Uncle Bob

Chapter Seven – Why d'you have to go and make things so complicated?

By Bad Hobbit

©

Sorry it's taken me so long to get this onto the site. It's been lying around for some time, awaiting a final review. Hope you feel it was worth the wait. I guess there will still be 3 or 4 more chapters to go, so watch out for them!

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On Tuesday evening my cellphone rang. I was expecting to hear back from Stacey or maybe Barbie, but when I looked at the display, I saw it was Dolores. Oh fuck, had she found out? Had she heard something from another friend? Had she picked up Stacey's mobile and seen the string of obscene texts and images that had passed between us over the last few weeks? I took a deep breath, forced a smile to my lips and answered the call.

"Hey, Dolores! Great to hear from you. How are you?"

"I'm good thanks," she said in her usual non-committal tone. "I've just been talking to Stacey..."

'Oh fuck! Here it comes!' I thought.

"...and she suggested we invite you over for a meal tomorrow evening. Return the favor for all the weekends when Stacey's been your guest, and that time you made me lunch. What do you say?"

My first reaction was relief. We hadn't been discovered. All was good.

My second reaction was – 'fuck – what's Stacey planning here? If she's trying to find some way for us to fuck at her house, she's just ratcheted the old risk factor up several notches.' But how could I say no? In reality, I most wanted to climb back between the thighs of my dear niece and perform the deed – or deeds – we both continued to crave. How we were going to make that happen at Dolores' house, I had no idea.

"Dolores, I'd love to. That's really kind of you. What time should I be there?"

Wednesday night was surreal. I sat at the table with Dolores, who was wearing a very nice, tightly-cinched, rather low-cut black dress with a mid-thigh floaty skirt, sexy-looking seamed black pantyhose and ankle-strap black high heels. Not completely blatant, but subtly sexy. Her appearance was what I think used to be called 'svelte'.

Alongside me, opposite her Mom, sat Stacey, dressed – well, not quite like jailbait, but certainly more provocatively than I thought Dolores should be comfortable with. And actually, under the circumstances, a lot more provocatively than I was comfortable with. A little crop top, no bra, a cute short skirt and knee-high socks. It wasn't as extreme as some of the outfits she'd tried on for me, but it wasn't exactly demure either. Perhaps Dolores thought it was sweet and little-girly. To me it was less Hannah Montana and more somewhere between Britney in her schoolgirl outfit and the girls in Max Hardcore's fucked-up fantasies. Get the picture? Got the hard-on yet?

But the strangest thing was that I realized from quite early on that Dolores was subtly hitting on me. This was bizarre. Just a few weeks ago, I thought that she would have been happy to bust my sorry ass in one of her courtroom performances and send me down for twenty to life, just for being her shitty ex-husband's dumb-ass brother. But something had changed - for the weirder. Not only was I now no longer the enemy and the apparent right-hand man of the Antichrist, but I was a potential sexual target!

Ordinarily I would have been flattered – and very tempted. Dolores may be a ball-breaker and around ten years older than me, but she's seriously fit, has had some very high-quality work done, and the space between her well-toned thighs would entice many a man with ten times my (admittedly pathetic) will-power. Her tits are firm and, though undoubtedly artificial, then at least classily so. They look like the real tits of a well-endowed woman of twenty five who works out a lot – or at least, that's what I'd concluded when I'd last seen her in a bikini, about a year before. Oh, and her ass is firm and rounded, and her thighs – just let's say that when she walks into a room, be it a courtroom or Wal-Mart – she usually gets the attention of every non-gay man present.

And Stacey sat there like nothing was going on, sweet and demure looking – despite the outrageous outfit – sipping her soda and looking really pleased with herself. When Dolores cleared the starter plates, bending over the table, I noticed, so that I could look down her cleavage (which of course I did – well, who wouldn't) and headed for the kitchen, Stacey turned to me and smiled.

"Well, what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Mom, of course! Don't you think she's hot?"

"Stacey, what sort of a question is that to ask me?"

"But she is, isn't she? I can see it on your face. Bet you'd just love to!"

Oh holy fuck! Now what could I say? I really had no idea what was going on here. I'd assumed that Stacey had persuaded her Mom to invite me over so that somehow Stacey and me could find a way to fuck in some clandestine manner right under Dolores' nose – so to speak. That would be dangerous enough, for both of us. But here I was, becoming the meat in a hot pussy sandwich, not sure who was playing me and to what purpose. Surely Dolores couldn't be serious about trying to seduce me? And fuck, if she did, could I resist with sufficient grace to not offend her? And if I didn't resist, how seriously fucked-up would my relationship with my new fuck-buddy be – let alone the relationship I was trying to start with Barbie? I decided on a direct approach, as I'm too dumb to be subtle.

