Alice My Uncle & Me

This is the account of the first of five nights that studly 18 year old Mikey spends together with Mike, the 24-year old uncle he idolizes, and Mike's fascinating and beautiful 22-year old fiancé Alice.

Alice and My Uncle and Me: Day 1

The room was completely dark. But my senses had never been so alert! I was sitting in an chair upholstered in a rather nubby fabric and with any tiny motion, any slight shifting, my naked arms and legs were stimulated almost beyond toleration; the slightest movement and caused my balls to drag against the rather rough material. My throbbing penis, towering in the air above my balls, felt nothing unless it might have been to brush against the hair above or below my navel as it trembled in space. I could not even will myself to touch it, not now! The soft, smoky voice of Linda Ronstadt was coming from somewhere in the darkness, singing "Someone To Watch Over Me." In the air, there was unmistakably the strong, musky smell of sex. Slowly, slowly, almost insensibly, I came to be aware of the loom in the darkness of a vague shape. No! it was not a trick of my eyes, there was a shape manifesting itself in the gloom. Above, in the ceiling, a tiny glow grew more obvious, and then slowly, slowly below the glow the shape, right in front of my eyes, took on a slight bit of color -- it was flesh -- and as the glow from above grew subtly brighter, the shape below resolved itself into two figures on a bed. I perfectly well knew it was my uncle Mike and his fiancee, Alice, and within a few moments under the gradual strengthening of the light their particular shapes became obvious.

I was sitting in a chair not two feet from the bed, and all my senses were focussed upon the events there transpiring, mere inches away. At first I could see only my uncle's wonderful body. First coming into view in the gradually widening pool of dim light was his beautiful butt, covered with with what I knew to be a dark blond fine fur; then his powerful legs, also covered with hair, could be resolved; and then, from my vantage point, his big arms and wide shoulders.

At first I could not see Allie at all, not until a smaller lamp, on a table on the opposite side of the bed begin to glow, first feebly, and then more brightly, for she was entirely covered by my uncle's body. I say that she was "covered," but my uncle was not in fact lying upon her. To my complete amazement, he was suspended above her body, which seemed tiny in comparison to his muscular, six-foot frame. Supported by his toes well below her tiny feet, and his big arms on either side of her chest, his body was quite rigid, in the posture of a man doing a pushup.

As the light slowly grew better, I crept out of my chair and knelt close to the side of the king-sized bed, to optimize my view, and it became clear that though they were in coitus, they were tangent at only two points. My uncle had bent down his head to meet the upturned face of Allie, and their mouths were locked in a persevering deep kiss. The other point of connection was my uncle's large phallus, half-buried in Alice's cunt. Other than that, Alice was free to move, her arms and legs and trunk entirely unencumbered, and her legs were wide apart. My uncle flexed his great arms, and his body rose still further above Alice, and his cock retreated an inch or even two from her cunt; but it was a slight additional flexing of his hips and knees that caused it to withdraw nearly completely from her body, such that only the cockhead remained buried within, and the other seven inches were bridging the chasm between them.

With great deliberation and no evidences of haste, my uncle reversed the procedure, but this time with a slight cocking of his hips, a slight screwing motion, and his mighty cock disappeared again, slowly, but right to the root, his balls, which had been hanging above her, slapping onto her body between her legs. As he deliberately repeated these motions, with no haste, no anxiety, I could see that he was taking care that during the length of every stroke, both downward and upward, the veiny upper surface of his cock was deliberately pressed against Alice's clitoral region, relentlessly against the most sensitive and responsive part of her sex. It was amazing to me that such a relatively small woman could have her cunt so dilated.

What must it be like, I wondered, to be fucked like that? At 18, and a big-time stud in my own high-school back in Pennsylvania, I stupidly thought I knew something about fucking. I'd been fucking since I was 14 and I'd had sex -- coitus anyway -- with 8 different girlfriends, and pretty thorough oral sex workouts with six of them; and I had double-dated with some pretty experienced teammates of mine; and god knows I had seen enough video porn; but it had never crossed my mind that there could be fucking like this!

