Thank You, Uncle John

"Well, family means a whole lot to me and Betty. You'll never know how much it means to Betty that you've been coming out and teaching her that knitting stuff. We never had a daughter and well...I reckon you know how we feel about you."

I looked up into the kindest eyes I'd ever known and part of me felt guilty for ever thinking nasty thoughts about the man that had been like a father to me in so many ways, who I'd loved like a father for more than half my life and who to be honest, I think I loved more than my own father. But part of me wanted to fuck my Uncle John even more than ever!

"It's my pleasure, Uncle John. You've been like a dad to me too." I hesitated and then as I felt a spurt of hot wetness soak my panties while my nipples instantly hardened, I said, "You know, I'd do anything for you, Uncle John." I tried to say so much with just my eyes then and then added softly, "Anything." Again, I rose up on tip-toe to kiss my uncle, this time planting a kiss right on the corner of his mouth, not a peck and run kiss, but one that lingered for a few seconds.

It was my uncle's turn to blush a little and then a big smile came over his face and he said, "If we'd have had a daughter, I'd have wanted her to be just like you, Melissa!" Then to my surprise, Uncle John leaned over and kissed me chastely atop my head as he'd done countless ways when I was little. He turned and headed deeper into the house, but not before I saw a mist of tears in his eyes.

I stood there for a long minute, my hands buried in the soapy water before a wave of embarrassment swept over me. It dawned on me that my uncle hadn't even noticed I was seriously flirting with him. Moreover, I think he still saw me as that young runaway he'd rescued all those years ago. I felt my own eyes begin to mist up as I realized how silly I'd been acted and for a moment it was more or less a coin toss as to whether I might start crying or laughing. Then my oldest burst through the door and told me that Daddy wanted to leave and to "Get a hurry on."

I sobered up then, remembering I had a husband and a family and shouldn't feel like a lovesick school girl with an unrequited crush. "Tell your father, I'll be there in a minute." I finished up the dishes and returned outdoors. I didn't see Uncle John to say goodbye, but did give Aunt Betty a quick hug and confirmed that I'd be over Tuesday evening to work on our crocheting.

I was silent on the drive home, half listening to the chatter of the kids and Sam's recounting of the men's gossip (women have nothing on the men in that department!). Once the kids were home, Sam was beered up enough to be receptive to a little oral loving and he laid back against the headboard while I crawled between his legs and began to suck his cock, enjoying myself as I expertly ran my tongue over his especially sensitive places and took his length deep into my throat.

As I heard him sigh while I teased his cock head with my playful tongue, I closed my eyes and began to imagine that it was Uncle John's cock I was sucking. I was more than a little surprised to find how aroused that got me and I could feel the juices pouring from my pussy, soaking my trimmed, blonde muff and dripping from my inner thighs onto the bed to form a considerable wet spot.

"Jesus Christ, Missy – your mouth is good tonight," sighed my husband, momentarily breaking the mood, as his hand settled atop my head, urging me to move faster or slower. I pushed him from my mind and refocused on my fantasy and worked on giving the imaginary version of my uncle a sweet and loving blowjob.

Too quickly, my husband lost his nut, emptying his load into my mouth and while I murmured my approval as I sucked and swallowed – I love cum so much, I hated to end the fantasy. I sucked Sam dry and kept sucking, trying to keep him hard. Finally, with a grunt of disapproval, my husband pushed me off his wilting dick.

I scrambled up and went to straddle him, nuzzling his shoulder as I cupped my breasts and offered my swollen nipples to him. "Make love to me, baby," I sighed. "Your girl needs you...I'm so hot for you right now."

Sam took a few half-hearted sucks at my nipples and squeezed my breasts without much enthusiasm while I squirmed in his lap, hoping the sensation of my wet pussy rubbing against his shrinking cock might revive his interests. As I groaned in protest and frustration, he eased me off and with a slightly guilty look, said gruffly, "Early morning, Missy – got Church, remember?"

He looked at me and my unhappy face and then leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. "Maybe I can pay you back tomorrow night, huh, Missy?" My husband said before he turned out the light and rolled away from me and was snoring in few minutes. I remained awake for a long time, my sexual frustration building and then dissipating into frustrated anger.

I started to slip my fingers between my legs, but stopped, suddenly unwilling to indulge in a masturbation fantasy involving my Uncle John while Sam snored a foot away.

