Incest/Taboo Thank You, Uncle John

A couple of months ago, a lovely woman reached out to me via email and told me of her fantasy regarding her favorite uncle and asked if I wanted to write a story for her that she might share with him if things went right. As some know, I rarely do collaborations, but this story and her situation intrigued me and after many nosy questions on my part and patience on her part, I wrote the following story. I like it, she enjoyed it and I hope you do too. Anything good about it I attribute to "Melissa" and anything bad about is on me. Please let me know your thoughts, both pro and con on it. Feedback is important.

Thank you, Melissa for sharing your fantasy with me and everyone at Literotica! Enjoy

I always thought the old brickyard factory – abandoned for as long as I could remember, was a pretty cool place to hangout. My friends and I have spent many a summer afternoon here – goofing off, listening to music on Cooter's portable radio/cassette player, maybe dancing a little bit, or trying out kissing with that Brent Statler, but now...now in the hours after midnight, with shadows rising up from the old machinery or piles of discarded and broken bricks and with the temperatures falling past freezing in the chill, Colorado air – I realized that while being her all alone, this place is just damned creepy!

I was huddled in a corner on the second floor, jumping at every little sound as the old building creaked and moaned or as little critters that slept hidden during the daytime came scurrying out. The wind made sounds that sent chills up and down my back and I whimpered as things flapped across the wide expanse between the walls – sometimes seeming to flutter across my face until I pushed away at them. I hoped and prayed they were birds and not bats. I hated bats. For not the first time since the sun had set, I hugged my knees to my face and cried and who could blame me? I was twelve and for almost twelve hours, a runaway.

It might seem silly to some, but after Momma and Daddy had told me I couldn't go to the Statler boy's party because I wasn't freaking old enough, I decided I'd show them who was old enough. I'd packed a duffel bag with clothes, my tooth brush and make-up kit – which they also said I was too young for, and a few snacks and decided I'd hit the road. No definite plan – just getting the hell out of that prison of a house and making my own decisions. I was sure I could get a job somewhere doing something and live my own life...maybe. Again, what did I know? I was twelve.

I knew if I had gone to a friend's house, Momma and Daddy would find me quick enough, so when I'd slipped out the window a couple of hours before dusk, I'd snuck across neighborhood backyards and then over the bare fields to the old brick factory, figuring I could stay there until morning and hitchhike out of town.

I was fine until the sun went down and then the friendly hangout of me and my friends became a scary dungeon. I tried to roll up in a blanket and get some sleep, but near midnight, some men came up in a couple of vehicles and clambered out. I think they were drunk. They passed around some bottles and talked some ugly talk – mostly doing with a certain waitress down at the Roadside Inn – a notorious bar at which all sorts of awful, nasty things occurred – most of which we sixth and seventh grades could only speculate at. Some of the things frightened me and I curled up in my shadowy corner and prayed they didn't come upstairs and discover me. I was afraid of what they might do to me – a twelve year old girl.

Finally, they left, leaving me alone with the little critters that scuttled or flurried about in the shadows. The enormity of what I had done began to weigh on me and I wanted to go home, but I was scared and cold and could only pray for morning. I drifted off into a fitful sleep only to be awakened by the approach of another car. Lights glittered off the mostly shattered windows and I could hear a vehicle stop, a door open and then footsteps slowly approaching. Another light swung back and forth – a flashlight and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

Had one of those men from earlier spotted me? Had he chose to not say anything to the others so he could come back and Ra*e me? I had a dramatic vision of myself, naked and deathly white – raped and then strangled...strangled and then raped! I curled back into a ball, hugging my knees to me, willing myself to become one with the shadows.

Crumbly brick and broken glass crunched under a boot. Through my fingers, now pressed over my face, I could see the faint outline of a tall man, swinging the light this way and that, searching for something. The light flashed upward and I tried to shrink further into shadow. The footsteps came closer and then I heard old, rusted iron creak as he began coming up the old metalwork stairs. I had a sudden urge to run, but couldn't make my limbs work.

A voice called out, "Melissa?" HE KNOWS MY NAME!" I began whimpering with fear, wishing I could see my family one more time...kiss my Mom goodnight one last time. The footsteps were so close now. I could hear the man breathing.

"Melissa, darling...it's me, it's Uncle John." Even as fear was shadowed by relief and I sat up and tried to see my uncle through the light now shining in my eyes, I began to cry. The man moved closer and I knew it was my Uncle John – I could smell his "Old Spice" aftershave and then I was being scooped up into his arms and he was whispering into my ear, "Shhhhh – it's going to be alright, honey. I'm taking you home."

