For Saturday, there was no early schedule, like the previous day, so I
was allowed to wander out of my room on my own recognizance, around 8:30. I
kind of wished there’d been excuse for Lissa to come in and rouse me as she
had the day before, but such was not my luck.
Delightfully, and completely contrary to the mild weather of the
previous two days, it was snowing outside. Very cozy feeling, inside my
sister’s modest home.
I emerged in my kimono, naked underneath as previous mornings, and, like
the first morning, with an insistent, throbbing erection. I decided, as a
matter of a sort of ascetic self-teasing, to sit down and join the girls
for breakfast, rather than hiding in the bathroom to try to subdue it. A
little more psychological edging, of course – the girls were at their
teasing best.
Both were still in their sleeping attire – Lissa in her long nightshirt,
and Denise in her new baby doll. Neither had anything underneath, I was
certain. Denise was sipping coffee and eating toast, while Lissa was
having some orange juice and something that looked like a microwaveable
breakfast sandwich.
Good mornings were grunted. I got some coffee and joined them at the
table. Enjoyed gazing at my sister in profile, as she perused at the
newspaper, her left nipple amazingly, starkly outlined under the thin,
green, silky material of her top. I could make out the tiny bumps of the
flesh of her areola, and even the tiny indentation at the tip of the
nipple. It must have been incredibly rigid, to show such contrast.
A little later, finally feeling more caffeinated, I went to take my
shower. Having gotten cleaned up and put on some clothes, I set up with my
laptop, in what had become my customary corner of the living room, and
pretended to work. Actually, for a little while, I actually did work.
Until Lissa, who’d disappeared into the shower, re-emerged in her now
standard turban and towel outfit. Rather than get dressed (I wondered, was
she as reluctant to dress when there were no uncles around to tease?), she
came into the living room and sprawled onto the couch with a combination of
utter casualness and successful modesty that seemed to defy the laws of
physics (as applied to towels, anyway), and quickly appeared to become
absorbed in a magazine.
I continued to work, though now somewhat more distracted than before.
Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Denise emerged, fully dressed, from her room
and strolled in. She gazed at her daughter on the couch, and then at me,
for a few seconds, silently, taking the two of us in. “I’ve got to run an
errand,” she announced.
I decided I didn’t need to know. Might be a real errand, after all. Or
just a contrivance to leave me alone with her scheming, horny daughter.
What, me worry?
“Need anything, Jase?” Denise asked me.
“Not that I can think of,” I replied, staring intently at my laptop
screen.
“Hey, pumpkin – you need anything from the store?”
Lissa looked up, shook her head.
“You planning to get dressed, today?” her mom then teased.
Lissa grinned. “Not if I don’t have to,” she sniped. Her mom left.
A few more minutes had passed, when Lissa cleared her throat… looking
for my attention. I looked up at her, as she loosened the turban around
her head and began toweling her long, damp locks.
“I really wonder what it’s like being a nudist,” she remarked, quite out
of the blue, and with a somewhat transparently feigned casualness.
Faking a level of distraction I wasn’t feeling – I was, in fact,
alarmingly focused on her every movement – I responded, “what brought that
on?”
“Mom’s comment,” as if that explained things completely.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear what she said.” A bit of a lie… but I was
curious what her train of thought was. I was conscious what their tasks
were for the day.
Lissa laughed, and said, with an exaggerated tone that indicated her
disapproval of my lack of attention to the situation, “well, mom asked if I
was planning to get dressed today, and I said, ‘not if I don’t have to.’”
“Ah.” I met her eyes as she draped the turban-towel over the coffee
table as if it were a drying rack. I decided to give her lots of rope, and
concluded laconically, “don’t let me stop you.”
She turned shy, suddenly, and sat up straight, arranging the towel
carefully, where it fell on her upper thighs. “Are you serious?” she
asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you kinda just gave me permission to be a nudist,” she said.
“I did?” I played stupid.
“Uncle JASON,” she groaned with annoyance, that perfect teenage tone of
contempt mixed with ennui.
There was a silence, she returned to her magazine; I plonked at my
computer.
“I would never be a nudist unless everyone else around was one, too,”
she said, at last.
“I see,” I muttered, non-committally.
“Would you ever do that?”
“What? Be a nudist?” I asked.
Lissa nodded, and met my eyes again, but more skittishly than before.
I felt compelled, unnecessarily, to try for a thoughtful answer. “I
suppose I’ve thought about it. I didn’t like getting dressed either, as a
kid – and even now, I agree there’s a kind of free feeling to being naked.
