.

"You don't mind if your pervert uncle touches you?" I couldn't resist it. Don't ask me why.

Her eyes widened. I knew she was shocked that I was that open about things. Then that stubborn tomboy appeared suddenly on her face.

"I don't think of you as a pervert," she said, firmly.

"Maybe you should," I shot back.

That got her, but not for long.

"I'm not worried about being around you," she said. "In fact ..." She closed down, and then hastily said, "Never mind. Just help me into the pool, Uncle Pervert."

I helped her to the edge of the pool with her arm over my shoulders and my hand on her side, my fingertips just below her breast, lying on her ribs. It was so tempting to cup that breast ... but I didn't. She hopped along to the edge of the pool and then let go of me to fall in, body extended. She landed on her back, arms spread, bad foot up in the air. I saw the cups of her top float briefly to the surface before being dragged down by her descending body. Through the wavering water, I had a tantalizingly unclear view of her naked, young breasts as she grabbed for the errant top and tried to put things back into place while holding her breath and staying off her bad foot.

She came up, spluttering, arms behind her and kicked, like she normally would. That hurt the ankle, though, and she went under with a gurgle.

I jumped in, dove under her and pushed her up with one hand on her firm bubble butt. Her arms had left off trying to get modest again, in support of not drowning, and the bikini top was again floating in the water. My underwater vantage point was much clearer, and I could see her breasts were just as delightful as her lower parts had been. I pushed off the bottom to come up beside her and gripped one of her upper arms, pulling her toward the shallow end.

She struggled at first, and then realized what I was doing, and went limp, knowing it would be easier for me to tow her like that. She spent plenty of time in the ocean and was well trained about water safety and lifeguard type things as a result.

I got her to where we could stand and put her on her feet. Her hands covered her breasts as she stood up, but the instinct to wipe the water out of her eyes was too strong and her breasts were left briefly bare as she cleared her vision. Then the hands went back to cover her nipples.

"I've seen them before," I said, calmly.

"When?" she gasped.

"Not yours," I laughed. "But I've seen other breasts on other women. Coochies too, for that matter." I said that intentionally, emphasizing the word I was deriding.

"That's just the word we've used since we were kids," she groaned, obviously embarrassed about it.

"And now you're old enough to use the proper word," I suggested.

"Vagina sounds so stupid," she shot back.

"I was thinking pussy," I said.

"Uncle Bob!" she gasped.

"Well, when you flash yours at someone, don't expect them to call it by any other name," I said, grinning. This didn't seem so terribly serious now. It was more like before, when we were able to talk about other things most people don't talk about. Like the time she'd been watching a DVD and I told her I was going to the grocery store and asked if she wanted anything.

"Tampons," she'd said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. In truth I think she was distracted by the movie, and that lowered her inhibitions.

"I've never bought tampons before," I said. "Are there more than one kind?"

She had blushed then, and said "I'll just go with you."

But on the way I'd insisted she teach me all about tampons. By the time she was finished, it didn't seem so strange anymore. That kind of atmosphere asserted itself now, as odd as that might sound.

"I didn't flash it at you," she said. "I mean I didn't mean for you to see me like that."

"Why didn't you cover up, then?" I asked. It was a legitimate question.

"I did," she said.

"Not until I left the room. Why didn't you cover up as soon as you realized what I was staring at?"

I don't know," she pouted. "Now turn around so I can fix my suit."

"No," I said, calmly.

"What do you mean, no?" she asked, staring at me.

"You turn around and I'll tie it for you," I said.

She blinked several times, looking confused. I could just see her mind turning over what I'd offered, looking for some joke or catch. She didn't find one.

"Okay," she said.

She turned and arranged the suit to cover her breasts. I reached around, inserted my fingers under the edge of the bottom of the cups, and then slid them back to find the strings. My fingertips brushed the bottoms of her breasts in the process and she sucked in air and moved backwards. All that did was make her run into me, and that bubble butt pressed right on my cock. Thankfully it wasn't hard at the time.

"I thought you weren't afraid of me," I said, pulling on the strings.

"I'm not!" she barked, looking over her shoulders at me. "You just startled me."

I tied the strings in a bow and pushed her away from me. She turned, looking disgruntled.

"You're a beautiful young woman," I said, calmly. "Don't be surprised that, like any other man, I'd be more than happy to view that beauty any time I get the chance."