I pressed my face against the rough denim of his jacket and savored feeling ever so safe in his arms as he carried me downstairs and out of the old factory. Then I was sitting in his car – an old Cadillac and as soon as he climbed in, I scooted over to hang on to him.

As he drove me home, he said little as he drove with one hand on the wheel and one arm draped around my shoulders. His car and his body were warm and his arm around me felt so strong and made me feel so safe...safer than I'd ever felt before. It was the best feeling in the...

...world. I blinked my eyes and turned away from the sunlight flooding through my bedroom window. There was several moments of confusion as my dream faded away and I had to adjust to my surroundings. The large, snoring lump under the quilt was my husband, Sam. I was in our bedroom. My name was still Melissa, but everyone calls me Missy. Well, everyone but my Uncle John. I smiled at the thought of my aunt's husband, recalling my dream.

Quietly, I slipped out of bed and went to the window. The sun felt good on my body – even though it was still just early September in the mountains of Colorado, it could get pretty cold. I stretched, working out the kinks in my muscles, feeling things pop and tug in my thirty-eight year old body. I felt a warm tingle between my legs and looking down, saw my nipples – sharp little points slightly bigger than pencil erasers poking out from my cotton nightshirt.

I felt...well, horny. As I moved around the room, I could feel the warmness between my legs translating now to a little slipperiness between my pussy lips. I glanced again at my snoring Sam and considered waking him up with a loving blowjob, but then thought against it. Sam wasn't a morning person. I glanced at the clock on the bedside table – 6:30 on a Saturday morning. I decided to let him sleep and headed towards the shower.

Stripping down while waiting for the hot water, I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink. My blonde hair was tousled with sleep and my eyes as ever were big and brown. For a thirty-eight year old woman, I wasn't doing too badly. My breasts were still pretty firm – the weight of my 36C boobs not sagging much. True, I had a little too much going for me with my butt, but I'd long ago learned most men like a little junk in trunk. I slipped a hand through my neatly trimmed pubic hair and shivered as a finger caressed my still sensitive labia. For a moment, I closed my eyes as I touched myself and thought of...Uncle John.

I opened my eyes wide at the image of my uncle and wondered where that had come from. "Behave, Missy," I said to myself. "You're a married woman!" I turned to the shower and saw the steam rising from behind the curtain and tried to focus on that. I climbed into the tub and began to wash up. Try as I might, my thoughts kept returning to Aunt Betty's husband.

Aunt Betty was my daddy's younger sister. She'd married John when I was only six years old and they had been a constant in my life. My name is Melissa, but everyone has always called me Missy – family, friends, teachers...everyone, but my uncle. Uncle John has always called me Melissa. When I was little, it pleased me for some reason – made me feel more grownup. To be honest, I still like the way it makes me feel – today, I'm viewed as a mom or wife or daughter – when I hear my fifty-five year old uncle call me 'Melissa,' I feel like a woman.

As I soaped my body, my thoughts returned to the dream. I had been twelve and wanted so much to go to Brent Statler's party, but my parents felt I was too young – he was nearly fourteen and I had only turned twelve. I hated them and to prove my independence I'd run away. I'd only been gone about twelve hours – and I'd scared everyone to death.

It had been Uncle John who'd found me. He'd been the only one who'd thought to quiz my friends about where I might have gone to hide. He never told me which of my friends had squealed on me – not that I was ever mad about it. I'd been terrified and to this day have never felt quite as safe as I did being carried out of that old factory in my uncle's arms.

A shiver went through me as my soapy fingers brushed my labia and I felt myself blush as I realized I was on the verge of masturbating while thinking of my uncle. "Honestly, Missy...you're too old for that." Feeling slightly frustrated with myself, I finished showering and got on with my day. There were my two teenagers and Sam to get breakfast for and then kids to be ferried and errands to run before we were to go over to my Aunt Betty's and Uncle John's for a cookout in the afternoon.

As the day passed by, I'd get idle thoughts about Uncle John and wonder what was up with that. I have a passably good marriage to Sam – true, we're not burning up the bed these days with passion, but we do make love about once a week. I love sucking Sam's cock and adore sitting in his lap, slowly fucking him as he teases and sucks at my nipples – I just wish it happened more often. My Sam will even eat my pussy – he actually seems to enjoy it although I never have gotten much out of it – never cumming thanks to his mouth.

Truthfully, I knew what was triggering my thoughts, but I'd been avoiding it. Last Christmas I'd given several members of my family homemade presents – blankets I'd made crocheting – something I'd learned to do several years ago and had recently gotten back into. My Aunt Betty had been thrilled with her blanket and for months had been badgering me to teach her. All through this summer, I'd been going over on days when I could spare the time and teaching her to crochet. In truth, she was now capable of going it alone, but we both enjoyed our little sewing sessions and I had never minded being around her and Uncle John.