It seemed like hours before I slipped into a fitful sleep, filled with fragmented dreams, awaking at dawn, gasping for breath as images of myself once again, huddling inside the old brickworks ended once again with Uncle John finding me, but somehow now I was a grown woman and when he went to pick me up, I wrapped my legs around his waist and settled into his warm, safe embrace as something impossibly huge began to spread me wide. I sat up in bed, aware of yet another wet spot in the bed, shivering with need and desire and whispering, "Damn it," as my memories of that sweet moment dissolved into wisps of ether.

The next two days, I was irritable and on edge – to the point of Sam actually asking me, "Missy, is it that time of the month again, already?" which just pissed me off more. Needless to say, we didn't make love Sunday evening, I rolling away from him, deciding I didn't want to put up with his pussy licking which never did anything for me anyway. Monday, he stayed late at work and I was already asleep when he came in.

Tuesday afternoon, I had a casserole warming in the oven when Sam got home and told him I was heading to Aunt Betty's and that depending on her mood, I might be home late. Sam, realizing he was in the doghouse, just nodded and told me to drive carefully, trying not to prod his wife in her "bitch on wheels" mood.

I had tried real hard to keep myself occupied at work and around the house and not think naughty thoughts about my uncle. I'd prayed a lot about it on Sunday, but got no sign one way or another from God about his position on the matter. Part of me ached for Uncle John as I hadn't ached since I'd had that terrible crush on Brent Statler – even worse, now I really knew what that ache was for, back then it was all vague theory. Part of me was chastising myself for feeling that way. I had two children to raise, a so-so marriage to keep upright, bills to pay and so much more. I didn't have time to have a mid-life crisis – hell, I wasn't even middle aged!

But in the dark hours of those last couple of nights, as I restlessly tossed and turned, trying to blot out thoughts of Uncle John and his allegedly big cock, I had to face up that I was unhappy and that I had been unhappy for a long time. Oh, I loved my husband, but the flame had gone out – the passion was now barely smoldering embers and suddenly, my unhappiness had found form in my feelings for my uncle. For years, it seemed as if I was just drifting through life – yearning for romance and desire, feeling ignored and unvalued.

The one man in my life who'd ever made me really feel that way was Uncle John – even the way he addressed me...Melissa instead of Missy, seemed to say I had value, I had worth, I was somebody! Oh, I'd had passion with Sam and with others earlier in my life, but it had never lasted. I could not honestly say that I can ever recall encountering Uncle John when he didn't treat me like I was important.

I was a churning cauldron of emotions when I reached Uncle John's and Aunt Betty's home. I came through the kitchen door, about to shout, "Anybody home," but stopped as I saw Uncle John sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and the evening paper. "Well, good evening, Uncle John."

My uncle turned and smiled at me and replied, "And a good evening to you, Melissa. Your aunt is looking forward to this – it's all she's been talking about for the last day or so." He turned back towards his coffee, wincing a bit as he did so.

"Are you okay, Uncle John?" I asked, my heart aching at the thought of him being unwell.

"Oh yeah, I'm okay – just these old bones getting older. The mill gives my shoulders the miseries some days."

As I had done on Sunday, I acted without thinking it through, stepping up behind him, dropping my sewing bag as I did. "Oh, you're not old, Uncle," I cooed as I placed my hands on his bony shoulders and began to knead the wiry muscles there. Uncle John nearly jumped out of his skin when I began rubbing his shoulders – likely the closest physical contact we'd had since he'd rescued me all those years ago. He didn't tell me to stop however, so I kept rubbing his shoulders as I said, "You're not old at all. Aunt Betty needs to keep a close eye on you or some sweet talking woman might steal you away."

As I said this, I leaned into him, allowing my breasts to press against his upper back. Uncle John chuckled a bit at my words as the sudden tension in him seemed to slowly bleed away. "A woman might be risking her life trying that – Betty is a mighty jealous woman. She's dangerous when riled up!"

I felt my nipples swelling underneath my thin bra and wondered if he could feel the hard bullets pressing against him through the fabric. My voice sounded a bit funny –thicker and a bit hoarser as I replied, "Well, you ever think you might be worth that risk, Uncle John?" I worked his shoulders a little more strongly, fingers reaching down almost to his shirt collar and I ached to run my fingers down under the blue chambray shirt and across his chest.

