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Our lives seem to consist of two separate realities: that of our secret thoughts and desires; and that of our actions and experiences within the real world. Each reality affects the other, sometimes in dramatic fashion. I arrived at this belief because of what happened some time ago.
It began with the arrival in Tulsa of my niece Briana. She was to spend the summer with me as she took summer classes at Tulsa University, where I work as assistant to the Comptroller.
At the time I was a confirmed bachelor, sliding toward middle age. Although I always wanted children, I had none of my own. Briana was, in many ways, the daughter I never had. I had watched her grow up, certain that a sweeter child never drew breath. To know the girl was to love her. I could never have imagined how the affection I felt for Briana would change my life.
It was raining that afternoon she arrived, a steady drizzle that makes a house seem cozy and welcoming. I’d just come home and hung up my jacket when I saw my niece’s bra lying on the sofa.
The bra intrigued me. Come take a look, and touch me as well, it seemed to say. Glancing around furtively, I walked over and gingerly picked it up: pink, cotton with silk lace and ample cups. Without thinking I held it to my nose, savoring the aroma of Coco Chanel perfume and a tantalizing womanly scent as well. Can this really be her bra, I thought. She’s just a kid. But of course I knew different. Little Briana had grown up. And out, and all the ways that a girl grows to become a woman.
That bra changed everything. Up to then she was still, in my mind, a young girl I’d known since she was a toddler. But I realized, not without unease, that the person who’d come to live with me was in fact now a grown woman.
I peeked through a half-open door into the guest bedroom. Briana was asleep, lying on her back. The cover was down to her waist, and the thin T-shirt she wore told me that yes, she had indeed become a woman. I could see, ever so slightly, peaks formed by her nipples, and just a hint of dark areolas surrounding those peaks.
Suddenly her eyes opened, great blue orbs so mesmerizing that I jumped in surprise.
Briana gave me a sleepy smile. “Oh, hi Uncle Mark.” She paused, and then went on, “I was really beat after the flight and taxi ride here. I decided to take a nap before you came home.”
“Hello, Briana. Sorry I woke you. Look, go on with your nap if you like. I’ll just make myself a drink before dinner.” Maybe a drink will calm my nerves, I thought. A good stiff belt or three.
The girl rose up in the bed, supporting herself by her arms held behind her, which only accentuated her bosom. Then she shook her rich auburn hair, so that it framed her elfin face. There was both innocence and enticement in that face. Her features were, in perfect harmony, those of a young girl and a desirable woman.
“I’m awake now.”
“I’ll just fix that drink. Take your time getting dressed.”
But getting dressed did not seem important to Briana. I was desperately mixing a tequila and tonic when she came into the living room, still wearing only the T-shirt that just covered her hips. Below were her long silky legs, which I knew without looking would be perfection.
“What, no welcoming hug for your favorite niece?” she asked ingenuously.
“Of course, honey,” I replied, “welcome to my home.” And just like that we were embracing, she pressing her soft mounds into me unabashedly.
“I’m so happy to be here, Uncle,” she whispered.
I returned her embrace, relishing the feel of my niece’s warm body against mine, the scent of her hair. She held her hips to mine, but I drew my own hips back, because at that moment my manhood was stirring. Briana’s dear Uncle Mark was feeling in no way avuncular, but rather a man who is just seconds from losing control.
It was going to be a long summer. I knew it even then.
After we broke the hug, she held me, fixing me with those pure blue eyes you see only in those of Scandinavian descent.
“So,” I asked, “did you have a good flight?”
“Sure, no problem except O’Hare was the usual mess. Dustin says hello.”
“And your Dad and Mom?”
There was a long pause. “Same as always,” Briana said, a trace of melancholy in her voice. “They’re still together, for now at least.”
I recalled Briana’s childhood. My brother Adam and Briana’s mother Julie had separated for a month when Briana was seven, and again when she was twelve. At the time I lived not far from them in St. Paul. Whenever I visited and could see that things were especially tense, I would invite Briana and her younger brother Dustin to stay with me overnight, sometimes even a weekend.
During those times I tried to give them the love and sympathy they needed but seldom got at home. It just broke my heart to see children like Briana and Dustin caught in the middle of a troubled marriage.
