“Mom … grandma … Aunt Nancy … Jillian … Cathy…” my great niece answered as she ticked off the various family names on her fingers.
“They never did, you’re making it up,” I accused.
“No we used to talk about you, when we were growing up, whenever we got together up here in the summer, we used to talk about Uncle Joe all the time. As if you didn’t know.”
“You did?”
Amanda ignored my comment, instead said, “New sweater too … soft,” as her fingers lightly caressed my cashmere covered arm and chest as she moved away from me.
“Cashmere. Your grandmother.”
“Grandma Susie gave it to you?”
“Uh huh. And she tucked a bottle of Viagra in one sleeve,” I said with a frown. Not one hundred percent true but I knew it would get a rise out of my pretty niece.
“What!” erupted in a shrill squeal from the young beauties mouth. “She didn’t? Did she?”
I liked all my great nephews and nieces. All the grandchildren of my two sisters. But I loved Amanda best. I always had. From the second she’d been born. How could I not? She was my granddaughter…
Amanda’s mother had never known who her father was. In fact she never would. It was Susie’s and my secret. A dark Philip’s family secret that stretched back over forty years. A secret we’d both kept since Amanda’s mother had left Susie’s womb and slipped down my sister’s channel and out into the world.
Amanda and I talked that night. All through the preparation and eating of the gourmet meal she’d somehow managed to prepare with minimal supplies. And later as we sipped our way through two bottles of the finest wine in front of the fire.
We talked about the family. We reminisced, reminiscences that invariably brought smiles or giggles or hearty chuckles to our lips. Memories. Family memories.
She teased me about my age.
We talked about her schooling, about the travails of her trying to get through medical school. Something I could empathize with simply by remembering the years I’d spent as a student at Columbia so many years before.
“It’s all your fault,” she’d finally complained as we sat side by side on the sofa, facing the fireplace and the red hot embers that were all that was left of the fire that had been blazing all evening.
“My fault?” I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. “How come?”
“I never would have gone into medicine if it hadn’t been for you. You should never have given me that stethoscope and anatomy textbook.”
I laughed, remembering the look of surprise and delight on the twelve year olds face when she’d opened her Christmas present so many years ago. I’d also given her a white doctor’s coat that day and she’d spent the rest of that holiday season wearing it, the stethoscope around her neck. She’d driven us all nuts in the subsequent days with her never ending demand to listen to our heartbeats. A dream had been born, a dream I’d continued to nourish all throughout her teenage years. She’d been born to be a caregiver.
“Everyone else gave you lipstick and earrings, clothes, cd’s, you first bra,” I remembered.
“I could be getting an M.B.A., getting ready to make millions on Wall Street,” she said ruefully but with a smile. We both knew that was the last thing she would have ever wanted to do.
“Yes but just think my dear, in a couple of years you’ll be back in the North Country, at the side of your favourite Great Uncle, ministering to the sick, saving lives …”
“I’d have some sort of social life in M.B.A. school …and I’ve never said I was coming back up here to practise.”
“Where else would you go?” I asked as I planted a kiss on her forehead.
“You never know,” she said even as she snuggled closer to me. I knew!
We talked on and on that night. She even broached the state of my health. “So, are you healthy? You’ve had your checkup?”
“My ten year one,” I agreed. “Went over to the Mayo Clinic. They told me I was perfect … for a sixty year old,” I added ruefully.
“You are perfect,” Amanda agreed, “but given your age you will probably have to give up your little twenty year old coeds.” The comment was followed by a teasing smile, then a quick kiss on my cheek before she settled back against me.
Every female member of my family seemed to think they could get away with teasing me. They all learned eventually. “No, I’m all fine down there too. They told me I have the heart and lungs of a twenty-five year old and the sexual drive and performance of an eighteen year old. At least that’s what their tests showed,” I said modestly if not one hundred percent truthfully.
“I’ll bet,” she challenged back but I could sense her excitement and didn’t miss the hard, knobby bumps pushing through her sweater. Sex with my granddaughter?
“And how’s your health? Your checkups all okay?” My question was asked casually, more to change the subject than anything else, so I almost missed the delay before she answered.
