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Subject: {ASSM} RP: Uncle Randy and the Angry Niece (Pt 02 of 03) (Hoisington) {Mf, 1st, inc, slow, rom}
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Date: Thu, 01 Mar 2012 19:10:02 -0500
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                  UNCLE RANDY AND THE ANGRY NIECE
                            Part 02 of 03
                         Russell Hoisington

This is an erotic fantasy.  The characters and the situation
are purely imaginary, and this story is *NOT* intended to be
a guide for actual behavior.  Any similarities between this
story and actual people or actual events you should be
ashamed of are purely coincidental.  If it is illegal in
your part of the world to access and read erotic fiction, or
if you are underage, or if you don't like underage sex
stories, then stop now.

This story is copyright 2008 by Russell Hoisington.  Please
do not remove the author information or make any changes to
this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free)
sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.  That does
*not* mean that these stories are in the public domain, nor
does it mean that I give permission for you to use them in
spam advertising.  I reserve the right to determine what is
"spam advertising" by *my* definition, not yours or anyone
else's.

Thank you for your consideration.

My sincerest thanks to Denny Wheeler for editing this story
and to Denny, the Night Hawk, Rod O'Steele, Tesseract, Uncle
Sky, and Wizard for their input.  Special thanks to Wizard
for allowing me to use characters and events from _The
Trailer Park: The Road Trip_.  I suppose I should also thank
myself for allowing me to use characters from my _Wynter_
series, too.

    ************************************************************

                  UNCLE RANDY AND THE ANGRY NIECE
                         Russell Hoisington

                               Seven

     The next week was relatively uneventful.  Monday we
painted Cheryl's room.

     "It stinks," she said as she climbed in bed, her pert
nose wrinkled in disgust.  "Maybe I should have gotten the
bright orange after all."

     "That was oil based enamel, not latex.  It would have
smelled worse."

     "Worse than this?"

     "Yes.  Do you want to sleep in one of the other rooms
for a couple of nights?"

     "No.  I just want this one to smell better."

     "It will in a couple of days."

     "What if the stink kills me before then?"

     "It's not toxic," I said as I spread the towels.

     "It could drive me to suicide."

     "It's not that bad."

     "That's easy for you to say.  You don't have to sleep in
here."

     "Well, the blue room down the hall..."

     "No!  I'm staying in my room."

     "Okay.  You like the smell of this massage oil, don't
you?  Well, sleep with your nose behind your knee."

     She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder and
blinked.  Twice.  "God, I hate you."

     She said nothing more as I massaged her legs, then
kissed her good night.  Just before the door latch clicked I
heard a faint, "It still stinks."

     Complaints about the paint smell stopped after
Wednesday, which is when she had her first driving lesson.
There are many stereotypical stories about women drivers,
but I'm sure that she'll prove them wrong.  Just give her a
few more years practice.

     She shifted into reverse while the car was moving
forward only twice.  The third time she shifted into park.
It wasn't entirely a bad thing, though.  In fact, it was
educational.  For instance,  I learned that a coffee travel
mug is not the ultimate answer for beverages while you are a
passenger.  You shouldn't have any liquids in your
possession while teaching girls to drive, and that includes
strongly recommending a trip to the john first.  When they
aren't shaking the piss out of you, they're scaring it out
of you.  But that was actually a needless fear because she
stopped with the bumper at least three millimeters away from
the driver's side door of Diego's pick-up.  Maybe even four.
And he did jump back inside and slam it with seconds to
spare.  One or two at least.

     Okay, at most.

     But he should have taken a trip to the john before he
left the feed store.

     Photography lessons continued as well.  By the end of
the week she was aware of the major shortcomings of her
camera and was able to compensate for most.  Friday she had
her first portrait  lesson, with me serving as her model.
For a beginner, she did an exceptionally good job of
compensating for the weaknesses of her subject.  After
Saturday morning's driving lesson we rebuilt the portion of
the split rail fence that jumped behind her while she was
backing up, and then we had lunch, finishing just as Doc
Branson arrived to check on Buena Vista and Cheryl's Blaze.
I had a brilliant idea and excused myself long enough to run
back to the studio while Cheryl accompanied Doc into the
barn.

     Fortunately I decided against pouring myself a cup of
coffee to take with me, because eight to ten seconds after I
arrived I had the perfect opportunity to aim, focus, and
shoot.  The flash startled Blaze but didn't frighten her.
Buena Vista had been the subject of many photographs and
took it in stride, seeming to express reassurance to her
daughter in a brief, low whickering sound.

     "What was that all about?" snarled the little filly's
bipedal protector when the horse tossed her head and stepped
back.

     Fortunately, it was one of the electronic cameras, so I
was able to call up the shot immediately.  While I prefer
rationality to religion, I was ready to invoke every deity I
could remember at that moment and pray that I'd captured
what I'd seen before I lifted the camera.

     I had said that a good part of successful photography is
luck.  Well, I decided to avoid Vegas and Reno because I'd
used up the remainder of my good luck ration for the rest of
the year.  There it was in the viewfinder:  Cheryl, Blaze,
and Doc in three-part harmony.  Yeah, it needed a mild wash
with PhotoShop to correct some exposure issues and some
reflective glare in the background between Cheryl's head and
Blaze's, but the composition was perfect.

     "Uncle Randy!  That's perfect!  You're a genius!"  She
kissed me.

     Okay, so I'd skip the lesson pointing out the
deficiencies in the picture for the time being.

     "The girl's right," said Doc.  "But I tell you what:  in
exchange for my not kissing you, I'll let you give me a copy
of that when you print it.  I'll put it in my reception area
and tell everyone who admires it that I got it from Randy
Long's Family Pet Portraiture Emporium."

     "You've got a deal!" I said with exaggerated relief.

     "Awww!  What's the matter?" she asked, still staring in
wide-eyed amazement at the viewfinder.  "Doc is, like, too
old for you?  Uncle Homo prefers younger men?  Hmmm?"

     Doc threw me a questioning glance and started to say
something.  I shook my head and silently mouthed, "Later,"
causing him to shrug and back off.  The smirk on his face
said that I'd better not wait very long before I called him
and explained.

     "Uncle Randy, I have just the frame for this.  I want to
put it on my dresser."  Her eyes were still locked on the
screen.  I can't blame her.  I think it's one of the best
pictures I'd ever taken.  But then, I might be a little
biased.  I had photographed my two most beautiful models.
And Doc, but I could always crop him out.

                               ~ ~ ~

     I had no idea what after-dinner movie we'd just watched.
Some romantic comedy, I think.  I truly had no idea, because
I couldn't keep my attention off the brunette beauty
snuggled up against my side on the couch.  To call her
negligee "translucent" is to make it sound more opaque than
it was.  There were a couple of times I expected to find
myself saying, "It's the pheromones again," but she was too
absorbed in the movie to notice.

     "That was sweet," she said.  She turned those beautiful
liquid brown eyes to me.  They were a little more liquid
than normal, enough so that they had overflowed at the
corners.  "What part did you like best, Uncle Randy?"

     "I'm not sure," I said.  "I saw so many different things
to like."

     "Yeah," she said, laying her head on my shoulder and
sighing wistfully.  "There were."

     She wasn't aware that we weren't discussing the same
topic.  She might have realized that with one more question,
but instead she glanced at the clock.  "Time to check the
horses."

     Hell of a time for her to turn responsible.  "Okay.
I'll wait for you to change."

     "The guys have gone home, haven't they?  I'll just wear
this.  I'm sure Buena Vista and Blaze won't be embarrassed
to see my boobs.  They're girls."

     I exercised a bit of wise caution and said nothing about
what else they could see.

                               ~ ~ ~

     My self-control must be improving.  I made it through
the leg massage with no pheromonic bodily modifications.  I
made up for that after I fell asleep by having two wet
dreams, both involving the object of my dreams sleeping
under blankets and a light coat of oil in the next room.
After the second I decided it was too late to go back to
sleep, so I arose, cleaned up, and quietly made my way
downstairs for coffee.

     As I reached the bottom of the staircase, the front door
burst open.  Cheryl exploded into the house and slammed the
door behind her, leaning back against it and gasping like
she'd set a new time record in the marathon.  I don't know
if her feet were blushing because she was wearing slippers,
but every square inch of the rest of her was.

     "Well," I said, crossing my arms and forgetting about
the coffee, "this has all the earmarks of an interesting
tale."

     "I had a dream," she gasped.  "A nightmare, actually.
It woke me up.  I dreamed Blaze was hurt and needed me.  It
was terrible, Uncle Randy!  It seemed so real!  I had to go
check on her.  To make sure she was okay.  In case it wasn't
a dream, because it seemed so real!  It's Sunday.  It's
supposed to be just us here, so I didn't waste time getting
dressed.  I had to go see about Blaze!"

     "I see.  So, you're saying Ricky and Penny had another
fight."

     The red intensified another shade or two.  I wondered
what kind of picture of her I'd get using infrared film in a
totally dark room.  Probably an overexposed one.  "When I
heard the door open, I thought you'd followed me, so I
thought I'd surprise you.  So, I hid behind the grain
barrel..."

     She left it hanging, but it was obvious what had
happened next.

     "So, did Ricky faint or just die of a heart attack?  I
didn't hear any screams of terror."

     "He was... He was drinking his coffee when I jumped out.
Most of it went down his shirt and pants and he dropped his
mug.  I think I heard it break after I ran past him."

     "Yeah?  Damn.  It was probably his lucky mug, too.  Got
tossed while riding a bull at a rodeo a few years ago and it
trampled him.  He got away with a two-inch scrape on a rib.
Through some chain of events that makes sense only to Ricky,
he gives the credit to that mug and has called it his lucky
mug ever since."

     "Really?  Oh, _GOD!_  Now I can't leave the house for
the rest of the summer!"

     "I'll go talk to him.  Everything will be okay."

     She looked at me with big, pleading eyes.  "Uncle Randy,
are you sure?"

     I gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.  "Trust me.
I said I wouldn't lie to you."

     "Okay."  She sounded skeptical, but she gave me an
embarrassed kiss and dashed up the stairs.  I waited to
enjoy the show first.

     I found Ricky leaving the bunkhouse.  He held up his
hands as a feeble barrier between us.  "Boss, I swear I
didn't touch her!"

     "Relax.  I know what happened.  Was that your lucky
mug?"

     "Yeah.  It broke into three pieces.  You know what that
means."

     "Yeah, I do."  Actually, I had no clue.  Most rodeo
performers have superstitions that have nothing in common
with any other performer's.  However, admitting that I
didn't know would have guaranteed a fifteen minute lecture
on the significance of the number three.  I had been the
audience for that lecture last year and now knew less than I
did before Ricky had started.  "I'm sorry you lost your
lucky mug.  If there's any way I can make up for it..."

     Ricky waved away the suggestion.  "No, no.  If you don't
mind my saying so, Boss, I used up all of its good luck at
one shot when she jumped out in front of me, waving her
arms.  I'd break two more lucky mugs to see that again."

     Two more would make a total of three.  I nodded wisely.
"I understand."  What I really understood was, of course,
not the total of three part but the looking a beautiful girl
in nothing but slippers part.

     Ricky visually examined coffee stains on his boots.
"Boss, can I ask you a question?"

     "Yes, she sometimes dresses like that around the house."

     His head jerked up.  "Yeah?  Well, thanks for the image,
but that's not the question.  Why in hell did she shout,
'Hey, Uncle Homo!' when she jumped out?"

     I draped an arm around his shoulders and leaned toward
him, like I was about to impart the secret recipe of the
world's best chili.  Chili was the one thing Ricky liked
better than sex and beer.  "My twin sister decided I was
queer and announced that to the rest of the family.  Nobody
ever questioned her.  I've never bothered to correct any of
them."

     He pushed a finger up against the brim of his cowboy hat
to scoot it back on his head.  "Why the hell not?"

     If I told him the truth, he wouldn't believe me, and I'd
finally have to invent something to shut him up.  Why bother
wasting all that extra breath when I could just go ahead and
make up a story now that he'd believe?  "Ricky, you
disappoint me.  Do you think she'd dress like that around me
if she knew I was straight?"

     Ricky blinked.  Twice.  For someone who looked nothing
at all like Cheryl, the resemblance at that moment was
uncanny.  "Boss, you're a fuckin' genius."

     "That's why I'm the boss and you're wearing your second
shirt of the day.  So what happened last night?"

     "Me 'n' Willy 'n' Stomper went to The Spur for a couple
of beers before supper."

     "A couple?  I see.  What time did you get home?"

     "'Bout two.  Damned woman's got no sense of priorities."

     The only thing that ever changes in those two sentences
is the time.  "Any shots fired this time?"

     "Naw.  Hell, she was so pissed she forgot she had the
pistol on the end table."

     Five times, or maybe six, she'd fired a round into the
wall beside the door.  She wasn't trying to hit him or she
would have.  Penny could knock a moving fly out of the air
at fifty feet with that .357 Magnum.  With a rifle, she
could make good money hiring out to the military as a
long-range sniper.

     "Say, Boss?  Have you two been..."

     "No."

     "Damn.  Well, good luck."

     "Thanks, but she's only fifteen."

                               ~ ~ ~

     It was Wednesday evening's check of the horses before
she spoke to Ricky again.  He was about to make his first
return home, having been asked back by Penny, when we met
him leaving the barn.  Neither brought up the incident
Sunday as they mumbled greetings and discussed Blaze's
growth.

     After Cheryl gave Buena Vista her last piece of the
apple, she hugged Blaze and cooed to her.  Buena Vista
chewed and watched before turning her big dark eyes to me
for a silent conversation about the joys of having children,
even if one of them was merely a loaner for the summer.

                               ~ ~ ~

     Cheryl's frown of concentration made me wish I had a
camera handy.  I could see half a dozen cameras, including
hers, as I glanced around the photo lab, and not one was
within reach.  If I moved, she'd lose the look I wanted so
much to capture.  There are many joys to being a
photographer, but sometimes there seem to be at least an
equal number of frustrations.  This was one of those
maddening times.

     She drummed her pencil at one of the photos, but never
came closer than two inches to it.  "This one," she said.
"Although," she aimed the pencil at the monitor, "I like
this one of me best."

     "Of course," I agreed.  "You're a much better model than
I am."

     I thought she was going to say something smartass, but
if so, she changed her mind.  "Maybe I had a better
photographer."

     "Maybe," I agreed, "but the right model can compensate
for her photographer's weaknesses."

     She looped her arm through mine and squeezed.  "Maybe I
did.  But I think I like nature photography better than
portrait photography."

     I squeezed back.  "Sure.  You haven't done any crawling
across a desert in August or a snowy field in February.
When you do that, you'll decide that portrait photography
has its own appeals."

     She blinked.  Twice.  "I guess I didn't think of that,
huh?"

     "If it will make you feel any better, I didn't think
about it when I volunteered for my first desert crawl.
Damn, did I underbid that job!  It's worse than the snowy
field because at night the desert will freeze you as surely
as it will roast you during the day.  The snowy meadow is
the same type of misery at any hour, so you don't have to
change clothes to avoid being even more miserable."

     She closed the portfolios and yawned.  We'd arisen early
to ride out for some dawn nature shots, had lunch at Bobbi
Jo's Buckskin Diner during my Saturday grocery run, and then
spent the afternoon having a driving lesson and then
studying and practicing portrait photography.  While not a
morning person, she wasn't nearly as sleepy after arising at
our normal time as she had been ar first.  Thursday and
Friday I'd actually understood her breakfast order, and
Wednesday I had understood enough to make an accurate guess
that "_hrim phoat_" meant "french toast."  It was either
that or "shrimp boat," but since it was a breakfast order...

     I glanced at the clock.  "Time for me to start supper."

     "Nothing fancy, if you don't mind.  I'm not very
hungry."

     "I guess not.  Your hamburger weighed only three pounds
less than Blaze."

     She blinked.  Twice.  "God, I hate you."  _Translation:
I wish I'd thought of that first._  "Can I study some more
portrait albums?"

     "Sure," I said, reaching for the third drawer of the
nearest cabinet.

     "Uncle Randy?"  She sounded hesitant.  "Do you do any
nude portfolios?"

     I released that drawer pull and reached for the bottom
drawer.  "I've done a few."  I unlocked it and pulled out a
thick off-white leather-bound album and closed the drawer.
"You'll recognize Kelly and Debbie, of course.  And maybe
Monica Butler, too."

     "Thanks."  She put it on the worktable, crossed her arms
over it, and looked hesitant.  Finally she said, "I was
wondering if... you'd..."  She glanced at the monitor.

     "Sure."

     I hadn't seen her that excited since she'd bonded with
Blaze.  "You will?"

     "I assume you won't be sharing those with your mother?"

     "No way!"

     "Allen?"

     "No.  And not Ricky, either."

     I grunted.  "Well, Ricky, at least, knows what he'll be
missing."

     My guess is that the red went all the way to her feet
again.  I knew it went at least as far down as the bare
midriff between her tube top and hip-hugger shorts.  She
covered her embarrassment by making an angry face.  "Food.
Now.  Go!"

     I rose and bowed.  "Yes, M'Lady."  I knew she wasn't
really mad when I made it to the door and she hadn't thrown
anything.  I have a scar on the back of my head from the day
I pissed off Mandy in the kitchen when we were eleven.  It
had been Mom's favorite Pyrex dish.

                               ~ ~ ~

     I knew by the shocked look on her face before I
recognized the album in front of her.  Rather than announce
that the food was on the table, I quietly moved to stand
across the worktable from her.  The bottom drawer that I'd
closed but not relocked sat open.  My presence didn't
register for a few seconds, giving me time to recognize the
recent picture of me with a kneeling Molly David, who was in
the middle of an orgasm.  If not for the indescribable look
on her face, I'd have trashed that picture because the
wireless remote control for the camera was just barely
visible in my right hand clutching her ass.

     Her face changed from shock to furious rage.  "_These_,"
she growled before glaring up at me, "_are all girls!_"
Again all the cameras were out of range, but I suppose that
was good because this time she would have thrown one.

     I nodded.  "Women, actually.  The youngest was
twenty-three at the time."

     She slammed the side of a fist on the worktable.  Things
jumped.  "_Don't change the subject!_"

     "I'm not.  I'm correcting an error."

     "_YOU LIED TO ME!_" she screamed.  "_YOU SAID YOU
WOULDN'T LIE, AND YOU DID!_"

     "No."

