Here I am at the start of my sixties, looking back on special moments in my life. Unquestionably the best gift I have ever been given was my niece’s virginity.
She was nearly eighteen, had just finished sixth form and was ready to go off to college. A sweeter girl you could not wish to imagine. Bubbly and beautiful, full of the exuberance of youth, yet somewhat sad because she still had to find out about sex. Oh yes, there were still girls like that then. I was staying at their house, her dad was my brother, for a family get-together. Let me call her by her middle name, Christine, for the purpose of this story. Well, Christine had confided in me that she and her boyfriend had wanted to get it together, but it just hadn’t worked out. As a result, she was feeling bad about herself and sore at the world in general. You need to understand that although I had been married, as the result of a stupid affair I had started and finished almost immediately, that marriage had collapsed. Christine was looking for experience, I wasn’t getting any – it seemed a reasonable thing to offer to help her do something about the situation. Of course, it wasn’t as bald and simple as that. I had to create the opportunity by offering to take this truculent teenager off my brother and sister-in-law’s hands for a week or so during the summer holidays before she went off to college. Imagine my surprise when both they and she agreed. So, there I was, some eighteen years older than Christine, fancying her like any red-blooded man would, and wondering just how this was going to unfold. My immediate concern was to break down any barriers of shyness because I figured that once that was done, the rest should follow quite simply. Naive? You might say so, but you have to remember, I really couldn’t see too clearly beyond this lovely girl who was half my age. Through her teens I had watched her grow up, losing her childishness and developing into a young woman. Although her only uncle, if there had been others I’m sure I would have been her favourite. We had always been close, going for walks with the dogs, speaking to each other more like friends than relatives, sharing silly (and private) jokes that nobody else seemed to understand. We would often walk, hand-in-hand or with her arm linked through mine, enjoying the closeness of one another. But there had never been any question of any contact other than that – that is until now. But contact there would have to be if I was going to help her. The thing that was really worrying her was the age-old worry of doing ‘it’ for the first time. Was I building a mountain out of a mole hill? Just give it to her, plain and simple – job done! Well, yes – but at the same time, no. You see, I wanted better for my little Christine. I wanted her to discover the joy of sex. I wanted it to be something more than just a sordid little experience where she lost her cherry. I wanted it to be something she would treasure, something on which she would build throughout her adult life, something she would smile about and remember the pleasure of her first time. I suppose our social circumstances had something to do with the dilemma I faced. Although we like to think that class no longer exists in England it, of course, still does and is alive and kicking. Her family, and I myself for that matter, could best be described as middle England. Professional occupations, owning our own well-appointed homes, and maintaining standards and a lifestyle that openly demonstrated we were not wondering where our next meal was coming from. I know it sounds ridiculous today in 2010, but back then this was certainly quite a situation on which I was embarking – well, for me anyway. We drove down to my house, about a hundred miles away from where she lived. The car journey was filled with frivolous conversation and also some more serious moments in which I must have sounded like a boring old fart, speaking of trust and confidence, but with no real substance. Bless her, she humoured me. So I was neither embarrassed nor uncomfortable when we arrived. You’ll laugh when I tell you I persuaded her to take a warm bath after the journey. I even suggested she left the door open and I would come in and chat to her. But she did what I suggested, so there I found myself, sitting on the edge of the bath, my niece trying to hide herself beneath the water and the bubbles. She looked so beautiful yet so vulnerable there. I simply wanted to cuddle her, but settled for rubbing soap onto her shoulders and tracing patterns in the suds on her shoulders, and onto her neck and arms. The touch of her soft skin dispelled any doubts I may have had. The bulge in my pants was massive, but I was afraid to slip my hands beneath the surface of the water to discover her body further. I took heart from the way she seemed to be relaxed beneath my touch. Still shy, but the initial tension had gone from her shoulders and her voice as we chatted. I