For long moments, silence reigned – the only sound being little whispering sighs as I kneaded his muscles. Then Aunt Betty's voice tore through the house, "Is that Missy's car out there?"

Uncle John leaned forward even as I hopped back and shifted to his right, both of us exchanging awkward glances, not guilty, but...awkward, like a couple of thirteen year olds wanting to try a kiss, but unsure about how to go about it. "Yes, ma'am," I called out. "I just got here."

"Well, get on in here, girl. I can't wait to try that new pattern you talked about. Did you remember to bring it with you?" I could hear the eagerness in my aunt's voice.

"Be right there, Aunt Betty," I called out, turning around and retrieving my sewing bag.

I headed towards the hallway, but paused when Uncle John said softly, "Thank you, Melissa. That was...I enjoyed that."

I smiled and felt like I must be glowing with pleasure. I winked at him and said, "Maybe I'll get to finish it later!" His eyes widened and I turned and hurried down the hall, again suddenly feeling like a love struck teenager, doing my best not to giggle and show how silly I was. I could feel the sweet moistness between my legs as I moved, wishing suddenly that I was wearing something sexier than a pair of old, tattered jeans and a plain, light blue T-shirt.

Luckily, Aunt Betty was too distracted by me producing the new star-shaped pattern for her next crocheting project to notice how flushed and flustered I was. It was a good half hour before I settled down enough to throw the stitches into my quilt without having to restart over and over. My aunt oohed and aahed over the new challenge and I calmed down as she asked questions and I demonstrated some of the techniques to master this new design.

She went on and on about family doings – repeating some of the same gossip that Sam had already passed on, plus more details about Cousin Andy's impending divorce. When we took a few minutes to stretch, Aunt Betty went to the kitchen and returned with a 2-liter of coke and a half-empty quart of rum. I declined a mixed drink, reminding her that I had to drive home later in the evening, but sipped on a glass of soda as she began working on her rum and coke.

When I took a bathroom break, I didn't spy my uncle anywhere. Returning to the living room and my aunt who was on her third drink, I decided as we resumed our crocheting to see if I could pry a little more out of my aunt regarding sex.

"So, Aunt Betty, you still retired from sex?" I said coyly, hoping she was willing to talk about it.

"Lord, child, yes!" she replied, shaking her head. "Glad to put all that foolishness behind us"

"You don't miss it?" I asked. "Not even a little bit?"

All I got in reply was a snort as my aunt took another sip of her rum and coke. I decided to press on. "Did you ever enjoy doing other things?'

Aunt Betty paused and looked at my quizzically. Feeling naught I poked out my cheek with my tongue while simulating stroking and sucking a cock with my fist and open mouth.

My aunt rolled her eyes and said, "My God, Missy, how John used to be after me to do that – he was like a little boy begging for a cookie." She shook her head and said, "Why I could barely get my lips around that big thing of his and he always wanted to cum in my mouth. I was gagging just tasting his thing, let alone his seed. I put my foot down long ago and stopped that nonsense."

I nodded as if I agreed and then plunged in with another question. "Did he ever return the favor?" and flicked my tongue out in illustration.

To my surprise, Aunt Betty blushed slightly and almost giggled before replying, "When we was younger, sometimes." She looked down as if slightly ashamed. "I have to say, some of our best moments in bed were when he was licking me – that tongue of his could make me tear at the sheets." Then her face clouded up and she said, "But then he'd want to kiss me and that was as nasty as him cumming in my mouth and I just told him no and it turned out it wasn't something I missed all that much."

I didn't know what to say to that. I was pretty much neutral on Sam licking my pussy – it didn't do much for me, although when he kissed me after, I never minded the taste of myself. I like the taste of semen better, but I think I'm pretty good tasting too!

The moment passed as Aunt Betty got a little off track in her knitting and once we fixed that, she fixated furiously on not messing up a second time – pausing only to work on a fourth and then a fifth rum and coke. The house was quiet as we worked and I mulled over her words – thinking how much I'd love to have Uncle John shoot his load in my mouth.

