My Niece Eva Ch. 2

The three of us talked all the way home. Eva and I sat in front and Stacy sat in the back. She was meeting Eva for the first time. We even talked about the animosity between her Father and me, which is partly why his kids and I were so remote. She was very realistic about him, although she loved him, of course. But from her own growing up with him and from comments of others she knew how insufferable he could be.

For the first 3 days of her visit, while Stacy was at work, Eva and I went to most of the places tourists want to see. Saturday and Sunday we all went to the Getty Museum and the new Aquarium down by the Queen Mary in Long Beach. On her last full day here I arrived at our agreed upon time at my house to go with her to the Gene Autry Museum, but she wasn't ready. In fact she was sitting on the couch in a robe looking glum. I went to use the bathroom and while there checked the shower. Yup! She'd showered and the towel smelled like soap and (in my imagination, at least) nubile young woman.

Back in the front room I asked her if she would like an omelet and some potatoes and OJ. She said that would be nice and I went to fix them figuring that maybe she didn't sleep well. That wasn't it. She came out in the kitchen and sat at the table quietly for a while, watching me cook. Then she started to talk. I won't bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that she was unhappy, lonely, frustrated, far over-stressed, upset with her life in general and (again) frustrated. But while she was talking she did what many women do when they are distracted and talking and sitting on a kitchen chair. She put one foot on the seat of the chair and sort of hugged her knee. No, I didn't burn the omelets. But it was close. There, on the seat of my very chair, was her panty clad pussy, pouting between her creamy thighs, and I hadn't eaten yet!

I tried very hard to make my side of the conversation include more than my staring and drooling. All of the conversations filtered down to the main one of the day, frustration. Sexual frustration. Since her husband split she only seemed to find guys who wanted to get in her pants (her actual words) but didn't care about her. She wasn't looking for commitment. She was looking for a release from her frustration with someone who cared about her. As we finished eating and I was carrying our plates to the sink she said, "I know you care about me and I know you like looking at me. Would you make love to me?"

Crash! Yes. I tipped my load and one of the glasses slid off a plate and hit the floor. Could you have done better? I think not.

"Eva, do you know what you're suggesting? I'm your Uncle. I'm 25 years older than you. We've seen each other 8 or 9 times in your entire life. Tomorrow morning you're outa here and we may not see each other again for years. Jesus, child, I'd give almost anything to be able to make love to you, and I could live with it next week and next year because I'm a dirty old man. But what about you?"

"After you asked me if I wanted to visit here I went back and reread all of our e-mails to each other. Yes. I want it and I can live with it. I need it. And I know you'll be caring and fulfilling. I'm just sorry I waited all week." She got up off of the chair and walked over to me, took the remaining dishes out of my hand, put them on the counter and added, "We can clean up the glass later." Then she led me by the hand into my own bedroom.