Her hesitating, “yah … fine … I’m sorta due for a checkup,” and the way she quickly turned away when I looked at her, triggered the doctors alarms I’d honed over thirty-five years of medicine. She couldn’t be sick could she, I wondered. But sensing her reluctance to talk about it I decided not to push it, knowing I’d have other chances to broach the subject over the next few days.
I dreamt of my granddaughter that night. I dreamt of her naked, in my bed, my cock deep inside her. And tangled in with that dream was another, a dream of remembrance, of my big sister and how I’d lost my virginity to her in the same room I was still sleeping in forty-two years later. I masturbated as I remembered… and my cock didn’t feel like it was sixty years old when the creamy sperm rushed up its hard shaft. As it rushed in a torrent into my dream sister and my dream granddaughter.
And, with the sexual tension relieved, I was able to resist the temptation to walk down the hall to the bedroom where my beautiful granddaughter lay. But I couldn’t help wondering if she was dreaming of me.
Friday, June 11th 2010 Philip’s Creek, Upstate New York
Amanda prepared breakfast the next morning. While I, the elder statesman, fished! And of course she’d laughingly complained that it wasn’t fair that she was haaaving to do aaaall the domestic chores when she’d plonked my plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and French toast in front of me.
An hour later, sporting our bathing suits, we wandered down to the swimming pond.
“Wow! Where’d you get these?” she asked the second she saw my new lawn furniture.
“I splurged, a birthday gift to myself,” I admitted with a smile as I admired the four new, gleaming, stainless steel, double chaise lounges that had been delivered two weeks earlier. A sleek, curving European design that seemed an affront to the Adirondack chairs that were so typical of the area. Each was topped off by a thick, foam cushion.
“You’re going South Beach on us in your old age Uncle Joe,” she teased, then added, “We can share,” as she leapt on the closest one. Who was I to argue? I dutifully followed, a tube of sunscreen in hand.
“Turn over,” I ordered as I undid the cap.
“I can do it,” Amanda answered but then obeyed me. I’d been making sure she, and all her siblings and cousins, were protected from the sun since she’d been a baby. And over the years I had applied bottles of the stuff to her skin, a Great Uncle’s duty that had only been interrupted by the shyness of the onset of puberty and her teenage years.
So I took my time in administering the thick cream to the milky white, baby soft skin of her back. I was cautious at first, trying to rekindle the old familial feelings even as my fingers explored the body of a mature, ripe young woman.
And the purring breathes that softly escaped from her lips as my hands caressed the sperm like lotion across her back and thighs simply encouraged me to linger even longer. It wasn’t quite sexual, instead it still was a doting grand uncle (as she knew me) applying sunscreen to his niece, but it was darn close to crossing the line. My cock had already crossed the line!
And as my fingers mover over her upper thighs, as they stroked right up to the spot where the Brazilian cut panties of her bikini ended, I felt a tremor moving under her skin even as her hips rose an inch from the mattress while her legs spread slightly, an involuntary and unconscious invitation that signalled how sexually ready she was.
“You still have soft, strong hands,” she purred even as her perfectly proportioned rear pushed up even harder against my hand.
“A doctor has to have soft hands my dear,” I answered as I placed one palm on each of Amanda’s rounded globes. After a gentle squeeze, a borderline sexual squeeze, and just as I was getting ready to cross that line, to pull the thin cloth down and bare her pretty bum, my phone chirped out its dial tone. It was just after one. My cock was huge.
My nurse, or more correctly the university nurse, was on the line. Small emergency. Could I come in?
When I’d gone to Medical School forty years earlier it had never been my plan to come back to the North Country after I’d graduated. Instead I’d envisioned myself in a big hospital, emulating the TV doctors who’d been my first inspiration. The Ben Casey’s and Dr. Wildares of the television world.
I’d grown up on the edge of a small town, a town of less than five hundred people, a town nestled at the head of a five mile lake, a deep lake gouged out of the landscape when the glaciers had retreated from North America hundreds of thousands of years ago. The town that had owed its continued existence to the tourists visiting from the big cities, from Boston and New York primarily, tourists who came for the fishing and hiking in the Spring and Summer, and for the hunting and the foliage during the Fall.
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