For Alice, could it have been like an angel had come down from heaven to fuck her? So artfully, so manfully, so skillfully that my uncle seemed to be floating above her, only to distend and fill her sex organs with his large warm phallus, and expertly to stimulate her clitoris with his rigidly firm cock? And to masterfully fuck her mouth with his tongue? But otherwise, to hover above her like a protective spirit? He was real, all right. She could raise her hands just a few inches and comb her fingers through the great mat of golden fur on his powerful chest, just above her own lush breasts. And his heavy balls from time to time would briefly nestle in the warm damp space between her vagina and her fundament, before they ascended again into the void above her.

Presently, she grew full and flush in her sex, and she felt she was compelled to move to another stage, beyond the stately, deliberate pace that her man had set. She could have just signaled to him by any of a dozen little nuanced ways - a whispered syllable in his ear, maybe a set of paired gasps, or just a couple of extra little moves on her part. But they were practiced lovers, and she simply touched him on the right buttock with a single finger, twice in quick succession, and on the very next upstroke, he held his position halfway between being fully buried in her vagina and nearly entirely withdrawn. With split-second coordination, it seemed, she began moving against his rigid and now more or less stationary cock. She placed her own hands beneath her butt, and expertly writhed dolphin-style so that she stroked her cunt up and down his great phallus. I was amazed at the distance she could cause her cunt to travel by this manoeuvre, for I would not have thought that she could have either room or agility to completely encompass his cock at one end of her movement, and equally to expose almost all its length at the other end of her up-and-down cycle -- but she did! And beneath and between his large and notably hairy legs, she had freedom to scissor her own legs together and apart, to a certain extent, anyway, but sufficient to give herself the most exquisite sensations in her vagina and in her clitoris. Her cunt seemed to me to be almost a separate thing alive, as though it were grasping and relaxing and hugging and releasing the great phallus that united the two beautiful creatures.

Meanwhile, Linda Ronstadt was crooning "For Sentimental Reasons," and I quietly crept from kneeling at the side of the bed where this action was only a very few inches from my face, to the foot of the bed, where I had an entirely different perspective to view the wonderful full round mounds of my uncle's butt and the large testicles dangling between the two lovers, and the living phallic connection between them. I stood there, but not transfixed, for I was busy. At last I had my hand on my own cock, so very nearly identical to my uncle's, and I stroked it expertly.

I was so very nearly overwrought, however, that it took me only a dozen strokes before I was at the very brink. I held off, and resisted the almost irresistible imperative to continue, but I thought I could be strong. Just then, however, the first of Alice's cries of true ecstasy rang out, though it seemed that by a great intake of breath she had tried to suppress them; and then another. I stood no chance of holding off myself. In two or three more pumps, I exploded, and the first of three great jets of cum sailed into the air, the first landing on my uncle's back and then the next two on back of his big left thigh.

Everything seemed to be happening at once suddenly. Alice, temporarily exhausted, left off her frenzied motions, and lay still. My uncle then resumed his masterful stroking, but from my new vantage point, it all looked different. How obvious now was the flexing of his great leg and butt muscles as he pleasured his woman! But before she cried out again (as she soon would twice more!), he paused, and, supporting himself on just his right arm, reached with his left to the back of his thigh where my warm cum and fallen, and touched it with his finger, and then tapping his finger and thumb together, confirmed from the sticky character of the substance he could not see, just what had occurred. He quickly spread the mass into the golden hair on his leg - perhaps it was really just to clean off his hand - and then resumed his previous position.

With a final series of hard and somewhat corkscrewing strokes, he brought Alice to a still higher plane of pure, exhausting pleasure, and he himself pumped into her load after load of semen. From where I stood I could, or thought I could, almost see his testicles shudder. Of course we know that the actual contractions that express the seed have nothing to do with the balls, but it was a metaphor so strong and obvious that my eyes were easily deceived by my emotions.

Mike did not collapse upon his small but strong and lithe and resilient partner, who had often enough in the past supported his full weight. Instead, in a complex move of great beauty he seemed to scoop her up just as he rolled over onto his back, so that suddenly she was on top of him, without their union ever being broken.