Now, Aunt Betty is a bit peculiar. At sixty years old, she's a trim and tiny woman, always conservatively dressed, reminding me of Mrs. Mays, my spinsterly 1st grade teacher. She dresses like a spinster too – clothes covering her from her neck to her feet. I always suspected that she had a pretty figure – even at sixty, but she hid it all from everyone. I wouldn't be surprised if she dresses in the closet so her own husband doesn't see her naked.

Aunt Betty's one vice is ironically booze – she likes her drinks, especially her Rum and Cokes in the early evenings. She'll sip on them as we crochet – sometimes I'll join her, sometimes I won't. One night a couple of weeks ago, as it was getting late, I told her I would be leaving soon and giggling a bit, hinted, "Maybe Sam will get lucky tonight!"

Betty snorted and rolled her eyes. "Well, you're young still. Me, I'm too old for such silliness. John and I are done with all that."

I giggled as I went wide-eyed, quickly realizing that my aunt had overdone the Rum and Coke to actually talk about sex. I couldn't help myself, but replied, "Aunt Betty, you mean you and Uncle John don't make love anymore?"

Betty guffawed and shook her head. "Lord no, girl! We're too old." She paused and glanced around, making sure Uncle John wasn't in the room. "Besides, your uncle is just too big for me. I just had enough of that big thing."

I stared at my aunt, now openly shocked. "Big?" Dropping my voice into a conspiratorial whisper, I said, "How big is he, Aunt Betty?"

I'm sure it was the rum spurring her on, but she dropped her needle and held her hands apart – I'm guessing maybe eight inches and then she made a circle with one thumb and forefinger and I was estimating two inches in diameter. "Omigod!" I gasped. "That's huge!"

Aunt Betty nodded and said, "Exactly. Never much enjoyed it when I was younger and well, I'm glad to be done with all that foolishness."

Still trying to picture my uncle's cock being that big, I stammered, "And what about him? Does Uncle John mind? Aren't you worried he might go out and fool around on you?"

After taking another sip of her Rum and Coke, my aunt shook her head. "He's fifty-five years old. He's not complained and if he gets the urge..." my aunt stopped speaking and making a fist, jerked it up and down. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop from laughing loudly, scarcely believing my aunt would go on so while she finished, "He knows how to work the urge off." Aunt Betty arched an eyebrow at me, her glass close at hand for another sip as she added, "And he knows better than to go off with some townie whore and have an affair."

After taking that next sip, my aunt changed direction, asking after Sam's parents and the comments about Uncle John were seemingly forgotten even though I was missing stitches as I kept trying to imagine my uncle's big cock. I mean, Sam was more than adequate – I'd had no complaints about his cock – not quite six inches long and slender, but I confess, I could feel a quivering between my legs – a slight moistening of my pussy lips.

On the drive back home, I kept thinking about my aunt's words and descriptions and one single thought kept echoing through my mind – I really wanted to try my Uncle John's cock out. I wanted to feel its length and girth sliding between my lips, top and bottom! I loved feeling the shaft of a man in my mouth – its soft, yet firm texture and I wondered if I could deep throat such a big cock. Further, I wondered what it would feel like to have a cock slip into my hot and wet pussy, going deeper inside me than anyone had everyone had gone before – touching virgin pussy.

It was these thoughts that occupied my mind as Sam and I drove the kids out to Uncle John's house where he and Aunt Betty were hosting a Labor Day weekend cookout. Once there, I moved through siblings and cousins and other aunts and uncles, scattered across the huge back yard, cooing over the new baby additions to our family or clucking my tongue over the latest scandal – Cousin Andy's third wife had left him after he fell off the wagon.

As I moved, I kept one eye focused on the patio and then my heart sorta skipped a beat as Uncle John came out the kitchen door with a plate heaped with burgers and dogs. He stood six feet tall and always gave the illusion of being slightly taller with his skinny body – not weighing more than one hundred-seventy pounds soaking wet. He scanned the crowd, calling out to this one or that and when I caught his eye, he gave me a smile that told me I was still, after all these years, his favorite niece.

I felt my hands move instinctively, smoothing out my long shorts and brushing the blonde hair on my head back into place like I was back in junior high and had just spotted Brent Statler. I was suddenly conscious that I wasn't wearing anything particularly flattering – a Colorado Rockies T-shirt and khaki shorts. The shirt was maybe a little tight against my breasts, but wasn't anything shocking – no torn or diving neckline to show off my breasts and the shorts did my legs no favors either and I worried a bit that they made my butt look too big.

Still, I made my way to my uncle and leaned in and rose on tip-toe to buss him on the cheek, maybe allowing my breasts to press into his arm a little more than usual. I could feel my nipples hardening against my bra. "Howdy, Uncle John!"

