Farewell Uncle George

I am attending the funeral for my Uncle George, who died unexpectedly a few days ago.

There are many tearful people here and all of them are around his age, most wearing dark glasses to hide their red eyes. I came here with my cousin Rachel, but we are not tearful, we are not his age, but we are very inquisitive.

The service is almost over as we stand to watch Uncle George's coffin being carried out to the hearse. We leave the church, Rachel and I are wearing sunglasses to blend in with the others, also to hope we are unnoticed. We both have lost a family friend, although we both know he was not an uncle in the true sense of the word. Years ago, our mothers, who are sisters, went to school with the woman who was George's wife until recently. We called her Aunt Lill, as older people expected of young children of that era. Poor Aunt Lill had heart problems and died of a fatal heart attack.

Uncle George, or George Keiran O'Brien, to give him the name the priest used during the service, was a regular member at our family gatherings, so I wondered who all these older people were. How did they know him, was the question in my mind. Mum and Aunty Ruth, Rachel's mother, and George's wife, Lill, remained friends. Lill and George were often invited to family functions, now that continues, just so George can stay in touch with his 'adopted family;' he always seemed to be quite at home at our family gatherings. This made it difficult to know who and how many of those present were or were not directly related to us.

When I was a child and old enough to socialise, I was introduced to Uncle George, by my mother, "Kim, say hello to Uncle George," was mum's instruction to me. In my shy way, I kept looking as his feet as I spoke. As we grew up, it became easier to call him Uncle George, he was always there.

Rachel and I left the church with our heads bowed to avoid having to talk to those whom we didn't know. We watched the hearse leave as we walked to Rachel's car. We travelled in her car, because funerals seem to be the one event where you don't want to be there alone.

As we drove out, Rachel asked me, "Kim, what do you want to do for lunch?" It well past normal lunch time, so I suggested that because we were near the beach, we could have lunch at the restaurant at the end of the pier.

"If we go to the Pier Restaurant, we are sure to be alone. Nobody likes walking that far for food, and no-one will comment on our presence at the funeral, I am sure," I asserted.

"OK, let's go there." Rachel seemed pleased to be away from those strangers.

We drove in silence until we reached a red traffic light, when Rachel spoke, "I wonder how many people really knew him, I mean in the broadest sense," she added. The lights changed to green and we moved off. I remained silent until the traffic had eased ahead of us.

"Why do you ask? You saw the people there; the priest said he was an excellent community person," I queried her.

"What did the priest say? He was an altar boy, a choir boy and in later years taught religion to the younger students at the Catholic Girls' School," Rachel elaborated on her comment.

"That explains why the girls in school uniforms were there. I wonder how much those girls will miss him?" I asked, as a second thought.

"What do you mean by that, Kim?" Rachel asked me. She looked surprised as she glanced in my direction.

"Well, I know quite a lot about him, but let me start with the day my family celebrated my 18th birthday. He was there, but not by my invitation. Mum had invited him to keep up the 'family friend' tradition. When all the 'happy birthday' stuff and the song were over, Uncle George came up to me, kissed me on the cheek and said, 'Happy birthday, Kim.' As he moved away, he whispered, 'You're old enough to fuck now.' He was watching my face. I was surprised, but I was gracious enough to smile, which I think he incorrectly took as acceptance of his veiled offer." I didn't want to reveal too much to Rachel, in case I said too much. There are some things in my life I choose not to share with others. My real relationship with George was one of them.

"And did he follow through, Kim?" I knew she would ask that, so I had to be careful with my answer. "Well, not exactly. He didn't rush me off to some sleazy motel, if that's what you're asking, Rach." I tried to make light of the topic. "Look, Rach, there's a parking spot, where the BMW is backing out." The Pier was busier than I expected, my cheeky comment apparently went unheard by Rachel.

We were shown to a table by the friendly young waiter. We ordered a Bundy and Coke, a real girls' drink. It may be enough to wash away the solemnity of the funeral. If not, a second one would do it.

"Kim, what did you mean about 'knowing George,' because I have a story about him too," Rachel admitted.

