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Siobhan spoke but little, and what little she uttered sounded as if she was speaking with her mouth full, an appropriate simile as it were. Uncle James on the other hand, kept up a steady conversation, exclaiming his pleasure and directing her, “Suck the end ... cup my sack ... stroke me...” Even as my boobies stiffened and my quim moistened at the thought, my eyes welled up for no reason at all. Somehow, I had come to think that we had developed a special relationship, and that I was becoming more to him than a distant cousin. That I had no logical basis for such a belief made but little impression on my emotions, and I had to bite my lip to remain silent.Eventually my uncle gave out with a loud groan, and a minute later, Siobhan made her first clear comment of the evening. “Delicious, darling! What say I do that a little more, and then we can holster this pistol somewhere else?” At this my uncle failed to talk, but shortly thereafter the bed began to shake and move most alarmingly,. The narrow path meant we had to walk in single file, he carried the rope across his shoulder and chest and most of the gear in his backpack while I brought up the rear with the lighter gear in my backpack along with a bottle of water and another of fresh fruit juice. We’d done this route before, and headed up to a spot where a large rock stuck out of the hillside with a flat top. It would be nice to spend time on the flat top. We reached the base of the rock and while I belayed him he climbed up to the top so he could do the same for me. 15 strenuous minutes later, I joined him at the top and pulled up the backpacks on the rope. I dusted my hands and wiped them on my jeans (I know, very un-ladylike). I spread out my hands, inviting him into them, and he obliged. We hugged, and I felt so wanted and protected in his strong arms. I turned my face up to him, and we kissed, gently at first and then with increasing passion. I could feel my nipples harden and poke into his chest. Could he.
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