This work is complete fantasy, a fictional composition about a man and the women in his family, with lots of love and a bunch of sex. It's not a quick stroke piece. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.
Please enjoy it for what it is. If it suits your fancy, good. If it does not, please just leave it for others to enjoy.
All active and named characters are over 18 years of age.
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It was all too much.
Too much shapely ass.
Too much firm boob.
Too much long, shapely leg.
Too much long, beautiful hair.
Too much skin.
Too much of everything.
Too much.
My immediate family was enjoying its annual ritual of a week by the beach, sharing an enormous vacation rental less than a block off the sand. Expensive, but when the cost was split six ways it became quite reasonable for each of us.
What does that have to do with "too much?"
Allow me to explain.
Besides me, my immediate family included my mother Janice, at seventy years old still a head turner with a classic hourglass figure and a mane of silver hair. A lifetime of good eating and exercise had delivered her into her dotage as a true GILF, and she even turns the heads of guys younger than -my own thirty years. Dad had died ten years previously from not-so-good eating habits and a faulty ticker. We missed him, but time had taken the edge off the pain.
Then there were my sisters Terri and Sharon, aged 45 and 40. If the term SILF ever enters the lexicon, my siblings will be the picture next to the words in the dictionary. Holy mama, these two.
Yowza.
We are a tall family in general, so Terri is five-nine and Sharon is five-seven. As if that doesn't attract enough attention, their genetics and their own eating and exercise habits kept them in remarkable shape, long and lean and shapely with curves in exactly the right places and figures that were the envy of every doughy, middle aged matron.
Terri and Sharon were also blessed with faces that could grace the cover of Elle or Cosmo. It was like the face designer on duty that day had taken the best from Cindy Crawford, Julia Roberts, and Helen Mirren, and combined them into something superior to all of them. They were and are total babes. Terri was an OR nurse and Sharon a teacher, and they were both single moms, with Terri divorced and Sharon abandoned by the baby daddy before the little one came.
The gene fairy was very, very good to the women in my family. Very good indeed.
About Sharon's little one. She had produced a daughter, Wendy, when I was only eight years old, putting me closer in age to my niece than to my sibling.
Wendy and I spent a lot time together as she was growing, and she always told me that I was her favorite uncle. Whenever I pointed out that I was her ONLY uncle, she would say, "I don't care, you're still my favorite." With my agreement, she never used the title when addressing me as we were too close in age and personality.
As a toddler, she was my shadow at family events, following me around with her arms extended as if to demand I hold her. I gladly did that.
As she grew I still provided a lot of attention to her, playing games with her and generally keeping her occupied. I was happy to do it; being so much younger than my siblings put me in a different generation, and as a preteen boy I felt a closer kinship with my young niece than I did with my sisters, my boring old parents, and their families.
Even as a teenager I maintained a close relationship with Wendy. We would have long, deep conversations and she treated me like her closest confidant, which I guess I was. As she hit puberty and beyond I was the one who provided an ear or a shoulder as necessary. I honestly enjoyed her company and she enjoyed mine and I was quite attached to her.
I watched her blossom into adulthood and I like to think that I helped her become who she is, a smart, well adjusted, happy woman who will conquer the world.
Like her mother, Wendy grew into a stunning beauty. It was the crowning glory, the denouement, the delicious cherry atop the most decadent sundae imaginable.
Cripes, was she hot.
Taller than most women at five-nine, she was striking enough, but with her absolutely gorgeous oval-shaped face, curly brown hair halfway down her back, and a body do die for, she was a fucking goddess. Long and lean, she nonetheless sports large, full breasts, only 34s because of her wiry frame but easily c-cups in size.
She was and is a stone fox, ain't no doubt about it.
And remember, I'm her favorite uncle.
But even all that wasn't enough to trigger my dilemma, oh no.
You see, Wendy had not only joined the rest of the family for a week at a beach house, but had brought her friend Kate along, another brunette who was every bit as lovely as Wendy.
Do you see where I'm going with this? Thank you.
Kate was like a reflection of Wendy in many respects. Kate was an inch taller, bringing her within four inches of my own six-two. Also long and lean, she had the longest, straightest, smoothest brown hair of anyone I knew, framing a longish face reminiscent of Celine Dion but without the hard edges. She had this disconcerting habit of standing very close when engaged in conversation, sometimes within less than six inches, and her height put our eyes at almost the same level.
Oh, those eyes. As brown as her hair, they were deep pools of wonder, sparkling with wit and intelligence and inviting anyone looking into them to just dive in and drown.
Wendy and Kate had been classmates and college roommates and I had known her since she was twelve. I was quite fond of her and truly enjoyed her company.
Two quite lovely women in their early twenties, freshly graduated from college and anxious to take on the world. A den of foxes. Vixens?
Thus my dilemma.
I mean, picture the scene. We were all staying in a large house in a popular beach resort town in the middle of a hot summer. How do people dress at places like that?
Skimpily. Shorts are
de rigueur
as people want as much skin as possible exposed to the sun. T-shirts and tanks are the universal tops for men, while women wear what they can get away with. For pretty twentysomethings that was usually crop tops, often worn braless, and of course bikinis.
Oh man, those bikinis.
I was surrounded by acres of beautiful flesh at every turn.
The struggle was real.