She was startled. That was plain. I would find out later that the bouncing on the bed business was for the purpose of exploring what bouncing breasts looked like without a bra on. The idea was for them to watch each other and decide whether it looked sexy or gross. The going commando part (they were all that way too) was just for the excitement of doing that. They didn't intend anybody (me) to see them like that, and when it had happened, it had all seemed out of control to them. They weren't ready for that much exposure, but when it happened, it was something none of them could ignore. Think of walking into a room and closing the door, which locks behind you, only to find there's a tiger in the room with you. It's impossible to ignore, and difficult to deal with. They were still processing the results, and she didn't expect me to approach the subject so boldly.

"Thank you," she said, somewhat dazed. I think it was just her mother's training on what to do when one complimented you.

"You're welcome. I've abused you more than enough for one day. I'll go get something ready for supper."

I had the sliding door open when she called out to me and I turned. She was standing there, looking at me.

"You didn't abuse me," she said.

"I'm glad you feel that way," I responded.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It took two more days for things to smooth out. Ashley and Emma came over each day, but they were reserved around me. It was obvious the first day when they arrived and rang the bell instead of just coming in, as they had made a habit of for the last year or so. I hadn't paid any attention to that, but was surprised when I found them waiting to be invited in.

"Yes?" I asked, not understanding.

"Can we come in?" asked Emma, who got a little pink in the cheeks.

"Of course," I said. "Why? What changed? Did you suddenly become vampires and now have to be invited in?"

Ashley, who apparently felt a little more secure in this new atmosphere, rolled her eyes. "You're very strange," she said, as if that made any sense at all.

They disappeared upstairs and the girls spent all day up there. Caitlin took care of feeding them and herself that day, and asked if she could spend the night at Emma's. She'd always just told me when she was going to do that, but I waved a hand at her and told her to have fun.

The next day, though, things appeared to have returned to normal. I was working, and heard the front door open as the girls came in. A little later Caitlin popped her head into the doorway.

"We're going to swim," she said.

"Please don't drown," I replied. "I've got a little more to do here before I can do lifeguard duty."

"Be sure to come out when you're finished," she said.

That seemed a little odd, but maybe things were still a bit unsettled.

When I closed things down and went outside, though, it didn't take long before I realized something was going on. They were in the water, but when I had settled into my chair with my book, they all got out and came toward me. I figured they were going to ask if they could order pizza or something, but part of my mind went on alert. I didn't know why at first until they reached me.

Modern bikinis, at least the expensive ones my niece and her friends favored, have a feature I'm not sure most parents are aware of. They have modesty panels in them. That's not the strange part. Almost all bikinis have modesty panels in them. But with the expensive bikinis, they aren't permanently sewn in. You can remove them. That's the part parents may not be aware of. And as the girls arrived to stand, displayed before me, I was treated to the view of three girls in bikinis from which the modesty panels had been removed. The wet cloth was, therefore, like a second skin on them.

They were excited. That much was plain, if only by the jutting nipples beneath the thin cloth of their tops. It was a warm day, and it had been warm for more than a month, so it wasn't the temperature of either the water or air that was responsible for the erection of those nipples.

I felt a stirring in my loins as I realized this display was intentional.

So ... I dropped my eyes and examined the bottoms.

Emma was not shaved. That much was plain from the puffy form her pubic hair made. Caitlin, as I have already described, had bulging, thick pussy lips, and they looked almost as well defined under the wet cloth of her suit as they had when I looked up the leg of her skirt and saw them naked. Only Ashley had the quintessential camel toe, comprised of firm and firmly closed outer labia that were unhindered by hair, like Caitlin's sex was.

"What's this all about," I asked, trying to look up into their faces. The sun was behind their heads, though, so I couldn't see their expressions.

"What do you think?" asked Caitlin. "Do you think we'd get in trouble if we went to the public pool like this?"

It was obvious that they knew what I'd been looking at, which I realized was their whole aim. They'd found a "boy" they could show off in front of, and they were dying to know what that "boy" thought.

"I think you'd be arrested," I said, calmly. "And then I think you'd be strip searched and, to make sure you didn't hang yourselves with what you are laughingly calling bikinis, they'd put you in the cell naked. You would be extremely well guarded, probably by the entire force."

Nothing. My joke had apparently fallen flat.