So I spoiled them. We went to the movies; to the shopping malls; and to the Minnesota Twins kadıköy escort games. I tried to be the kind of father that Adam should have been but too often was not. At home we played Monopoly and watched whatever they chose on TV. Anything to remind them that there was more to life than two constantly bickering parents.
Briana, I knew, had been only too happy to move out of home and into the dorm at the University of Minnesota when she began college. This summer was to be another escape of sorts. She was far away from the suppressed anger and tension in her parents’ house.
I shook my head, becoming lost in Briana’s sparkling blue eyes.
“What?” she finally asked with a quick laugh.
“Briana, it’s just, you’re so different from the girl I remember.”
“More like a woman?”
“Yes. When did you, .. I mean?”
“C’mon, Uncle Mark. It’s not like I’m a long lost relative. You still come visit us in St. Paul. We saw each other Christmas a year ago.”
“Yes, but then you always wear bulky sweaters and what not. You seem so .. adult now. I didn’t realize that you were ..”
“Well, I am,” she smiled. “Your little kitten is all grown up.”
As a child and now a woman, Briana was what I call ultra feminine: delicate wrists and ankles; narrow, slightly receding chin; expressive blue eyes behind black-rimmed glasses. Her dark auburn hair was parted just off center, with a wide strand over her forehead that she had dyed copper red.
Her skin was lustrous, as smooth as cream. She had a button nose and full lips on a petite mouth. The girl often had an inquisitive look on her face, as if she were waiting for you to say something she wanted to hear. Or do something she wanted you to do.
Briana was not voluptuous, rather slim and lithe. Seen from a distance, you might pass her without a second glance. Only up close would you see how alluring and utterly feminine she was, like a heroine in a Jane Austen novel.
Through Briana’s childhood I had never once looked at her in a sexual way. But now this woman who still held me in a loose embrace was leading my thoughts to places they were not supposed to go.
“Well, look,” I said, trying to think of something else, “are you hungry? We can go out if you like, or I’ve some home-made spaghetti sauce. We could have spaghetti with wine.”
“Mm, I like that. Especially on a rainy night like this. Let’s just eat in.”
During dinner I showed Briana the course catalog for the university, where she would be taking courses in economics and math. Later that evening we watched the movie Perfect Stranger on DVD, but I could not concentrate. Briana made popcorn and came to the sofa wearing her T-shirt and a thin pair of girl’s boxer shorts. I was sitting on one end of the sofa. “If you scoot over we can share the popcorn,” she said.
I moved to the center of the sofa. Briana settled in, placing her willowy thighs across my lap as she ate popcorn. “Um, now this is nice,” she murmured in a soft breathy voice that was quite different from the child’s voice I remembered.
Somehow I survived the movie and went to bed. I was reading by the light of my bedside lamp when Briana came in and sat on the bed beside me. She planted a kiss on my forehead; then, smiled and looked around, saying, “Goodnight room, goodnight moon.”
I smiled as well. I had read that children’s book to Briana a dozen times; had been there the day she learned to ride a bicycle; had watched over her, in sickness and in health as if she were my own.
Could she now guess the thoughts now dancing through my mind? Did she know that my manhood was fully hard? Making it worse, she drew her hand through my russet hair that was just beginning to gray along the sides. “My favorite uncle,” she said, “you’re so easy to be with.”
“Remember when you still lived in St. Paul? All the places you took Dustin and me? That week you stayed with us when Mom and Dad went to the Caribbean to try to patch things up? That was so much fun.”
“It was, wasn’t it.”
“The thing is, you weren’t always measuring us against some impossible standard like Dad. You just let us be ourselves. I don’t know if we could have gotten through it all without you, Uncle Mark. You meant so much to us.”
She smiled warmly, gave me another kiss, this one on the cheek. “Goodnight, Uncle,” she murmured as she rose up and walked from the bedroom. I watched her womanly derriere as she went, again marveling at how the child I knew had become such a beguiling creature. With a sigh I turned off the light.
But of course sleep did not come, nor would it for hours. When it did come, I slept fitfully. Briana danced through my feverish dreams: her voice, the feel of her embrace, the aroma of her perfume and her body. More exhausted than when I had gone to bed, I rose at dawn and made coffee, sitting on the patio with my first cup. How will I get through üsküdar escort this summer, I thought. She’s irresistible; sooner or later she’ll see the desire in my eyes, and it will ruin everything. Where will I get the strength?