As he began tossing burgers on the grill, he glanced at me and said, "Afternoon, Melissa. Did ya bring your appetite?"

I couldn't believe I opened my mouth and replied, "Sure thing – I could definitely eat some meat!" I felt my face burning as I said, "Really thinking I'd like to try a big ol' sausage!"

Uncle John laughed as he lifted up a large bratwurst with a pair of tongs and said, "Reckon we can oblige you, Melissa."

If he recognized my innuendo, he didn't let on and before I could say anything else, I heard the creak of the screen door and then, "Missy, I'm so glad you're here. I want to show you what I've been working on since last Sunday!" Aunt Betty stood in the doorway and in her commanding way, motioned me to her, taking me by the arm and marching me through the house to show me her efforts. In truth, my aunt was getting pretty good at crocheting and I made several compliments about her latest efforts at an Afghan blanket while my mind tried to process what I'd just done.

I could scarcely believe I had actually flirted with my uncle. This was crazy! I'd known him since I was six years old and he was twenty-three. Granted, he'd always been my favorite uncle and in a crisis he'd be the first family member I'd turn to, but before my aunt had opened her mouth about his attributes, I'd never considered him in a sexual way. And me a kinda-sorta happily married woman. Was I nuts? If someone discovered I was even fantasizing a little about Uncle John, it would tear the family and most likely my marriage apart. Probably the only one who wouldn't get upset would be Cousin Andy as I would claim his black sheep title.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening trying to put those evil thoughts out of my head – focusing on helping Aunt Betty with food and sticking close to Sam, although he and most of the other men folk were off huddled up, discussing what was wrong with the Rockies' season and how fouled up the Broncos would be this upcoming year. I tried hanging out with him, but felt virtually invisible as the men ignored the pretty, blonde woman to solve all the world's major sports issues.

Not for the first time in my life, I wanted to be wearing a tight shirt with half my tits hanging out so I might get noticed. Sam would have a stroke and if that didn't kill him, he'd dump my ass. When it came to being conservative, he made Aunt Betty look absolutely liberal. A woman can only take so many blows to her self-esteem, so after Sam's and the other males lack of noticing my existence, I retreated to help clean up after the cookout.

I was standing at the kitchen sink, washing up dirty pans and such when Uncle John walked into the room from outside, carrying his used barbeque utensils. I again felt that little quiver of heat and moisture flaring between my thighs and as my skin began to burn with embarrassment, I turned and focused on the dishes.

"Hey, Melissa – there you are. I wondered where you got off to." Uncle John moved up beside me and when I nodded, let the tongs and spatula slide into the soapy water.

"Just thought I'd help clean up. It's so sweet that you and Aunt Betty do this so much for the family...the least I can do is help do the dishes."

"Well, family means a whole lot to me and Betty. You'll never know how much it means to Betty that you've been coming out and teaching her that knitting stuff. We never had a daughter and well...I reckon you know how we feel about you."

I looked up into the kindest eyes I'd ever known and part of me felt guilty for ever thinking nasty thoughts about the man that had been like a father to me in so many ways, who I'd loved like a father for more than half my life and who to be honest, I think I loved more than my own father. But part of me wanted to fuck my Uncle John even more than ever!

"It's my pleasure, Uncle John. You've been like a dad to me too." I hesitated and then as I felt a spurt of hot wetness soak my panties while my nipples instantly hardened, I said, "You know, I'd do anything for you, Uncle John." I tried to say so much with just my eyes then and then added softly, "Anything." Again, I rose up on tip-toe to kiss my uncle, this time planting a kiss right on the corner of his mouth, not a peck and run kiss, but one that lingered for a few seconds.

It was my uncle's turn to blush a little and then a big smile came over his face and he said, "If we'd have had a daughter, I'd have wanted her to be just like you, Melissa!" Then to my surprise, Uncle John leaned over and kissed me chastely atop my head as he'd done countless ways when I was little. He turned and headed deeper into the house, but not before I saw a mist of tears in his eyes.

I stood there for a long minute, my hands buried in the soapy water before a wave of embarrassment swept over me. It dawned on me that my uncle hadn't even noticed I was seriously flirting with him. Moreover, I think he still saw me as that young runaway he'd rescued all those years ago. I felt my own eyes begin to mist up as I realized how silly I'd been acted and for a moment it was more or less a coin toss as to whether I might start crying or laughing. Then my oldest burst through the door and told me that Daddy wanted to leave and to "Get a hurry on."

I sobered up then, remembering I had a husband and a family and shouldn't feel like a lovesick school girl with an unrequited crush. "Tell your father, I'll be there in a minute." I finished up the dishes and returned outdoors. I didn't see Uncle John to say goodbye, but did give Aunt Betty a quick hug and confirmed that I'd be over Tuesday evening to work on our crocheting.