     Surely the heat from her glare was raising the
temperature in the photo lab.  She gripped the covers of the
open album so tightly that her hands and arms trembled.
"_LIAR!_"  Her head twisted suddenly.  She looked at the
open bottom drawer and returned her volcanic glare to me.
"Or are you saying that there's pictures of you and guys in
there, too?"

     "No."

     "_THEN YOU LIED WHEN YOU SAID YOU WERE A HOMO!_"

     I said nothing, retrieved the Hasselblad from a shelf,
and returned.  I put it on the table in front of her.  "You
almost fainted when I told you how much that's worth.  It's
yours when you tell me one time, just one, that I ever said
that I was."

     She needed about ten seconds to go from red-faced rage
to a blank face.  Then she blinked.  Twice.

     "In fact," I said, "the camera is yours when you tell me
just one time you ever asked me if I was."

     After several seconds of stunned silence, the angry face
returned.  "_So, you thought it would be fun to make a fool
of me?  I HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD LAUGH!_"  She sprang up and
rushed for the door.

     "It's also yours if you can tell me one time I ever did
anything with the purpose of making fun of you," I said as
she rushed past.

     I didn't turn around, but I knew she'd frozen in her
tracks.  Then I heard her moving again as she dashed down
the hall to the stairs.

     I left the camera on the worktable as another lesson.
She'd grasp that one, too, eventually.  I sighed and
returned the album to the bottom drawer.  It never occurred
to me that she'd discover the truth by digging in that
unlocked drawer.  I'd thought she'd soon piece together all
the clues.  I still think she would have within a day or
two, because she's a bright girl.

     _Three hours_, I decided.  _Then she'll calm down enough
to think._  I ate my share of the stir-fried chicken, put
hers away for later, and checked the time.  _Now what?_

     Maybe I should go out to the horse barn.  I could ask
Buena Vista if she ever had to use similar stringent means
to teach important life lessons to her child.  And if she
felt as much pain in doing so as I did.



                               Eight

     I was wrong.  She did not emerged until time for the
final check  She wore long jeans, a fully-buttoned blouse,
and as angry a look as I'd ever seen.  Her red eyes avoided
me as she stormed into the kitchen for an apple, quartered
it, and took it to the front door without a word.  I
listened to the door open, then close.

     I returned to the novel I was reading.  Eventually I
heard the door again.  She started up the stairs without a
word.

     "Good night," I said.

     She slowed long enough to say, "The horses are fine.
I'll fix my own breakfast tomorrow," and then resumed her
hasty climb.  Moments later her door slammed.

     I noted the elapsed time.  Was I ever wrong.  She was
more like Mandy than I'd suspected.

                               ~ ~ ~

     The house was quiet as I came down the staircase, quiet
enough for me to hear the washer in the basement.  Except
for a blue plaid blouse instead of the red floral one she'd
worn the night before, Cheryl looked the same.  She sat at
the kitchen table, a slice of cinnamon toast in one hand as
she read the label on the bottle of hair bleach in the
other.  She was wearing enough eye makeup for a chorus line.

     "Good morning!" I said.  _Note to self:  holding a
bottle of hair bleach in your hand causes temporary
deafness_.

     I was certain that the only reason I had coffee waiting
was because I'd set Mister Coffee's timer the night before.
"I'm in the mood for oatmeal.  Would you like me to fix you
some, too?"

     In retrospect, I realize it was foolish of me to ask a
question while she was still holding the temporary deafener.
I nuked some instant oatmeal in the microwave and ate most
of it in silence before she rose from her chair and started
for the basement.  That was when I realized the washer
sounds had stopped.  Since her hand was now empty, meaning
she was no longer deaf, I waited until she reached the
basement door, then said, "Mandy?"

     She whirled around much like a tornado, except that
tornadoes look far more friendly than my angry niece did at
that moment.  "_I'M CHERYL, YOU SON OF A BITCH!_"

     "I'm sorry.  I had trouble telling you apart because
Cheryl's usually the one who uses her head and thinks, while
Mandy is the one who usually doesn't think and acts on pure
emotion.  I'm sure you can see how I was confused."

     She slammed the basement door hard enough to tilt one of
the pictures on that wall.  I finished my breakfast, fed the
dishwasher, straightened the picture, and took the newspaper
to the couch.  Obviously Cheryl had already checked the
horses and had brought the paper in.

     I wasn't aware that my washer could hold so much laundry
that it would take almost twenty minutes to move it to the
dryer.

                               ~ ~ ~

     I wanted to check the horses, but I was afraid that
doing so might be misinterpreted as not trusting her ability
to do that chore.  Sure, she'd spent a lot of time with
Blaze while we checked them, but she had accompanied me
while I checked the others and knew what had to be done.  I
knew she was responsible enough to do the check without my
presence and that she was conscientious enough to do so
because she loved the animals as much as I did.

     I decided I'd have one more cup of coffee, and then if
she was still in the basement, I'd go out to the barns.
Maybe go see if Ricky was in trouble with Penny again.  I
was returning to the couch when the basement door opened.
She stood there, all round-shouldered and pitiful, much of
her eye makeup reduced to stains down her cheeks.  She
shuffled over to me, head down, and sniffed.  I waited.

     "Uncle Randy?"

     "Yes, my favorite niece?"

     "I was wrong."

     "I won't tell anyone."

     Her head came up, eyes hardening.  "What?"

     "I don't like it when people tell others about my
mistakes, especially someone we have in common.  I try to
return the courtesy.  If you want any others to know, you'll
have to be the one to tell them, not me.  It's your
business, not mine."

     "Oh."  Her head sagged again.  "Are you mad at me?"

     "Of course not."

     "Disappointed?"  Her voice cracked on that word.

     "Why would I be?  You figured it out for yourself."

     "Not until you shoved my nose in it."

     "All I did was speed up your thinking process because I
missed the real you.  I didn't want to wait a few hours more
while the answer came to you.  I was getting too lonely."

     "Can I sit beside you?"

     "If you sat anywhere else, _then_ I would be
disappointed."  I put the paper and coffee cup on the end
table and took middle of the couch.  She sat and leaned
against me.  "Do you know why I didn't tell you Mandy was
wrong?"

     She took a deep breath and let it out.  "At first I
thought you wanted me to keep believing you were queer
because you wanted me to keep... that you wanted to be able
to keep looking at me naked."

     "That's what Ricky thinks."

     She straightened.  "Why?"

     "That's what I told him."

     Her sudden frown was caused by puzzlement, not anger.
"Why would you tell him that?"

     "You tell me."

     She thought about it.  "I don't know," she said after a
minute.

     "It's because that's the only answer he'd believe.  It's
the reason he wouldn't tell you if he were in my place, so
it must be the reason I wouldn't tell you.  Any other answer
and I'd still be trying to explain it to him.  Does that
remind you of anyone you know?"

     "Yeah."  I'd just described her mother's thought
process.  She leaned against me again and thought for a
moment.  "Uncle Randy, if you're straight, why does Mom
think you're a fag?"

     I squeezed her shoulders with an arm.  "Billy Munro was
on the wrestling team in high school.  He lost a match to a
sophomore from McKinney.  After he described the hold, I
said he should have been able to break it.  He finally gave
up arguing and showed me that I couldn't break it.  He had
my head trapped between his legs when Mandy barged into the
room and decided I was blowing him."

     "Why didn't you tell everyone what had really happened?"

     I shrugged.  "She kept saying that I was lying.  'I saw
Billy's willy,' she said, over and over.  Actually, she sang
it more than she said it.  What she actually saw, I think,
was a brief glimpse of one of my hands wedged between his
legs as I tried to force them apart.  I gave up trying to
explain because everyone chose to believe her when she said
that, like she'd never gotten any story wrong before.

     "Uncle Tom forgot about the time she 'saw' him break
Mom's crystal candy dish when one of the dogs actually did
it.  Aunt Debbie forgot about the time your mom heard one
side of a telephone conversation.  Mandy told everyone that
Debbie was 'running around' on Duke.  Fortunately, it was
Duke himself on the other end of the phone, so he knew
Mandy's story was wrong when she told him, and he eventually
married Debbie.  But they chose to believe Mandy about me
anyway.  I realized I couldn't win, and I quit caring."

     She giggled, then apologized.  "I shouldn't laugh
because she does the same thing to me."

     "Then you," I said, squeezing her shoulders again, "are
authorized to laugh because you've paid your dues, too."

     Her laughter faded to silence that lasted half a minute.
"Uncle Randy?  I wasn't snooping.  I was just looking for
more pictures to compare posing and lighting techniques.
Honest."

     "I know you weren't snooping, honey.  I'm sorry I didn't
relock the drawer, but I just didn't think.  I expected you
to put all the clues together any day now and realize the
truth.  I was waiting for you to ask, and then I was going
to tell you.  I'd have told you at the airport if you'd just
asked."

     She sagged again.  "Yeah.  You would.  I was too angry
with Mom to ask, though."

     "Been there."

     "Yeah."

     Another half-minute of silence.

     "Uncle Randy?"

     "Yes, Niece Cheryl?"

     "I learned one other thing from all this."

     "And that would be?"

     "That I was right.  You have one totally awesome boner."

                               ~ ~ ~

     "Ready to take a break?" I asked at the end of the
shoot.

     "Yeah.  This is a lot like work," Cheryl said.  "It gets
hot under those lights."

     "I told you glamour model work was work and not glamour.
I also told you..."

     "...you wouldn't lie to me.  I know."  She slipped off
the blouse she was wearing for the glamour portrait.
Naturally she wore nothing beneath.  "I think I'll hang this
up, make room for something cold to drink, and grab another
Seven-Up.  You want something?"

     I lifted my large insulated mug, estimating its contents
by weight.  "No, I'm good.  What next?"

     She licked her lips.  "You ready for some nude shots?"

     "Depends on which one of us is getting nude."

     She blinked.  Twice.  "God, I hate you."

     "Let's start with neutral backgrounds.  Black, first, I
think."  I had about two dozen large seamless backgrounds on
rollers like giant window blinds.  "We'll do total nudes and
solid backgrounds for figure studies and use props--hats,
shawls, robes, hand-held items--for artistic nudes.  Since
we're alone today, we can also do some exterior nudes if you
want."

     She looked like I'd just named another foal after her.
"Sure!"  She stuck the blouse on a hanger and put it in the
closet, then scampered off in nothing but shorts to see Noah
about a flood.  That last was one of Dad's sayings that
Junior had appropriated and that I use once or twice a year.
I had positioned the black backdrop and was adjusting the
lights when I heard a prolonged loud noise.  It was muffled
by the closed bathroom door, but I was sure that it was
something that could embarrass a drunken sailor.

     I heard the john flushing as the door slammed open and
the scurrying of Cheryl's bare feet toward the stairs.  A
few minutes later she appeared wearing a western-style
blouse with the tails tied at her waist and denim shorts.
"I decided I didn't want to do nudes today," she said in a
way that told me I didn't want to ask any questions.  "Maybe
in a few days I'll change my mind."

     Now I understood what the cussing was all about.  I
tried to keep a straight face and said, "Okay.  Would you
like to practice making portrait shots of me?  Or would you
rather do some other shots?  Or just call it quits for the
day?"

     She looked relieved when she realized I wasn't going to
ask any questions.  She didn't seem to grasp that I have
known many women in my life, including having two sisters,
and understood the nature of her problem.  Or maybe she was
afraid I'd tease her about it, the way high school boys
liked to do.

     She looked hesitantly at the clock.  "Can I do portraits
of you for a half-hour and then let's watch a movie?"

     "Your wish is my command, M'Lady."

     She smiled then.  "Cool."

                               ~ ~ ~

     Cheryl shifted into park, killed the ignition, unlatched
her seat belt, and looked expectantly at me.  "Well?"

     She was doing better.  My heart rate hadn't climbed
above three hundred beats per minute this time.  "Mandy's
going to be pissed."

     "Yeah?"  That perked her up like I'd said she could take
Blaze home with her.  "Why?"

     "She's eventually going to give in and let you apply for
a driver's permit.  You'll have to take driver's ed.  She's
going to think she'll have two semesters before you can
finally get the permit."

     "Yeah?  Why?"

     "She'll expect you to fail it the first time, too."

     "_Mom?_" she squealed

     I held up a finger in warning.  "I didn't tell you that.
If you know what's good for you, you won't even think about
it within a hundred feet of her.  But, yeah.  In fact, she
also failed the driving test three times, too.  You keep
improving at this rate and you won't have much trouble
graduating near the top of your class.  Or getting your
permit and license the first time, too."

     The rest of my little motivational speech was forgotten
when she lunged across the seat and kissed me.  Hard.  I
released my death grip on the armrest and hugged her in
return.  I vaguely noticed Ricky and Jake leaning against
the corral fence and looking toward us.  At first I wasn't
sure whether they could see us through the glare on the
windshield.  Then I recognized the look on Ricky's face.  He
could.

     When she finally pulled back she said, "I'd like to go
riding with you after lunch, if it's okay.  Shoot some
nature pictures over in the east treeline.  Those...
squirrels.  Birds.  Whatever's over there."

     It was Saturday.  It would be our first ride this week.
Which would be followed by the first leg massage in six
nights.  Which would be followed by the first pre-breakfast
floor show in six mornings.

     "Honey, I'd love to, but I have that meeting with a
horse buyer at three, remember?  I have to give Diego a hand
with the horses and then get ready for that."

     She slumped.  "Oh. Yeah.  I forgot."

     "We can go for a ride after he's gone, though."

     She eyed me like a coyote sizing up a rabbit for lunch.
"Yeah?"

     "And next week you'll be ready to take Misty for rides
around the ranch by yourself."

     "Cool.  Hey, can I, like, do some studio photography
practice while you're busy?  I need to work on forced
perspective."

     "The studio is yours.  Just don't sell any of the
equipment because I'll need it Monday.  Not unless you can
get a hell of a good price."

     For some reason that earned me another kiss.  As she
pulled back, she said, "You know, you can forget to lock
that bottom drawer again if you want to."

                               ~ ~ ~

     I got out of leaving the bottom drawer open by
explaining that the horse client was a new one and might
want to see the photo studio, too.  He wouldn't be pleased
to find those albums lying about.  I was mighty pleased with
my ingenuity.

     I'm not the only one with ingenuity.  I'd overlooked the
fact that I'd taught her how to use the remote shutter
release.  Cheryl got busy in the studio while the client,
Keith Summers of the Summer Dude Ranch, and I were horse
trading in the barn.

     Naturally, Summers wanted to see the studio and examples
of my work.  He was thinking about a new series of
advertising brochures and wanted to see if I was better than
his nephew.  I suppose I should have been insulted, and five
or six years earlier I would have been.  We found Cheryl in
tight white shorts and a fancy western blouse hunched over a
work table, practicing forced perspective shots and wearing
that "You Don't Know What I Did" smirk that always signalled
a surprise, usually one I wouldn't like, from Debbie and
Mandy at her age.

     Her smirk disappeared after she met Summers, a weathered
man in his mid-fifties, and he forgot that I was alive.
They talked for a couple of minutes while I retrieved
examples from the files.  When he casually suggested that
she might make a good model for some of the brochure shots
because he was trying to attract more families and
teenagers, I tried to hide my own smirk.  I'd just won the
job away from his nephew with a little help from my niece.

     He didn't object when I added the cost of the model fee
to the estimate, smiling broadly as he said, "Little Missy
deserves to be paid for her participation."  Cheryl also
failed to object as I explained that the full amount of the
model fee went to the model.  The smirk that had been
returning whenever Summers wasn't looking at her was
suddenly replaced by something between admiration, awe, and
adulation.  Triumph was added to the mix when it dawned on
her that this wasn't something that her mother had
anticipated.  Or wanted.

     His trailers would arrive to pick up the horses on
Wednesday.  We, the photographer and his model/assistant,
would hold the photo session the following week at the
Summer Dude Ranch.  Misty and Durango would accompany us
because they were used to close-up flash photography,
whereas the horses Summers had purchased weren't.  It was
unlikely that any of his existing horses were used to more
than a single flash on a personal camera.  We would take
nothing except bridles for the horses.  Summer Dude Ranch
used custom saddles with its logo tooled into the leather.

     As we watched Summers' truck climbing the drive to the
gate, I asked, "Are you ready for that ride?"

     "Yeah.  Let me change into jeans and grab the camera.
Uncle Randy, were you serious about the modeling fee being
all mine?"

     I gave her _that_ look.  "Do you think I lied to you?"

     "_NO!_"  She threw her arms around me and tried to hug
me while jumping up and down like a jackhammer on overdrive.
She kissed me and ran into the house, squealing with
delight.

     I admired the scene of her shorts gyrating away and then
turned toward the barn, where I saw Ricky leaning against
the open door frame and flashing that look again.  He gave
me a thumbs-up and sauntered toward the bunkhouse to clean
up.  Which meant he wasn't going directly home.

     I idly pondered whether he was planning on getting
himself thrown out of the house tonight, just in case Cheryl
was planning to pay another early morning visit to Blaze
without getting dressed.

                               ~ ~ ~

     I congratulated Cheryl's track identification skills at
the creek.  She'd correctly named the animal types and how
many of each that had left tracks in the soft ground.  We
remounted and resumed our ride toward the trees.  "By the
way, I forgot to ask.  How did your photo practice go?"

     She threw me the quickest of glances, then said, "You'll
see."

     Now, those two words can be voiced as a promise or as a
threat.  I'd have bet all the money I'd just made from the
afternoon's horse sale that it wasn't a promise.

                               ~ ~ ~

     Dusk had turned to night by the time we finished with
Misty and Durango in the barn, apologized to Buena Vista for
not having brought her an apple, groomed Cheryl's Blaze, and
headed for the house, armed with a camera containing at
least one saleable photograph.  My head whirled with all the
things that needed doing:  preparing a modeling contract for
Cheryl's first professional shoot, setting up a portfolio
for her professional modeling photographs, establishing a
catalog system for her to use for her own professional
photography for her first shot, one of a squirrel with a
pine cone, safely stored on her camera's SD-memory card.
Who'd have guessed that Mandy's idea of punishment would be
so fulfilling, not just to Cheryl but also to me?

     "Uncle Randy?"

     I returned to earth.  "Yes, Niece Cheryl?"

     "Nothing fancy for supper, if that's okay with you.
It's getting late.  Let's just grill some hamburgers."

     "Fine with me.  But they won't be as good as Bobbi Jo's.
I'm just an amateur cook."

