My phone rang. I looked down and saw that it was Sarah calling me and my chest went pleasantly tight. Sarah was undeniably special. She had always been my favorite niece. Her mother and father sent her to live with me at least a week out of every summer, demanding that she be exposed to more than they could provide for her. Living in San Francisco I was able to take her to plays, concerts, and museums that her family did not have access to in their small town. Sarah always enjoyed our visits, and her artistic side flourished from her time spent in the city. I must admit that I adored my time with her. Since I had never married or had children, she filled a special role in my life that I had not even known existed. It was amazing to watch her develop from an awkward child into a confident young woman, and I probably doted on her a bit too much. Soon she was spending most of her summers with me, and occasionally other holidays as well.
It was soon after she turned 18 that we started having sex. It was summer and she was upset that she would only be at my house for a week. Her parents wanted her to spend most of her summer vacation in preparation for her first semester at college. Even though she was only attending a community college, she was still moving an hour away from her parents and into her first apartment. I understood her parent's anxiety, and even though I was sad to only have a week with her, I tried to get her to see the logic behind our short visit. I also attempted to provide her with as much casual fun as could be crammed into seven days. We went to see Les Claypool, and ate a three-hour meal at her favorite restaurant. I took her to the Museum of Modern Art and the latest movie that she wanted to see. Every morning there was breakfast and coffee at one of the many shops that she loved, and the day before she left I threw a little bar-b-que so that she could spend time with my friends that she had grown close to over the past few years. We all sat around the back yard of my apartment complex in lawn chairs and papasans, sipping beer from our favorite breweries, as meat and veggies smoked on the grill. Even though I usually did not condone under-age drinking, I even let Sarah have a beer in celebration.
Even though Sarah was nearly twenty years younger than any of the other people at the bar-b-que she still managed to hold well-thought out conversations regarding books, philosophies, and current political events. I was feeling quite proud and attached to her that particular evening. At one point she went inside to refill some snacks and one of my friends remarked that she had developed into an amazing young woman recently. I could tell by his tone that, although he was impressed with her intellect, it was not all that he had noticed. I must admit that I had noticed her blossoming looks as well.
Sarah was still in that innocent, young age where girls try to define their sexuality. Throughout her high school career, she had dressed slutty, and classy, and sloppy, rebelling against any category she might be put into. At age 18, she had now settled on a slightly revealing but comfortable style. She wore make-up occasionally, but not with any real purpose. Her hair, which was long and dirty blonde, was usually pulled back into a ponytail, and she loved sweatshirts or tank tops, nothing in between. Her curves had filled in completely. Her thighs were well-toned from track and cheerleading, and she loved to wear those high-cut shorts that were popular among girls her age.
In fact, all week I had been noticing how adorable Sarah looked. She had a sweet and bubbly personality that endeared her to anyone she crossed, but she also had a sensual, playful side that I knew would drive men crazy. I was enjoying taking her out and watching the young men stare at her as she danced, or pondered paintings with her arm looped through mine. Although I am 38, I have not aged poorly. I have the tone and style of a confirmed bachelor. I am sleek and fit, and it was not difficult to imagine them wondering if I was her lover. Stranger sights have been seen in San Francisco.
When Sarah came back out, she was carrying two bowls of chips and had discarded her sweatshirt to reveal a bikini top. Her chest was tanned and her breasts were perfectly rounded in that way that only lasts a couple of years, no matter how women try to maintain it. Her stomach was flat and torturously cute. My friend who had made the earlier comment gave a happy groan and a knowing wink towards me that made Sarah blush. After all, she wasn't oblivious to men. She set the chips down and curled up on my lap in the papasan that I was occupying. It was a big chair, and not an unfamiliar position for us, but I suddenly felt overly aware of her warm body curled up, lazily, against my chest. Her back pinned my right arm around her shoulders, and I could not decide where to put my left hand. I finally decided to rest it lightly on her thigh, and my fingers absently stroked her skin. She grinned at me, and I knew that she was enjoying my touch. Not in a sexual way, but not in a completely innocent way either, she wanted me to continue that sensual caress. I slid my hand just a bit further up than usual, letting my well-manicured fingertips slide beneath the hem of her shorts, and felt her head nestle down against my neck.
Later in the evening, my friends had left and Sarah was helping me clean up the last of the food littered around the lawn. I took the two paper plates that she had in either hand, kissing her square between the eyes, as I always had. Only this time my lips lingered just a moment longer and I felt the wetness of them against her skin. I pulled away from her, smiled, and asked her to crack me open another beer. As she turned to enter the kitchen I swatted at her behind with my foot and she playfully dodged, just as she always did.
I picked up the rest of the paper plates, threw them in the trash can, and entered the kitchen behind her. She was at the counter, fumbling with the bottle opener. Her legs curved cutely up into her shorts. Her back arched just the slightest, revealing tight muscles leading down to her behind. It was less of a conscious decision and more of an action that I took to test the waters. I stood directly behind her, pressing my chest lightly against her back, the front of my slacks brushing her shorts so slightly that I could not feel the weight of her body, but instead the static attraction between out two garments. I reached my arms swiftly around her, took the bottle and opener from her and opened the beer. Then, instead of moving away, I placed the beer between her hands, causing my forearms to rest across hers. She had frozen.
"Are you comfortable like this?" I whispered in her ear. She took a moment, then relaxed ever so slightly against me, so that I felt her behind against my crotch. Her head fell back against my chest and I dipped my face down to smell her hair. She smelled exactly like summer should. I traced my fingers up her forearms and around her biceps. "Are you sure that you are comfortable?"
She turned to face me, looking directly up at me with those always-trusting blue eyes, and without wavering, said, "Yes."