"What's your story, Rachel?" I felt there was something, because her voice sounded serious. I waited for more, but I had to prompt her. "Go on, tell me your story," she looked around the room as if making sure no-one could hear her.

"Well, just after I turned eighteen, I was home alone one weekend when the doorbell rang. I opened it and I saw Uncle George standing there, so I invited him in." She looked around again. "It was a hot day, so I offered him a cold drink, which he accepted. I put two drinks on the kitchen table; we were sitting opposite each other and George started to tell me a story about a car.

You have probably noticed he talks with his hands, when he described the car passing, he knocked his drink over and it splashed in my direction. Most of his drink ended up in my lap and my cotton skirt was soaked. As quick as a flash he was at my side with a tea towel in his hand to sop up the water from my skirt, which I thought was a kind gesture.

That was, until he suggested the water may have wet my panties and lifted my skirt to check. Before I could react, he was dabbing the front of my panties." I accidentally interrupted her story, with such surprise,

"Really? What was he expecting? No panties?" She nodded, and I apologised for the interruption, "Sorry, Rach, please continue, I was just surprised." She was about to continue when the waiter served our meals and she remained silent until he was well away from our table.

Rachel went on, "I realised what he was doing when I felt his finger moving up along the line of my vagina; my panties were pushed aside. It was just his finger lightly pressing into me. I pushed his hand away and said 'No.'"

"So, he stopped, did he?" I asked.

"No, he said I would like to feel him pushing his finger into me, I was eighteen and it was OK."

"Did you let him?" I was curious.

"No, not then, but a while later, he brought up the question of sex. 'Have you ever been fucked, Rachel?' I was shocked, but it did start me thinking about his comment. I told him 'No.' He went on by saying that if I didn't try it, how would I know if I liked it or not.' I poured him a fresh drink and told him not to spill this one on me. Because I didn't feel safe, I didn't change my panties, I thought he would follow me into my bedroom. I kept the wet ones on."

"Did anything happen after that?" I wasn't going to mention my experience with Uncle George, but I felt I owed it to Rachel, to tell her she wasn't the only one he molested.

"Can I tell you MY story about Uncle George, Rachel?"

"What, you too? she exclaimed. I nodded positively.

"It seems so. He came to our place when I was on my own, saying he was 'just in the area.' I invited him in and as we walked into the front room he said, 'You've got nice tits. Can I feel them?'"

"What an opening line, eh?" Rachel quipped.

"I was wearing a firm-fitting T-shirt and I knew they were on view. Perhaps I should have been wearing a bra, but it was summer and I was alone until he arrived. We were sitting side-by-side talking about whatever he had been doing, and why he was 'in the area,' when, without warning, he cupped his hand over the closer boob and squeezed it. 'You do have nice tits,' he told me again and asked me to take my shirt off. I pushed his hand away, but he was insistent. He started a new line, 'If they are poking out like that without a bra, I'd like to see them in the flesh.' I said 'no,' but he insisted."

"And did you?" Rachel inquired.

"Yes, I did! I was in a happy mood and I didn't see any harm in showing him, particularly when I was told he was family. I was proud of them, so I lifted my shirt to show him. It's nice to be told you have nice tits, even by a relative. I liked it. He reached out both hands and he instantly had one in each hand, doing the nipple twisting thing that men like to do. Rach, I really enjoyed him doing it, but I wasn't ready for what happened next."

Before I continued, I beckoned the waiter over and ordered two more drinks. "Talking makes one thirsty," I said as a throw-away line. Rachel was waiting for me to continue, "He moved one hand away and unzipped his pants and said, 'Look at this. Isn't it a beauty?' Well, he was right, it was a beauty. I was curious enough to feel it, so I held it and before long, I was jerking him off." I explained to my cousin. She looked shocked; her mouth was partly open in surprise,

"You didn't, did you?" Rachel asked me, and I nodded confirmation.