That first day with Briana was a mere foretaste of what was to come. At home I was continually reminded of her sexuality: her warm embrace at breakfast; a kiss at bedtime. Her panties draped across the shower curtain rod; the scent of her as we sat on the sofa watching TV. Her lilting voice; the giggle that made me shiver with secret desire.
I became intrigued by the idea that no girl could be this blithe and affectionate without wanting, shall we say, a more intimate relationship. I am a forty-something bachelor; my only marriage, in my late twenties, lasted exactly four years. But I know the look on a woman’s face when she wants you. When she welcomes the idea of entwining her body with yours.
Many times during those weeks, I gazed deeply into Briana’s eyes, searching for that look. For a sign that I should satisfy myself with her; that it was her wish as well.
But I saw nothing. Not one scintilla of longing or sensuality, not one immoral thought; merely the warm affection that a girl feels for her favorite relative. There could be no question: Briana was as dewy-eyed, as innocent as she was alluring.
I knew this for sure after that night she fell asleep on the sofa as we watched a movie on DVD. When it was over I brought a blanket to cover her, thinking that I would let her sleep the night there.
She awakened, saying, “Is the movie over?”
“Uh huh. I brought a blanket so you wouldn’t get cold.”
“I’d rather just go to bed. Uncle Mark, carry me to bed like you used to. Please?”
Reluctantly, my manhood stirring, I lifted Briana up from the sofa. She was wearing her usual vee top and silk boxers, nothing more. The soft feel and the fragrance of her young body left me breathless. The girl put her arms around me and gazed into my eyes with a contented smile.
Feeling uncomfortably like a groom carrying his bride, I took her to the bedroom and laid her on the bed. After she had settled under the covers, she whispered, “Now a kiss, just like when I was a little girl.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I bent down and quickly kissed my niece on the forehead. She held my hand, an angelic smile on her face. “That was nice,” she murmured.” Briana paused, a thoughtful look on her face. “You know how most kids my age can’t wait to grow up?”
“It’s not that way with me. I’m nineteen, but sometimes I wish I could go on being a little girl. I used to imagine myself as your little girl, Uncle Mark. In some ways I still feel that way.”
I left the room burning with desire. And the certain knowledge that my all-consuming lust for Briana, as real as it was to me, could never be more than a chimera; a secret fantasy. In the reality that truly mattered, I was and must always be her sweet Uncle Mark: a gentle man in whom she could place her utmost faith. I let out a hopeless sigh.
“Well, hello, Mark,” came the voice.
I was grocery-shopping, reaching for a sack of flour. In the second that it took to look up, I knew the speaker: Karen Czernak, in her late 30s; a librarian who looked the part. And a former girlfriend of mine.
“Oh, hi Karen,” I replied, then adding, “you look nice today.” And she did. Her dark hair was shoulder length, cut in a classic style to complement her Slavic face. She was casually dressed in a pale blue T-shirt and jeans. I indulged in a quick glance at her ripe womanly figure.
As we exchanged idle chit-chat about our lives and even the weather, I recalled our six months together. Karen was, like me, childless and a veteran of a brief failed marriage. We had had a dozen or so dates, and once almost made it to her bed. But there were few sparks between us, never that tsunami of emotion that one feels when in love. It was a brief affair; canceled due to lack of interest.
“Okay, well, I better go,” the woman smiled.
“Yes, I replied, “nice running into you.” We both turned our shopping carts to be on our way. And just like that came a tumble of thoughts. Where Briana was soft and willowy, Karen was lush and mature. A glance from Briana, a waft of her perfume, could set my manhood to swelling. Nothing about Karen could excite me that way.
But Karen had one quality that Briana did not: she was Acceptable. Acceptable for me to lust after her; to pursue, and then, should she acquiesce, to satisfy my every desire. And with society’s blessings, no questions asked.
Could Karen quench this maddening thirst for a woman that Briana had aroused in me? I had to know. I hurriedly turned around, saying, “Karen?”
The woman also turned. “Mm?”
I approached her. “Look,” I began, “I’ve .. I’ve thought about you a lot since we stopped dating. And missed you too, if truth be tuzla escort told.” It was a lie, of course, told out of sheer desperation.
At this her eyebrow rose. I went on, “If you aren’t seeing anyone, I’d like to have dinner with you sometime.” My voice trailed off.
Karen shrugged. “I suppose. Why not?”
“The Wild Fork? This Friday?”