But there are sexuality issues,” I concluded.
She mulled this over – certainly, what I’d said was not out of her
depth, but once again she seemed rather thrown off by an unexpectedly
thoughtful answer from her uncle.
“What do you mean, ‘sexuality issues’?” she queried.
“Well, in our culture, nakedness is associated very deeply with sex.
With sexual attraction. I don’t believe those nudists who say it’s non
sexual – you can’t just talk yourself out of your cultural background.” I
paused for a second. “But I do believe they’re TRYing to make it
non-sexual. So, I do think they’re sincere… and some may succeed more
than others.”
She had a bit of a dazed look on her face in response to this bit of
discourse, but it lasted only a second. “You haven’t really explained,
though. Are you saying you think it’s a bad idea?”
“Not at all. I just think, if you’re going to be a nudist, you should
be honest – with yourself as much with as with anyone else – about the fact
that it can be sexually exciting.”
“Hmm,” she said, thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’re saying I said I want
to be a nudist because I think it’s exciting.”
“Exactly.”
She sat back in genuine surprise, and I couldn’t help but watch the hem
of the towel ride up her thigh. Then, “well actually yeah that’s probably
true.” A long pause. “You’re pretty smart, uncle Jason.” She grinned,
still shyly. “You know how my mind works better than I do, I guess.”
I looked back up from my laptop and grinned back at her. “Thanks,
Lissa. Really, I’m just opinionated and annoying. And I know how the horny
mind works.”
She looked up, almost alarmed, and I realized I may have made a mistake
– I was making to open an admission of the subtext of recent days. But the
open, mature level of the conversation had made me forget for a second the
context, and the fact that I was talking with my fourteen-year-old niece.
“Uncle JASON,” she protested again, more firmly than before. “I am
NOT…” she continued, but didn’t finish her denial, just looked down and
fiddled with the hem of the towel at her thigh.
“Whatever,” She finally said. “I agree about the part that you’re
opinionated and annoying.” Then, still not looking up, she asked, “so…
but you never really said about whether you would be a nudist.” A bit
nervously, almost.
“I did kind of avoid answering the question,” I agreed. I looked at her
but she wouldn’t meet my eyes, now. “So, uh, to answer… sure, I would
try it, in the right company.”
“‘… in the right company’?” she echoed. “That’s funny. Hah. No one
wants to get naked in bad company,” she observed, with unexpected, wry
maturity, but still studying her lap.
I laughed out loud. “That’s an excellent way to put it, Lissa. You’re
pretty damn smart, yourself.”
She actually blushed, under her latte-tone skin. Flattery will get you
everywhere. Lissa stretched out a leg, straightening a knee, as if to
study her toenails or something, but she sat at an angle to me such that
nothing more was revealed.
Then she expertly flipped my remark back at me, and put me on the spot.
“So. Am I good company or bad company?”
I mulled that a bit. Finally, I said, carefully, “You’re very good
company… with reservations.”
“Reservations?” she appeared almost hurt, but then joked, “I don’t take
reservations.”
I laughed out loud, again. She was proving quite fun to talk to.
“All I mean, is, you’re young, Lissa.” I realized I was starting to go
down that path that Denise had as much as begged me not to take, the other
night. I was forcing onto my niece an awareness that her teasing and
flirtation might not be, well, appropriate. Just as my games as “Finn”
were clearly not appropriate, for that matter. Such a hypocrite I am, I
admitted to myself.
Her eyes continued to remain downcast, as she meditated on what I’d
said. “That’s your only reservation, is that I’m, like, 14?” she finally
phrased, very precisely.
“Precisely,” I echoed my internal narrative.
“So if I was, like, 18, you’d be a nudist with me, no reservations?”
“Yes,” I said, simply. A bit too quickly, I thought, too.
“Even though I’m your niece?”
I thought about this, briefly, and said, “right. That’s not an issue.”
I could tell she found this flattering. Then her mind took a different
tack. “Would you be a nudist with my mom? I mean, if she was too?”
“Sure. If she wanted to,” I said. Truthfully. Excited by the notion,
of course, as I thought about it. I recalled an elaborate fantasy centered
on exactly that idea, that I’d developed some years before. I felt as if
Lissa were reading my mind. There was a fairly long silence, then.
After a trying to find a different magazine in shelves of the coffee
table, and adjusting the knot in the towel around her, she at last looked
up again and said, “I don’t understand Why my age is an issue.”