"Stacey – what game are you playing here? I thought you..."

At that instant, I felt Stacey's slender hand start to unzip my pants, and before I could stop her, snake inside to capture my swelling cock. That was about five seconds before Dolores returned with the main course.

So there I was, sitting at the table with two seriously sexy females, one bending over and flaunting her rather impressive tits at me as she served the food, while the other played with my cock under the table. To some guys, this could be heaven. At that instant, I was so terrified I thought I might shit myself!

"So Bob" (notice, no longer 'Robert') Dolores began as she spooned pasta and sauce onto my plate, "do you have a girlfriend at the moment? Has anyone special turned up since – what was her name? Oh yes, Cheryl!"

And for a moment, there was a flash of the old Dolores. That tone of her voice almost implied that she'd prefixed Cheryl's name with 'that little ass-fucking whore' – which as we know would be a true description, if a little cruel. But I knew that Cheryl and Dolores never got on, and after she'd tired of my dick and my rather slovenly ways, neither did Cheryl and me. But suddenly the smile returned.

"Don't say that you're all alone, a nice, handsome young guy like you?"

I concluded that either Dolores was becoming hormonal or she was being facetious. In any event, this was dangerous ground.

"Hey, I don't need a girlfriend. Stacey comes around most weekends and we hang out and have fun. It's cool. She's like a girlfriend without the complications."

'Truer than Dolores realizes', I thought. A girlfriend without the complications is usually a fuck-buddy. I hoped my flippant remark wouldn't give the game away. And I was desperately trying to ignore the clever, delicate fingers sliding up and down my dick, under the table. I glanced at Stacey, who had that sweet, rapt little 'butter wouldn't melt' expression on her face.

Before Dolores could probe any deeper, I returned the shot. "What about you, Dolores. An attractive, and may I say, hot woman like you must have a lot of guys chasing after her. Who do you have in tow right now?"

Dolores smiled sweetly – something I'd rarely witnessed before. "Thanks for the compliment, Bob, but right now, no-one. Oh, there have been a few, but they're all such losers. Frankly, I can't be bothered with any of them."

I turned to Stacey. "And what about you, Stacey? Anyone special floating your boat right now?" Dangerous, I knew, but at the end of the road Dolores was pursuing was the phrase 'why don't you and me just go to bed?', and as attractive as it might be to get my cock inside Dolores, I'd look pretty stupid with my dick cut off and on a spike outside Stacey's bedroom window, if her main plan was to test my resolve.

"Sure, there's guys hitting on me all the time, but they're all such assholes."

"Language, Stacey!" Dolores said, in an almost automatic tone of voice. "What about that nice boy Josh?"

"Sorry, Mom, but they are. Josh is OK, but we've only just started to get to know each other, and I'm not sure if he's gonna treat me right. Jason spends almost all day trying to look up my skirt. Raoul tried to squeeze my titties yesterday, Darren slapped my ass and Shane said I should go down on his dick – and that was all before lunch break. It's just a whole load of sexual harassment. And I'm sure that if I turned to them and said 'OK, go ahead', not one of them would know what to do. I'm so bored with boys. They're all so lame."

"What about girls?" I blurted before my brain could cut in and stop me.

"Robert! What are you implying?" Note, Dolores had reverted to my full name. That was not usually a good sign, and I couldn't blame her.

"Dolores, it's well-known that girls have crushes on each other, and with boys behaving the way they do these days, who can blame them. But I just meant, does Stacey have any special girlfriends she's really close to, like in a friendly way. Not, like, sexually. I mean..."

I decided that the best course of action was to stop trying to dig the hole I'd gotten myself into any deeper. To my surprise, Stacey smiled.

"Well, my best friend Hannah once kissed me at a sleepover at her house."

Dolores looked shocked, but Stacey, perhaps deliberately trying to outrage her Mom, pressed on.

"Yeah, it was cool. She kisses so much better than the boys. And Uncle Bob's right. I think girls are, like, so more attractive than boys, and I think if Hannah, or maybe Rachel or Lauren, wanted to kiss me or even make out with me, it'd be way better than Raoul or Darren or Jason. So no, Uncle Bob, there's, like, no-one – yet. But it's, like, not impossible. Maybe Josh could totally turn into Prince Charming. Or I could so meet someone when I go to college."