I was silent on the drive home, half listening to the chatter of the kids and Sam's recounting of the men's gossip (women have nothing on the men in that department!). Once the kids were home, Sam was beered up enough to be receptive to a little oral loving and he laid back against the headboard while I crawled between his legs and began to suck his cock, enjoying myself as I expertly ran my tongue over his especially sensitive places and took his length deep into my throat.

As I heard him sigh while I teased his cock head with my playful tongue, I closed my eyes and began to imagine that it was Uncle John's cock I was sucking. I was more than a little surprised to find how aroused that got me and I could feel the juices pouring from my pussy, soaking my trimmed, blonde muff and dripping from my inner thighs onto the bed to form a considerable wet spot.

"Jesus Christ, Missy – your mouth is good tonight," sighed my husband, momentarily breaking the mood, as his hand settled atop my head, urging me to move faster or slower. I pushed him from my mind and refocused on my fantasy and worked on giving the imaginary version of my uncle a sweet and loving blowjob.

Too quickly, my husband lost his nut, emptying his load into my mouth and while I murmured my approval as I sucked and swallowed – I love cum so much, I hated to end the fantasy. I sucked Sam dry and kept sucking, trying to keep him hard. Finally, with a grunt of disapproval, my husband pushed me off his wilting dick.

I scrambled up and went to straddle him, nuzzling his shoulder as I cupped my breasts and offered my swollen nipples to him. "Make love to me, baby," I sighed. "Your girl needs you...I'm so hot for you right now."

Sam took a few half-hearted sucks at my nipples and squeezed my breasts without much enthusiasm while I squirmed in his lap, hoping the sensation of my wet pussy rubbing against his shrinking cock might revive his interests. As I groaned in protest and frustration, he eased me off and with a slightly guilty look, said gruffly, "Early morning, Missy – got Church, remember?"

He looked at me and my unhappy face and then leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. "Maybe I can pay you back tomorrow night, huh, Missy?" My husband said before he turned out the light and rolled away from me and was snoring in few minutes. I remained awake for a long time, my sexual frustration building and then dissipating into frustrated anger.

I started to slip my fingers between my legs, but stopped, suddenly unwilling to indulge in a masturbation fantasy involving my Uncle John while Sam snored a foot away.

It seemed like hours before I slipped into a fitful sleep, filled with fragmented dreams, awaking at dawn, gasping for breath as images of myself once again, huddling inside the old brickworks ended once again with Uncle John finding me, but somehow now I was a grown woman and when he went to pick me up, I wrapped my legs around his waist and settled into his warm, safe embrace as something impossibly huge began to spread me wide. I sat up in bed, aware of yet another wet spot in the bed, shivering with need and desire and whispering, "Damn it," as my memories of that sweet moment dissolved into wisps of ether.

The next two days, I was irritable and on edge – to the point of Sam actually asking me, "Missy, is it that time of the month again, already?" which just pissed me off more. Needless to say, we didn't make love Sunday evening, I rolling away from him, deciding I didn't want to put up with his pussy licking which never did anything for me anyway. Monday, he stayed late at work and I was already asleep when he came in.

Tuesday afternoon, I had a casserole warming in the oven when Sam got home and told him I was heading to Aunt Betty's and that depending on her mood, I might be home late. Sam, realizing he was in the doghouse, just nodded and told me to drive carefully, trying not to prod his wife in her "bitch on wheels" mood.

I had tried real hard to keep myself occupied at work and around the house and not think naughty thoughts about my uncle. I'd prayed a lot about it on Sunday, but got no sign one way or another from God about his position on the matter. Part of me ached for Uncle John as I hadn't ached since I'd had that terrible crush on Brent Statler – even worse, now I really knew what that ache was for, back then it was all vague theory. Part of me was chastising myself for feeling that way. I had two children to raise, a so-so marriage to keep upright, bills to pay and so much more. I didn't have time to have a mid-life crisis – hell, I wasn't even middle aged!

But in the dark hours of those last couple of nights, as I restlessly tossed and turned, trying to blot out thoughts of Uncle John and his allegedly big cock, I had to face up that I was unhappy and that I had been unhappy for a long time. Oh, I loved my husband, but the flame had gone out – the passion was now barely smoldering embers and suddenly, my unhappiness had found form in my feelings for my uncle. For years, it seemed as if I was just drifting through life – yearning for romance and desire, feeling ignored and unvalued.