     She threw an arm around my waist.  "I know.  But Uncle
Randy's Grilled Amateur Burgers are almost as good as Bobbi
Jo's Professional Burgers."

     Never argue with a woman when she's right.

                               ~ ~ ~

     Cheryl closed the dishwasher and pushed the start
button.  Everything from supper was in it except the two
wine glasses.  She refilled mine with the Beaujolais and
quarter-filled her own.  She did the last slowly, so that I
could stop her at any time.  I didn't.  I wasn't planning to
stop her until the glass was half full.  She'd taken her
first professional photograph and had landed her first
professional modeling assignment, two events I had toasted
before we ate.  She deserved something special to celebrate.

     We carried our glasses to the studio, where she watched
as I set up her own photographic database in PhotoWizard, a
simple but powerful utility created by a programmer just for
me as partial payment for a riding horse.

     "Okay," I said as hit the enter key, "let's look at the
result."

     I clicked the new icon on the desktop.  Up popped the
graphical map of Cheryl's photo database.  "Now let's add
Mister Squirrel."  I inserted the memory card in the reader
and clicked on the appropriate icon.  Thumbnails of all the
shots popped onto the screen.  I double-clicked on the
squirrel with the pine cone, causing it to fill the screen.
"It's even better bigger," I said.

     "Cool!  So, like, how do I go about selling it?"

     "People have to know about you and your work.  You can
try selling it on spec, but you might consider collecting
enough photographs to fill a small book and then publishing
them that way.  Not only might you be able to attract
clients for your photography work, you might also enjoy a
little income from your book.  It will also increase the
draw to your showings.  That's how I started."

     I closed the large view and dragged the thumbnail to the
'Animals-Small Mammal' directory.  "I'll put the rest of
these in the 'Practice' directory for you to study your
results.  You can organize them into your choice of
subdirectories at your leisure and delete them as you wish
when you're done."

     "Cool."

     I moved the rest, then turned to her, saying, "Now what
about the..."

     She was holding two memory cards.  She handed one to me.
"This one first," she said through the smirk that had
returned with a vengeance.

     That one held the results of her forced perspective
practice with simple geometric solids, small plastic dolls
from Playskool toys, and long narrow cardboard strips used
to indicate horizons and lines-of-sight that met at
infinity.  I yielded the chair to her.

     She clicked through the shots and critiqued each one for
me.  When she finished with each, I noted things she'd
overlooked.  That was necessary only three times out of
fourteen shots.  Living with Mandy teaches you to recognize
your own flaws.

     Several times she'd note an error and say, "I didn't see
that in the viewscreen."  I finally told her that the small
size of the viewscreen image obscures many flaws that aren't
obvious until they are enlarged.  She frowned at me for a
moment, apparently remembered that I wouldn't lie to her,
and asked, "What do I do about that?"

     "I don't know about you," I said, "but I junk a lot of
pictures."

     She blinked.  Twice.  "God, I hate you." Translation:
_Thanks for being so damned unhelpful._

     I shrugged.  "The only suggestion I can think of is to
link the camera to a computer screen, where you can examine
the larger picture before you trip the shutter.  That works
with still life images but not with living subjects.  It's
not practicable for most field work, either.  If you come up
with an answer, let me know so I can use it, too."

     One corner of her mouth twisted in thought.  "Yeah." She
looked at me with puppy dog eyes.  "Uncle Randy, I don't
really hate you."

     I gently rubbed the top of her head.  "I know that.  If
you did, I might cancel your modelling session and tear up
your contract that I haven't written yet, and you..."

     "Uncle Randy!  That's not why!"

     I pretended to study her for a moment.  "Yeah," I said.
"I won't lie to you, so I have to believe that you won't lie
to me, either."

     She twisted in her chair, threw her arms around my
waist, and squeezed.  "I love you, Uncle Randy."

     "I love you, Niece Cheryl."

     "Hey, why don't you go get yourself another glass of
wine and bring me a Seven-Up while I set up subdirectories
for these?  I know how to do it after watching you, and I
need to learn to do it myself."  She said it so smoothly
that I didn't realize I was being set up like a
subdirectory.

     She was finished when I returned.  She'd also switched
memory cards.  The screen was filled with a shot of her
sitting on the floor in front of the black seamless
background, the line of her body at a forty-five degree
angle to the line of the shot.  She had removed her sandals.
She'd used the remote shutter release, which was obviously
in the left hand that was hidden by her leg.  She'd also
used the small white cube and pyramid from her perspective
work kit to mark the bottom corners of the frame in the
viewfinder.

     She thanked me for the soft drink, gulped some, and
began critiquing her photograph.

     The second shot was similarly posed, but the blouse was
open, with the edges just covering her nipples.  She found
fault with the shadows cast by the blouse and noted what she
should do with the fill lights to compensate for it.  "Or,"
she added, "I could just PhotoShop it since it's not
portfolio quality."

     The third shot had her facing the camera full-on.  The
edges of the blouse had been pulled to the sides of her
body, but the tails had been tied beneath her breasts to
provide lift and support that she clearly didn't need.  The
shorts were tastefully piled in front of her legs, which
were arranged in a triangle with her calves stacked.  She
was wearing high-cut panties that Mandy would never know
about.  The hated dark spot was clearly visible.  And she'd
been busy with the razor that morning.

     She started with the slight tilt of her head and how it
prevented the composition from being a perfect triangle,
then noted that her thin gold chain necklace was off to one
side instead of hanging symmetrically.  I concentrated more
on keeping control over parts of my body.  That became more
difficult when she advanced to the fourth shot.

     She was still wearing the gold chain.  That and a grin
was all.  Her head was now a little too far to the other
side, but this time the chain was perfect.  She might have
made comments about the lighting, too.  I didn't notice.

     In the fifth shot, her breasts were hidden behind her
legs because she had pulled her heels back against her
thighs and crossed her arms, placing her elbows on her
knees.  Her chin rested on her forearms.  "Damn!" she spat.
"You can just see the remote there."

     I hadn't noticed.  My eyes had been riveted on the
engorgement of arousal that made the smooth skin of her
outer lips taut and shiny, with the shine enhanced at her
slit because of seeping moisture.  Among the few words I
heard were "left fill light" and "depth of field."  Then she
advanced to the sixth shot, where I lost the war for
hegemony over my body.

     Remember that first picture of Penny Unger, the one
where a little more light could have shown you her teeth?
Cheryl had arranged enough light, and the only reason you
couldn't see her teeth was because her head was turned to
look back at the camera over her shoulder, and her mouth was
closed, puckered in a kiss.  It was a spectacular view of
places I hadn't seen during the leg massages.  I think her
critique had something to do with all the light washing out
colors.

     She closed the viewer and moved the shots into a
subdirectory under 'Practice,' then looked up  at me like
we'd been discussing another set of perspective shots.  "A
small, individual spot would have been better for the
lighting," she said, verifying that she had been discussing
color washout, "but that would have required either two
people or a lot of time and a lot of luck.  You can do it
the right way tomorrow."

     Since I was speechless, she rose, stretched, and picked
up the can.  "I'm sore from riding today.  I'll go soak now
and then you can give me another leg massage."  She wrapped
her arms around my neck and gave me a quick kiss while I
tried to think of something to say.  Then she unwrapped her
arms, winked, and purred, "If you want to, you can forget
about wearing those shorts while you massage me, and I can
get a good look at that awesome boner you've sprouted."

     I was still searching for words as she wiggled her butt
out of the studio.  Minutes later, two came to me.

     _Now what?_



                                Nine

     As I had anticipated, she had plugged in the oil warmer
before climbing into her tub.  She'd also left the bathroom
door open.  She raised one hand and flapped her joined
fingers at me in a wave.  "Five more minutes," I said and
began spreading the towels on the bed.  She seemed
disappointed.  Maybe she'd expected me to run to the tub and
jump in.

     I checked the temperature of the oil and noticed the
hair bleach sitting once again on the night stand.  I
chuckled to myself, then groaned as the phone rang.  Calls
this late at night are never good and usually are from Ricky
or the sheriff's office in his behalf, mainly because Penny
refused to post bail for him.

     Cheryl grumbled something as I reached for her extension
handset.  I didn't understand it and probably didn't want
to.  I looked at the caller ID on her handset.  "It's your
number."

     This time I did understand.  The neighbors across the
mountains probably understood, too.  I signalled her to be
quiet.  She understood and shut off her alert siren.

     I switched on the handset and said, "It's me.  What's
wrong?"

     It was Mandy.  "_That's what I was calling to ask you._"

     "Is this going to be another one of those calls, or do
you plan on making sense sometime before sunrise?"  Before
Mandy could answer, I heard a choking sound from the
bathroom as Cheryl tried to hold back a laugh.

     "_I had this feeling that something was wrong, and I
thought I'd better check._"

     "Those seem to run in the family.  Cheryl woke up with a
similar feeling about a week ago."

     "_Why didn't she call me?_"

     "You weren't in the horse barn."

     "_What?_"

     "She was worried about one of the horses."

     "_Why would she be worried about one of the horses?_"

     "I guess she was worried about it because she's not used
to being around anything with horse sense."  That was good
for another strangled laugh from the bathroom.

     "_What was that noise?_"

     "You no longer have a television in your bedroom?  Did
Marek forget to pay the cable bill, or did the picture tube
burn out?"

     "_Why would you be watching television at this time of
night?_"

     "It would give me something to do while I'm waiting for
the phone to ring."

     "_While...  Randy!  Are all homosexuals like you?_"

     "I doubt any of them are.  Look, Mandy, everything's
fine here."

     "_Are you sure?  Maybe I'd better talk to Cheryl._"

     "All you ever do is talk to her.  Maybe you should
listen once in a while."

     "_What are you talking about?_"

     "Nothing.  Nothing.  I'm just wasting my breath.  I
heard the water running in her tub a little while ago.  I
haven't heard it drain yet."

     "_Randy!  Maybe she's drowned!_"

     "I doubt it.  Her bathroom is right through the wall
from my bedroom.  I can hear noises coming from it."  I
could, too.  Another strangled laugh.  More of a strangled
giggle, actually.

     "_Well, maybe I'd better ask her anyway._"

     "She's in the tub.  You want me to take the phone in to
her?"

     "_She's naked!_"

     "Yeah.  Most people usually are naked when they bathe.
Normal people.  I don't know about you."  That generated
more muffled choking sounds.

     "_Well, you can't look at her while she's naked!_"

     "Then I guess I can't take the phone to her.  Is that
all?"

     "_Randy!  She's your family!  Don't you care about
her?_"

     "Of course I care about her.  One of us has to."

     "_What in blazes is that supposed to mean?_"

     "It means that it's almost midnight here, one in the
morning there, and I'm on the phone with a hallucinating
woman when I should be keeping this line open for an
important call."

     "_What could be more important than a call from me?_"

     "I might need to go down to the lockup and bail out one
of my ranch hands.  He's overdue for another drunk and
disorderly, and half the time his wife won't post bail.  Of
course, I might need to rush to the Appaloosa Grill and do
emergency portrait photographs of the three thousand
cockroaches that live in the food preparation area."

     "_What?_"

     "But most likely it would be posting bail for Ricky."

     "_He sounds like trouble.  Has he been messing around
with my daughter?_"

     "Of course not."

     "_Oh.  Of course.  He's one of your little gay
buddies._"

     "What part of 'wife' did you not understand?"  A
smothered giggle from the bathroom indicated that Cheryl had
guessed the other end of the conversation, but I didn't
pause.  "He'd never touch Cheryl and piss me off, Mandy.  I
pay him more than he'd make working any other ranch in the
state.  He's not going to risk that."

     She grunted skeptically.  "_Maybe she'd better call me
when she gets out of the tub._"

     "And wake up Marek when the phone rings?  I hear a man
snoring, so I guess that's Marek snoring.  Unless you got
yourself a backdoor..."

     "_Randy Long!  How dare you suggest such a thing to
me!_"

     "Then I guess she'll have to call in the morning.  By
the way, tomorrow's Sunday, and she sleeps late on Sundays."

     "_She's not there to have fun and lay about all day.
This is tough love._"

     "We have our mouth open and our ears closed again, don't
we?"  I had to give serious consideration to closing the
bathroom door after I said that.  "I said Sunday, remember?
We all take as much of a break on Sunday as we can, though
even on Sunday a horse ranch has chores to perform.  This is
a working ranch, Mandy.  Everyone works.  Didn't I explain
that to you when you called a week or two ago to see if I'd
let her get a tattoo?  Cheryl's been very busy.  She's
already a better ranch hand than you'd ever be.  The horses
love her.  Even Chuckwagon settles down around her, and he's
normally harder headed and worse to control than you are.
And you should see how she gets along with Blaze."

     "_Why's she just now taking a bath?  Has she been busy
tonight?_"

     Talk about a loaded question.  "Maybe she's taking a
bath because she doesn't want to go to bed smelling like a
horse.  On a ranch, sometimes you have to work extra-hard
and extra-late on Saturdays so you can sleep in on Sundays."
Okay, so I forgot to mention that this wasn't one of those
Saturdays.  "And she's so good that another ranch has asked
her to help out there."

     "_Oh.  Well, that's good._"

     "Good.  I'm glad you're happy.  Now, can I get off the
phone?  Trust me, Mandy, there's nothing at all wrong with
your daughter."  _Nothing except her Mother, that is_.

     "_Have her call me tomorrow anyway._"

     "Fine.  But it might be a little late.  After she wakes
up she'll have to check the barns and stables before
breakfast."

     "_Okay._"  Mandy sounded pleased at the thought of my
working Cheryl like a draft horse.

     It took another three minutes to get Mandy off the
phone, less time than I'd expected.  I switched off the
phone and turned to the bathroom.  "Time's up."

     Cheryl rose to her feet and reached for a bath towel.

     "Hey!  Your mom said I'm not supposed to look at you
naked."

     She blinked.  Twice.  "Oh.  Um... Okay.  No prob.  I'll,
like, put on my necklace."

     Works for me.

                               ~ ~ ~

     "Hoo cm hru aurhwhu oo wa."

     After my last mistake at agreeing with her, I learned to
asked for a translation before replying.

     She lifted her face from the pillows.  "I said you can
rub anywhere you want."  She turned her head to look and
made a sour face.  "Even if you are still wearing those
shorts."

     "I'm not the one getting the massage.  And I'll just rub
where you need it."

     Her face suddenly dropped back into the pillows.
"Hohay."

     _No argument?_  My luck was improving.

     I massaged the backs of her legs, rubbing where she
needed rubbing instead of where I really wanted to rub.
Finally I had her slowly flip over, then replaced the
towels.

     "You don't have to hide it," she said as I strategically
arranged one towel corner.

     Oh, yes, I did.  It was swollen with desire and
definitely juicy, as proven by all the smacking slurping,
and popping as the massage pulled it open.  "Maybe you don't
need me to, but I do."

     She moaned as I smeared the warm oil over the top of her
right thigh and began kneading, then purred before saying,
"Don't tell me you're afraid of seeing something you haven't
seen before."  She frowned at me.  "Mine or someone else's."

     "Cheryl..."

     "Never mind."  She closed her eyes and purred again.
When I switched legs and readjusted the towels, she looked
even more engorged than before.  I tried not thinking about
it, but that didn't eliminate, or even reduce, the raging
erection in my shorts.  Her sighs and moans of pleasure as I
massaged sore spots didn't help the thoughts in my head,
either.

     "All done," I said as I switched off the oil warmer.

     She opened her eyes slightly.  "Not yet."  A grin
spread, one that said I was in trouble.  "You missed a
spot."

     _Maybe if I play dumb I can get away with it._  "I don't
think so.  I was very careful to reach every spot from your
hips to your ankles."

     She gave me a look most people reserve for
two-year-olds, mental defectives, and her mother.  In a
slow, languid movement her hand rose, brushed aside the
obscuring corner of a towel with the flats of her
fingernails, and extended a finger to point.  "This spot."

     I wasn't the only one with an awesome boner.  The
glistening pink head was exposed from its hood and just
barely protruding from her lips.  "That's not a sore spot,"
I said.

     How is it that girls can attain looks that are
simultaneously at peace with the world and accusatory?  "You
promised you wouldn't lie to me."

     "Are you trying to tell me that it's sore from horseback
riding?"

     The sly look returned, the one that said I was already
dead and just didn't know it yet.  "Since you don't have
one, how do you know it isn't?"

     I wasn't used to having females in the family use logic
to win an argument.  Debbie used tears, and Mandy wore you
down with her own version of reality.  "Since I promised I
wouldn't lie to you, I must assume you won't lie to me
either.  So, are you telling me it's sore from horseback
riding?"

     "No."

     "Good."  Her expression didn't change when I said that,
and that was disconcerting.  Nevertheless, I said, "Since
it's not sore from horseback riding, I'm under no obligation
to do so."

     Women are born with the ability to look perfectly
charming and at peace with the world while at the same time
communicating the message, "I have you by the balls, and I'm
going to rip them off."  It's an effective survival skill
that keeps men from killing them.  She said nothing, but
gave me that look.

     I blinked.  Twice.  "Honey, didn't you hear what I
said?"

     She sighed and stretched.  "Oh, yes, I heard it.  When I
complained about your wearing shorts, I also heard you say,
'I'm not the one getting the massage.  And I'll just rub
where you need it.'  Those were your exact words."

     Have you met my niece, Cheryl the Lawyer's Daughter?  My
mind raced to find a counter-argument.  "Well, if you need
it rubbed, why can't you rub it yourself?"

     That comment was adequate for restoring the
aforementioned reserved look.  "Uncle Randy, who do you
think has been rubbing it every night since I got here?  I
need a break.  A change."

     The strategic argument had temporarily eliminated the
distortion of my shorts.  Those words brought it fully back
with a vengeance.  She saw the movement in my shorts and
shifted her gaze there.  "Well, look who's back, Uncle
Randy!  I think he wants to come out and play.  I'll make
you a deal.  You take off your clothes and let me play with
it, and I won't hold you to your promise.  Otherwise you
have to rub it for me or become a liar."

     I couldn't decide whether I was in the presence of the
future's Chief Justice of the Supreme Court or the future's
most successful ambulance chaser.  I also couldn't decide
which was the lesser of the two choices.  I also couldn't
find a loophole.  Cheryl knew that and waited in silence,
never losing the face of the spider who knew the fly could
not escape her web.  I finally decided that dropping my
shorts would lead me to places I couldn't afford to travel.
"With or without the massage oil?"