"Really?" That was Ashley. Maybe they hadn't realized it was a joke. Then again, if they did appear that way in public, it was likely the law would become involved, one way or another. If they weren't busted for looking obscene, they'd be rescued from being assaulted by boys or men driven mad with lust.

"Emma might be able to pull it off," I said, taking another shot. "Unless she decides to shave like the other two of you. Then all bets are off. You want to tell me what this is all about?"

"No," said Caitlin, sounding either confused or frustrated. "Can we go skinny dipping? The fence is high enough that nobody would see."

"I would see," I reminded her.

"That's okay," said my niece. "We trust you."

The situation had changed. What "situation" means, in that context, is 'Caitlin-comes-to-visit-Uncle-Bob-for-purely-a-vacation-and-nothing-more.' It was clear to me. These girls were obviously exploring their sexuality, something they'd never done in my presence before. Things had moved from accidental to intentional. All that flashed through my mind in an instant. If I'd had more time to think about it, I might have said, "That's nice. Go on and play." But just like they were winging it, delving into new territory, I was too. So I guess I reacted in a way that I thought might help educate them about the dangers of doing ... what they were doing.

"Foolish, foolish girls," I sighed.

Then I adjusted my cock in my shorts. I did it very obviously, so their attention would be drawn to what I was doing. I was pretty sure the stiff column telegraphed through the cloth of my suit, and that they'd be able to see the length of my erection. I wanted them to understand this was no game.

Emma moaned.

I sat up, putting my feet on opposite sides of the lounge. They almost scattered like scared chickens who saw a fox, but stopped after a couple of feet.

"I thought you weren't afraid of me," I said, showing them as much of my teeth as I could manage.

"We didn't say that at all," said Ashley. "We said we trust you."

"Tell you what," I said, coming up with an idea I thought was gold. "You can go skinny dipping ... as long as I get to go skinny dipping too." I grinned again, showing them the wolf's teeth.

It was silent for long enough that, with horror, I realized they were actually thinking about it! They weren't supposed to think about it. They were supposed to react negatively to the idea, and come to their senses.

"Okay!" Caitlin suddenly blurted.

"I don't know," moaned Emma, just as suddenly.

"Huddle!" snapped Ashley.

They went far enough away that they thought I couldn't hear them. They were wrong. It was Ashley who said, "We talked about this!" and it was probably Emma who responded "Yeah, but we didn't say it would be this soon!" Apparently Caitlin saw me listening, because she shushed them, and moved them farther away. They whispered after that. That was fine, though, because I was thinking furiously. Obviously my gambit to scare some sense into them was the wrong approach. It was obvious now that these girls assumed they were old enough to make decisions that most of the rest of society didn't want them making. It's always that way with teenagers. They want to be grown up, so they try to act grown up. To that end, they make decisions that put them in grown up situations.

My thought processes were interrupted by them coming back. It was Caitlin who spoke for them.

"Okay, but you have to stay at least three feet away from us."

I laughed. Here were these gorgeous girls, playing with fire, wringing as much out of life as they dared, and they were trying to build safety into sexual exploration. It brought back memories from when I was their age. I should have educated them. I should have sat them down and given them the facts of life that nobody ever has the balls to give to girls at that stage of life. I should have told them that the boys will agree to anything to get them naked, and keep agreeing to anything to be able to climb between their sweet, soft thighs. I should have told them that sooner or later, they aren't going to want to be safe anymore. I should have told them that, as much as they don't think it will happen, once they start playing that game, they'll end up going into heat and spreading their legs to let a man fertilize them. It's just how Mother Nature has arranged things.

I should have told them that me staying three feet away is no way to combat a hundred thousand years of the instinct to get much closer.

But I didn't. I didn't think of that then. Instead, I figured that, of all the men on the planet they could be with at this vulnerable time in their lives, I was both the logical and best choice to let them explore and yet be completely safe in the process. I wasn't going to fuck them. I knew that. True, they were above the age of consent in Oklahoma, but I still thought of them as jail bait, and even if they ended up wanting it, they might not feel that way after it was over and done. I wasn't taking a chance on that. I was single because I chose to be single, and I had my own libido completely under control. So they were safe with me.

Did I mention that nature has arranged it so men will tell themselves all kinds of lies too?