I loved Alice from the first minute I ever saw her. That was back more than a year ago in Pennsylvania, when Mike had brought her home "to meet the parents," and we knew it was serious between them. Since he was 14 Mike had been dating the most beautiful girls ever seen in our parts. In high school he dated a long series of really cute girls, incredibly fresh and wonderful. He enjoyed dating a lot, and it seemed that every six weeks or so there was a new babe on his arm, somehow each of them hotter than the previous ones.

I know that's not possible, but that's how it seemed to me, from my perspective as his six-year-younger nephew, namesake, and huge admirer. I wasn't really his 'admirer,' I was his secret idolator. As described at great length in the series "Cross-country with my Uncle," I thought my young uncle was like a god. He was incredibly handsome, a truly great athlete (he got a baseball scholarship to Stanford), extremely popular, and the valedictorian from a pretty high-power high school in New Hope, in Bucks County. He lived three houses away from me, and I was his only nephew; he had no brothers, and his much older sister was my mom.

Though we had six years difference in our ages, I followed right in his footsteps. He was a very talented trumpeter, and I got state-wide recognition for my trombone playing. I was an eagle scout in the same troop that he made Eagle. I played second base on the high school team, just like him, and we went to the State Championship; and I also played WR in the fall and Forward on the b-ball team. And so forth. By the time I was fifteen, I shot up to 6'1", one inch taller than my uncle Mike, but thanks to great genes and working out, he had an amazing body, big chest, great definition six-packed abs. I had slightly bigger shoulders, and someday I'd put on all the muscle he had, at least I hoped. But in the next years, more and more we came to look alike. We were both blue-eyed blonds (though my eyes were lighter than his deep azure ones, and so was my hair: he had medium blond and curly hair), with notably athletic builds, but we had more resemblance than that. We were actually remarkably similar, more like close brothers than uncle and nephew, with almost the same baritone voices, the same chin and dimples, and in little things, like ears and hands, we were almost indistinguishable. I guess the biggest physical difference between us (apart from his bigger chest and arms and thighs), was the fact that while we both had lots of thick hair on our arms and legs that the sun readily bleached almost to white by early summer, my uncle's chest and belly were garnished by a generous manly array of hair, whereas I was just headed that way.

Okay, physically we were remarkably similar. Emotionally, we were remarkably sympathetic. All my life I had idolized my young uncle, admired him far beyond the normal bounds of hero-worship; and on his side, he'd indulged and petted me and generally spoiled me without limit. He had always been there for me, no matter what, at least until he went off to college and I saw so much less of him, though he always managed to stay in touch with me. There's no question that he enjoyed my idolatry, my worship, and, as I grew up, and developed more skills, he admired me too.

All of this is described in my earlier account, "Cross-Country with My Uncle," wherein I tell how my uncle and I take a five-day trip from Pennsylvania to California, and how, early in the course of the trip we become deeply intimate. In fact it was the physical culmination of a mutual desire that we had felt for years, but which neither of us was able to express, until this opportunistic occasion.

The purpose of the trip had been for Mike take some antiques and family heirlooms from the homeplace in Pennsylvania to the new house he and Alice were to move into after their wedding, scheduled for the Saturday after we arrived in California.

Mike and Alice met while they were students at Stanford. Mike, now 24, had graduated from Stanford two years ago, and he was working as a computer engineer for a small but very successful software company. Alice, now 22, had graduated from Stanford only a few weeks ago with a double major in psychology and statistics. When she had started Stanford she thought she would be a statistics major, and she had never even taken a high school course in psychology, but once she'd taken her first course, she was hooked, it fascinated her. As a matter of fact, the way it is practiced at the research level, half of psychology is statistics anyway, and she was by far the best prepared of her graduating class in that area.

But she was remarkably well-rounded. In high school, she had spent her junior year - actually 14 months-- as an exchange student in the beautiful old city of Dijon, and she was truly fluent in French, and thoroughly conversant with French culture and affairs. The day I first met her she was preparing to play the title role in Phaedra, to be performed by a student group in the original French. Only at Stanford! She had been accepted to Stanford Graduate School of Business as a candidate for their MBA program, to start in the fall. And she played the clarinet quite competently.