     She slowly opened her legs wider.  "I don't think you'll
need it.  See?  I don't think it can get much slicker.  Hey,
Uncle Randy, you'll feel better about it in the morning."

     I wasn't so sure about that.  I sat on the edge of the
bed.  "No, don't move.  I'll scoot you so that you don't
tighten those leg muscles."  She rolled her eyes, causing me
to realize that she wouldn't have any muscles that weren't
tightened before we were done.  "Never mind.  Just let me
move you."

     I scooted her a foot or so toward the middle of the bed,
then thought of something.  "Face up or face down?"

     The wheels spun rapidly behind her eyes, but they made
only a quarter-turn.  "Up."  The smug smile returned.
"Maybe you won't remove your shorts for me, but I can remove
them with my imagination while I look."

     "Smart ass."

     Her face turned smug, pleased, sassy, and victorious,
which is one hell of a combination.  "Yes.  And it's a cute
little ass, too, isn't it?"

     When I said nothing, she reminded me that she knew I
wouldn't lie to her and asked if I was trying to spare her
feelings because I thought her ass was ugly.

     "Cheryl, I told you before, if you have any ugly place
on your body it must be on some internal organ where I can't
see it."

     "So you admit I have a cute little ass?"

     Time to raise the surrender flag.  "You have a cute
little ass."

     The smug look went away.  "I love you, Uncle Randy."

     I had her where I wanted her on the bed.  I gently
spread her legs for her, giving me access and work room.
"If you love me, why are you taking advantage of me?"

     "I'm sure you've heard the expression 'tough love'
somewhere in the family, haven't you?"

     I decided I wanted her to be an ambulance chaser.  That
way I could quit working and let her support all her
favorite uncle's considerable fiscal needs as a charity case
using her spare change.

     I leaned across her legs, resting my left elbow on the
mattress for support, and gently stroked the thinly-haired
mound and its shaved zone.  Then I pointed my fingertips
down and let them glide down the smooth curve, my middle
finger just grazing across the top of her slit.  She first
shivered but then flinched.  I'd stroked across the tip of
her protruding clit.

     "Your fingertip's a little dry," she said.  "I guess I'm
a little dry there, too."

     "Sorry."  I massaged small circles over her opening,
wiggling the fingertip down into the slick wetness and
letting it saturate.  My shorts twitched when she moaned
softly.  I resumed lightly stroking down and around the
curve, then back.  Slowly, slowly, I let it part her
engorged lips and begin sinking into the fragrant wetness.
The slickly wet sound and the aroma were each sufficient to
raise the tent pole in my shorts.  The combination had me
thinking about the rabid pit bull in order to keep from
firing a gallon of Uncle Randy's Joy Juice in my shorts.

     Swollen though her lips were, Cheryl's slit wasn't that
deep, yet I took almost three minutes to hit bottom despite
the way she humped her hips upward.  I had learned with
Debbie Richardson how to brace the heel of my hand against
her mound so that my whole hand moved when she thrust
upward.

     I slowly drove my fingertip to her opening, gathered
more of her lubrication, and brought it back to her clit.  I
massaged along the outside of the shaft, occasionally
relubricating and periodically dragging the lubricated
fingertip across the head of the hard pink knob that proudly
stood outside its hood.

     Cheryl's cute little ass wasn't making much contact with
the bed now as she lifted on her shoulders and heels or
curved her hips upward.  She had thrown off her towels and
now lay fully exposed on the sheets, a vision of loveliness
that would tempt any mortal or immortal.  Her moans, gasps,
and grunts were now well into the third movement of the
Symphony of Need.

     She was trying her damnedest to achieve release, but I
wouldn't let her cum.  I planned to keep her on the brink
for as long as possible.  Cheryl the Lawyer had trifled with
the wrong opponent.  I was Mandy Kuczynski's brother, and I
was going to play at being as clueless as my sister when it
came to what Cheryl wanted.  When I finally let her cum, she
was going to climax so hard that she'd not be horny again
for a month.

     That was a trick I'd learned with Penny Unger.  Not that
it kept Penny from demanding more after a five minute break.
With the way my luck was running, Cheryl would be the same
way.  But I could dream.

     I could dream.

     I would dream.  My wet dreams for the next year would be
of the incredibly sensuous feel of Cheryl's wonderful cunt.
It was a soft wet firmness and a firm wet softness that none
of the women I'd known could match. Fingering it made juicy
wet smacking sounds like a teenager chewing gum.

     "Oh, God, Uncle Randy!" she moaned as her hips lifted
and began quivering.

     I abandoned her clit and went seeking more lubrication.
She continued to quiver for almost ten seconds, then dropped
her cute little ass to the mattress. "Uncle Randy, I need to
cum."

     I gave her the grin she used when she reminded me of my
statement and reminded her of my precise words.  "I said I'd
rub where you needed it.  I didn't say how I would rub it,
or how long I would rub it, or that I would do it the way
you wanted it, just where you needed it."

     She managed to blink.  Twice.  "God, I hate you."
Translation:  _GET ME OFF!  NOW!_

     "Do you want me to stop and let you finish yourself?"

     "_FUCK NO!_"  Translation:  _FUCK NO!_

     I grinned and resumed my plan.  The good news was that
the interruption meant I could go a while longer without
inadvertently hosing down my shorts.  The bad news was that
she was so close to the edge that I had to watch very
closely to keep from moving my fingertip that one last
millimeter that would send her spiraling into release.  That
meant watching the look in her eyes when they weren't
screwed shut, the pattern of distortion in that lovely
forehead, the shapes of the writhing brown gull wings over
her eyes, the way her glistening chest and its beautiful
little mounds of perfection heaved as she breathed.

     It meant watching the color changes of her inner lips
and the inside of her incredibly sensuous slit while also
watching the way her clit exploded outward as it surged
fully erect.  The sight of it suddenly engorging as I felt
the swell against my fingertip was impossibly erotic.  Add
to that the rising and dropping of her cute little ass and
the way it fanned to my nose the enticing mixture of massage
oil fragrance, her own body fragrance, and her cunt
fragrance.  I found myself wanting to dive face-first into
the vision before me.

     I suddenly found myself remembering how terrified I was
when the pit bull and the javelina snarled and tried to
reach me to rip me apart.  Because or that memory, I think I
managed to avoid cumming in my shorts by at least a tenth of
a millisecond.  Maybe two-tenths.

     After twenty minutes I decided to let her cum. Not that
I was doing so for her benefit, but that I was doing it for
mine.  The vision of the pit bull and the javelina was no
longer working, and I was dangerously close to dribbling a
trail out of my shorts on the trip from her room to mine.

     By this time Cheryl had exhausted her prodigious
vocabulary of names to call me when I left her hanging at
the edge and had begun to repeat the list.  She no longer
consciously humped her cunt while trying to reach the
release point because she knew I'd use my fingers to hold
her slit open, keeping her clit from contacting anything.
But she humped anyway because her body was beyond conscious
rational thought and was following a million years of
pre-programmed instructions.

     I gave no indication that I was about to grant her wish.
I merely let her build the tension that lifted her cute
little ass from the mattress and then, at the moment when I
had previously stopped stimulating her stiff little shaft,
pressed my middle finger against the shaft and vibrated my
hand a rapidly as possible.

     If those sweet little titties had been any larger, I'd
not have seen her face draw together so rapidly and fully
that I thought her ears were going to meet at her nose.  A
low groan barely escaped her throat as she began shivering
with the tension of all her muscles pulling against each
other, and her cute little ass lowered to within an inch of
the mattress.  Suddenly it surged upward, pushing that sweet
cunt high into the air, where it throbbed and oscillated
rhythmically from the beginning of that cute little ass to
the front of that adorable juicy slit.

     Her breath exploded outward in a satisfied grunt.  The
cute little ass crashed to the mattress, where the throbbing
continued.  Somehow the sight reminded me of a toothless
man, who needed to shave, gumming a piece of steak.  That
was fortunate because that vision worked where the rabid pit
bull and javelina no longer did.

     Her contorted face, bathed in sweat, relaxed, and those
soft brown eyes peered sleepily at me.  Somewhere in her
gasps for air she managed to say, "God, I love you."  That
needed no translation.

     If I had been smart, I'd have rolled her over, covered
her, and beat feet back to my own room to beat something
that was demanding its own attention.  But I wasn't smart.
I loved my niece, and she came first.

     Literally.

     Her face transitioned almost imperceptibly, but now it
looked both sleepy and satisfied.  "That was worth the
wait."

     I nodded.  "Good."

     "Uncle Randy?  This is the best summer I've ever had."

     "Well, let's not tell your mom, okay?"

     She made a sleepy giggle.  "Maybe she'd try to shit a
brick and end up in the hospital for a few years and I could
spend them here."

     I'd never wish for my sister to be hospitalized, but the
idea of Cheryl staying here at least until she graduated had
considerable appeal at the moment.  Sleepy as she was, I
think she understood the expression on my face when I smiled
at her.  "Ready for me to roll you over?"

     "Yeah.  That way you can admire my cute little ass
before you go to bed."

     I had other plans before going to bed.  They included
admiring her cute little ass, but only in my memories.  I
gently rolled her over and admired her cute little ass one
last time for real before pulling up the covers.  After all,
it was her idea, not mine, and I was just acceding to her
wishes.  "Do you want a goodnight kiss?"

     "You'd better never try to leave this room without
kissing me goodnight."

     "I'll take that as a yes," I said, causing her to
giggle.  Strange how that goodnight kiss seemed more
precious than all the others to date combined.

     "Uncle Randy?" she said as I drew back.

     "Yes, Niece Cheryl?"

     "I hope yours feels as awesome to you as mine did to
me."

     She knew what I was going to do as soon as I reached my
room, and my denying it would be an insult to her
intelligence.  "Thank you.  I hope so, too.  I've never seen
any girl cum as hard as you did.  You should be able to
sleep good tonight."

     She hummed in satisfaction.  "Yeah.  But if I get horny
again, I'll come get you."

     I straightened.  "You do that.  I promise I won't mind."

     "Uncle Randy?  Do you, like, want me to take care of
your..."

     "No."

     "Okay.  But I won't mind if you change your mind."  She
wiggled slightly until she was comfortable and then sighed
again.  Her eyes drifted shut.

     As I reached for the light switch she said, "Uncle
Randy?  Can I tell you a secret?"

     I wasn't a hundred percent sure that it was something I
wanted to hear it, but she sounded like it was important to
her.  "Sure."

     She gave a short hum of satisfaction that sounded
involuntary, then said, "I think it's awesome even when it's
not up in a boner."

                               ~ ~ ~

     Plan A was to get back to my room, lie down, grab a
kleenex, and see how much cum one would hold.  Fallback Plan
B was to get back to my room, dash into the bathroom, and
unload into the sink.  Fortunately I had Fallback Fallback
Plan C.  I dashed into my room, kicked the door shut while
unfastening my shorts, yanked everything down to my knees,
wrapped my left hand around the head, and shoved my right
middle finger into my mouth.  Even the lingering traces of
massage oil did nothing to diminish the fantastic and
scrumptious taste of Cheryl's juices.

     I thought I was going to fill my hand to overflowing and
tried to make it to my bathroom sink with my shorts and
underwear still around my knees.  I understood then what it
was like for one of the horses while it was wearing a
hobble.

     Fortunately, the overflow didn't dribble onto the rug.
My shorts caught it.  I washed my hands and my dick,
stripped off my shorts, underwear, and tee shirt, and threw
them into the clothes hamper.  I staggered to the bed and
collapsed on top of it after turning off the light.  In the
dark I sniffed the lingering scent on my finger and wondered
if sleep would claim me before I grew hard again.  It would
be a close race.

                               ~ ~ ~

     I was facing the center of the bed.  I could tell
because the light seeping through my eyelids was coming from
windows behind me.  That meant that I would have to roll
over to see the clock.  However, the room obviously was
bright enough for me to know that whatever the clock said,
it was time for me to get up.  Eyes still closed, I slowly
stretched, starting with the muscles in my toes and working
up my body.  I was stretching the muscles in my shoulders
when I awakened enough to realize puffs of air were blowing
in my face.  The puffs were accompanied by a soft rustle
that sounded like...

     I opened my eyes.  Brown gull wings arched over closed
eyes in a sweet oval face next to mine on the pillow.  She
lay atop the covers next to my naked body, but she wasn't
naked.  She was still wearing her gold chain necklace.

     _Now what?_

     The questions could wait.  I wasn't my twin sister.  I
would let her sleep.  I admired her sleek body for a moment,
then felt a twitch that was a harbinger of things that would
want to cum.  I gently rolled over to get up.

     The motion of the bed awakened her.  "Uncle Randy?" she
said with a yawn.

     I turned back to her.  "Good morning.  I thought you
didn't want to sleep anywhere except in your room."

     She shrugged and looked both sleepy and conniving.
"Tonight we can sleep there."

     I decided to let that pass.  "How long have you been
here?"

     She shrugged again and changed the look to sleepy and
smug.  "I gave you, like, five minutes to get off and get
into bed.  You were already asleep when I got here.  Most of
you was."

     "And you spent the rest of the night here?"

     "Uh huh.  And it was educational, too."

     "Meaning..."

     "Meaning it's just as awesome as it looked in the
photographs."



                                Ten

     "Two things," Cheryl said, ignoring my question.  "First
you have to give me a good morning kiss, and then we have to
schedule what we're going to do today."

     Okay, now I had a new question, but I still wanted my
first one answered.  "Cheryl, what did you after you crawled
in my bed last night?"

     "Didn't I just say that first you have to give me a good
morning kiss?"

     "I have morning breath."

     That brought on the 'Are you Mandy Kuczynski or her
brother?' look again.  "So hold it while you kiss me.  I
have morning breath, too, and that's what I'm going to do so
I don't gross you out."

     _Note to self:  learn how to argue with female members
of this family who use logic._  I quickly kissed her.

     The twist of the grin was sly, but the sparkle in those
brown eyes was sheer delight.  "That's better.  See?  We
both lived through it. Now my day is off to a good start.
I'll bet yours is, too."

     "It will be a lot better after you answer my question."
_I hope._

     "Uncle Randy," she said, the stern expression and the
condescending tone in her voice diminished by the sparkle
still in her eyes.  "We have our mouth open and our ears
closed again, don't we?  Maybe I should call you Uncle
Mandy."

     What could I do?  She delivered it so perfectly, except
for her sparkling eyes, that I held my breath and gave her
another quick kiss.  I'm sure that by the time she graduates
from law school, she'll have that under control, too.

     The stern expression looked like it was trying to hold
back a laugh.  "There's proof  I was right, Uncle Mandy.  I
said first we kiss and then we schedule our day.  You've
already kissed me.  You're supposed to be listening to me
schedule our day now.  We weren't listening, were we?"

     "Listen to _you_ schedule our day?"

     "This is a working ranch, Uncle Mandy.  Everyone works.
Even on Sunday a horse ranch has chores to perform.  I guess
I'll have to go out to the horse barn to find anything with
horse sense around here."

     "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

     "Are you saying you didn't enjoy messing with Mom's head
last night?"

     She had me there.  "But I was also trying to make a
point."

     "Well, so am I."  She pushed a corner of her pillow
under her head, raising it enough to bring our noses to the
same altitude.  "You're right.  It's a working ranch with
ranch duties, and I have to share the load, so I'm telling
you what we're going to do today."

     "Your sharing the load includes starting at the top?"

     She shrugged.  It made her right tit, which was above
her forearm, move in a most wonderful way.  "It worked for
Mom."

     "So tell me what my plans are and answer my question.  I
need to go pee."

     She smiled.  "That's good.  Instead of always talking to
me, you need to listen once in a while."

     That earned a third kiss.  "I'm sorry.  I forgot.  I'd
already done Step One.  Please, Niece Cheryl, tell me now
what my plans are for today.  Quickly, I beg of you."

     She frowned at me.  "Dad grovels better than you."

     "He's had a lot more practice."

     At first she looked like she was about to kiss me, but
then her face changed, like she remembered we'd already done
that.  "Step Two.  We are going to check the horses.  Since
we've overslept by two hours and nine..."  She threw up a
hand to catch my chin as I tried to look over my shoulder
and check the clock.  "I won't lie to you, Uncle Randy."

     "Sorry.  I know.  It was reflexes, not an accusation of
incompetence."

     Cheryl has the most beautiful smile, even when one side
of her face is pressed down into a pillow.  "Since we've
overslept, then we won't make the horses wait any longer by
wasting time getting dressed.  Except for me, of course, to
make Mom happy, but I'm already wearing my necklace because
I didn't want you to wake up and find me naked in your bed.
We visit the pottys, get Buena Vista her morning apple, and
then check the barns and stables."

     "What if Ricky is here?"

     "There's this new invention called a window.  Before we
go downstairs, the first one out of the potty checks the
parking lot for his truck.  After we've checked the horses,
we'll, like, come back to the house and I'll fix breakfast
while you read the paper and drink your coffee.  How does
French toast with homemade vanilla syrup and Canadian bacon
grab you?"

     I tried to look disappointed.  "Well, I was planning on
a Denver omelet with green peppers and shallots and baby
mushrooms and alfalfa sprouts.  But I forgot to get shallots
at King Soopers yesterday, so okay.  But you need to call
your mother."

     She sighed.  "Uncle Mandy, what part of 'working ranch'
did you not understand?  I can't waste time on personal
calls when I still have chores to do.  She will have to wait
until after I'm done with my morning chores!"

     She might be Marek and Mandy's daughter, but she still
was definitely related to me.

     "After I've slaved over breakfast and then slaved some
more over the dishes," which meant she was going to load the
dishwasher, "then I'll see if I have time to squeeze in a
personal call.  It will have to be short, though, because
you will need help in the studio."

     I began to wonder how long she lay awake last night
planning this.  Which brought back my original worry, but
she wasn't done with the day's plan yet.  "What help is
that?"

     "Uncle Mandy!  How can you shoot photographs of a model
without a model?"

     "Sorry.  I guess I slept through that part of the plan.
Then what?"

     "Then we'll have a late lunch and relax after my driving
lesson.  Maybe go swimming until it's time to check the
horses, maybe think of something else to do.  We'll see when
the time comes."

     Not bad.  I guess being Mandy's daughter prepares you to
start at the top.  "Is that it?"

     "For now."

     "Good.  Then, what happened after you crawled in bed
with me last night?"

