"I've been thinking about what you said about women, and their breasts."
"Yeah?"
"I think you're probably right."
"Thank you."
"But I'm still not sure about*my* breasts. I don't know if they look okay, or not."
"Jan, from where I sit, I think they look just fine."
With that, she seemed to reach a decision – the decision to open her robe, and show me her bare chest.
What I saw was a pair of smallish – each about the size of half an orange, or perhaps a bit larger – breasts, gently rounded, and capped with freckle-brown areolas and pencil-eraser-sized (and obviously erect) nipples.
I looked up at her face, and saw a mixture of emotions on it – fear of rejection, embarrassment, and a bit of arousal. I raised an eyebrow in question, and got a nod in permission to look more closely.
Moving carefully and slowly, I slid a bit closer, and leaned forward a little for a closer look. What I saw was a slight crinkling of her areola and nipples as her arousal grew – along with a slight, faint dusting of freckles across the upper slopes of her breasts. Otherwise, her skin was flawless: a warm, rosy pink, without blemishes. She shivered a bit, and I could see the ever-so-slight jiggle of firm, young, female flesh. When I looked up again (after trying to memorize the sight!), she had a nervous – but questioning – look on her face.
I slid back to my end of the couch, and smiled at her, before telling her "I was right – from where I sit, they look just fine. Better than that, they look delightful! What you might think you lack in quantity, you more than make up for in quality."
She looked relieved, and closed her robe – something I must confess I regretted.
With her robe closed, she looked at me again, blushed slightly, and said,
"Okay, I guess now I can believe you."
I laughed briefly, and asked her "What? Is this a face that would lie to you?" gesturing to my own face.
She giggled, and headed back to her room.
I have to admit that the view she'd given me stimulated me – but not enough to follow up on it. Understand, I enjoy pretty young girls as much as anyone else – but this was my best friend's daughter, only 14 years old, and someone that I'd grown fond of, in an Uncle-like way. I wasn't about to do anything to frighten or otherwise disturb her – never mind anything that would alienate her dad, my friend. All I could do was remember it (with fondness!), without any plan or hope that things would go any farther.
Part 2 Several weeks went by before Paul had to go on any more road trips. During that time, he and I got together several times to have a couple beers, watch a game on TV, or even play a little (bad) golf. As was usually the case, our conversations varied in subject: anything from what the lugnuts in Congress were doing to screw up the country, to (only slightly exaggerated) stories from our youth, to how the kids were doing. On that last subject he once asked me if I had any idea of how Jan was doing on her sex ed stuff on the Net. I honestly told him that I'd made her stuff hidden, and that I really had no idea what she was looking at or learning – and pointed out that I suspected that neither one of particularly*wanted* to know, when it got right down to it. That earned me a wry laugh, along with his agreement.
When he finally did have to leave, though, it was a doozy: 3 full days, and most of a fourth, in late June.
I had just finished a big project, and had several days before I needed to start on the next one, so Paul and I agreed that I would just go ahead and stay at his place. It simplified the logistics, and most important, didn't leave the kids without someone to turn to in case there were any problems.
As usual on his multi-day trips, he had promised the kids that he'd call each night to talk to them.
Things went along just fine – all the kids had something to do during the day, so I only had to make a couple of pickups and deliveries of warm bodies. That meant that I was able to take a couple of naps, and just generally laze about. Even the evenings went well, at first. The boys would get wrapped up in a movie on cable TV, and by the time it ended, they were ready – if not necessarily willing – for bed. Jan would have a friend or two over (with her dad's permission and my approval), and they'd normally spend most of the evening in her room, chattering about teenage girl stuff (boys, clothes, boys, school, boys, and whatever else they could think of). I'd either watch TV with Leo and John, read a book, or just sit outside on the patio with a beer, and watch the world go by.
It wasn't until the last evening – before Paul was to get home – that things changed.
To start with, each of the boys had been invited to spend the night with one of their friends, with them to be returned early the following morning. Paul had Okayed it, so I was fine with it, as well. It was a relatively quick trip to get each of them delivered to the appropriate place – along with a (possibly futile) admonition to behave themselves.
When I got back from that, Jan quietly informed me that her friend had called to cancel a visit. I asked her what she was going to do, and she shocked me by saying that she hoped she could have a talk with me about some of the stuff that she'd learned on the Internet. I wasn't real happy about the idea, but determined to 'be there' for her when she needed someone, so I agreed.
After a little fiddling around, we got settled in the den, with each of us at opposite ends of a large couch.
The conversation started out mildly enough – her wanting to verify some of what she'd read on the sites she'd visited: slang terms for anatomical parts, and so on. I think both of us blushed more than once, at first, before we simply hit some kind of 'intimacy overload', and the terms just became more words.