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It actually went pretty well at first. That is to say I kept my distance, as agreed upon. Of course I went in with them. Everybody needed that, initially. Just walking around naked wasn't quite in the cards at that point. Still, as you can see, things were already out of control. We just kept lying to ourselves that things were governable. I know I did, and of course the girls believed that things could be managed without any problem at all. To them it was just an exciting little experiment that gave them a chance to experience things they couldn't, otherwise.

I want to be very clear here. The things I've just told you are things I realized in retrospect. At the time, my intentions were as honorable as intentions can be in a situation like that. I'm being honest when I say that, while I did enter into the contract for the purpose of flaunting my rigid penis at them, I didn't have any overpowering urges to chase any of them down and have my way with them. It was actually kind of fun, at first. They were as giddy as school girls. Of course they were school girls, but it was still loads of just plain fun to see them adapt to a completely new situation.

They clustered together at first, no doubt because they felt there was safety in numbers. And they didn't look at me for the longest time. They didn't speak much, which I thought was funny. I mean the whole point of skinny dipping is to feel the water flowing over your naked body, and all they did was stand there uncomfortably, not moving around, not looking at me and not saying anything to each other.

It was Emma, of all people, who finally said, "You know, this does feel pretty cool."

That got them moving, and then conversation (between them) began to pick up. They still acted as if I wasn't there, but I could tell, from the quick glances, that they knew exactly where I was at all times.

Eventually, though, when nothing horrible happened, the confidence of youth began to bloom in them again. I don't know how long it took, but I'd guess it wasn't more than fifteen minutes before, quite suddenly, I found myself in the midst of three circling naked girls, who now were looking at nothing other than me.

I wasn't stupid. Even if they didn't know what was going on, I did.

"You guys are breaking the three foot rule," I pointed out.

"That rule is flexible," said Ashley.

"So ..." I said, finally. "You want to look at it?"

"Look at what?" asked Caitlin, who sounded quite confident.

"I think you know," I said. I had been squatting in the water, letting the little waves in the pool tickle my neck. I stood up. The water still came just above my hips, but all three of them created a froth backing away from me as the distance rule expanded..

"What if we do?" asked Ashley, apparently deciding that coy wasn't the name of the game, despite her uncontrollable urge to back away from "danger".

"You're all seventeen," I said. "Don't tell me you've never seen one. Statistics say that at least one of you has already had sex."

"That's stupid!" barked my niece. "Statistics don't mean diddly when it comes to three particular girls."

"True," I said, feeling a little lame. "But they're all I have to work with."

"Well your statistics are wrong, mister!" she shot back.

"Good," I said. "I'm glad."

"You're glad you're wrong?" asked Emma.

"I'm glad if the three of you have had enough sense to stay clear of getting in over your heads with boys."

"This isn't like I thought it would be," said Emma. She was clearly complaining.

"In what way?" I asked.

"I thought it would be more fun," she said.

"That's just because he's being all smarmy," said Caitlin.

"I think you need to check the dictionary," I said. "If anybody is being smarmy, it's you three. You're the ones who managed to get naked and then get me naked too. I think the word you're looking for is pedantic. I'm being pedantic, not smarmy."

"What you're being is no fun," groused Caitlin.

"What do you want me to be?" I asked. I was still leaning toward pedantic.

"How are we supposed to know?" complained Ashley. "We've never done anything like this before."

"Do you want me to chase you?" I asked.

They backed up again, and all three said "No!" as if they'd practiced saying it together for hours.

"Do you want me to go inside and leave you alone?" I suggested.

There was a pause, but then there were three more "No"s. They were softer, and not said in unison, this time.

I decided we weren't getting anywhere and, like the girls, I was feeling like this wasn't very much fun. So I took the bull by the horns and went to the edge, walking between Caitlin and Ashley. I bounced up to sit on the side of the pool, in full view. It wasn't until then that I realized I wasn't hard anymore. The "not fun" part of things had apparently taken its toll.

"How's this?" I asked, just sitting there.

All three were down in the water up to their necks, like I had been. They wandered toward me, each one taking her time, trying to make it look like it was unintentional. They converged, though, arriving in front of me at more or less the same time. I let my legs drift much farther apart than they would have if I was simply sitting on the side of the pool.

They stared, and I let them.

"That's not a boner," suggested Ashley.

"I thought you said you'd never seen one," I said. Don't ask me why I challenged her like that.

"Duh," she said. "Internet. That doesn't look anything like what I see online."

You are correct," I said, sagely.