I excused myself a second time to the bathroom, still not seeing any sign of my uncle and when I returned to the living room, Aunt Betty was fast asleep, her chin on her chest, her crocheting needles still in her hand. I eased the yarn and needles out of her hand, tidying things up and storing them away. As I straightened up, I heard Uncle John say, "Well, I reckon she's out for the night. Sometimes, I think she drinks a little bit much." He was leaning in the doorway, wiping grease off his hands with a towel.

He came over and gently took her feat and swung them up on the couch, making sure her head was propped up on a pillow. He pulled an afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over her, trying not to disturb her. Aunt Betty stirred once, mumbling, "Make sure you put that dog out for the night, John"

Uncle John smiled and replied softly, "Already done, Betts." I watched him, feeling both warm at the tender way he dealt with his wife and a bit guilty that I had ever thought about getting him to be unfaithful to my aunt. I gathering up all my crocheting materials and we quietly retreated to the kitchen.

"You'll never know what it means, you coming out here and spending time with her, Melissa," he said. "Means a lot to us both," his voice sounded a little thick and as we stood there besides the kitchen table, I was suddenly very self conscious.

"Well, I love you both, Uncle John." I said, feeling suddenly very awkward.

"Love you too, Melissa," my uncle replied, his voice sounding a little bit hoarse. We stood there as if immobilized by the almost deafening quiet and for a moment, I thought he might lean over and kiss me even as I worked up the courage to kiss him and then the moment burst as he sighed and said, "Well, reckon we best call it a night. Don't want folks at home to worry."

He did reach out and squeeze my hand and then opened the kitchen screen door for me, flicking on the porch light so I could see my way back to my car. I felt like I was close to crying – that I'd let an opportunity slip by me as I climbed in and got my keys out. I tried the ignition and it took me a moment to realize nothing was happening. "Well, shit," I muttered as I tried the key again – nothing...no lights on the dashboard, no sound of the engine trying to turn over. My car was dead to the world.

A shadow passed over me and I turned and saw my uncle hovering there. "Problems, Melissa?" he called out.

I rolled down the window and said, "I think I broke my car, Uncle John."

He chuckled and said, "Pop the hood. Let me see if I can figure it out."

I did so and I saw he had a flashlight and I heard him poke and prod a bit. "Try it now," my uncle called out.

I turned the key. Nothing happened. "Not a thing," I shouted back.

Uncle John poked around a bit more and I heard a loud popping noise and there was a flash as something sparked and he said, "Try it now."

I turned the key and still nothing. "Nope!" I hollered.

Uncle John came back around to the window and shook his head. "Not sure, Melissa – might just be a bad battery cable – the battery's good. Might be something more complicated, but I ain't gonna get to it in the dark."

He leaned down in the window and I must have looked concerned – a car repair wasn't anything to sneeze at, not on our budget and he said, "I'm sure I can get it going, but not till tomorrow. I'll get the truck and run you home and tomorrow, I'll fix it and bring it back."

I sighed and meekly said, "Thank you, Uncle John," as I climbed out of my dead car. I glanced back at the house. "What about Aunt Betty? Should you leave her alone?"

Uncle John pointed me towards his truck – an old Chevy pickup and said as we walked, "She'll be fine. Betty won't be waking up until Regis is going off and she'll be fussing that she missed him."

We climbed into his truck – the old bench seat making it feel huge with the seat set back to accommodate his long legs. He fired it up and we headed back towards town. That odd sense of tension I'd felt in the kitchen had returned as we rode silently through the darkness. There was a fixed expression on his face, illuminated by the dashboard lights, as if he was trying to not show any emotion whatsoever. Again, I felt as if an opportunity was at hand, but didn't know what to do. I decided to just start talking and see where it might lead.

"Uncle John?"

"Yes, Melissa," he replied, sparing me a brief glance and smile.

"You've always called me Melissa, never Missy like everyone else, why?"

I sensed more than saw his shoulders move and then my uncle replied, "That's your name," and then he chuckled, pleased at his own joke.

I playfully reached out and punched him in the shoulder, scooting a little closer to him on the bench seat. "Ha-ha, but really, why Melissa instead of Missy?"

Uncle John didn't say anything for a moment, then carefully began to reply. "Well...ever since I've known you, you've been more grown up acting than most - Missy's a little girl's name and I don't know, maybe I always thought it was a bit...what's the word, demeaning? Even before you ran away that time, it was easy to see you were aching to be treated like a grown-up."