“Okay. Could I meet you there?”
“I’d rather pick you up at your place.” And take you back home afterwards, I thought.
“Sure, fine. Seven o’clock?”
“It’s a date.”
A desperate man will do many things. He will get a stylish haircut and buy a new linen sports coat; go to the florist for a nice bouquet; will ring a woman’s doorbell precisely on time.
I did these and more for my date with Karen. Briana had watched me get ready, never knowing that it was my futile yearning for her that drove me to this. In a sort of ultimate irony, she fussed over me like a mother grooming her son for his first date.
At the Wild Fork restaurant, I was the perfect escort. I hung on Karen’s every remark; I laughed at her jokes. I was witty and urbane, a gentleman who wants only to please the woman whom he is with. Little did Karen know how much I wanted her. And why.
We pulled into the parking spot in front of her condo just after nine. She smiled at me, unaware that I was so nervous I was almost trembling. “It’s still early,” she said, “want to come in for a drink?”
Yes, I did. I very much did.
Karen put on a jazz CD and offered to open a bottle of merlot. She showed me the label. I approved of course, and stood by her side as she began to uncork the wine.
Let’s see, it’s been so long, I thought. Must show I want her, but can’t appear too eager. As nervous as ever, I moved behind the woman and placed my hands on her waist.
Karen looked back and gave a quick smile, but did not demur. I leaned forward and began to plant soft butterfly kisses on the back of her neck. Now emboldened, I took an earlobe and began to nibble there too.
Karen put down the wine and turned to me. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve something else in mind?” she smiled playfully.
“Because I do,” I said. And then I kissed her. I took the woman, melded her body into mine, and drank deeply of Karen Czernak. My tongue tentatively and then brazenly explored her mouth, meeting and caressing her own tongue in the process. My hands moved from her shoulders down to her full womanly bottom, and drew her hips into mine.
My manhood, which had never been more that semi-hard on any of my previous dates with Karen, was now a raging beast. Literally throbbing, it was fully engorged and demanding release; demanding a woman’s soft cleft.
Karen broke our clinch and looked into my eyes. After a second she spoke the magic words. “The bedroom?”
In seconds we were there, hurriedly undressing. When Karen unzipped her skirt and then dropped her slip, I saw that my thirty-something librarian was wearing lace see-though tanga panties. I arched my brows in surprise.
“Mark, you don’t know me as well as you think,” Karen said with a wry smile. The next few hours would teach me that in fact I hardly knew the woman at all.
She turned her back to me and waggled her magnificent behind as she dropped the panties, then moved into my arms again as we fell onto the bed. I went through the motions of foreplay. But foreplay had in fact begun that day I held my niece’s bra. The times Briana gave me a friendly hug and a kiss, that was foreplay. Not to mention the night that I, her doting uncle, had carried her to bed. For me, foreplay had been going on for weeks.
Karen seemed ready when I gently rose onto her; she spread her thighs in anticipation. And at long last, my cock head eased into the warmth and wetness of a pussy it so desperately needed. Never, neither the first time nor on my long-ago wedding night, have I felt such a release, a great starburst of pleasure.
I slowly thrust into her, sighing in relief at the feel of her pussy embracing my cock. I watched Karen’s warm chocolate eyes grow large; the first sheen of perspiration on her forehead. “Oh yes, you’re filling me up,” she breathed.
My cock felt enormous, the size of a cushaw neck, as I buried it in the depths of her. Now came a slow withdrawal, now another easy glide to her cervix. We settled into a pleasing rhythm; Karen squeezed my shoulders and eagerly met each thrust with her hips.
But now is the time to confess. I must be truthful, dear reader. In this most passionate of moments with Karen, what went through my mind? Did I imagine that it was actually Briana’s warm pussy that tightly enclosed my manhood? Was it Briana’s soft lips joined to mine? Was it my niece’s firm mounds and not Karen’s pendulous breasts at last pressed against my bare skin?
Yes, yes! In my mind I was not making love to Karen, but rather, taking carnal pleasure with the nubile Briana. I plead guilty to all charges and throw myself on the mercy of the court! A man can only take so much!
And yet… As our love-making reached a pinnacle, my thoughts began to alternate between Briana and Karen. In one instant I was playing out the fantasy of having sex with my innocent young niece. In the next, I was entirely with this ripe double handful of woman in my arms.
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