Things started to heat up, though, when she started asking me if I'd ever done any of the things she'd read about: oral sex, anal sex, mutual masturbation, and such. I have to admit that I was a little uncomfortable discussing it with her (mostly because of her age, though a little because of the previous views I'd had of her, as well). I did concede to pretty much most of the stuff she'd read about (which, happily, hadn't been all*that* much!), and when pressed, provided explanations and details of the acts – though not the time or circumstances. (How do you explain a 19-year-old sailor stationed overseas renting 3 bar girls – all at the same time – for a long weekend? Particularly to your best friends young daughter? Yeah, it was fun (!!), but how do you*explain* it?) I could tell from the expression(s) on her face as I was talking that she wasn't any too sure about some of what I was saying. But, when she asked even more explicit questions, I answered as honestly and completely as I could.
Finally, there came the questions I least wanted to hear: the ones about *her*, and what she was experiencing. Again, it was the combination of her age and being my best friends daughter that was throwing me off – but I didn't see any choice but to 'soldier on'. After all, it was me that got her started on this stuff, so it was up to me to see it through.
She told me about how she sometimes got a 'funny feeling' between her legs, where her vagina was (it helped that we were using medical-type terms). She told me how sometimes she would 'just start thinking about boys', and her nipples would get hard, and sometimes show through her blouse or shirt. She told me how sometimes, when she was going to start her period, she would start getting a strange 'empty feeling' between her legs, and her vagina would get so wet that it would make her panties damp. She told me how she would sometimes daydream, and wake up to find herself squeezing her thighs together because it felt good where her clitoris was. She told me that she would sometimes wake up in the morning with her hand pressed against her vagina and clitoris, and her pajama bottoms would be soaked with her 'wetness'. After each of these 'revelations', I'd try to reassure her that what she was experiencing was a perfectly normal part of becoming a sexually aware and sexually mature young lady – despite the increase in my arousal (concealed as best I could) at hearing about each of them.
She had one last thing, though, that completely threw me for a loop:
"Uncle Dan, I think the thing that bothers me the most is that I don't really*know* what naked people look like."
"Excuse me? You don't know what the parts are on boys? Didn't you give your brothers baths when they were younger? You can't see what's what on the other girls in your gym class at school, when you take showers? Didn't those Web sites have diagrams or pictures on them?"
"Yes to all of that – except that it's just not the same."
"In what way?"
"Well, for instance, I kinda know what girls look like down there, but I don't know what*I* look like – not really. I know what boys look like, but I don't think Leo and John are quite the same as a real man – like you, for instance."
I found that I had one blush left in me – fortunately, the lights weren't that bright, so I don't*think* she noticed.
"So why are you telling me this, then?" Please, God, no, not what I think she's thinking…
"I want you to show me."
Fine, God, be like that. Screw me over. Again.
"Um, show you what? Which one did you want? Not that it matters, since your dad would kill one or both of us in either case." I replied.
"Well, actually, I was hoping I could learn, um, both, if you could. I know that Daddy might not like it, but I*really* want to know, and it's not like we'd, um, actually, um,*do* anything, um, you know?" she blurted.
"Jan, I*really* don't think that would be a good idea. I mean, if you want to find out what YOU look like, you could just use a mirror or something, you know? As for what an older boy looks like, I think you could probably find a volunteer or two that were closer to your age at school."
"I know that I could use a mirror, but it's just not the same – I mean, all I could do would be compare myself to some general drawing, and I'd never know if I was, like,*weird* or something down there. I mean, you made me feel better about my, um, breasts that time, so I don't understand why you can't do the same thing now – you know, between my legs. And if I ever looked at one of the boys at school, he'd tell*everybody* that I did it, even if he didn't say I did more. You know how much trouble I'd be in if that happened."
Thinking back to when I was that age, I could easily understand her point about the boys at school. As for the other, I found myself in a real quandary: as reluctant as I was to do anything that would piss of her dad or screw up her mind about sex, there was a certain desire (!!) to get another – even better – look at her young body. What the hell was I thinking when I started this? I wasn't stoned, so I must have just been stupid!
Apparently, she could see the conflicting emotions and thoughts on my face, because she demonstrated the good sense to simply sit there, and wait, rather than giving me an excuse to refuse outright.
After a few minutes of serious thought, I was finally able to rationalize my lust with the thought that reassuring her of her normal genital development would have a beneficial effect on her psyche and personality. Yeah, I know – but at least it sounded good.
I finally came out of the trance I was in, and looked at her. Apparently, she could see the answer on my face, because she brightened up considerably.
"Okay, Trouble, I'll do it – but only on two conditions."