“You’re a minor,” I said, after some hesitation. I hoped she’d
understood my point, and that I’d not have to explain.
“That’s really just a law,” she commented.
“That’s a very wise perception, Lissa. But ‘just a law’ is still a
serious thing.”
“There’s nothing illegal with kids being nudists,” she said,
reflectively. “Is there?”
“Actually, you’re correct,” I observed. “No law against it, that I know
of.”
She didn’t let me go on, but interrupted, “so…” but then, she didn’t
formulate her question, and I stayed quiet. She was thinking.
Suddenly she looked up, and said, “It’s the sexy part that bothers you.”
“Right – now were back round to where we started.”
She looked confused, then. She clearly saw that the discussion had
basically gone full circle, but I could tell she felt she’d missed
something. I suspected I knew what she’d missed, but was reluctant to have
to explain the gory details. It was such an enlightened, fascinating
conversation, however, that finally, I couldn’t resist. At some risk, I
plunged in.
“I’ll put in totally concrete terms for you, Lissa,” I began, bravely –
but immediately digressed, instead. “When I was young, I often fantasized
about being a nudist. Of course, in my daydreams, I was always a nudist
around people I found attractive – girls from school, whatever. You get
the picture.”
She grinned.
“So… then, at some point I realized there were probably also going to
be nudists I didn’t find attractive at all. My grandparents. My German
teacher, Ms Heber. That was one worry. The other was realizing that being
naked around a bunch of people I DID find attractive wasn’t
straightforward. Much more for males than for females, sexual excitement
has, well, EVIDENCE, I guess you could call it.”
I paused here, expecting a question. It came. “What do you mean?” she
asked.
“I mean, guys get erections.”
Her mouth made a silent “Oooh right” of comprehension.
“So, if I was going to be naked around other naked people I found
attractive, there was no way for me to hide the fact of my attraction. And
that’s AWKWARD, as I believe Sponge Bob has put it, in another context.”
She laughed. Lissa was fond of quoting Sponge Bob, from his movie,
where he says AWKWARD in that dorky voice of his, although I don’t recall
in what original context.
And then I saw the light come on. She finished my train of thought for
me, though she put in terms more personal than I’d been aiming for.
“You’re worried that if we both got naked, you’d get an erection.”
I was momentarily speechless. Why deny it? I just nodded.
She kept working at it, not prepared to abandon the topic now that it
was so, well, personal. “But, erections aren’t, well, illegal. Or are
they? Does it depend what causes them? If a minor causes an erection, is
it an illegal erection? That’s silly.”
She’d captured the absurdity of it quite quickly. There was another
silence. I didn’t laugh at her commentary, as perhaps she’d thought I
might.
Suddenly, she leaped up, grabbed the turban towel from the floor, and
started to leave the room. “That didn’t go at all as I expected,” she
muttered, and I thought likely she didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud. She
went into her room.
I hadn’t really expected it to go that way, either, to be honest. I
realized I’d been entrapped by what I sometimes called my “nerd bomb” –
where my fascination for things technical or philosophical would
unexpectedly trump my interest in things material or physical (or sexual,
specifically). Generally, much to my dismay, and much to the detriment of
a developing erotic or romantic situation.
Lissa re-emerged, a short time later, but, much to my surprise, still
wrapped in her towel. I’d expected her mood to be destroyed. But she
still had a task, of course. And she seemed to take those tasks seriously,
I realized.
“Do you mind if I go on the computer?” she asked, moving past me into
the den, presuming my approval.
“No problem,” I called after her, and quickly logged into yahoo myself.
Curious what she’d have to say to Finn.
When she appeared online, she IMed Finn after only a short delay.
“I don’t know what to do,” she sent.
“What’s the matter,” I responded.
“Well… I had this plan for the task today. I talked about it with
mom this morning, and she thought it was a good one. But it didn’t work.”
“What was your plan? Which task were you doing?”
“It was to be caught naked. But I took a different tack – I was going
to talk uncle Jason into trying nudism with me.”
“Oh. Wow. What happened?”
“He got all philosophical and crap, but I think he’s worried I’ll like
turn him on or something.”
“That seems likely – did you think that improbable?”
“Well, he made me realize that was kind of the point – I mean, I didn’t
so much as say that to him, but, I realized that it’s why I find these
tasks exciting.”
“Explain.”