Like every woman Mike had ever dated, she was remarkably beautiful. Actually, she was drop-dead gorgeous, but in a fresh-faced, athletic way. She wasn't quite 5'3", and she had a wonderful body! It was, somehow, both athletic and zaftig at the same time. Despite not being tall, her legs seemed long and lithe, probably because of the subtle definition of the long muscles of her limbs. But while her bust was quite womanly, her hips and butt seemed more athletic than lush. In any case, her athleticism always made her seem somehow bigger, to take up just a little more room than she did in objective reality. She had played soccer since grade school, and in France she picked up some skills that are rarely possessed by American girls. But she loved the outdoors, and hiking, biking, skiing, and even on occasion a little rock climbing.

She could have been Mike's sister, at least in the face, with almost the same deep blue eyes and blond hair, and she too had dimples, but they were shyer, a little less often seen, than Mike's. Alice never wore, or at least never seemed to wear, makeup. Beautiful nails, but always the 'sport' manicure, short, neat, no enamel. Her hair was typically in some short and sensible style, and that characterized her clothing choices too.

She was ideal for Mike. Beautiful, yes (at least as beautiful as he was!), smart and sensible, yes, but it was her personality that was so notably congruent with Mike's. She was friendly, frank, often hilarious, and she had (he came to know) qualities of decency and constancy and that resonated with Mike's own. On the trip Mike and I had talked often of Alice and her qualities. And Mike had looked right into my eyes and quietly, from the depths of his heart, said that he would gladly die for her, would be torn limb from limb for her, and I didn't doubt it for a second.

I had met her more than a year ago back home in Bucks County. He'd brought her home for the long Labor Day weekend. I knew that she was something special, and Mike made sure that the three of us got to spend time together alone, with a nice hike out along the Delaware that gave us a chance for a good long talk, several hours together. And of course there were several occasions, barbecues, restaurants, etc., to see the two of them together. It was deeply impressed by her great combination of discretion, modesty, and charm; and she seemed to be completely at ease in any setting, and always able to make very interesting contributions to the conversation, whether the topic was the Bauhaus or the flaws in "Coming of Age in Samoa," or, say, which book of the Barchester Chronicles was the most satisfying, and how long a prohibition on fishing for cod off the Grand Banks would be necessary in order for stocks to rebuild.

The next visit almost got me in trouble. It was longer, almost a week, from the day after Christmas through New Year's Day. This time Mike and Alice and I spent a lot of time together, playing games, hiking, and spending a day and a night in New York City together, staying in our family's little pied-a-terre on the Upper East Side. Alice and I got to know each other quite well, it seemed, but how I got in trouble, or almost, was that my steady girl, Cassie, quite reasonably got jealous of Alice, since I quite obviously was smitten with her. I thought then, and know for sure now, that Alice really liked me too.

Now Alice was a deep file, a careful observer, and a trained psychologist, and someone who had known Mike very, very profoundly by that Christmas. What became obvious to her, though neither Mike nor I would have admitted it, was that he and I shared a very deep love for one another, a love that was overlain with and threaded through with a physical desire for one another, a desire that neither of us could openly manifest to the other, and not really acknowledge to himself. But Alice unmistakably realized it, in our words, in our casual touches, in our glances (did we actually stare at each other?), in what we each said to Alice about the other.

Alice and Mike had a most wholesome and open relationship, and they seemed to be able to talk about anything to one another (I came to learn, anyway). Back in California, Alice told Mike what she had deduced about Mike and me, and as soon as it was expressed in words, Mike realized that of course it was absolutely true. That we had loved each other all our lives, but that once I had gone through puberty ( that was during the years he was at college), and grown tall and big, but with features so very like his own, he had come to see me as an object of sexual desire. And of course that I completely and unreservedly had worshipped him all my life, and that my feelings did not exclude sexual yearnings for him. Indeed, for the trained outside observer these yearnings were all too obvious, and this despite the fact that I had a very active social and sexual life, with excellent relations with a string of high school babes, the last eight of whom I fucked regularly to their satisfaction and mine.