     Her right hand caressed my cheek, and then she frowned.
"Looks like one of us needs to use the razor during potty
time.  You might decide to hug Blaze, and I wouldn't want
you to scratch her cheek."

     "Razor.  Got it."  All those years around Mandy taught
me one useful thing:  it would be a mistake to repeat my
question now.

     She smiled again.  "I found you lying on your back in
the moonlight, and with that awesome boner on your stomach.
I got in bed and just sat there beside it, looking at how
totally awesome it was and wondering what it felt like.
I've... well, I've never touched one before. It went down in
a few minutes, and I still sat there looking at it,
wondering what that felt like, too.  Then I got sleepy and
lay down beside you.  You turned on your side, toward me,
and I kissed you and went to sleep."

     I sighed with relief.  "And that was all?"

     "Well, no.  I also said, 'Thank you, Uncle Randy,' after
I kissed you."

     "You didn't touch..."

     "NO!  Not without your permission.  You said during the
massage that I couldn't, so I didn't."

     "I guess I wasn't thinking again, was I?"

     "You have an excuse.  You've spent more time around Mom
than I have.  Now:  I've answered your question, so you have
to answer one for me."

     Apparently I'd also missed the part about reciprocal
questions in the rules briefing.  "What question would that
be?"

     I couldn't describe her look if I wanted to.  "Was yours
as good as mine last night?"

     There were plenty of worse questions she could have
asked.  "Yes.  At least, I hope yours was as good as that
one.  As my favorite niece would say, it was awesome."

     "Cool."

                               ~ ~ ~

     While I'd been shaving, Cheryl had loaded Mister Coffee,
so I had a cuppajava to go with my morning paper after we
returned from checking the horses.  "Perfect," I said after
tasting it.  "How did you know how much to put in?"

     "God, I hate you."  _Translation:  you could triple your
IQ points and you'd still be behind Mom._

     "You've watched me make it and paid attention.  Right.
You know, Mandy won't recognize you when you return home."

     She pushed the refrigerator door shut with an elbow and
stood there with the eggs in one hand and the milk in the
other.  "Uncle Randy, I don't want to think about leaving
right now."

     I raised the cup in a silent toast to her.  "I'll tell
her I want to keep you to make coffee."

     She smiled faintly.  "Wait until you try my French
toast."

     I waved a hand at the stove.  "By all means, don't let
me slow you down.  I'm looking forward to it.  I'll be
reading the paper if you need anything from a top shelf."

     I opened the paper, but didn't read it.  I didn't want
to think about her leaving, either.  Ever notice how not
wanting to think about something you dread means you can't
think of anything else?

                               ~ ~ ~

     We were discussing Cheryl's Blaze over breakfast.  She
paused a forkload of French toast in mid-air to ask for
clarification of a comment I'd made about Blaze's first set
of shoes.

     "You're about to drip again." I nodded toward her fork.

     She looked down at the glob of syrup gathering at the
bottom of the hunk of toast, lifted only her eyes to peer at
me from beneath those graceful brown gull wings, and moved
the fork a couple of inches closer to her body. The syrup
landed a half-inch above the edge of a nipple and flowed
down around the curve.  She shoved the toast in her mouth,
chewed while still looking at me, and swallowed.

     "Looks like you finally get your wish," she said.

     "And what wish is that?  Not my wish to see you take
your laundry to the basement during breakfast again, because
you missed your necklace.  Besides, I couldn't watch that
again anyway.  I'm not supposed to see you naked."

     She shook her head.  "You said you never had the
pleasure of licking vanilla sugar syrup off a girl's boob
before and that you were sure you'd enjoy it.  Now you get
to find out."

     Almost anyone can break a horse to the saddle.  Damned
few people can do it exactly right, and of the few people
who can do it exactly right, none can do it righter than
Snake Dawson.  Snake always approaches the horse with a look
that says, "We both know that you're going to fight it, and
we both know that in the end I'm going to get my way, so why
not save us both a lot of time and effort?"

     I saw that same look on Cheryl's face.  "Cheryl..."

     "Uncle Randy, the longer you take before you give in,
the longer it's going to be until I call Mom, and she's
going to be mad at you."

     "Because I wouldn't suck your tit?"

     That brought back the smirk.  "Do you want me to tell
her that?"

     "Do you want to come back next year?"

     The smirk evaporated.  "Yes."  _Translation:  more than
anything else in the world._

     The look now on her face was so earnest, so achingly
endearing, that I regretted mentioning the possibility of
her not returning.  A quarter of an hour ago, I, too, had
been dreading the idea of her leaving.  Maybe she was right.
Maybe I was Uncle Mandy.  "I want you to come back, too.
But, Cheryl, I'm not sure this is a good idea."

     She put down her fork.  "This bothers you more than what
you did for me last night?"

     "No.  Yes.  I don't know.  Cheryl, I don't know where
we're headed with..."

     "Like I do?  Look, I don't know, either, Uncle Randy.
But I know that I'm... like... well, that I'm having fun
right now and that you are, too.  I'm just trying to enjoy
right now.  How can I do that if I'm always worrying about
later?"

     "A good photographer..."

     "A good photographer plans ahead for work.  This isn't
work.  Not for me.  It's fun.  Is it work for you?"

     "No.  I can't lie to you.  No.  It's fun for me, too."
That made her face light up.  "But..."

     She pushed her chair back with her legs and rose to her
feet.  She came around the table and stuck the syrupy treat
in my face.  "Are you still wondering what it would be like,
and do you still think you would enjoy it?"

     I sighed.  "Life would be much easier if I could lie to
you."

     Her voice was soft.  "I'd be disappointed in you if you
did."  She was being openly honest, and, in all honesty, I
agreed with her.  I'd be disappointed in me, too.  "I'm
going to stand here until you either lick it off and tell me
whether it was as enjoyable as you thought, or you tell me
you _want_ me to go away.  I know if you do, you won't be
lying to me."

     "What do you plan to ask in return if I lick it off?"
I'm getting craftier as I age.  Or more paranoid.  If
there's a difference.

     "Nothing but an honest answer.  Honest.  Cross my
heart."

     I _knew_ she wouldn't lie to me.  The subtle reminder
that she wouldn't made me feel like I was being reprimanded.
Maybe that was its purpose.  I put my fork down, wiped my
mouth with the napkin, rinsed my mouth with a swig of
coffee, and turned to look at the beautiful pink object in
my face.  No, I turned to _see_ it, not just look at it.  "I
wish I had a camera."

     "Why?"  Her tone wasn't one of sarcasm but one of
curiosity.  She understood that she had an opportunity to
learn something.  She had heard Randy Long, Photographer,
speaking.

     "I like the way the light reflects off the syrup and the
shape it makes where it's trickled down the skin.  It
complements the contours of your breast.  It's almost
competition-quality photography."

     "Want me to go get a camera?"

     "No.  More movement on your part would distort it, and
like the perfect sunset, the effect will disappear before I
could retrieve and ready a camera.  Let me just enjoy the
scene for a moment."

     "Sure."  She meant it.  My obnoxious angry niece had
been replaced by a caring young woman considerate of the
wants and needs of others.  Mostly considerate.  The
stubborn streak that wanted what it wanted wasn't completely
submerged by the new personality.  The proof was right there
in my face.  Still, it hadn't taken me as long as I had
expected to transform her from her mother's daughter to my
niece.

     "Okay," I said after a minute.  "I think I can close my
eyes and remember the scene for the next fifty or sixty
years."  First I licked off the majority of the syrup.  Then
I sucked the rest off, scrubbing the surface with my tongue
as she gasped, wiggled, and cooed.

     "All done."

     She looked at me with dreamy eyes.  "Was it as good as
you expected?"

     "Nope."

     "It wasn't?"  She knew I wouldn't lie, and now she was
worried.

     "It was better."

     She blinked.  Twice.  "God, I hate you."

     Neither of us believed that.

                               ~ ~ ~

     You know how counting to ten is supposed to calm you
down?  That doesn't work when you're dealing with Mandy.
Neither, I suspect, would counting to ten thousand.  "Didn't
I tell you she'd call you, but that it would be late?"

     "_You're still lying around the house?  You haven't
checked those animals yet?_"

     "Horses.  They're called horses.  Dad raised them,
remember?  Yes, we've checked them, but she's not finished
with her chores.  I mentioned those, too, remember?  She
fixed breakfast, and now she's maybe two minutes away from
being finished with the dishes.  If you'd waited two more
minutes, she'd have called you."

     Cheryl looked up from loading the dishwasher, grinned
wickedly, and then sloooooowly resumed adding the last plate
and the silverware.

     "_You made her cook breakfast and do the dishes?  And
she did it?_"

     "I thought somebody should set the example of how she
should be as a parent herself."

     "_Well, isn't that MY job?_"

     "I thought it was supposed to be, but I've been wrong
before."

     Indecision is when you can't make up your mind whether
to tell Cheryl to load faster so that you can get away from
the unpleasant experience on the phone or to load even more
slowly so you can help her delay her own unpleasant
experience with it.

                               ~ ~ ~

     At noon we decided to delay lunch and stick with the
plan because we'd had a late breakfast.  I thought another
reason Cheryl was eager to keep going was because the photo
session was going well.  I'd shoot a series of shots of her,
then she'd attempt a similar series of me.  I had the easier
job because I had a better model.  I had at least six figure
study shots that were of gallery quality, if only she'd been
eighteen.  They were salable and well-suited for any book on
photography, but these days you never knew what idiotic
reactionary twit would cause trouble because of an inbred
inability to differentiate between art and pornography.  I
had my hands full with just the family psychopath.

     Cheryl took one of me that was what I deemed
"professional quality."  The rest were also professional
quality if you considered the number and quality of
photographs I took as a professional that I junked for minor
flaws.

     "Your next session won't be this easy," I said.  "You
got to coast this time because you used the lights I set up.
After this, you have to set up the lights and calculate
exposures yourself."

     Cheryl's expression was a bright as cloudless sun on
fresh snow at twenty thousand feet.  "Really?"

     I'd gladly teach a photography class at one of the
community colleges if I could have all my students be as
eager to learn and to widen the boundaries of experience and
capability as Cheryl.

     I felt sorry for Mandy.  She never asked Cheryl what she
wanted to do.  Mandy merely told her what she was going to
do and how, and then she was disappointed when Cheryl's
enthusiasm was considerably less than tepid.  The daughter
Mandy wanted had always been right there with her, but Mandy
had never allowed that daughter to blossom.

     I nodded once.  "Really."

     "Okay.  Then, let's save the figure studies until the
next time and go on to the next step.  Which means you have
to turn around."

     "I do?"

     "Uncle Mandy!  What part of not looking at me while I'm
naked did you not understand?"

     I grinned and turned around while she put on her
necklace.

     "Okay, I'm dressed now."

     I eyed the result.  "That's much better," I said.  "Less
tempting."

     "It is?  Oh.  Maybe I should, like, take it off again."
She reached for the clasp.

     "NO!"  I grabbed her wrists to stop her, startling her.
"Sorry.  I don't want to disobey your mother's instructions.
I want you to come back next year."

     I wondered if that look of Cheryl's caused Blaze to feel
the same emotions I now felt, as if nothing else existed in
Cheryl's universe at that moment.  She stepped closer until
our bodies were almost touching and studied my eyes with her
now-watery brown ones.  "Uncle Randy, the whole time I've
been here, you've been nothing but sweet and polite to me
even when I was..."

     "Even when you didn't understand the situation."

     "Yeah.  That.  But nothing you've said or done before
now has been as sweet as what you just said.  Yeah, you've
said it before, but not like that.  That time it was
different.  That time was..."

     "...was from deep in my heart."

     Her eyes continued to search mine.  "Yeah."  She pushed
her hands toward me.  I released her wrists, allowing her to
wrap her hands behind my neck and pull my face down to hers.
"And I've said thank you before, but this time it's from
deep in my heart."

     She pressed her lips to mine.  She opened her mouth
slightly, but that was all.  She was offering an invitation,
not making a move.  I found the strength to decline the
offer as I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her body
to mine.

     When we separated she again gave me the look that Blaze
and I share in common from her.  "I love you, Uncle Randy."

     "I love you, too, Niece Cheryl."

     Those lovely brown wings lifted and moved toward each
other as the eyes beneath them widened.  "_DAMN IT!_"

     "Do I have to?  I'm in too good of a mood to want to
damn anything right now."

     "Smart ass."

     "I can't help it.  I'm related to you.  Which, I guess,
means I have a cute little ass, too."

     Her hands released my neck and dropped.  "God, I hate
you."

     I shook my head.  "Jealousy is so unbecoming.  Now:  do
you plan to tell me what's wrong or do you wish to imitate
your mother some more?"

     Her shoulders sagged.  "I had that big, awesome thing
pressed against me and I forgot to notice what it felt
like!"

     "So?  Maybe you were distracted by more important
matters?"

     The disappointed look gave way to a smile.  "You're
right.  I really was.  So, what if we..."

     "No."

     The rejection caused no reaction.  "Then it's time we
did some more photography.  I'd like to do some shots Mother
doesn't want to know about."

     "We just did some of those."

     "I'd like to do some shots Mother _really_ doesn't want
to know about."  She walked to the filing cabinet extracted
a glamour portfolio I'd made of Kelly.  "Like these."

     "Do you want to fetch some of your own clothes or use
what's in the closet?"

     She thought for a moment.  "I'm not sure which would be
better."

     "Well, if you want to do frilly, then unless you have
something other than nightwear I'm not yet aware of, we'll
have to raid the closet.  If you want to look like sexy
Niece Cheryl, then grab some of your blouses, shorts, and
jeans."

     "I guess the closet's closer.  We could, like, do the
others at another time."

     I shook my head in disbelief.  "That decision made
sense.  Are you sure you're Mandy Kuczynski's daughter?"

     "Nope," she said with an exaggerated shake of her head.
"I'm Randy Long's niece."

     Ten bucks says nobody can give me a higher compliment
than that.

                               ~ ~ ~

     "Don't move, that's perfect," I said.  I had adjusted
the lights again and was looking in the viewfinder while
groping toward the release.  Cheryl had been playing Miss
Smartass while waiting for me to give her directions.  I
didn't want her to move until I could find the button and
trip the shutter.

     "How is it?" she asked after the lights flashed.

     "Ten bucks says I'm going to wish I was using the
Hasselblad with the Kodachrome in it."  I called up the
picture in the viewfinder.  "I was right.  Computer."

     She pranced over to the computer while I extracted the
memory card.  I stuck the card in the reader, saying, "This
may be even better than the one of you on Misty."

     I cycled through several excellent shots of her until I
got to the last one.  She had changed into a short,
translucent white nightie and was leaning forward, away from
the camera, while shoving her butt toward it.  She had
hooked her thumbs in the waistband and pushed the bottoms
down until they were bunched just below those gorgeous round
cheeks.  She had thrown a sassy look over her right
shoulder, causing the unfastened top to turn back enough to
show the side of her right breast.  Her body filled the
frame perfectly, the symmetry and asymmetry were in harmony,
and the look on her face was enough to make me seriously
worry about bodily modifications for the first time since I
awoke.  "What do you think?"

     She smirked.  "I think that's one cute little ass.
Don't you?"

     "I've never seen a cuter one, to include when I was
changing your diapers.  Now:  what do you think about the
shot?"

     Still smirking, she pointed and rattled off critiques of
the composition and of different parts of the photograph.
Suddenly she stopped in mid-sentence, leaned closer to the
screen, and said, "_Eeew!_  Gross!  It looks like I forgot
to wipe my butt!"

     "Where?"

     She turned a frown to me.  "What do you mean, where?  Do
guys wipe someplace girls don't?"

     In retrospect, I had to admit it qualified as a dumb
question.  "There?  That's just shadow."

     "Well, that's not what it _looks_ like!"

     Obviously I wasn't going to win.  I fired up PhotoShop
and used a tool to gently lighten the area.  "There.  It's
either that or we airbrush all of it out, but then it
wouldn't look like you because that's where yours is."

     She frowned and gave the screen a critical inspection.
"Nobody would know except you and me," she muttered.

     _Note to self:  when you can't win, shut up and wait for
instructions._

     None of the shots I took for the next ten minutes came
close to being as good as that one, but that's the way
photography normally works.  Then she skipped over to the
closet, stripped except for her necklace, and dragged out a
western shirt and some cowboy chaps.  The shirt was too big,
but she pulled it on, rolled up the sleeves, and tied the
tails of the unbuttoned front across her waist.  The chaps
were also too big.  She draped them over a shoulder.  "Get a
camera.  Let's do some outside grab shots on the patio."

     "Yes, boss."  I needed some fresh air anyway.  The day
was far too nice to spend indoors.

     She sat on the redwood lounge chair and put on the
chaps.  I talked her through a couple of minutes of
shots--head back, arch your back, spin to your left, that
sort of thing--before saying "Wing it."

     Cheryl and Kelly had one thing in common:  unless I
needed a specific pose, I was better off saying, "Wing it,"
and catching them being natural.  Both were natural
naturals.

     I snapped away, losing track of time.  The indicator
said the memory card was almost full when I caught a great
shot of her lying back on the lounge, breasts framed by the
open shirt, left leg bent and knee up, left arm resting atop
the knee, right leg out straight with the toes pointed, and
right hand slowly tracing the middle finger up the inside of
her thigh.  Her poses had been increasingly erotic, and once
again I had to think about the rabid pit bull and javelina.

     The face turned positively devilish.  I was thinking
about PhotoShopping horns onto it and painting it red when
the hand that was now at the junction of thigh and body
suddenly moved sideways, and she smoothly shoved her finger
inside until her shaved lips were kissing her palm.

     Her eyes moved down from the camera.  "God, it looks
even more awesome out in the daylight, standing up there all
by itself."

     _Now what?_

     While I hesitated in indecision, she slid the finger out
and began diddling her clit with the soaked fingertip.  "Let
me look.  Please?" she said.  Actually, it was more like
begging than just a request.  "I want to get off looking at
it, not just thinking about it like last night.  I want to
see it standing up, not lying on your stomach."

     I had been convinced she was thinking about it when she
came last night, but there's a world of erotic difference
between "knowing" something and hearing it in Cheryl's own
voice.  Then I realized she was using 'see' in the
photographic sense instead of 'look at.'

     "God, it got even bigger!  Is that what happens when you
cum?"

     I nodded.  "When I'm really close."

     "I am, too," she gasped as her finger sped up.  "Show
me?  I've never seen one get off before.  Please, Uncle
Randy?  For me?"