And what was really evil was the way that, all the while she was trying to shock her Mom and fill my head with images of pussy-eating sessions at sleepovers, the little slut-angel was still stroking my cock. This was becoming unbearable.

"It's – it's all the fault of the media", I blurted. "Women are so objectified. They're made into little more than sex-on-legs, used to promote products and distract us from anything real. Guys' brains just turn to jelly when they see an attractive woman. I blame Britney Spears in her schoolgirl outfit and Christina Aguilera in her boxing video for getting Dubya re-elected. Men just focused elsewhere." To my surprise, Dolores smiled. I wasn't sure whether to be pleased or scared; I'd seen some of her smiles before.

As the food was now served, and we'd started to eat, I carefully removed Stacey's hand from my cock. God, it was fantastic while it lasted, but I would have difficulty explaining stains down my pants and white streaks over the dining-room floor. I tried to concentrate on the meal and the conversation, but Stacey kept giving me these sly little looks and smirking.

We finished the main course, which wasn't bad, and as I watched Dolores' shapely ass wiggling in her flared and rather short skirt through the door of the kitchen, Stacey quietly began a little playground chant of "You wanna fuck my Mo-om! You wanna fuck my Mo-om!"

"I do not!" I hissed back, reluctantly fending off Stacey's hand which was trying to return to my cock, and quickly re-fastening my pants.

"Why not? She's hot, she wants you, you both need an outlet."

I glanced at the still-closed kitchen door, and whispered urgently "Stacey, you know why not. You're my outlet – or is that inlet? Look, I love you, I want to fuck you all the time, and I think you want to fuck me. Then on Saturday you hooked us up with Barbie, and on Sunday we made love and I thought it was just you and me again. Now you're pushing your Mom at me, and at the same time jerking me off. I'm getting totally confused. I know you say you want me to have another girlfriend, but do you really, and if that was your mom, would that be sensible?"

She sidled a little closer. "See, I'm not jealous, Uncle Bob. What my Mom most needs right now is a good stiff dick, and I know where I can find one of those, attached to a handsome, sensitive, clever guy who knows how to use it. If you and my Mom started fucking, it would be really cool. Really. It'd be, like, better than you hooking up with a total stranger, or even someone we both know, like Barbie. But I'd still be cool with that too, if that's what you wanted. But my mom is so hot, and you'd so be good for each other. It's just that you'd, like, so have to fuck me whenever we could. Do you think you could do that, Uncle Bob?"

I was frankly amazed. This was so surreal. "Stacey – you're – you're pimping your Mom to me! That's – that's just so bizarre!"

"Oh Uncle Bob, it's not like that at all. I so think she hasn't had a fuck in, like, months, and probably not a good fuck in years. Now that I know just how good a good fuck really is, I just think it's totally important to make sure she gets what she needs. And you need to fuck someone, like, regularly. Someone, like, legal. So, will you help her? I so think she could help you."

"Stacey – I can't believe we're having this conversation. I thought you'd got me over here because you wanted my dick so badly that you were prepared to risk sex under your mother's own roof. I was going to try to talk you out of it." Actually, I'd been prepared to risk it for the sensations of some hot, tight, wet holes around my dick, but I wasn't on the point of telling her that. "Now I'm totally confused. If I do fuck your Mom – then what? Say she and I become lovers – get married even. Where does that leave you and me?"

"Under the same roof, like you say, and you with, like, six holes to choose from instead of three." Fuck, this girl was getting nastier every day.

I passed over her implication that her mom would like to be ass-fucked as much as she did. "Stacey, for fuck's sake! How's that gonna work? As soon as your Mom catches us fucking, which she's bound to do if we're all in the same house, I'm toast and you're grounded, and broke because she'll stop your allowance. And if she's my girlfriend, I'll never get to see you without your Mom tagging along. We won't ever get to be together."

She looked me very directly in the eye. "Look, Uncle Bob. It's like we've been talking about. Like, me and you, we totally love each other, but we can't ever get married and stuff. What we do is like, so awesome but so illegal. So we've gotta get real. We've both got to, like, find someone else, see? Now me, I'm only eighteen and I don't have to rush into anything and I have this gorgeous man who like, loves me to bits."