"Isn't it supposed to be ... hard?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"It doesn't stay hard all the time," I said. "It responds to stimulus and certain conditions. But lacking those, it goes back to sleep, so to speak."

"So we're boring?" Emma sounded hurt.

"Not at all," I said. "But you're scared, and that's not sexy, at least not to me. And most people would say it's wrong for me to be sitting here like this, or let the three of you be naughty like you're doing. I'm actually trying not to have an erection, because that's the responsible thing for me to do."

I almost winced. That sounded stupid even to me. If I was being responsible at all, none of us would be naked, and we certainly wouldn't be talking about my penis. But it flew right over their heads.

"I don't think responsible was what we were looking for," said Caitlin. "I mean I know our parents would freak if they knew we were doing this. But that's not why we decided to ... um ... act sexy?" I realized she wasn't sure if they had met their own goal of "acting sexy."

"Oh, you three are sexy," I assured her. "There's no doubt about that at all. Not one scintilla. The other day, when Emma pointed out that I had an erection, that was a direct result of the ... uh ... sexiness of the situation."

"You mean when you saw my ..."

"Coochie," I said, as dryly as I could.

"Pussy!" Caitlin corrected me more robustly than I think she had intended. It shocked both her and her two cohorts. Deciding to be less pedantic I followed up.

"Yes, when I saw your pussy, and that all three of you had erect nipples, it was very sexy and I responded to that stimulus under those conditions."

"I don't get it," said Emma. "Tuesday we had on clothes, and today we're actually naked!"

"Yes, but you're not naked for the right reasons," I said.

Almost immediately I decided that was the wrong thing to say. I recognized that as a "typical" male thing to say, and this wasn't a typical situation. Further, I was trying not to be a typical male at the moment. I held up a finger to forestall any response.

"That wasn't fair to you three," I said. "You are trying to explore right now, and your intent in doing this wasn't to end up in bed." A thought occurred to me that sent a thrill through me. "That's right ... isn't it? You three aren't trying to get laid ... are you?"

They didn't even have to say anything. It was obvious instantly that the mere thought of "getting laid" terrified them.

"No!" squealed Ashley and Caitlin. Poor Emma just looked stunned. This really wasn't turning out to be like what she'd thought it would.

"Okay, then," I said. "Then knowing that, the obvious thing for me to do is be a good boy and not get an erection. It isn't that you're not sexy. It's that there isn't going to be any sex. Do you see what I mean?"

"Guys can do that?" asked Ashley, sounding awed. "I mean you can just turn it on and off like that?"

"Not hardly," I laughed. Then I laughed again. "No pun intended."

"Then I don't get it," said Ashley. "I went out with Chad Greer and he was begging me to do stuff because he said he was in actual pain. He said he couldn't control himself and that it was because I was too beautiful. And then you get hard for Cat, but now we're naked and you're just sitting there being a pedophile."

I blinked, startled.

"I think you meant pedantic," said Caitlin, understanding before I did.

"Whatever," said Ashley, unconcerned about the difference. "Emma's right. This isn't at all like we thought it would be."

Ashley's comment turned out to be another of those "little things" that cause big waves. I don't think it was her use of the wrong word to describe me, though that was plenty bad. Rather, I think it was the scorn in her voice that hit a nerve deep in my male psyche. I had been trying to be more or less responsible, in a very irresponsible kind of way. But that faint note of scorn ... that suggestion that I wasn't a real man, or something ... got to me enough that responsibility sort of leapt out the window the girls had opened.

"Tell you what, Ashley," I said, softly. "If you want to see a boner, then you quit acting like a scared little rabbit and come on over here and I'll show you a boner."

Chapter Three

There had been a shocked silence as I suggested something much more interesting than had already happened might be in store for them.

"What do you mean?" Ashley asked, warily.

"Shut up and get your pretty little ass over here," I ordered. Don't ask me why I took that path. I just did. Maybe my subconscious mind thought a little domination was what they were used to in a male, and what they would respond to. I wasn't thinking about that consciously, exactly. I just reacted to the compendium of recent events. I do remember being a teensy bit surprised when she moved toward me.

"Why?" she asked, as she came towards me.

"Do you want me to be pedantic, or do you want to see an erect penis?" I asked, softly.

"The other," she said, looking at my crotch. "I think," she added. I think it was unconscious on her part. She stopped twenty-four inches away from me. I know this because my reach, to the front of my body, is twenty-three inches and I could tell she was just beyond my reach.