The one man in my life who'd ever made me really feel that way was Uncle John – even the way he addressed me...Melissa instead of Missy, seemed to say I had value, I had worth, I was somebody! Oh, I'd had passion with Sam and with others earlier in my life, but it had never lasted. I could not honestly say that I can ever recall encountering Uncle John when he didn't treat me like I was important.

I was a churning cauldron of emotions when I reached Uncle John's and Aunt Betty's home. I came through the kitchen door, about to shout, "Anybody home," but stopped as I saw Uncle John sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the evening paper. "Well, good evening, Uncle John."

My uncle turned and smiled at me and replied, "And a good evening to you, Melissa. Your aunt is looking forward to this – it's all she's been talking about for the last day or so." He turned back towards his coffee, wincing a bit as he did so.

"Are you okay, Uncle John?" I asked, my heart aching at the thought of him being unwell.

"Oh yeah, I'm okay – just these old bones getting older. The mill gives my shoulders the miseries some days."

As I had done on Sunday, I acted without thinking it through, stepping up behind him, dropping my sewing bag as I did. "Oh, you're not old, Uncle," I cooed as I placed my hands on his bony shoulders and began to knead the wiry muscles there. Uncle John nearly jumped out of his skin when I began rubbing his shoulders – likely the closest physical contact we'd had since he'd rescued me all those years ago. He didn't tell me to stop however, so I kept rubbing his shoulders as I said, "You're not old at all. Aunt Betty needs to keep a close eye on you or some sweet talking woman might steal you away."

As I said this, I leaned into him, allowing my breasts to press against his upper back. Uncle John chuckled a bit at my words as the sudden tension in him seemed to slowly bleed away. "A woman might be risking her life trying that – Betty is a mighty jealous woman. She's dangerous when riled up!"

I felt my nipples swelling underneath my thin bra and wondered if he could feel the hard bullets pressing against him through the fabric. My voice sounded a bit funny –thicker and a bit hoarser as I replied, "Well, you ever think you might be worth that risk, Uncle John?" I worked his shoulders a little more strongly, fingers reaching down almost to his shirt collar and I ached to run my fingers down under the blue chambray shirt and across his chest.

For long moments, silence reigned – the only sound being little whispering sighs as I kneaded his muscles. Then Aunt Betty's voice tore through the house, "Is that Missy's car out there?"

Uncle John leaned forward even as I hopped back and shifted to his right, both of us exchanging awkward glances, not guilty, but...awkward, like a couple of thirteen year olds wanting to try a kiss, but unsure about how to go about it. "Yes, ma'am," I called out. "I just got here."

"Well, get on in here, girl. I can't wait to try that new pattern you talked about. Did you remember to bring it with you?" I could hear the eagerness in my aunt's voice.

"Be right there, Aunt Betty," I called out, turning around and retrieving my sewing bag.

I headed towards the hallway, but paused when Uncle John said softly, "Thank you, Melissa. That was...I enjoyed that."

I smiled and felt like I must be glowing with pleasure. I winked at him and said, "Maybe I'll get to finish it later!" His eyes widened and I turned and hurried down the hall, again suddenly feeling like a love struck teenager, doing my best not to giggle and show how silly I was. I could feel the sweet moistness between my legs as I moved, wishing suddenly that I was wearing something sexier than a pair of old, tattered jeans and a plain, light blue T-shirt.

Luckily, Aunt Betty was too distracted by me producing the new star-shaped pattern for her next crocheting project to notice how flushed and flustered I was. It was a good half hour before I settled down enough to throw the stitches into my quilt without having to restart over and over. My aunt oohed and aahed over the new challenge and I calmed down as she asked questions and I demonstrated some of the techniques to master this new design.

She went on and on about family doings – repeating some of the same gossip that Sam had already passed on, plus more details about Cousin Andy's impending divorce. When we took a few minutes to stretch, Aunt Betty went to the kitchen and returned with a 2-liter of coke and a half-empty quart of rum. I declined a mixed drink, reminding her that I had to drive home later in the evening, but sipped on a glass of soda as she began working on her rum and coke.

When I took a bathroom break, I didn't spy my uncle anywhere. Returning to the living room and my aunt who was on her third drink, I decided as we resumed our crocheting to see if I could pry a little more out of my aunt regarding sex.

"So, Aunt Betty, you still retired from sex?" I said coyly, hoping she was willing to talk about it.

"Lord, child, yes!" she replied, shaking her head. "Glad to put all that foolishness behind us"

"You don't miss it?" I asked. "Not even a little bit?"

All I got in reply was a snort as my aunt took another sip of her rum and coke. I decided to press on. "Did you ever enjoy doing other things?'

Aunt Betty paused and looked at my quizzically. Feeling naught I poked out my cheek with my tongue while simulating stroking and sucking a cock with my fist and open mouth.