"It may seem silly, now, but by doing that I felt I had some control over him. He let my other boob go, and held my shoulder. He seemed to be encouraging me, so I continued until he came all over his trousers and on my hand. I have to say, he did have a large cock, that's for sure."

"Yes, he did, I noticed that too," Rachel commented. I looked at her. She sensed I needed an explanation. "Kim, I wasn't going to tell you this, the next time he arrived, he seemed to know that I was alone, and like you, I invited him in. I asked him why he was near my place and he admitted, 'I came to see you.' I asked him how he knew I would be home and he said he met mum and she said she was going to bingo."

"So, he knew when to call?" I checked for clarification.

"It seemed so. I told him he could see me now, here I was. He said he wanted to see ALL of me." "You mean naked?" I asked Rachel, who nodded her head but kept talking, "I told him it was not right to ask me to do that. He reminded me that I was over eighteen, so I told him I would keep my panties on. He agreed to that. I didn't have much to take off, my sweat shirt, bra and track pants and I stood exposed before him. He looked satisfied. He felt my breasts and commented on their firmness. Then I saw his cock in his hand as he came closer to me. He said, 'Rachel, look how close my cock is to going into you. Just the thickness of those panties,' he said.

"Truly, Kim, his big dick was pressed against my front and it was rock hard. I was tempted. 'I bet you like it, he taunted me."

"Go on, tell me, did you let him do you?" Rachel asked, full of curiosity.

"Yes, I gave in. He was so close. All I had to do was pull my pantie leg to one side and he could get full access. He watched as I pulled them aside, and I told him to push in. He pushed right in, with my help. I had to widen my stance to stay balanced. I must say I was curious to feel a big cock in me. It was quite nice. So, Uncle George scored with me, because I was curious. I'll bet he thought I gave in to his request."

"Was that the last time you saw him, Kim?" Rachel asked me.

"When I moved into my apartment, he visited almost every week. He became very predictable, he also made phone calls to see if I would he home, before he came. I didn't want him there at the same time as my boyfriend, that wouldn't be a good look."

"When was the last time you saw him, Kim? Do you remember?" Rachel asked. I thought for a while.

"I think it was last Easter. He brought me a toy rabbit and said we could do what the rabbits do. I laughed at his humour. I can't recall him visiting after that. No, that was probably the last time. I thought he had given up chasing girls like us. Maybe he moved onto younger ones." My comment was flippant, but I wouldn't have been surprised to hear he was caught with a young girl. "Now you can see why I made that comment when I saw those school girls at his funeral," I told Rachel.

Rachel, drank the last of her drink, and told me, "Well, I saw him after that. Easter, you said? It was mid-June when he last visited me. He didn't look sick. He was ready to go. We ended that visit with a sixty-nine, him on top. He said he felt like ending the afternoon with a difference. Maybe I was last to taste his semen. Rachel said.

"I didn't know he had died until mum called to tell me she saw the funeral notice," I said.

"Yeah, mum told me a few days ago. I wonder what killed him? He didn't look sick when he was at my place. I thought he had plenty of energy that day. It was a day to remember for me. I didn't know he was visiting you as well", Rachel admitted.

"No, I wonder how many other girls were visited on a regular basis by Uncle George. I wonder what they called him if he did see others," I mused.

"I wonder how many of those weeping women had felt his big cock inside them, or if he died on the job with one of them. Anyway, it wasn't because of us," Rachel said, with a sound of relief in her voice.

"Or, did he spill a drink on any of them to start his initiation?" Rachel quickly added. We laughed.

I sat there contemplating the discussion we just had. The sadness of the funeral service was replaced by a strange warmth for George, in some way, a sort of hero status, so when Rachel suggested we drink a toast to Uncle George, I ordered two glasses of champagne.

When the drinks arrived, I proposed a toast, "To Uncle George and his companionship and may he satisfy all the angels in Heaven." When we stopped laughing, we finished the champagne.

We headed back to the car. As Rachel opened the car door, she asked me, "How many angels are there in Heaven, Kim?" I said I didn't know and I asked her why she wanted to know. She answered, "I hope there are enough to keep Uncle George satisfied."