     I think if she'd asked one more time in that husky
voice, she'd have see it happen with no effort on my part.
I put the camera on the table and wrapped my hand around my
favorite buckaroo.  Unlike last night's immediate explosion,
I had to pump it a dozen times to get it to fire.  Or maybe
it was because of last night's release.

     Cheryl's finger and hand became a blur.  "God, that's
incredible," she squeaked as her face drew toward her nose.
"Uncle...!"

     She fired, too, as the remnants of my load began
dribbling out the end of my dick.  I watched her convulse,
trying to commit the scene to a memory that would last me
forever.

     She began panting in large gulps as a smile spread over
her face.  Few things in this world are more beautiful than
a woman's post-orgasmic smile.  I started to turn.

     "No, Uncle Randy, wait!  I want to watch it go down.
Last night it just lay there and shrank."

     It seemed foolish to refuse her at this point.  She
watched with the same intent curiosity that she displayed
while learning photography.  When it was finally hanging
totally limp and with the last dribble stretching downward
like a strand of spider's silk, she looked at my face with
those soft brown eyes.  "That was totally awesome!"

     I knew what she meant.  Watching her had been totally
awesome for me, too.

                               ~ ~ ~

     Her previous driving lessons had been with the top up.
I didn't want her distracted more than necessary by whatever
was going on outside the car.  Today I let her put the top
down.  She couldn't have been more thrilled if I'd handed
her the keys, the pink slip, and a driver's license.  I'm
glad I wasn't like that as a teenager.

     I don't know the actual cause.  Maybe it had something
to do with my letting her put the top down, maybe something
about her mother's call, maybe it was watching me get off.
Whatever it was, Cheryl outdid herself.  My heart rate
stayed well below two hundred, and at no point did I worry
about soiling the seat covers.  If we'd been clothed, I'd
have let her drive the car up to the gate, but somehow I
couldn't shake the vision of seeing a vehicle approaching
and us having to race back to the house after they knew we'd
seen them.  I knew I'd never be able to explain that, not
even to Ricky, so I saved that trek until later.

     She turned off the ignition and turned to me.  "Well?"

     "By the time you leave here, people won't be able to
complain about you being just another woman driver, even if
you did forget to put the top up before you killed the
engine."

     She giggled at the compliment.  "Who says I forgot?
How'd you like to get in the back seat with me?  She slid a
finger between the necklace and her neck and pushed the gold
chain toward me.  "I'll keep my clothes on."

     "The back seat's what got you in trouble with your mom."

     "And here I am.  That worked out well, didn't it?"

     "I wouldn't want to risk your being sent somewhere
else."

     "This time there's nobody else around to catch me."

     There's that 'female arguing while using logic' problem
again.  "Well, I'm sure you'd rather have someone more your
own..."

     "No.  I'd rather have someone I care about.  And
besides, with you I wouldn't have to worry about a rubber
breaking because you don't need one."

     That floored me.  "I never told you that."

     "I heard Mom bitching about you to dad one night when
they didn't know I had come inside.  She said, 'Why would a
homosexual want a vasectomy anyway?'  I didn't know what
that meant, so I looked it up.  Took me a while until I
finally guessed the right spelling."

     "How come you never said you knew?"

     That was enough for another 'Are you Mandy Kuczynski or
her brother?' look.  "You didn't tell me you were straight."

     "Oh.  Right.  Well, that didn't give you a clue that I
might be straight?"

     "Well, no.  Actually, I believed Dad when she said it
must be some kind of 'gay macho thing,' or else you got
drunk and lost a bet."

     That sounded like Marek.  "Well, you deserve something
better than the back seat of a car."

     She gently traced a fingertip around the circumference
of the steering wheel.  "Oh, I don't know about that.  You
said I got started in a car's back seat.  Seems sort of like
coming home to me."

     _Note to self:  in my next life, get a family where the
women fight fair._  "It might be coming home, but it's not a
good as you deserve."

     I thought she'd accept the compliment and delay the
argument to later, giving me more time to come up with
better reasons.  Instead, she gave me a sly look.  "Afraid
you can't get it up again?"

     I laughed.  "I have trouble keeping it down around you."

     She smiled.  It might have been my imagination, but it
looked like a smile of triumph.  "Then don't.  After all
I've seen, there's no reason to.  Unless it does tricks that
I've never heard of, and if so, I totally want to see those,
too.  Let it do whatever it wants.  Either way, I think it's
the most totally awesome thing I've ever seen.  It's perfect
for you, Uncle Randy.  And," the smile changed to one of
gentle adoration, "I think it's perfect for me, too."

     I swallowed and searched for words.  Finally I said,
"So, was swimming next on your agenda?"

     The look didn't change.  "What part of perfect for me
and back seat didn't you understand?"

     "Cheryl, no."

     "Okay.  You can relax while I fix lunch."

     She was giving up too easily.  _Why?_



                               Eleven

     Cheryl lifted her glass.  "To the best Sunday I've ever
had.  And to the uncle who made it happen."

     "To the best Sunday you've ever had."  I pinged her
glass with mine and we sipped.

     She gave her glass a skeptical look and then focused on
me.  "I guess it would have been better with wine, huh?"

     I motioned for her to sit and then took my own chair at
the patio table.  "Of course not.  After all, you are much
more like hand-squeezed lemonade than Beaujolais."

     "I am?" she asked with a skeptical look.  Can you
believe it?  She thought I was joking!

     I held up my glass and looked from her to it and back.
"Beaujolais is fruity.  You aren't the family fruit in
either meaning of the word.  Lemonade, however, is both
sweet and tart."

     "Are you calling me a tart?"

     The sound of her voice was playful, but I checked her
expression for verification before answering.  "That's a
good question.  Let me think.  No, I guess not.  Maybe
later, but not now.  By tart, I meant lively, biting,
refreshing.  Definitely not bland."

     She attacked her steak with a knife and fork.  "Tart
also means sour."

     "Sour isn't a bad thing.  I love sour lemon drop
candies.  When my throat is sore, they always make it feel
better."

     Her voice went from playful to devilish as she looked up
from carving her steak.  "Do I make you feel better?"

     "Who's your favorite uncle?"

     She lifted her fork with its bite of impaled steak and
pointed it toward me.  "Uncle Randy."

     "I doubt anything else could make me feel better than
the way you just made me feel."

     Her mouth moved only to receive a bite of barbecued
steak but her eyes said _Wanna bet?_

     She had been a model of good behavior since her driving
lesson, with only an occasional lapse.  For instance, while
preparing lunch she dripped Thousand Island dressing where
the syrup had landed at breakfast and asked which topping I
liked better.  The after we came out of the cool water at
the swimming hole, she knelt in front of me, saying she
hadn't brought her camera, so she had to memorize how it
looked "that small" for later comparison.  But she didn't
ask if I wanted it warmed up or made bigger or anything
similar that I'd expected to hear.  And as we were about to
leave after sunning on the bank, she looked closely and
pronounced, "That's _much_ better.  It's back to totally
awesome now!"

     By dessert time the temperature had dropped quickly and
the wind had quickened.  "I think we'd better have our ice
cream inside."

     Cheryl looked around the dark sky.  "It's not supposed
to rain until tomorrow."

     "Tomorrow is only a little over three hours away."

     "The day went by so quickly."  Her voice held a
suggestion of sadness.

     "The more fun you're having, the faster time moves."

     "If that was true, then the day would have gone by in an
eyeblink, thanks to you."

     I grunted and then, as the words sank in, frowned at
her.  "Is that an accusation or a compliment?"

     "Whichever you like best."

     "I like it best as a compliment."

     "In that case," she said, rising from her chair and
coming around the table to stand beside me, "this goes with
it."  She gave me a gentle kiss and whispered, "Thanks for a
wonderful day, Uncle Randy."

     I got the impression that she whispered because she
didn't trust her voice to stay steady.

     She didn't speak while we cleaned off the table and
carried things back into the house.  She kept her face
averted for the first half of that, but I did see one
trickle running down her cheek, and the rain hadn't started
yet.  I knew she got along better with Marek than with
Mandy, but I'd bet ten bucks he'd never experienced the
sincere thank you I'd received.

     We carried our bowls of ice cream into the living room.
She declined anything on television, saying she'd rather sit
on the couch next to me and not be distracted by "junk."
Halfway through the ice cream, her melancholy had given way
to impishness.  I guess it was her way of achieving balanced
karma.

     She raised her face to mine, used the back of her spoon
to smear melted ice cream across her puckered lips, and made
kissy noises.  It reminded me of her second birthday party,
only not nearly as messy.  After I kissed her, she opened
her still-puckered mouth just enough to say, "You didn't get
it all."

     When I hesitated, her eyes turned pleading.  Telling
myself that I didn't want to ruin her best Sunday ever, I
wrapped my lips around hers and sucked off the ice cream.
The eyes turned sparkling, then concerned as I pulled back.

     "Wait a sec.  You have some..."  Her head moved forward
and her tongue shot out, licking the corner of my mouth.
That was all.  It was the most innocent-looking thing in the
world.  And yet...

     "Well!" she said, all bright and happy while looking at
my lap.  "Look who wants to play!  _DON'T MOVE THAT ARM!_"
Miss Day Care to Ms Drill Sergeant in the blink of an eye.
"I told you not to worry when you get a boner.  You just let
it do whatever it wants and eat your ice cream.  In fact,
since you didn't do what I told you, you have to eat some of
mine."

     "I'm being punished with _ice cream?_  Damn.  I wish
you'd been my mom!"

     "Really?"  Ever notice that women have this expression
they use that says, "You did exactly what I wanted you to
do"?  They use it in a way that indicates you followed their
plan and trapped yourself.  Even if you didn't follow any
plan and accidentally stumbled into the trap, they still
give you that look, so you can never be certain whether it
was an accident or they'd really outsmarted you.  Anyway,
that was the look now on Cheryl's face as she shifted to
kneel on the couch beside me.

     She stirred the spoon in the bowl, coating it, and then
smeared it across a nipple, which immediately erected from
the chill.  "I happen to know you were breast fed."  Which
was true.  You'd have to be both brain dead and deaf to miss
any of Mom's tirades against formulas and bottle feeding.

     "Cheryl..."

     "Quiet.  You're being punished, remember?  Besides that,
I need to know if you like ice cream better than vanilla
syrup."

     I made a face.  "French toast with strawberry ice cream
for breakfast?"

     She smeared the other nipple with the melted cream.
"Now you're being punished for disobeying my order to be
quiet."  She sounded way too much like Mandy for comfort.
"Guess where it goes the next time you disobey."

     I was afraid I knew, so I stayed quiet.  I started with
the second breast because it received the most ice cream and
was in danger of dripping, which was the other reason I
didn't argue.

     "Don't leave any behind."

     She whimpered as my tongue scrubbed the firm pinkness.
That didn't help with the boner problem.  After I cleaned
the second one she sighed and asked, "Which did you like
best?"

     "I think the ice cream."

     "Good."  Then the deviltry returned.  "Which boob did
you like best?"

     "Huh?  I mean... well, I don't know.  I liked them both
the same."

     "Shouldn't you like one better than the other?"  She
again coated the spoon.  "Try again."

     Yes, I know I should have refused.  I knew it then.  But
I also knew she was having her best Sunday ever, and I
didn't want to be a party pooper until I absolutely had to.
Besides that, it wasn't like it was the first time I'd
licked anything from those small perfect mounds with their
firm pink knobs.  And the way she giggled and laughed when I
did it brought back memories of my playing building blocks
with her all those years ago when I babysat her.

     We'd both eat a spoonful and then she'd smear some of
hers on her tasty treats because I couldn't decide which one
I liked best.  Finally I had to admit that I wasn't capable
of preferring one over the other.

     "Well, if you can't make a decision," she said, sliding
a spoonful into her mouth and then shoving the spoon
in-and-out between her pursed lips, "then I guess you're
back to being Uncle Mandy again.  Look at that!  I think
somebody's ready to play again.  You know, I could use a
cone for the rest of my ice cream."

     "Sweetheart, no."

     "Okay."  She scooped out the last spoonful, then licked
the bottom of the spoon slowly and carefully.  "But if you
want to change your mind," she practically deep throated the
spoon, taking half the ice cream off it before removing it
from her mouth, "I'll give you one more chance."

     Where did a girl who was a virgin and who never saw a
boner before learn to do that?  Ricky says they're born that
way, but that's never been my experience.  The two or three
first-timers I've had required instructions on suction,
speed, motion, and especially attention to how the teeth
were occupied.  I hated myself for doing so, though I knew I
would hate myself worse in the morning if I gave in, but I
again said no.  That was good for more deep throating and
licking the spoon, as well as a kiss before she collected
the spoons and bowls and took them to the dishwasher.
Mister Rampaging Erection shrank again by the time she'd
added the detergent, run the water until it was hot, and
started the dishwasher.

     When she returned she quickly sat sideways across my lap
and entwined my neck in her arms.

     "Uh, Cheryl, I'm not sure that..."

     "Well, I'm sure.  I'm sure that you've made me the
happiest niece in the country.  And I'm sure it's time for
the last check and then we need to get to bed.  After all,
this is a working ranch and we have work to do tomorrow."
She gave me another quick kiss, thanked me again, and jumped
to her feet.  She offered me a hand up, saying she was
supposed to be nice to her elders.

     We slipped on shoes, fetched an apple, and opened the
door.  "Uncle Randy, it's raining.  Do think I should wear a
plastic neckerchief to keep my clothes dry?"

     "I think you're still a smart ass.  And, yes, you still
have a cute little ass."

     She led the way out into the light rain.  "And a happy
one.  It felt excellent having that big wonderful thing next
to it."

     Nothing I could say wouldn't make things worse, so I
said nothing. She took my free hand and giggled most of the
way to the barn.  She fed the apple to Buena Vista and said,
"I hope you had a day as nice as mine."  Then she cooed and
fussed over Blaze while I stroked Buena Vista's neck.

     "You know something, Blaze?"

     I don't know about Blaze, but I knew something from the
sound of Cheryl's voice.  I knew that something was coming,
and I was the target.

     "Some day you're going to meet a stallion that's as
sweet and kind and wonderful to you as Uncle Randy is to me.
He'll love you the way Uncle Randy loves me, and you'll love
him the way I love Uncle Randy, and you'll think that you
have just had the best day of your life, too."

     The words were designed to relax me and drop my guard,
thinking the lightning wasn't about to strike.  It wasn't
one of Mandy's tricks, but it was one of Junior's that he
got from Dad.  Sure enough, after another two sentences of
build-up, Cheryl raised an arm and pointed.

     "And if you're lucky, he'll have a boner that's at least
as big and awesome as Uncle Randy's!"

     Remember me telling you how I knew what Buena Vista was
thinking?  She turned her head to me, rubbed her forehead
against my shoulder, and gave me a look that said, "Mine is
better behaved than yours."

                               ~ ~ ~

     The rest of the inspection was without incident except
for Stable Two.  Something undefined was wrong with Lariat,
one of the geldings that Sommers was supposed to pick up
Wednesday.  After several minutes I made a mental note to
call Doc Branson in the morning if Lariat hadn't improved
and to call Sommers and ask him if he'd like to substitute
another horse.  I wanted him to know before he arrived so he
could think about it.

     Cheryl tried to serenade me on the way back to the house
with _Singing in the Rain_ because the precipitation was
moderately heavy by this time.  The effect might have been
better if she'd known more than the first two lines of the
chorus.

     She stopped me before the front porch.  "Shower time,"
she said and began scrubbing herself.

     "Don't you need soap?" I asked.

     "This is just the pre-wash."

     You can't argue with logic like that.  I started
scrubbing, too.

     "You have anything you need me to pre-wash for you,
Uncle Randy?"

     "I don't think so."

     "Okay."

     When we were finished we stood on the porch and used our
hands to squeegee off excess water.  She offered to squeegee
my back if I'd do hers.  I agreed, mainly because she began
at the same time she asked and was almost finished by the
time she'd completed the offer.

     As I closed the door behind us she said, "Uncle Randy,
since we didn't go riding, my legs aren't sore.  It's also
getting late.  Why don't we just clean up in your shower and
get right to bed?"

     I turned the lock and turned to her.  "My shower?"

     She hooked her hands behind my neck.  "You have a
walk-in shower big enough for two.  It's larger, better, and
safer for two people than trying to crowd into my tub to
shower."

     "Cheryl..."

     The eyes turned pathetic.  "Are you going to spend the
last few minutes of my best Sunday ever ruining it?"

     I sighed.  "What do you plan to wash if we shower
together?"

     The pathetic eyes remained.  "Everything except my back,
plus your back in return for your doing mine."

     "Just like on the porch?"

     "Well, maybe a little slower so that the soap will work,
but yeah."

     I sighed again.  "Okay."

     She smiled.  "Cool!"

                               ~ ~ ~

     Did you ever notice how sensual the feeling is when you
run soapy hands over a smooth, flawless back?  Flawless
unless you consider two small dark spots to be flaws, but
even those were invisible to the touch.

      So, which was more sensual?  Soap plus back, or oil
plus legs, that is the question.

     The answer is:  Who cares?

                               ~ ~ ~

     "What are you doing?"

     I looked over my shoulder and blinked at her.  I thought
it was obvious.  "I'm turning down the covers.  Getting
ready for bed."

     "We slept in your bed last night.  Tonight we're
sleeping in mine."

     "What you mean 'we,' paleface?"

     What kind of kids are they raising today, even in Texas,
who haven't heard that old Lone Ranger joke?  After I told
her the joke, she shook her head and said, "Last night was
your bed. Tonight we're sleeping in mine."

     "You've already said that.  But..."

     She dropped her towel, threw her arms wide, and
shrugged.  "Well, apparently Uncle Mandy didn't understand
it the first time."

     "Cheryl!  We can't..."

     "We slept together in your bed last night," she said, as
if that resolved the issue.

     "But I didn't know about that until I woke up."

     "Well," she said in a cheery voice, "tonight you won't
have to live and sleep in ignorance, will you?"

     "Cheryl..."

     The forearms locked behind my head again.  "Besides
that, this way when you're done you won't have to get up and
leave the room."

     Okay, so I was tired, my brain was fuzzy, and I hadn't
expected that tactic. "When I'm done?"