"Come closer," I said.

"Why?" Now she sounded worried.

"Do you think I'm going to rape you?"

"Of course not," she said instantly. I was glad about that.

"Then come closer," I said.

She did. I noticed the other two had more or less followed her. They were now only a yard away from me. I think they were just trying to make sure they didn't miss anything.

"Stand up," I said.

Understanding dawned in her eyes.

"You want to see my ...?"

"I want to see your breasts," I said, fending off another possible juvenile word, like boobs or titties.

She only hesitated a few heartbeats, but then rose from the water like Aphrodite, rising from the sea. She had those perfect breasts that a lot of teenagers have, before they are weighed down by milk production, weight gain and gravity in general. Her nipples weren't flat, but they weren't spiked either. I felt the reaction to just seeing them in my groin.

"I assume you have entertained the thought of kissing me," I said. "Would you like to do that now?"

"What?" Her eyes widened.

"Stop being pedantic, Uncle Bob," said Caitlin. "Kiss him, Ashley."

"What?" Ashley turned her head to her friend.

"You know you want to," said Caitlin. "All three of us want to. So now's your chance."

Apparently Caitlin had decided that the reason things weren't any fun, thus far, was because everybody was being so careful. Bright girl, my niece.

Ashley still didn't move. She looked at my face, and then down at my penis, which wasn't as flaccid as it had been, but had thickened only a little, and probably not enough that she'd notice.

"Ashley, honey," I said, softly, holding out my hand. "Come over and give Uncle Bob a little kiss so he can show you how sexy you are, okay?"

I know, I know. Casanova would have cringed to hear me say something like that, but I thought she might respond to that approach and she needed to respond to learn something. And have some fun, I hoped.

"Just a kiss?" she said.

"You're welcome to do anything else you want," I said, showing her the wolf's teeth again.

Apparently this was more like what she was familiar with, or wanted from me or whatever, because she moved closer.

"Just a kiss," she said firmly.

"Bring me those sweet lips, little girl," I said.

"I'm not a little girl," she argued.

"Oh, I can see that," I grinned. "But you're still acting like a scared little girl."

Turns out that crap works on women just as well as it works on men.

She ignored my cock and paid attention to my lips, stepping closer as I bent down. Apparently she had thought about kissing me before this. Once she was committed, she didn't hold back. She tilted her head and closed her eyes and puckered up like a pro. That was great, because that let me feel like it wasn't too much to extend my legs and clamp my ankles across her naked backside - not too hard - just enough for her to feel my desire to pull her toward me. I also reached to grip the sides of her head and kissed her like I meant it. She tensed when she felt my feet on her skin, but then relaxed as the pressure remained light. My hands didn't bother her.

It had been quite a while since I'd made out, or been in such close proximity to a woman. Like I said before, I chose to be single, because having a girlfriend put major demands on my time. I had plenty of money, but I couldn't earn more time. And I liked being able to pull up stakes and go rock climbing somewhere if I felt like it. Again, as I said before, girlfriends like to make plans, and fill up the calendar with non-negotiable dates to do this and that. I figured I had plenty of time to settle down with the little woman if I happened to meet her one day. Of course that's what I'd been thinking for the last ten or so years, and I hadn't met her thus far, but I wasn't worried. My biological clock didn't tick as loudly as that of a woman my age, I guess.

This is not to say I didn't enjoy hot, sweaty sex with a woman I liked. I enjoyed that a lot. But, in my experience, being cemented deep inside a woman, spewing your genetic seeds in her, tends to lead to her wanting to cement the relationship in other ways. And, as I just told you, that wasn't the plan at the moment.

So I enjoyed that kiss, and the feel of her naked butt under my heels. Her hair was wet, but her lips were warm. And I liked Ashley, which has always been one of the qualities in a relationship that was required before I could get interested in snogging a bit, or other, more serious pursuits.

Suffice to say that what else I imagined doing with Ashley Paddington, while we were doing what we were doing, did the trick. A bonafide erection was produced. It was pretty clear the three foot rule was in tatters, so when I pulled my lips away from hers I didn't release her with my feet. That boner was right up close and personal, nestled between those fabulous breasts.

"That good enough for you?" I asked, looking at said boner.

She felt the warmth of it then, pressing against her skin. She'd been distracted, during that kiss. She looked down, stiffened, and tried to pull back.

