A couple of months ago, a lovely woman reached out to me via email and told me of her fantasy regarding her favorite uncle and asked if I wanted to write a story for her that she might share with him if things went right. As some know, I rarely do collaborations, but this story and her situation intrigued me and after many nosy questions on my part and patience on her part, I wrote the following story. I like it, she enjoyed it and I hope you do too. Anything good about it I attribute to "Melissa" and anything bad about is on me. Please let me know your thoughts, both pro and con on it. Feedback is important.
Thank you, Melissa for sharing your fantasy with me and everyone at Literotica! Enjoy
I always thought the old brickyard factory – abandoned for as long as I could remember, was a pretty cool place to hangout. My friends and I have spent many a summer afternoon here – goofing off, listening to music on Cooter's portable radio/cassette player, maybe dancing a little bit, or trying out kissing with that Brent Statler, but now...now in the hours after midnight, with shadows rising up from the old machinery or piles of discarded and broken bricks and with the temperatures falling past freezing in the chill, Colorado air – I realized that while being her all alone, this place is just damned creepy!
I was huddled in a corner on the second floor, jumping at every little sound as the old building creaked and moaned or as little critters that slept hidden during the daytime came scurrying out. The wind made sounds that sent chills up and down my back and I whimpered as things flapped across the wide expanse between the walls – sometimes seeming to flutter across my face until I pushed away at them. I hoped and prayed they were birds and not bats. I hated bats. For not the first time since the sun had set, I hugged my knees to my face and cried and who could blame me? I was twelve and for almost twelve hours, a runaway.
It might seem silly to some, but after Momma and Daddy had told me I couldn't go to the Statler boy's party because I wasn't freaking old enough, I decided I'd show them who was old enough. I'd packed a duffel bag with clothes, my tooth brush and make-up kit – which they also said I was too young for, and a few snacks and decided I'd hit the road. No definite plan – just getting the hell out of that prison of a house and making my own decisions. I was sure I could get a job somewhere doing something and live my own life...maybe. Again, what did I know? I was twelve.
I knew if I had gone to a friend's house, Momma and Daddy would find me quick enough, so when I'd slipped out the window a couple of hours before dusk, I'd snuck across neighborhood backyards and then over the bare fields to the old brick factory, figuring I could stay there until morning and hitchhike out of town.
I was fine until the sun went down and then the friendly hangout of me and my friends became a scary dungeon. I tried to roll up in a blanket and get some sleep, but near midnight, some men came up in a couple of vehicles and clambered out. I think they were drunk. They passed around some bottles and talked some ugly talk – mostly doing with a certain waitress down at the Roadside Inn – a notorious bar at which all sorts of awful, nasty things occurred – most of which we sixth and seventh grades could only speculate at. Some of the things frightened me and I curled up in my shadowy corner and prayed they didn't come upstairs and discover me. I was afraid of what they might do to me – a twelve year old girl.
Finally, they left, leaving me alone with the little critters that scuttled or flurried about in the shadows. The enormity of what I had done began to weigh on me and I wanted to go home, but I was scared and cold and could only pray for morning. I drifted off into a fitful sleep only to be awakened by the approach of another car. Lights glittered off the mostly shattered windows and I could hear a vehicle stop, a door open and then footsteps slowly approaching. Another light swung back and forth – a flashlight and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.
Had one of those men from earlier spotted me? Had he chose to not say anything to the others so he could come back and rape me? I had a dramatic vision of myself, naked and deathly white – raped and then strangled...strangled and then raped! I curled back into a ball, hugging my knees to me, willing myself to become one with the shadows.
Crumbly brick and broken glass crunched under a boot. Through my fingers, now pressed over my face, I could see the faint outline of a tall man, swinging the light this way and that, searching for something. The light flashed upward and I tried to shrink further into shadow. The footsteps came closer and then I heard old, rusted iron creak as he began coming up the old metalwork stairs. I had a sudden urge to run, but couldn't make my limbs work.
A voice called out, "Melissa?" HE KNOWS MY NAME!" I began whimpering with fear, wishing I could see my family one more time...kiss my Mom goodnight one last time. The footsteps were so close now. I could hear the man breathing.
"Melissa, darling...it's me, it's Uncle John." Even as fear was shadowed by relief and I sat up and tried to see my uncle through the light now shining in my eyes, I began to cry. The man moved closer and I knew it was my Uncle John – I could smell his "Old Spice" aftershave and then I was being scooped up into his arms and he was whispering into my ear, "Shhhhh – it's going to be alright, honey. I'm taking you home."
I pressed my face against the rough denim of his jacket and savored feeling ever so safe in his arms as he carried me downstairs and out of the old factory. Then I was sitting in his car – an old Cadillac and as soon as he climbed in, I scooted over to hang on to him.
As he drove me home, he said little as he drove with one hand on the wheel and one arm draped around my shoulders. His car and his body were warm and his arm around me felt so strong and made me feel so safe...safer than I'd ever felt before. It was the best feeling in the...
...world. I blinked my eyes and turned away from the sunlight flooding through my bedroom window. There was several moments of confusion as my dream faded away and I had to adjust to my surroundings. The large, snoring lump under the quilt was my husband, Sam. I was in our bedroom. My name was still Melissa, but everyone calls me Missy. Well, everyone but my Uncle John. I smiled at the thought of my aunt's husband, recalling my dream.
Quietly, I slipped out of bed and went to the window. The sun felt good on my body – even though it was still just early September in the mountains of Colorado, it could get pretty cold. I stretched, working out the kinks in my muscles, feeling things pop and tug in my thirty-eight year old body. I felt a warm tingle between my legs and looking down, saw my nipples – sharp little points slightly bigger than pencil erasers poking out from my cotton nightshirt.
I felt...well, horny. As I moved around the room, I could feel the warmness between my legs translating now to a little slipperiness between my pussy lips. I glanced again at my snoring Sam and considered waking him up with a loving blowjob, but then thought against it. Sam wasn't a morning person. I glanced at the clock on the bedside table – 6:30 on a Saturday morning. I decided to let him sleep and headed towards the shower.