     "Uncle Randy!  I'm all excited about having had my best
Sunday ever!  I need to unwind, to relax before I can go to
sleep!  Don't you want to finish off my best Sunday ever
helping me relax?  Let's see a show of erections from all
those who don't want me to end my day all alone.  From all
those who don't want me to be lying face down on my hand,
stirring my own finger into my own aching nookie the way I
had to do earlier today, making those slurpy wet smacky
sounds in the darkness where nobody else can hear them.
 From all those who don't want to miss the scent of my body's
perfume."  One arm unlocked itself so that she could slide a
hand under my nose.  Her fingers had been busy while my back
was turned.  "From those who'd rather experience my
pheromones directly instead of having to try to remember
them."

     _Memo to self:  get a new body.  This one has turned
traitor._

     She looked down.  "There!" she cooed with a big smile.
"Looks like you've voted to get me off yourself."

     Okay, one last try.  "Cheryl..."

     Her face remained playful, yet turned serious.  "Uncle
Randy, you're not going to tell Mom and Dad.  I'm not going
to tell them.  You aren't going to tell Ricky or anyone else
here.  I'm not going to tell them.  If the phone rings,
there's an extension on my night stand.  I have an alarm
clock set for the same time as yours.  It's the perfect
ending to my perfect day.  And _that_," she smiled and
looked down between us, "says that deep inside, you really
want to.  It's a win-win situation."

     Apparently Cheryl hadn't experienced Murphy's Law the
way I had, but nevertheless, I acquiesced.  Somehow, I
wasn't surprised that I did.

                               ~ ~ ~

     Her body went limp and she crashed to the mattress.  I'd
have said "crashed and burned," but she was too wet to catch
fire.  I didn't know what she'd been fantasizing while I
worked, though I could probably make an accurate guess, but
she came harder than either of the other two times I'd seen
her get off.  I was lying on my side next to her, my knees
by her head and my own head and hands where I could oversee
and manage the task of satisfying her desire.

     She gasped for air, lifting one hand and bringing it
across her body.  I started to speak a warning, but I'd
misguessed her target.  She grabbed me behind my upper knee
and twisted her body to kiss it.  "Uncle Randy, that was the
best one ever!  Perfect for my best ever Sunday!" she
gasped, the words broken apart by her ragged panting.
"Thanks for the perfect end to the perfect day."

     I kissed the nearest spot, the inside of her thigh, and
realized that was a mistake because my traitorous tool
demanded I kiss my way up to her body.  I resisted and
somehow managed to enjoy the feel of her smooth, shapely leg
against my lips.  Yes, the mature shaping and definition I
had expected was appearing, brought on in part by her time
riding the horses.

     "Any time," I said without thinking.

     My brain caught up with my mouth.  Too late.  I was
certain that Cheryl the Lawyer had heard and would remember,
even though she said nothing about the comment at the time.

     "You can't sleep like that," she observed.  "If you'd
like me to..."

     "No."

     "Well, will you at least let me watch again?"

     I knew, I just knew, that her use of "again" was
designed to lay the foundation of an argument in the hopes
that I would see the argument coming, realize I couldn't
win, and skip the argument in the first place.

     That was why most people hated lawyers:  they don't
fight fair.

     Wait a minute.  Women don't fight fair either, yet most
men love them.  I'd have to think about that one later, when
I was more awake.

     "I suppose it would otherwise ruin your most perfect
Sunday ever if I said 'no'?"

     She kissed my knee again, not wasting the breath to
reply with an answer I already knew.

     What the hell.  I kissed her thigh again.  Higher up,
but still away from trouble.

     I reversed ends and adjusted my head on a pillow.  I
reached but was stopped by, "Wait!"

     She sat up on her heels, with her calves folded under
her thighs, then leaned over and kissed me.  It was soft,
gentle, sweet, loving, and the most innocent kiss imaginable
under any circumstances except the current one.  "I want to
watch close-up, like you did."

     She tilted sideways and scooted until her face was
hovering a foot below my impatiently demanding appendage.
That put her knees near my head.  I kissed one, then grasped
the situation and answered its demands.

     She spread her legs and lightly stroked her shaved slit,
spreading the lips enough to make a wet sound.  I tried to
wonder if I would set a record for premature ejaculation by
agreeing to her real desire, but the little remaining blood
rushed out of the big head, perhaps to join the liquid flood
gushing out near my fist, and all thinking stopped.

     Cheryl squealed in surprise as a drop landed on the side
of her nose, just missing her eye.  I looked past what her
finger was doing and tried to capture her
startled-yet-pleased look on some mental film while my body
twitched, shuddered, and convulsed.  The scene was growing
dim when I finally remembered that I was supposed to
breathe.

     She waited patiently, then smiled at me.  "You enjoyed
that as much as I enjoyed mine."

     "Uh huh," I gasped.

     "Did you enjoy watching me as much as I enjoyed watching
you?"

     "Uh huh."

     "Good.  Just relax and get your breath back."

     After maybe a minute, I tried to sit up.  Cheryl's hand
gently held me down.  "I'll get you a warm wash cloth for
the mess.  All of it but this."  The tip of her index finger
removed the drop from the side of her nose and disappeared
into her mouth.  She grunted.  "Not what I'd expected," she
said after a moment, "but it's okay.  You lie there and
relax.  I'll be useful because I love you."

     She kissed my leg.  When she straightened, her lips
glistened pearly-white until she licked them clean.  "Hmmm,"
she said, then scrambled out of bed.

     When she returned, I reached for the wash cloth.   She
jerked it out of my way.  "No," she said.  "You've cleaned
me lots of times.  After thirteen or fourteen years, it's
time I returned the favor."

     She started wiping my stomach, pausing first to scoop a
finger through the ejaculate and pop it into her mouth.  "I
like it better warm," she said before washing away the rest.
Next she wiped my hand clean, then returned to the bathroom
to rinse the cloth.

     When she returned she finished with my hand and did my
legs.  Only one thing left as she went to again rinse out
the cloth.

     I reached through a fog, trying to find the cloth and
take it.  "No," she said quietly.  "You're barely conscious.
You'd fall asleep before you were finish.  I'll be gentle.
I've read about how sensitive these things are."

     I probably imagined it, probably dreamed it, but when I
awoke the next morning and found myself on my back with
Cheryl face down beside me, one arm across my chest and one
leg over my thigh, I had the faintest, vaguest memory of her
saying, "All done!  That's much better!" and then kissing
me.  And I don't mean on the lips.



                               Twelve

     Cheryl chose to get up when I did, saying that she
didn't feel like staying in an empty bed.  She was slowly
acclimatizing.  She wasn't in total zombie mode, but I
wasn't sure that she understood when I told her that on
Mondays before horse sales, Diego usually interrupted
breakfast with questions, ideas, worries, and suggestions
that had come to him over the weekend.  She understood
enough to show up in the kitchen a few minutes after me
wearing considerably more than her necklace.  However, the
cut and fit of her crop-top blouse and denim mini-shorts
managed to show much of what the necklace-only wardrobe
showed.  What wasn't openly displayed was obviously present
inside the wrapping.

     She snuggled beside me while I mixed the pancake batter.
"I need my morning kiss."  Her voice was so soft I barely
heard it above the sizzling of the sausage and the whir of
the exhaust fan.

     I added another dash of milk.  The batter was just
barely too thick.  "I gave it to you when you woke up."

     The arched brown wings came together in a frown over
barely open brown eyes.  "I need one I can remember."

     "Then shouldn't I wait about another hour?"

     She blinked at me.  Twice.  In very slow motion.  "Yeah.
But how about one now to hold me until then?"

     "Sure.  One moment."  The secret to good pancakes is the
right consistency of batter poured at the exact moment the
grill is at the right temperature.  I poured, put down the
batter, and wrapped her in my arms.  "Sorry you had to wait.
What if I kiss you twice to make up for it?"

     After three seconds the information processed and she
smiled.  "What about three times?"

     "Okay.  I can't think of a better way to occupy the time
while the pancakes cook than kissing you good morning."

     She was waking up.  That information processed in just
two seconds.  The rest of the face stayed sleepy, but the
mouth managed an evil grin.  "I can.  But we'd have to get
undressed, and Diego would interrupt anyway."

                               ~ ~ ~

     "Damn."  Cheryl was looking at a bite of syrupy pancake
impaled on the fork.  We were near the end of breakfast and
she was mostly awake, but now here eyes were half-closed in
a frown.

     "Okay, why?" I asked.  I didn't see any syrup drip or
any sausage pieces flying around.

     She waved the bite toward me.  "This syrup is going to
waste.  I can't share it with you this morning."

     "Oh.  Well, that's okay.  I'll live."

     "No, you don't understand.  I like sharing it with you.
It's more than just your sucking on my boob, Uncle Randy.
Yeah, that feels great, but what feels even better is that
it's something special that we're sharing together.  Not
because Mom doesn't know, but because it's us.  It's just
us."

     I couldn't think of any words that expressed how that
made me feel.  I placed my fork on my plate.  "Cheryl,
that's the sweetest... That's...  I just...  Well, thank
you.  I guess that... Well, now that I think about it, it is
something special, isn't it?  I guess I was too concerned
with being irked that you outsmarted me to notice that."

     That brought out the smile.  I think she was relieved
that I hadn't made light of something that was important to
her.  "You'd have realized it soon enough."

     _Probably.  But I wouldn't have been any happier about
it._

     She was obviously thinking about something while she
slowly chewed the pancake.  She didn't swallow until her
eyes said she'd thought of something.  She pushed back her
chair, rose, and came around the table to stand by me.  With
a triumphant grin she tugged up the bottom of her short
blouse, revealing that she wasn't wearing a bra.  She
daintily dipped a fingertip in the syrup on my plate and
coated each nipple with a thin film of syrup.

     She started to suck the remaining syrup off her finger,
then suddenly shoved it in my face.  "You do it," she said.
I did, and she managed to keep _that_ look off her face
during the three seconds required.  It showed up, though,
when she withdrew her finger.  "Beats sucking guys, doesn't
it?"

     "Does it ever!  I'd rather suck your finger any time!"

     She grinned.  "Good.  Now here's the rest of it."

     Her breath caught as I cleaned the syrup from each shiny
pink knob, and she whimpered slightly as I worked on the
second one.  I decided that any missed syrup would cause her
blouse to stick uncomfortably to sensitive skin, so I
cleaned each one a second time.

     She stood there, head back, eyes almost closed, mouth
ajar when I retreated.  It seemed my arm around her waist
was holding her up.  Her head rolled forward and she focused
dreamily on me.  "I'm glad I thought of that."

     I sighed.  "Cheryl, I can't lie to you.  I wish you
hadn't, but I'm glad you did, too."

     I withdrew my arm from around her waist.  She didn't
move.  "Uncle Randy, can I tell you something?  It may not
come out right like I mean it, but, well, don't take it the
wrong way.  Okay?  If it does, let me explain first.  Okay?"

     "Of course."

     "I'm sorry we had to dress for breakfast because I
really got comfortable with you being nude around the house.
You really looked good like that.  I don't mean that you
don't look good now!  I just mean that... well, it was
relaxed and comfortable and--I guess it's coming out wrong,
huh?"

     I put the arm back around her waist, not for support
this time but for affection.  Okay, I suppose that's a
different kind of support.  "I don't know if the words are
saying it properly, but your eyes are loud and clear.
You're saying that it's comfortable here and you're enjoying
anything and everything that says this isn't home, where
it's uncomfortable."

     "Yeah, I guess.  No.  Well, yeah, that's part of it.
But..."

     "But you're enjoying being treated like a responsible
adult instead of Mandy and Marek's little brat?"

     She sighed.  "Yeah, I guess that's part of it, too.
Even though I work harder here than I do at home with them."

     I leaned forward enough to kiss the center of her chest.
"There you do it because you're ordered to.  Here you do it
because you know it needs doing and you're treated like
someone smart enough to realize it for herself and allowed
to act responsibly once you're shown how to do it.  You're
becoming an adult.  You deserve to be treated like one.
Except that you still can't get a tattoo.""

     "Well, yeah.  I appreciate that, too, Mister Smart Ass."

     "I know.  I also happen to be Mister Cute Ass."

     "Maybe.  I haven't seen it since you got up this
morning."

     "That reminds me.  There's something we need to discuss,
Miss Responsible Person.  Your mother said that I wasn't
supposed to see you naked.  Although she didn't say so, I
think that she intends that you not see me naked, either, so
there will be no more days like yesterday, with me running
around in my birthday suit with all the naughty bits
flapping in the breeze.  I hope you enjoyed it while it
lasted, because those days are over.  Done.  Gone."

     She blinked.  Twice.  I saw the four words gathering
behind her eyes before her mouth opened and she said, "God,
I love you."

     Okay, so I was a hundred eighty degrees out on the third
word.  But if I'd been right, I'm sure that her word would
have been the right translation anyhow.  "I love you, too."

     She leaned forward and kissed me.  Really kissed me,
with force and passion and feeling.  Again her mouth opened
slightly in invitation, but she waited for me to make that
move.  Somehow I resisted, knowing what would follow if I
gave in.  When she ended it, her face was a mix of
disappointment that I hadn't accepted the invitation and
delight that I'd not rejected the kiss.

     She sighed and squeezed my neck with her forearms.  "I'm
going to miss the good old days."

     "Me, too.  I enjoyed seeing you naked.  Before you had
to start wearing clothes around me."

     "Since I'm clothed, I suppose you won't mind if I leave
my top like this for a while, until Diego gets here?  It's
cooler in the hot kitchen this way, you know."

     I didn't answer that.  Diego did by ringing the
doorbell.  I never knew how much a doorbell could cool down
a hot kitchen.  It also cooled down Cheryl, but not by much.

                               ~ ~ ~

     Cheryl blinked.  Twice.  "A _what?_"

     Doc Branson lifted his left hand from the arm of the
front porch swing and tapped his chest twice with the first
two fingers.  His right hand had slid around behind my niece
and was attached to her upper right arm.  "That's what I
call chest cold in a horse.  I don't think it's anything
more serious than that."

     I nodded in thought.  "I'll tell Summers that, but I'll
still give him the option of another horse anyway."

     Doc sighed and gave me a piercing look.  "I worry about
you, boy!  How do you expect to get anywhere in life if you
don't lie, cheat, and take advantage of helpless victims?"

     I pointed at Cheryl with my beer.  "Her father's a
lawyer.  One like that in the family is enough, though
sometimes she shows signs of willingness to follow him down
that trail of depravity."

     He pulled Cheryl against him in a firm hug.  "This
young, cute, sweet little old thang?  Now, why would you say
something insulting like that about her, varmint?"

     "You'll find out when you get into an argument with her
and temporarily start winning."

     Doc laughed in dismissal and reached for his beer with
his free hand.  "She don't need to be a lawyer to win an
argument with you, coyote breath.  All that's needed is five
working brain cells."

     I tried not to sound _too_ smug when I said, "Well, that
would explain why you always lose to me."  I needed to keep
Cheryl around to distract Doc.  Normally you could get him
drunker than Ricky Unger on free beer night and he'd not
leave me an opening as big as that one.

     Before Doc could think of a comeback, his cell phone
rang.  The conversation was long from that end but only
"Yeah," and "Uh huh," and "I'm over at Randy Long's.  I'll
be there in thirty," from this end.  He tucked the phone
inside his leather vest.  "Judson's got a cow gone breech."

     Cletus Judson was an aging small farmer who kept a
couple of horses, some hogs, and normally two dozen head of
cattle, though now he was down to half that.  The past two
years hadn't been kind to Cletus.  While he could survive
the loss of the calf, he couldn't afford to lose the cow,
too.

     Cheryl and I both rose with Doc.  She gave him a puzzled
look.  "So, what do you do?  About that, I mean."

     Doc shrugged.  "Normally you reach up inside her and
turn the calf around."  Cheryl's face said, "_Eeew!_" even
if her mouth didn't.  "Judson tried that, but it didn't
work.  The calf's wedged in there tighter than a starving
tick on a hound dog.  It ain't gonna be easy and may not be
good at the end."  He squeezed Cheryl, then downed the
remaining third of his beer.

     The _Eeew!_ look went away.  "So what will you do?"

     Doc gave me a knowing look.  "Pray for a miracle, I
suppose."

                               ~ ~ ~

     Summers wasn't worried about the news.  He was willing
to wait until Wednesday to decide.  I said that if he
decided to take Lariat and the problem was something worse,
I would replace the horse with another of his choice and
would handle the transportation.  He was happy, and then we
discussed the photo shoot to take place on Thursday of next
week.  The main topic of his ideas wasn't present with me.
She said she had business in the barn, grabbed an apple, and
left while I was dialing Summers.  He seemed exceptionally
disappointed that he'd missed a chance to speak with "Little
Missy."  In fact he was more concerned about that than he
was about the sick horse.  I hung up and then called Diego
to tell him about Summers' decision.

     Cheryl returned carrying something and took it to the
lab.  She joined me as I removed my feet from my desk and
hung up the phone.  "Jake said to remind you that it's
time," she said as I scribbled down a couple of reminders on
a note pad.

     I glanced at the clock.  "Time" was fifteen minutes ago.
Jake, however, had had a taste of how Summers stuck to you
like a burr and refused to be dislodged.  And it wasn't like
he didn't have anything else to do in the barns while he was
waiting for me.

     "Will you need me?"

     "I think Jake and I can manage.  Why?  You planning to
go riding or photographing or both?"

     She shook her head.  "I have work to do.  Can I use your
camera tool kit?"

     "You planning to do surgery on the Hasselblad to fix
something you broke that I don't know about yet?"

     She blinked.  Twice.  "No, Mister Uncute Smart Ass.  I
need some small tools."

     I resisted making a comment about getting herself some
middle school boyfriends instead of high schoolers, but I
think I put holes in my tongue while biting it.  "Go ahead.
Thanks for asking, but you're my assistant now and you can
use them whenever you want, as long as you don't use those
tiny screwdrivers to pry open doors or those small pliers to
tighten engine bolts."

     I saw the first blink and hastily added, "And speaking
of being my assistant, the photo shoot at the Summer Dude
Ranch is next Thursday.  We may need to print some more
model release forms, though Keith didn't mention any models
except you.  I don't know if your biggest fan is Keith
Summers or Doc Branson."

     Her left hand rose, palm up, and all but her index
fingers curled.  The tip of the extended finger caught me
under my chin and pushed up, so that I was staring directly
into her eyes.  I don't know where Grandma got that from,
but she passed it to Mom, who passed it to both daughters.
Obviously Mandy had also passed it along, too.  Maybe it's
in that DNA that only females pass along because Junior,
Tom, Jack, and I didn't get the trait.

