I had a fire at my place recently. One of those things. I had a pot of hot fat and I was going to make some chips. Would you believe the blasted handle came off the pot? I suppose it's more accurate to say the pot fell away from the handle, because I was still holding the handle. The burner was on and the fat cascading over it didn't put it out. The reverse, with the fat catching fire and running in all directions.
I'm no idiot. As soon as I saw that pot falling I was jumping clear and I had my phone out almost as fast as the fat caught fire. I've got to hand it to the Fire Brigade. They were around within minutes and contained the blaze nicely. Trouble was the fire got into the ceiling before it was contained and there was enough damage to render it inadvisable to live at home until repairs had been made. It's hard to survive with both the gas and electricity cut off.
I put the whole thing in the hands of my insurance broker, who promised that he'd take care of everything. Then I moved into my brother's spare room. I'd be there for a couple of weeks. I wouldn't really mind living amongst the mess while things got sorted out, but I'd be in the way and I can't stand the smell of fresh paint. Still, I'd be home as soon as I legitimately could.
I soon found that my nephew's girlfriend ran tame at my brother's place. Grace was a honey. Eighteen, blonde and stacked, I could only say that my nephew had incredibly good taste.
Mind you, I was taken a bit by surprise when she stayed over one night and slept in the other spare room. Why the hell hadn't my nephew dragged her off to his bedroom? That's where she should have slept.
I was having breakfast the next morning when Grace and Simon walked in. They were all cuddly and lovey-dovey and I just couldn't help putting in my two-bob's worth.
"You know, Simon," I said, "if you want to have Grace sleep with you you're not going to shock me. Been there, done that, if you know what I mean. And I'm quite sure parents won't say anything. They'll just be happy you're getting a bit."
Geez, you'd think I'd been swearing in church. Crude? Me? What were they on about?
Anyway, Simon explained to me in no uncertain terms that he and Grace weren't sleeping together. Grace didn't say anything, she was too busy blushing and looking anywhere but at me.
"Ah, why not?" I asked. "Geez, boy, look at her. She's ripe for it. Why aren't you taking advantage of it? The way she drapes herself over you she ain't going to say no."
"Grace is a fine, intelligent, young woman," said Simon coldly. "I respect her far too much to just try to have casual sex with her. There'll be plenty of time for that if we decide to get married."
"Doesn't have to be casual sex," I pointed out. "It might help you decide if you want to get married."
I'd actually seen a bit of a look on Grace's face that led me to believe that the abstention was Simon's decision more than hers. She may or may not have wanted to have sex with him at that point, but a girl likes to be asked. It doesn't matter if they're going to say yes or no. They like to be asked.
"If you don't mind, Uncle," said Simon repressively, "our relationship is founded on more than just hormones. The subject is closed."
"Maybe," I said, "but the hormones are there."
I didn't say anything else about the matter. Or not to Simon, anyway.
That afternoon I was in the front room watching some TV. Grace came in and seemed to think that the room needed a little bit of tidying up. She went about it quite quickly, but the work sure seemed to require a lot of bending over. And every time she bent over I'd get a view of very nice cleavage or long legs, shown clear up to the wahoo, with her short skirt barely covering her wahoo when she bent forward. Then she flitted out of the room again.
She slept over again that night. Alone, to my disgust. The next morning I was up early, having some breakfast, when she strolled into the kitchen in her pyjamas. Very nice pyjamas, I'm sure, and they covered her adequately. Or they would have if a button or two hadn't popped open on her top. With her top gaping I had a view of some very nice cleavage, and a full side view of a breast when she had cause to lean over the table for something. She really did have a nice figure.
She suddenly gave a little gasp and hastily did up the buttons, giving me an evil glare.
"You might have warned me that my buttons had popped open," she snapped at me.
I grinned back at her.
"Grace, my pet," I said, "we both know those buttons didn't pop open by accident. You were deliberately flaunting your charms, trying to get me worked up. You'd better be careful about doing that. You might succeed."
This time I got a truly evil glare.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she snapped. "If you think I'm attracted to you, you're mad. Talk about having tickets on yourself."
"I didn't say you were attracted to me. I just said you're flaunting your not inconsiderable charms. Probably to teach me a bit of a lesson for suggesting that you're willing to sleep with Simon."
"Simon respects me," she snaps. "We don't have to sleep with each other just because you expect us to. You're rather crude, you know."
She turned and flounced out of the room, turning to ensure she had the last word.
"And I was not flaunting myself."
Ever noticed how some people just don't listen. I knew the girl ran tame in the house but suddenly she seemed to be there all the time. Twice in the next twenty-four hours she happened to be in a position where I copped a bit of a peep-show. It was amusing, but she really needed to tone it down. After coming into the front room to tidy again, with the resultant bending and flashing, I gave her a warning.
"Grace, have you noticed that I'm not Simon?" I asked politely.
"What do you mean?" she asked, suspicious.
"I mean that I'm not going respect your fine mind or your feminine emotions. If you keep trying to take a rise out of me I'll respect your physical attributes. I'll show you the rise I get and demonstrate how a woman handles it. Assuming you don't know."
"If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, you wouldn't dare. You're an evil old man. And what did that last crack mean?"
"Well, do you know what to do with a man once you've got a rise out of him?"
"You're disgusting," she said, turning to storm out of the room.
"Maybe, but you've had the warning," I called after her.
Will - not - listen.
Next morning at breakfast, there she was, button undone and letting me catch a glimpse of breast when she bent forward. Well, she couldn't say she hadn't been warned.
"Grace, come here," I said.
She looked at me, innocently bemused.
"Why?"