My aunt rolled her eyes and said, "My God, Missy, how John used to be after me to do that – he was like a little boy begging for a cookie." She shook her head and said, "Why I could barely get my lips around that big thing of his and he always wanted to cum in my mouth. I was gagging just tasting his thing, let alone his seed. I put my foot down long ago and stopped that nonsense."

I nodded as if I agreed and then plunged in with another question. "Did he ever return the favor?" and flicked my tongue out in illustration.

To my surprise, Aunt Betty blushed slightly and almost giggled before replying, "When we was younger, sometimes." She looked down as if slightly ashamed. "I have to say, some of our best moments in bed were when he was licking me – that tongue of his could make me tear at the sheets." Then her face clouded up and she said, "But then he'd want to kiss me and that was as nasty as him cumming in my mouth and I just told him no and it turned out it wasn't something I missed all that much."

I didn't know what to say to that. I was pretty much neutral on Sam licking my pussy – it didn't do much for me, although when he kissed me after, I never minded the taste of myself. I like the taste of semen better, but I think I'm pretty good tasting too!

The moment passed as Aunt Betty got a little off track in her knitting and once we fixed that, she fixated furiously on not messing up a second time – pausing only to work on a fourth and then a fifth rum and coke. The house was quiet as we worked and I mulled over her words – thinking how much I'd love to have Uncle John shoot his load in my mouth.

I excused myself a second time to the bathroom, still not seeing any sign of my uncle and when I returned to the living room, Aunt Betty was fast asleep, her chin on her chest, her crocheting needles still in her hand. I eased the yarn and needles out of her hand, tidying things up and storing them away. As I straightened up, I heard Uncle John say, "Well, I reckon she's out for the night. Sometimes, I think she drinks a little bit much." He was leaning in the doorway, wiping grease off his hands with a towel.

He came over and gently took her feat and swung them up on the couch, making sure her head was propped up on a pillow. He pulled an afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over her, trying not to disturb her. Aunt Betty stirred once, mumbling, "Make sure you put that dog out for the night, John"

Uncle John smiled and replied softly, "Already done, Betts." I watched him, feeling both warm at the tender way he dealt with his wife and a bit guilty that I had ever thought about getting him to be unfaithful to my aunt. I gathering up all my crocheting materials and we quietly retreated to the kitchen.

"You'll never know what it means, you coming out here and spending time with her, Melissa," he said. "Means a lot to us both," his voice sounded a little thick and as we stood there besides the kitchen table, I was suddenly very self conscious.

"Well, I love you both, Uncle John." I said, feeling suddenly very awkward.

"Love you too, Melissa," my uncle replied, his voice sounding a little bit hoarse. We stood there as if immobilized by the almost deafening quiet and for a moment, I thought he might lean over and kiss me even as I worked up the courage to kiss him and then the moment burst as he sighed and said, "Well, reckon we best call it a night. Don't want folks at home to worry."

He did reach out and squeeze my hand and then opened the kitchen screen door for me, flicking on the porch light so I could see my way back to my car. I felt like I was close to crying – that I'd let an opportunity slip by me as I climbed in and got my keys out. I tried the ignition and it took me a moment to realize nothing was happening. "Well, shit," I muttered as I tried the key again – nothing...no lights on the dashboard, no sound of the engine trying to turn over. My car was dead to the world.

A shadow passed over me and I turned and saw my uncle hovering there. "Problems, Melissa?" he called out.

I rolled down the window and said, "I think I broke my car, Uncle John."

He chuckled and said, "Pop the hood. Let me see if I can figure it out."

I did so and I saw he had a flashlight and I heard him poke and prod a bit. "Try it now," my uncle called out.

I turned the key. Nothing happened. "Not a thing," I shouted back.

Uncle John poked around a bit more and I heard a loud popping noise and there was a flash as something sparked and he said, "Try it now."

I turned the key and still nothing. "Nope!" I hollered.

Uncle John came back around to the window and shook his head. "Not sure, Melissa – might just be a bad battery cable – the battery's good. Might be something more complicated, but I ain't gonna get to it in the dark."

He leaned down in the window and I must have looked concerned – a car repair wasn't anything to sneeze at, not on our budget and he said, "I'm sure I can get it going, but not till tomorrow. I'll get the truck and run you home and tomorrow, I'll fix it and bring it back."

I sighed and meekly said, "Thank you, Uncle John," as I climbed out of my dead car. I glanced back at the house. "What about Aunt Betty? Should you leave her alone?"

Uncle John pointed me towards his truck – an old Chevy pickup and said as we walked, "She'll be fine. Betty won't be waking up until Regis is going off and she'll be fussing that she missed him."