I tightened my heels.

"Don't be afraid," I said. "It won't bite you."

"Oh man," she sighed, stopping her resistance. "It's right there !"

"We can't see," complained my niece.

"You're too far away," I said.

The three foot rule stayed in tatters as they surged closer, standing without realizing they were exposing themselves to me. All that did was make me even harder. They appeared on either side of her, necks craned, peering between us.

"Wow!" sighed Emma. Then, "It's touching you, Ashley. What's it feel like?"

Just like that, their fears and apprehensions were abated. The tiger they'd been so afraid of had now been revealed to actually be a cute little kitty cat, which could be trapped and rendered harmless (more or less) by a simple pair of breasts.

The one-eyed dragon had touched one of the musketeers ... and it hadn't eaten her.

"It's hot," said Ashley, her voice a little fragile and high.

"Is that really because of her?" asked Emma.

"It's because of all three of you," I said. "She just helped change the mood."

"My turn," said Caitlin, pushing one of her breasts against Ashley's shoulder.

I could have gotten all pedantic on them again. I suddenly remembered the three foot rule ... and why it had been a good rule. But I just sat there instead, contemplating feeling my naked penis touching Caitlin's skin.

I couldn't get any harder. But it could lurch. It did that, and all three of them saw it.

"What was that?" asked Ashley, who was still staring at the boner she had produced.

"That was my little friend showing how happy he'd be if he got to rub up against Caitlin," I said.

"What about me?" complained Emma.

A penis can lurch all by itself, but it can also be made to lurch. I did that now. I didn't want poor, sweet, innocent Emma to remember how shy she usually was.

"Oooo," she sighed, accepting the movement as validation that she had what her friends had.

"Come on," wheedled Caitlin, when Ashley didn't move. She couldn't move. Not with my legs around her. But nobody told the other two that. "Don't hog him."

I released the pressure on Ashley's buttocks. To my immense satisfaction, she didn't move back. In fact, her hands came up out of the water to rest gently on my hips.

"One more kiss," she said, barely above a whisper.

She turned her face up, eyes already closed, like she was sure I would kiss her again. I didn't want to spoil that kind of atmosphere, so I gave her another kiss. This time I slipped her a little tongue. She was right there, ready and waiting. She might resist becoming a statistic with the boys, but she had obviously gotten frisky with them. She was a good kisser. That was clear. I wouldn't find out for some time that most of her practice had been with the other two naked girls in the pool. But I didn't know that then, so while we kissed, I returned my heels to her backside and slid them around a little. She didn't seem to mind that at all.

Then Caitlin was pushing her aside and walking around the foot that she suddenly found in her way. There was no hesitance at all in her approach, and it was obvious she'd harbored feelings for her uncle for quite some time. I felt like I should have noticed it, but I hadn't.

I did exactly the same thing to her that I'd done to Ashley. I pulled her into my embrace with my feet, and kissed her good and proper, including tongue. That didn't bother her either. If anything, her reaction was even more accepting, as she actively pressed her upper body against my cock. She broke the kiss to look down at my penis.

"It's still hard," she sighed.

"Of course it is," I said.

"Can I touch it?" she asked.

"You are touching it," I replied.

"I mean with my hand."

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked, concerned at her willingness to change the rules so radically.

"To do this," she said, reaching without official permission.

She didn't jack me off. Rather, she simply moved the half covered tip across the skin of her inner breasts, just experimenting to see what that felt like. In the process the pressure of her fingers pulled the tightly stretched foreskin off the glans. She let go as if burned.

"I'm sorry!" she yipped. Then her brain caught up to the fact that I hadn't jumped, or displayed any discomfort. "Didn't that hurt?"

"No," I said. "In fact, that's required if one is to engage in satisfying my little friend."

"Satisfying?"

"Making him squirt," I explained.

She backed up against my heels then, clearly unsettled. I didn't let her go at first, but then gradually let her slip through my heels. She turned to Emma, who was standing there with wide eyes.

"I don't know," said Emma, frowning, obviously aware she was being given a turn ... if she wanted it.

"Then don't do it," I said, closing my legs. "Don't ever do anything until you know you're ready."

When the safety level is increased ... or appears to increase ... people are willing to take more risk.

That was a preview of Serendipity - Version Bravo. To read the rest purchase the book.

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