There it was at the end of the picnic table, the face that launched a thousand dicks.
I'm referring to my niece Molly, and the summer that changed all our lives. We've been flirting since she was a little girl, but the undertone of attraction between us solidified as she grew older. She always liked to sit on my lap, for instance, but when she was fourteen she wriggled around too much, and I grew a full-blown hard-on. It embarrassed both of us and it was a long time before she sat on my lap again. After that, I tried to maintain a properly avuncular distance, but ever since she has loomed large in my erotic fantasies.
By the time she was twenty, Molly had long, rich and wavy copper red hair, green eyes that sparkled like a lake in the summer sun, breasts that recalled Mediterranean cantaloupes, and the slender, tapered legs of the swimming champion she was in college.
But for all that, she had the loveliest, almost classically sculpted features. High cheekbones, just a sprinkling of freckles, her nose sharp and pert, her lips thin and red, and a round chin that called for a firm, masculine hand to tilt it upward for a gentle kiss.
This was the year Molly, my brother Bart, and his wife Cheryl decided to join my family on our annual camping trip to Vermont. There is a state campground I've always enjoyed since childhood, when my parents would bring (in order of oldest to youngest) myself, Bart, and Beatrice, our long-missing youngest sister. I insist on spending at least one week a year there. My wife, Vicki, is a born camper, but not Cheryl. (I ought to mention that in this case, brothers married sisters, just to make the math more complicated. I have two boys, Bart three girls. Molly's his youngest.)
On this, the day that changed so many lives, I hadn't seen Molly in at least two years. This was normal; she went to school in the Midwest, and opportunities for her to come east were few and far between. But it was August, her summer job had ended, and she had two weeks before going back to school.
My heart, and my cock, leapt when I saw her after all this time. The swim team had done wonders for her. In my fantasies, Molly is curvaceous and a little plump, but all the swimming had slimmed her down and toned her up (as, indeed, a similar regimen had done for me, and I was about 46 at the time).
"Uncle Bert?"
"The same," I said with a smile, and we embraced. I gave her a quick peck on the lips, but my hand, I swear by its own volition, cupped her tight little ass for a second. She shot me a look of mock indignation and then melted my heart with a smile.
Two days later: early afternoon, sunshine on the lake, gentle breeze in the trees, and everyone but me down at the beach; I was lounging in my Adirondack chair, sipping beer and reading. I reached the end of a rather long chapter, and decided to mosey over to Bart's campsite to see what he was up to.
To my agreeable surprise, Molly was by herself at Bart's site, which was well away from the dirt road and largely out of the view of other campsites. I saw her from the back; she wore a blue plaid man's shirt with her hair up, and tight blue jeans. She was fiddling away at something on the picnic table, which was under a blue mesh screen tent, and didn't hear me approaching until I was almost at the entrance.
"Oh, hi, Uncle Bert," she said, genuinely happy to see me. "I was just killing time with this jigsaw puzzle."
"Well, don't let me stop you."
"Thanks, I'm just about finished."
With that, I went to the other end of the table, placed one leg under it so that I could get a better view, and gazed at my beautiful niece. I loved the look of concentration in her eyes as she fiddled with the pieces, the arc of her breasts as they hovered just an inch above the cheap plastic tablecloth.
Soon my mind drifted to other thoughts, to the fact that her tent was close and empty, with its soft air mattress, its warm, velvety sleeping bag and nobody around. To unbuttoning that shirt with my teeth, and snapping the button on those jeans. I wanted to watch her wriggle out of them as her boobs bounced around on the air bed. I wanted Molly to unzip my trousers, and have her marvel at the raging hard-on that was right now swelling against my zip--
"Uncle Bert?"
My reverie snapped.
"Yes, hon?"
With a knowing smile, she acknowledged the obvious; I had picked that day to wear khakis.
"Thinking about me?" Her smile glimmered with amusement, but her eyes held a touch of alarm.
"Always," I confessed. "I can't help it."
Molly moved closer.
"I know you don't think I remember the last time you got one of those for me," she said. "But it was my first. My ass tingled for days."
"I'm not sure we should be talking about this," I said, even as my dick moved on its own. I moved closer; Molly's fingers were now inches from mine, and I placed my hand over hers.
"Uncle Bert …"
Molly rose suddenly and started to leave.
"Please! Wait," I said. "Maybe we should talk about this."
Molly sat again, but in the way I did, one shapely leg under the table, and facing away from me. She told me later she thought it would put me off, but the truth is, from the back she is extraordinarily sexy. Personally, I think she's lying; she knew precisely what I would do next.
I took the opportunity to straighten my dick before it started popping seams. I could tell my pulse was racing by the fast pounding of my cockhead against my abdomen. I scooted forward along the bench and enfolded Molly in my arms, rubbing my hardness along her ass in almost the same spot it had first been so long ago. Her sigh told me everything I wanted to hear. I nuzzled the back of her neck and boldly cupped her breasts.
"Molly, my darling," I whispered, and ran my teeth along the swan-like curve of her neck. "I've loved you for so long."
"Uncle Bert, I don't know what to say."
But the way she fell back in my arms told me what she had to say. She began to grind her ass against my boner and squirm in my arms as my ministrations stiffened her nipples. Once I had them as firm as cherry pits, I slid a hand to the button on her jeans, popping it open with two fingers. Down went the flat of my hand to the elastic of her panties.
"Oh, you know just where, don't you?" she cooed.
In reply, my fingers found her thick, curly bush. Down, down I went, until I felt dew and, more importantly, her excited, and distended, clit.
"Oh!" cried Molly. "Right there!"
I didn't need any more encouragement. Molly was mine now. Opening her zipper to give my fingers more room to maneuver, I abandoned all subtlety and frigged her clit for all I was worth.
I was now free to slide my other hand under Molly's shirt, along her smooth, lightly freckled skin, and, at last, the object of a thousand hungry fantasies, my searing palm on her now palpating breast. I took Molly's nipple between my fingers, rolled it as I masturbated her into a frenzy.
By now, Molly was grinding my prick so hard she came close to flaying skin.
"Are you almost there, darling?" I whispered, close enough to climax myself to just cream my pants and be done with it.
In answer, she cried out in passion. Her arm whipped around and crushed my face to her neck, as if I were a mast to hold onto during a storm at sea. She thumped up and down on the bench as she came once, twice, more. I felt hot tears splashing onto my arm as the feelings she had bottled up for years gushed to the surface like a long-dormant geyser coming back to life.