"Who's that?" I asked, suddenly jealous.

Stacey giggled. "It's YOU, silly! So there's no need for me to go falling in love and stuff – at least, not for like, ages. I don't need some creepy guy to tell me he loves me so I can feel, like, validated and cool when he sticks his dick inside me. And I don't need to hook up with creeps or losers or bullies who'll treat me bad, just to try out some really hot sex. I can do that with you, and I trust you and I know you'll love me and be gentle and never hurt me and stuff, and that's way awesome! But..." Here she grimaced slightly. "But like, I know that sooner or later I'm gonna want to settle down with someone, and we both know that can't be you, and that sucks. So like we said, I need to try other guys, see who treats me right and who turns out to be an asshole, knowing that I don't have to prove anything to anyone or do anything I don't want. And you know about Josh. And, like, there could so be others, better than him. So Uncle Bob, I sorta need to say – would you be terribly upset if I was to like..." she glanced at the kitchen door, "fuck some other guys? Like, not just Josh, but, like, try some more for size?"

"Sure," I stammered. "Sure, I'd be cool with that." I can't imagine I sounded convincing; I'd be about as cool as Mount fucking Kilauea, where the lava hits the sea. In my head I was getting pretty mediaeval, dreaming up new and excruciating tortures for any asshole who tried to put his cock anywhere near my Stacey. Nothing humane like waterboarding - oh no! What I could dream up would leave permanent disfigurement.

But at the same time I was trying to say to myself, 'Get real, Bob. Just because she can't be yours forever doesn't mean you can't let her have some fun. Stop being such an asshole and grow up!' I had to admit that growing up was not one of my strongest suits, but for my Stacey, I needed to make an effort. I put my hand over hers and smiled.

Just then, Dolores came back through the kitchen door with the dessert – a tiramisu that she claimed to have made herself. It was good, and Stacey and I both had large helpings. Then she went back and brought the coffee.

Then totally out of the blue, Dolores said "Did you know Stacey's going to be bridesmaid at Michael's wedding?" I choked and almost spat coffee all over Dolores' tits.

When I'd stopped coughing, I spluttered "so the asshole has decided to make a decent woman out of his latest whore has he?"

"Uncle Bob, don't be like that! Like I told you, Chelsea is a really nice lady! And Daddy is way nicer since he met her." Stacey said with some outrage. "Anyway, that was why my Mom wanted me here that weekend I couldn't hang out with you. We went and chose the most beautiful bridesmaid dress. It's, like, white and silky and totally awesome!" I remembered Stacey in her princess outfit at Disney, aged six. She'd never grown out of her love of dressing up prettily. Except now, for my benefit, she'd added a desire to dress up sluttily as well.

Dolores just smiled at me benignly "I'm glad you share my opinion of your brother and his bride to be, but for Stacey's sake, it would be best to show just a little more tolerance. I've tried to put the whole sordid mess behind me. I shall ignore Michael's past behavior and just be a proud mom watching my little girl looking beautiful as she performs her bridesmaid duties."

"You're – you're actually going to the wedding?" I coughed again.

"Sure – I've had an invitation. It seems that Michael would like to let bygones be bygones."

"Not with me he hasn't." I didn't know whether to be outraged that my own brother had missed me off the wedding invitations list, or feel smug that the piece of shit still smarted from what I'd said when he'd told me in a brotherly, conspiratorial way that he was leaving Dolores, and more importantly Stacey, for some pneumatic blond bimbo.

"So no invitation for you, Robert? I had no idea the enmity ran so deep."

"Oh yeah. I don't suppose he mentioned what I called him when he said he was deserting Stacey and you."

"No. Actually, he seemed to imply at the time that you were comfortable with it. He just claimed you and he had fallen out because you were jealous of him for finding a hot woman."

"Jealous! Shit, Dolores, I spent maybe an hour telling him what a worthless piece of shit he was for deserting his beautiful daughter – and, of course, you – for some overblown plastic whore. He seemed to think he was being clever, which shows how dumb the arrogant little..."

I stopped in mid-flow, realizing that I was just making something of an exhibition of myself, and using language that was not appropriate in the current circumstances. Even so many years later, I was still angry at the hurt he'd caused Stacey. I remembered all the long phone calls when my angel would call me, sobbing that her Dad, and sometimes even her Mom, didn't love her anymore. Clearly Dolores and Stacey had moved on, and I was still in my own little pit of venom.