     "Yes?" I said.

     Her voice was soft and dangerous.  "My biggest fan
better be Randy Long."

     "I meant your biggest fan after me."

     She smiled and removed her finger from under my chin.
It moved to the bottom edge of her crop-top and helped its
co-workers lift.  Two pink delights appeared, looking as
pert and frisky as they had been at the breakfast table.  "I
think you might have missed some syrup.  It feel like I'm
sticking to the cloth.  Would you please help me?"

     I told myself I shouldn't.  I really shouldn't.

     I told myself to shut up.  After all, she had said
"please."  A gentleman doesn't refuse a polite request for
help from a lady.

                               ~ ~ ~

     I thought I'd find Cheryl in the studio when I returned
to the house.  Instead, she was in the kitchen.  The dining
room table had been set with the good china and silverware.
She heard me enter and met me in front of the stairs.

     "Before I go clean up," I said, "I want to apologize for
being late for cooking dinner.  From the settings, it looks
like you are expecting something more than mac and cheese."

     Cheryl wrinkled her nose.  "When you wash that horseshit
off, you'll be able to smell dinner cooking.  But you're
right.  We don't use the good stuff for mac and cheese.
That would be uncouth, disgusting, presumptuous, and
ostentatious.  We use it for chili mac."

     She pinched her nose, leaned forward, and puckered.  As
I bent to kiss her, she said through her pucker, "Don't
touch me except with your lips."

     The suicidal part of me started to mention how much she
sounded like Mandy then.  The part that loves chili mac put
a paralysis hold on my vocal cords.

                               ~ ~ ~

     It wasn't chili mac.  It was Caesar salad followed by
roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, steamed mixed
vegetables, and fresh-baked frozen rolls and then apple pie
a la mode for dessert.   My lovely niece had been very busy
in my absence.  She also had a pre-dinner toast.  "To Doc
Branson.  May he have saved the calf and its mother."

     I don't know.  Maybe it was the sound of her voice,
maybe it was worry for Cletus, but I got so choked up I was
barely able to respond.  She must have noticed because she
didn't say anything else for a couple of minutes.

     We were in the middle of the salad when I remembered the
conversation that Diego and I had had with Bob Wagner, the
stables supervisor.  "Bob and Diego and I think we can move
Buena Vista and Cheryl's Blaze to Stable One on Friday.  Bob
has been waiting to do some work on it after Summers takes
the horses on Wednesday, so we won't move them before that
job is finished."

     Cheryl froze.  After several seconds she looked at me
with large eyes.  "Give up her place in the barn?" she asked
with a small quiver in her voice.

     I smiled gently.  "Try thinking of the barn as the
maternity ward.  Blaze is finally going home from the
hospital."

     "I guess."

     "They'll go into number six together for now.  That's
Buena Vista's home.  When Blaze is older, she'll get her own
stall, number seven.  Think of that as getting her own room,
next to her mother's but her own personal space."

     "Yeah.  I guess that does make sense."

     "We need the maternity ward anyway.  Did you hear what
Doc said about Cordillera?  Could be as early as next week
for her.  You'll have another little one to fuss over."

     Cheryl resumed eating.  "It won't take Blaze's place in
my heart."

     I smiled at her defensive tone.  "You know, Cheryl, in a
way, those are all my children out there, and I love them
all.  Not one of them has ever displaced another one in my
heart."

     She thought about that.  "Does that work for nieces,
too?  Suppose, say, Sydni comes to stay with you next
summer."

     "I already love Sydni as my niece.  You haven't
displaced her in my heart, and she hasn't displaced you.
Nor will she ever do so.  Not unless you turn out to be
Mandy's clone."

     "I guess that's reason enough for me to stay sweet and
loveable."

     "I hope so.  If it's not, let me know what else I need
to do to keep you this way."

     She thought about that, too, then rose to her feet.
Something about the "get up or else" look she flashed said I
was supposed to do the same.  When I did, she lifted her
glass and said, "To Uncle Randy and Niece Cheryl.  May they
always love each other in their hearts."

     "To Niece Cheryl and Uncle Randy," I responded.

     It wasn't until after she served dessert that I leaned
back in my chair and groaned.  "Damn it!  Doc's right.  I am
losing my mind."

     Cheryl frowned at me.  "He is?  When did he say that?"

     "Every trip out here but the last two, probably because
he knows I'll say something about my good sense in picking
nieces.  But I completely forgot.  Fourth of July weekend is
next week.  There's a big concert of local and regional
bands at one of the mountain resorts.  It starts Friday
evening and goes through Monday afternoon."

     "Concert?" she said, still frowning.

     "The ski slopes are sponsoring it to raise scholarship
money.  If you'd like to go, Summers' place is just off I-70
in the mountains east of Grand Junction.  We'd already be
partway there.  We could spend Thursday somewhere on the
road, maybe Glenwood Springs, get to the town on Friday, and
spend the afternoon sightseeing and photographing until the
concerts begin that evening.  Maybe the nearby ghost town is
worth a photo shoot.  If not, they're on a lake that's very
scenic."

     Cheryl's frown still hadn't changed.  "But what about
the ranch?"

     What further proof do you need that she wasn't Mandy
Kuczynski's daughter, she was Randy Long's niece?  Mandy
would be fretting over potential impacts to her social
calendar.  Cheryl was concerned about necessary ranch
duties.

     "Not a problem.  It runs for weeks when I'm gone on
photo shoots.  The guys take care of it.  They mentioned it
this afternoon, when Diego told me about the concerts.  He
said that they'd expected that I'd have plans for that
weekend with you and had already worked out a duty schedule
for who'd be here on what days."

     She shook her head.  "Don't they have their own plans?
What about their families?"

     "Snake doesn't care because he's between marriages and
his kids will be with their mother.  Diego wants to take his
kids to some family outing Sunday and Monday.  Jerry and
Toad want any excuse to keep from going to their in-laws.
Jake's visiting his parents on Friday and Saturday.  Bob's
wife understands, so he's flexible.  Shoe doesn't give a
damn, and Penny would likely appreciate something that would
keep Ricky from getting fired up and jailed before their
Fourth of July weekend swingers party.  They're all
responsible workers, despite how screwy the private lives of
some are, and they know that things like this are the reason
I pay more than other ranches do."

     Cheryl thought about that through half of her apple pie.
"Local and regional bands.  I guess that means mostly
shitkicker, doesn't it?"

     "I have no idea, but I would suspect there would be a
mix of tastes to accommodate everyone.  Otherwise it would
probably have a specific genre in the name, like the Winter
Park Jazz Fest.  You know.  The Centennial State Shitkicker
Symphonic Sessions.  But apparently they include school
groups, not just adults.  That should mean some variety."

     She spent the next two minutes playing with the ice
cream instead of eating.

     She finally put her spoon on the edge of the plate.
"You're sure the guys won't mind?"

     "Honey, it all was their idea."

     "Uncle Randy, if it's shitkicker, could we leave and do
something else instead?  Or would it cost too much for the
tickets and we couldn't afford to leave?"

     "If it's 'All shitkicker, all the time,' I'll be the one
dragging you out of there.  There aren't any tickets.  These
people think they can get enough money in donations during
the concert to cover expenses and fund scholarships, too, so
that's not an issue."

     "Oh.  Well,  if we leave, could we do, like, a sort of
photo safari on the way back, then?"

     "Sure.  It would be good practice for one I expect to
occur later in the month if this job comes through.  If not,
I have a couple of nature photography books in mind and
almost have enough shots for those.  We should be able to
finish that in a week, if things go right."

     "A nature photo shoot?  The two of us?"

     "Just Randy the Great and his Qualified
Student/Trainee/Assistant/Model/Smart Ass with the Cute Ass
Niece."

     "Cool!"

     We were finishing our pie when the grin appeared.  I was
sure of what was coming.  I was also sure that I'd be
disappointed if I was wrong.  _Wait a minute! I'm supposed
to be resisting, not anticipating!_

     She rose from her chair and removed her blouse, draping
it over the chair back.  She picked up her dessert plate,
scooped the last bite out of it, and shoved it into her
mouth.  I said "shoved" because of the speed, though it
wasn't like some kid trying to get in one more bite before
her big sister claimed the remainder.  It was speedy, but it
also artistically beautiful, much like a frisky antelope
bounding across the grazeland.

     She left the spoon on the table as she brought the plate
to me.  She used a fingertip to apply ice cream on one
nipple, then had me suck it clean before using it to smear
apple pie filling on the other.  "Tonight," she said in
Mandy's pompous lecturing voice, "we must determine whether
you like ice cream or apple pie filling as your favorite
topping."

     I love ice cream, but I also adore apple pies almost as
much as Jake Mattson.  She ran out of both before I was able
to decide.  "The pie filling.  Barely.  By a hair.  Tonight.
Tomorrow night, it might be a hair in the other direction."

     She gave me a quick kiss.  "Maybe we'd better check
again tomorrow night, then."  After I agreed, she
straightened.  "Don't get up.  I have a present for you."

     "A present?"

     "Yep."  She went to the china cabinet, opened a drawer,
and brought back a small, flat package.  "Fortunately, I
remembered seeing the wrapping paper and bows in the
basement. Unfortunately, all you have left is Christmas and
birthday paper.  I put generic wrapping paper on your
shopping list for our next trip to town.  Since your
birthday will be before Christmas, I used that paper."

     "So this is my birthday present?" I asked looking at the
neatly wrapped package that was smaller than its bright blue
bow.

     "No.  Well, maybe it's a pre-birthday present.  I
thought while I was making it that it would be a special
occasion gift."

     "Made it?  So that's why you needed the tools?"  She
smiled, and I asked, "What's the special occasion?"

     "That took a while.  I thought maybe we could celebrate
Doc's saving the calf and cow, but we haven't heard from
him.  So, I thought about different things before I
remembered that you sorta want me to clean up my language."

     _No clue._  "And...?  Wait.  My wanting you to clean up
your language is a special occasion?"

     "No.  The special occasion is that I've gone a whole day
without saying 'fuck.'  So, here's your present!  Happy
special occasion!"

     "Thank you," I said as I unwrapped the gift.  "But
shouldn't I be the one giving you a present for that
accomplishment?"

     The eyes were the only thing that changed, and you had
to be looking at them to see it, but the message was loud
and clear.  _Gotcha again!_  "Sure.  But you'll need that
first."

     I opened the box.  It was a braided hair necklace.
"It's lounge wear for around the house.  Now Mom can relax
because I won't have to see you naked."

     I thanked her with a kiss.  She straightened and said,
"Is it my imagination, or it is getting hot in here?  Maybe
I should slip into something comfortable."  She unfastened
and unzipped the shorts so that she could get her hand in
the pocket.  It wasn't until she pulled out her necklace
that I realized she wasn't wearing it.  I know a
photographer needs to be more observant, but Cheryl could
keep me from noticing a herd of tyrannosaurs marching
through the dining room.  Let's face it:  what she is or
isn't wearing isn't nearly as interesting as who's wearing
or not wearing it.

     She fastened the necklace in place, then shucked off her
shorts and draped them over a chair back before removing
what would have been thong panties if they'd had another two
square inches of cloth.  No question about how she hid those
from her mother.  You could put half a dozen in a ring box
and still have room left for a nice ring with a large
diamond.

     "Where on earth did you find those?" I asked as she put
them on the chair back with her shorts.

     "Do you know Victoria's Secret?"

     "Yeah," I said, not imagining that Cheryl could shop
there, or not without her mother, anyway.

     "Well, that's good, because you're not learning
Cheryl's."  She waved a finger at the necklace.  "Aren't you
going to try it on?"

     "Oh!  Sorry.  I guess I got distracted."

     _That_ look returned.  "Not yet," she said with a grin.
"Here.  Let me help you."  As she opened the clasp, she
said, "This is special.  It's braided from the manes of
Buena Vista, Cheryl's Blaze, and Randy's Cheryl.  I tried to
make it big enough that it wouldn't be too tight, but not so
big that it would be too loose.  Looks like I guessed close
enough."

     "Back up.  'Randy's Cheryl'?"

     "Don't you think it sounds better than 'Mandy's
Cheryl'?"

     My eyes searched her eager face.  "Yeah.  I do,
actually.  But, doesn't that make you sound like a horse?"

     She gave me a gentle kiss and purred, "Let me know when
you're ready to go for a ride in my saddle."

                               ~ ~ ~

     While Cheryl gasped for air, I said, "Last night's
seemed bigger."

     "Yeah," she panted, "but not any nicer."  As I turned to
lie beside her on my bed, she said, "Both were awesome!"
Her face began relaxing into that satisfied-woman-look that
said she'd truly enjoyed it.  "Give me a minute and I'll do
you."

     "Cheryl..."

     "Uncle Randy, I cleaned you up last night, remember?
It's not like I haven't touched it before."

     "Well, you were holding it through a wash cloth..."

     "Only in my right hand."

     The boner had been subsiding.  That restrengthened the
traitorous thing.  "Huh?"

     She rolled onto her right side, facing me.  "Well, I had
to move it around while I cleaned it the wash cloth with my
right hand.  Besides, I've sat on it before, with and
without a boner!  Think of it this way:  you've taught me
how to ride a horse and how to do photography, and now
you'll teach me to give a handjob!  Marcie Stargell gave
Jeff Dunbar one a couple of months ago and somehow hurt him
because she didn't know what she was doing.  I don't want to
hurt any of the guys."

     "Cheryl..."

     Her left hand disappeared somewhere down her body as her
right hand propped up her head and moved it forward until we
were nose-to-nose.  I thought she was reaching for me, but
no.  She apparently had to scratch an itch.  "The sooner you
let me do it, the sooner we can snuggle up and go to sleep.
Don't you like snuggling me while you sleep?"

     Before I could answer, her left hand reappeared.  If it
had been scratching, the itch was an internal one.  She
waved the finger under my nose.  The exotic aroma didn't
give me a boner because I already had one.  However, it
strengthened it to fine quality steel.  Then the fingertip
rested on my lower lip.  "Suck my finger?"

     "Cheryl, no."

     "When I asked if sucking my finger beats sucking guys,
you said you'd rather suck my finger anytime.  I believed
you.  And you said you should give me a present, too.  Well,
for my present, I want to learn how to give a handjob."

     I wasn't going to win.  I knew it.  So, I did the only
reasonable thing I could.  I capitulated.

     "The wrong way to do it is any way that causes pain.
The right way is anything else," I said after I sucked her
finger clean.  That was almost enough to cancel the need for
any hand job.  But I knew that wouldn't work.  She'd just
keep me awake until I could get it up again.

     "Like playing with myself," she said after processing
that.

     "Exactly.  You've probably noticed that different ways
feel good, while some feel better than others.  What feels
best to some of us isn't necessarily what feels best to
others, the same as it is with most of you."

     The lesson was brief because I was so worked up that I
was afraid it would end before I was through instructing.
Essentially, it was "This is what hurts," and "These are the
spots where it feels best."  After that it became literally
hands-on training as she sat up, firmly grasped the
situation, and began a series of "How is this?" exercises.

     After two or three minutes, I said to just go for it.
She got out of bed, walked around to the other side, and sat
down on my right.  Her left hand slid between her legs.  I
counted only two fingers plus her thumb.  The missing
fingers suddenly reappeared, and then one disappeared in my
mouth while the other rested on my upper lip.

     I may have trouble deciding whether I like apple pie
filling or ice cream better, but there's no doubt that my
favorite treat is the juice from a fresh, clean pussy.  I
grabbed fistfuls of the sheet and groaned.  To make matters
worse... er, better... er, well whatever, she wasn't firmly
gripping the shaft now but was holding it lightly, allowing
it to slip some in her fist.

     Her left hand moved away from my mouth as my hips
strained upward.  She caught most of it in that hand.  I'd
forgotten to tell her not to stop when I started spurting,
but she apparently had learned that from watching me.  When
I gasped, "Okay," she stopped rubbing, but didn't release
the shaft.  She obviously wanted to feel it shrinking.  I
knew that was the right guess when she leaned forward to
watch from a closer vantage point.

     She looked at the contents of her left hand, then licked
the pool.  And again.  I said nothing and watched as she
licked a third time, and then took the load in her mouth and
swallowed.  She didn't understand my comment, so I mumbled
it again.

     "Most guys like girls who swallow."  In retrospect, I
realize it wasn't the smartest thing to say, but fortunately
she didn't follow up on it.

     She smiled.  "I did good?"

     "You did awesome."

     "Cool!"  She went back to observing, but there wasn't
much else to see, though she did note, "You're still
dribbling."

     "Takes a while to get it all out of the pipes," I said
as she caught it and swallowed it, too.

     She smacked a couple of times and looked at me.  "I
guess you could freeze it, but it would never replace ice
cream.  I'll get a washcloth."  She bounced out of bed.

     This time I was awake enough to notice.  After I was
clean enough to meet her standards, she said, "All done!"
and kissed me on the underside of the head.

     "Cheryl!"

     She smiled at me and shrugged.  "At this point, does it
matter?"

     "It's the principle of the thing" sounded as hollow and
ridiculous to me as I was sure it did to her.  _No, I guess
it doesn't_, I decided while she was back in the bathroom.
After a couple of minutes she turned out the light and
appeared beside the bed.  Instead of lying down, she knelt
beside my left shoulder.

     "Uncle Randy, I just realized something.  I got to kiss
you good night.  It's only fair that you get to kiss me good
night, too."  Before I could process that, she lifted and
pivoted.  I found myself with a knee at each shoulder and a
delightfully shaved treat hovering above my chin.  "Pucker
up."

     I kissed her firmly on her clit.  Before I could stop
it, my tongue licked across it.  I mentally cursed it back
into place, kissed again, and then let her realize I was
finished while I wondered if I'd acquire another erection
before she could lie down.  And if so, what would happen
then?

     It was a needless worry because she dismounted and lay
on her stomach beside me.  "Are you going to sleep like
that?"

     "Uh huh."  I was barely conscious.

     She threw an arm over me and draped her leg over mine,
scooting it so that it was covering my exhausted appendage.
"I'll keep it warm for you," she said.  "Good night, Uncle
Randy.  I love you."

     "I love you too, Niece Cheryl."

     I was almost asleep when she sighed and whispered, "This
was the only fucking good idea Mother ever had."

                   [Continued in Part Three]

Copyright Russell Hoisington 2008


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