“Well, like, most of these tasks are like either flashing guys or doing
sexy things around them with them not knowing, but where you might get
caught, like the masturbating stuff. Well, I starting thinking about why I
was doing them, and realized, it’s fun to think I can turn guys on.”
“Ok, that makes sense. So what happened with the nudism thing?”
“Well, uncle Jason kind of got me to admit that to him.”
“I’m still a little confused.”
“Sigh. I mean, I said, basically, let’s try nudism, and he said, why
are you doing this, isn’t it because it’s exciting, and I had to admit that
yes. So then… he said he would find it exciting too, and that was
somehow a reason not to do it. Because I’m a minor, I guess.”
“Ah. You scared him.”
“I scared him? How’s that?”
“Most men find sexually aggressive women scary at some level or another.
Actually, I suppose the opposite is true, too – don’t you find sexually
aggressive men scary, if they’re coming on to you?”
“OMG yes. This is totally making sense.”
“Even straight up, regular ol’ sex is a game. These teasing games we
like to play, even more so. You broke a rule.”
“I see.” There was a pause, and she sent another line, “I’m worried I
messed it up for the rest of the time he’s here, tho.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Well, it’s like, the game’s up, as they say. He knows whats going on,
now.”
“A valid concern. What do you think you should do?”
“I’m worried we’ll have to stop.”
“That’s kind of extreme. Do you think it’s your only option?”
“No. You’re right, it’s not. But uncle Jason’s like mad at me.”
“You think he is?”
“Well… no. You’re right I probably scared him. LOL he’s acting like
a guy my own age, at school, or something. Hmm..”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m think we have to get more subtle. Or however that’s spelled.”
“Hah. How would you do that?”
“I was successful with the panties last night, btw.”
“Congrats. What did you do?”
Lissa described in some detail what had happened. I sent back, “Ah.
That’s when you scared him – not this morning.”
A bit of a pause. Finally, “Makes sense.”
“I still don’t know what to do.”
“How can I help?”
“I have to somehow unscare uncle Jason. But I also am super horny and
want to do more tasks.”
“That’s a good summation. I’m not sure how to help you unscare your
uncle. I understand the second part better.”
“You’re weird, Finn.”
“I won’t disagree. Opinionated and annoying.”
Long pause. I was typing something more, to see if she was still there,
when she sent, “silly. Will you be on, later?”
“Not sure. What’s up?”
“I just made a decision.”
“What are you thinking?”
“You’ll find out.” Mysteriously. And she logged off.
I quickly hibernated my laptop, set it aside, and picked up the book I
was reading instead – I suspected Lissa would be emerging soon.
Shortly, Lissa did come back out of the den. And she went straight back
to her room. Something had bitten her, ideawise… I was left to wonder
what it was.
Lissa emerged, minutes later, in a pair of jeans and t-shirt, looking
more conservative than she had in since I’d been there.
And she said nothing to me. I began to fear she was, herself, giving up
on the program. But I was reluctant to probe, in my role as Jason. And
shortly, Denise returned from her errand.
“The snow is beginning to pile up out there,” she commented.
“Do you think I’ll be able to get over to Marie’s?” asked Lissa.
I looked between Lissa and Denise, inquiringly. Denise quickly
explained that Lissa had been planning to go to her friend’s house for the
afternoon. I hadn’t heard anything about it. I wondered if it was part of
the plan. Denise answered her daughter that it wasn’t that bad, and it was
only a few miles to Marie’s house anyway. “When do you need to be there?”
Lissa shrugged, “anytime. I’ll call.” And she popped out a cell phone.
I hadn’t realized she had one – I raised an eyebrow at my sister.
Denise grinned and shrugged. “Teenagers have to have them, these days.
I got it for her birthday,” she explained, defensively.
Lissa drifted into the kitchen, chatting with her friend, and then came
back out.
“Marie’s mom says I can be over anytime. Can we go now?”
Denise nodded. “Maybe Jason wants to drive you over there?”
Lissa reacted sharply, “no.” Pause, as I looked up, surprised at the
vehemence.
“I just… I got something I want to talk to you about, mom,” she
explained. “Personal.” And looking my direction, “Sorry, uncle Jason.”
“No problem,” I said, with fake detachment.
And with that, the “girls” left to take Lissa over to Marie’s house,
leaving me nervously pondering what bug had bitten my niece during the
morning’s peculiar conversation. I was certain it hadn’t gone well, but I
wasn’t to find out just how badly it had gone until later.
I watched the snow falling outside, and the disappearing taillights on
my sister’s Hyundai.