We climbed into his truck – the old bench seat making it feel huge with the seat set back to accommodate his long legs. He fired it up and we headed back towards town. That odd sense of tension I'd felt in the kitchen had returned as we rode silently through the darkness. There was a fixed expression on his face, illuminated by the dashboard lights, as if he was trying to not show any emotion whatsoever. Again, I felt as if an opportunity was at hand, but didn't know what to do. I decided to just start talking and see where it might lead.

"Uncle John?"

"Yes, Melissa," he replied, sparing me a brief glance and smile.

"You've always called me Melissa, never Missy like everyone else, why?"

I sensed more than saw his shoulders move and then my uncle replied, "That's your name," and then he chuckled, pleased at his own joke.

I playfully reached out and punched him in the shoulder, scooting a little closer to him on the bench seat. "Ha-ha, but really, why Melissa instead of Missy?"

Uncle John didn't say anything for a moment, then carefully began to reply. "Well...ever since I've known you, you've been more grown up acting than most - Missy's a little girl's name and I don't know, maybe I always thought it was a bit...what's the word, demeaning? Even before you ran away that time, it was easy to see you were aching to be treated like a grown-up."

I gave a little laugh. "I guess I wasn't too grown up when I did run away."

"I reckon not, but you was aching to be treated older – be trusted like a grown up." He glanced at me again and smiled, "But it all ended up alright. We found you all safe and sound." It was odd, but a strange shiver ran through me as I recalled the memory of feeling so safe in his arms so long ago even as the memory triggered a sweet warmth that spread out from my breasts and loins.

I scooted a little closer to my uncle and said in almost a whisper, "I've never thanked you for rescuing me, Uncle John."

"Well, it wasn't much of a rescue and I'm pretty sure you did thank me," he replied.

Suddenly my heart was pounding in my chest as I scooted over until I was pressed up against him and as I said, "I mean, I've never really thanked you, Uncle John," I dropped my hand down on his upper thigh, sliding my fingers down towards his crotch.

The truck swerved a little as I took him by surprise and then again after he turned his head and stared into my eyes for a long second, allowing the truck to drift over the line of the deserted road. "Melissa," he said carefully – his voice sounded strained. "I'm your uncle and we shouldn't be doing this."

I pressed myself firmly against his side and arm and slowly moved my palm over the crotch of his old denim jeans. I felt a stirring as if something tremendous was rising from a very deep place. "You're the best man I know, Uncle John and maybe I shouldn't be doing this, but I want to...I'm a grown woman and I know what I want and what I've wanted for a long time is to be closer to you." I rubbed his crotch and felt a huge bulge forming underneath his pants – bigger than I had imagined and I felt myself quivering as my pussy began to flood with arousal. "Maybe you want me to be doing this too!"

"Melissa, I don't think we should be..." He stopped speaking as I eased myself up and planted a kiss on his cheek and then trailed my tongue along his rough, whiskery face and flicked it across his ear. The truck swerved again.

We were coming up on the edge of town and there was a small park off to our right – a place that folks like to stop and eat a picnic lunch or take a pee break or sometimes to pull over and catch a nap or park while they carpooled with someone else.

"Pull in, Uncle John and we can talk about it or something," I whispered into his ear before holding my breath to see if he would do it. I continued rubbing his crotch, already amazed at the size of the thing that had come to life between his legs.

For a moment I wasn't sure if he'd do what I ask or speed right by the exit and continue on to my house, but at the last second, my uncle braked and swerved off the road. We rolled to a stop towards the back end of the park, passing a couple of cars that appeared empty and an out of state RV. We were under the shadows of a stand of trees and when Uncle John killed the lights, we could barely see each other – the only illumination coming from the just beginning to wane moon.

Uncle John shifted a little, his right hand hovering over my hand that was rubbing his crotch and his eyes were wide and he stammered, "Melissa, we can't be doing thi..." He never got to finish as I rose up, getting on my knees in the truck cab and kissed him. I pressed my lips against his, liking his grizzly whiskers against my softer flesh as I continued to feel his cock grow through his jeans. I gave a little excited sigh as I open my mouth and flicked my tongue against his pressed together lips.

I could sense his hand moving away from my fingers and then he was gripping my arm, squeezing it gently as he tentatively parted his lips, allowing my probing, teasing tongue to slip between them. Like a startled animal, his tongue first shifted away from mine and then with a sudden thrust, he was curling it against mine – the taste of cigarettes strong, but somehow good.

I made a happy, mewling noise as I leaned into him, letting him feel my body as we both opened our mouths wider and our tongues began a chase of cat and mouse, pursuing and dancing together. I could feel my small nipples hardening and lengthening, chafing hungrily against my bra and I had a sudden urge to tear my top and bra off so my uncle's devilish tongue could have at them.​