Being the black sheep of the family is a 24 hour job. It's not always easy but, hey, somebody's got to do it.
My stunning annual performance comes every Thanksgiving when the whole family gathers at my sister's house to eat turkey and dressing and discuss what an utter disappointment I am.
By their standards, I guess it's true. My sister, the architect, is married to a neuro-surgeon and has begat a brood of lawyers, doctors and investment brokers. My father, the CEO and my mother, the state senator, had much higher hopes for me, I'm sure. But I've got a trailer at the beach and my Harley and my freedom has always been much more important to me than a large investment portfolio.
Of all the family, my sister's daughter Aimee is the most like me. She barely made it through high school and dropped out of junior college after three months. With her long blonde hair, firm looking perkies and tight abs developed from years of chain-smoking, she was having no problems getting laid and really had no ambitions higher than that. Because of that, we became allies against the conformity demonstrated by the rest of the family.
When I headed out to my sister's backyard for an after-feast smoke, Aimee came with me, bumming a cig and telling me how fed up she was getting with living with her folks.
"They're killing me, Pete," she said, blowing a blue-gray cloud of smoke out of her lungs. The little diamond in her nostril post sparkled in the late afternoon sun.
"I know what you mean," I told her. "I only have to deal with them for one day a year and I'm about to blow my brains out."
We laughed and bonded like we always do -- us against them -- and finished off my pack of smokes.
When I'd had all I could take, I made with the formal goodbyes and went out to get on the Hog. Aimee was straddling the seat wearing her leather jacket and a pair of jeans that made her ass look absolutely edible. "Take me with you?" she pleaded.
I brushed a tear off her cheek. "Can't do it, honey. They hate me already." She pressed her face to my hand. "Hang in there. You'll make your escape."
I roared off wishing I had her arms around me, holding on.
Several months later I was enjoying a relaxing smoke when I heard the knock at the door of my trailer. I quickly hid the blunt in the bathroom. When I opened the door, there was Aimee, sunburned and wearing a bikini top and cut off blue jeans. "Hey Uncle Pete," she said, smiling up at me from the bottom step. "I made my escape."
She stepped up to the open door and put her arms around my neck, kissing my cheek. She smelled of clean teenage sweat and tobacco. I couldn't help but run my rough hands down her sticky back.
"I hitched," she told me.
"I guess I don't need to tell you how dangerous that is."
She shrugged. "It's only rape when you don't want it." She kissed me on the lips. "Mmmmm," she said. "Can I have some?"
I retrieved the joint and passed it to her. We sat on my Salvation Army-special couch and she held the joint to her lips, taking a long, slow pull and holding it before blowing the smoke into the room. She passed it back to me and I took a hit while staring at her long pinkish-tan legs and the smooth pink tops of her young breasts.
"What?" she asked, noticing me looking.
"You are one smokin' little girl," I told her.
She smiled and winked. "About fuckin' time you noticed," she said.
I ran my hand up her leg, feeling the mahogany-smooth texture of her upper thigh. She stood up in front of me. "I've been thinking about a new career," she said, turning around and showing me her ass. She started moving her hips to the beat of a silent tune as she first unbuttoned and then unzipped her shorts. She bent from the waist, her ass right in front of my face, and peeled them down and off, all the while looking over her shoulder at me.
She wasn't wearing panties. Her untanned ass shone white in front of me as she continued moving and undulating.
Her hands went next to her bikini top. She expertly unclasped and slid it off while quickly covering her pert breasts with her arm. When she turned, I saw her smoothly shaved pussy dancing before me. She slowly dropped her arm, cupping her breasts in her hands and massaging the nipples.
"I'm thinking about being a dancer," she said. She pirouetted and reached behind her, putting her hands on my thighs and lowering her naked butt to the front of my shorts. "Want a lap dance, Uncle Pete?" she asked, as she ground her ass into my hard on.