massaged her shoulders. It had been quite a while since I had felt a woman’s flesh beneath my touch, and I was desperate not to ruin this situation. It would have been so easy to succumb to impatience, but don’t they say ‘everything comes to those who wait’? It took all my self-control to tell her to go and get dressed. Then, I would take a bath in the same water. I left the bathroom for a few minutes, and returned when she had vacated it. I left the door open and called to her to come and do for me as I had done for her. I think it was a bit of a surprise for her to find the body of a man in the water rather than the body of a teenager. First hurdle successfully negotiated. My darling Christine did for me exactly what I had done to her – no more and no less. But it did not escape my notice that her touch on my arms and shoulders became less hesitant as each moment passed. Her hands accustomed themselves to the touch of a man beneath her fingers, and (although I say it myself) I think she actually took a pleasure in that. I despatched her to fix some coffees while I got out of the bath and dried myself. Rather than get dressed I simply donned my bath robe and went downstairs. We sat drinking our coffees and it just seemed natural to stroke her as she sat beside me. Through her top I could feel those same shoulders, but now knowing what they felt like beneath the fabric of her clothes was making me impatient. Hidden by my robe my dick was standing bolt upright. When standing to attention it is not exactly what one might describe as immodest. You can imagine, therefore, I didn’t wish her to take fright at this stage. It just wasn’t going to lie down and keep a low profile. That was out of the question. What was certain was that it would very soon now break from cover and display itself in all its glory. The risk was too much. Not a moment for indecision! I stood up and caught her by the hand. “I’m going upstairs, and I‘m taking you with me up those stairs. You’ve got between here and there to decide whether you will follow me into my room!” There, I’d said it, and was already on my way up the stairs. She was right there behind me, her hand still in mine. At my bedroom I released her hand and went in, praying she would follow me. I don’t know what went through her mind as we walked up the stairs together. I have no idea if there were doubts, or fears, or worse. What was important, however, was that as I turned around once I had gone through my bedroom door, there she was, right behind me. It was with relief that I wrapped her in my arms and drew her close to me. She felt fragile as I held her to my body, but there was no struggle as I clasped her against me. My hands found their way beneath her top and lifted it up and over her head. Those breasts, clad in a white lacy bra, were now pressed against me. I undid the fastening at the back and slipped the flimsy covering away. Soft and tender, her breasts nestled in my hands, her nipples quickly standing erect. I later discovered she was so inexperienced that no one else had ever undressed her. I kissed her breasts and took her nipples between my lips. They were the most beautiful nipples I had ever experienced. They demanded that I paid them exquisite attention with my fingers, my lips and even my teeth. All the while she sighed gently but contentedly. She offered no protest when I lifted her onto the bed and laid myself against her, still dressed in my robe. I slid the rest of her few clothes off, my fingers discovering the wetness of her slit. At first she was a little tense to feel the intimacy of my discovery, but quickly relaxed and allowed my fingers to part her lovely lips. Now at this point I am ashamed to say that the patience I had resolved to exercise was all but lost. My dick was bursting to get into her, and I simply let him find her, probing her lips with his head and pressing against her tightness. I just couldn’t hold myself back. She felt me pressing against her and pressed herself forwards to meet me. This happened a few times and then my dick burst through her hymen. Now, the only honourable thing (as I thought it at the time) that I did was that I paused to give her chance to get used to the situation. She wasn’t exactly crying, but I knew it had hurt when my dick had popped her. She gasped as she tried to take account of what had happened, and was still to happen. To her credit she pressed forwards again and I gently slipped more deeply into her slit. Then her body seemed to gain control of itself and she pressed herself against me and I responded with gentle, but firm thrusts of my own. In no time I was fucking her and she was enjoying being fucked. Some people will say I have always been lucky. In this case I was especially fortunate. She had told me earlier she had been on the pill for a couple of months in readiness for her and her boyfriend sleeping together. This had never happened, but she had continued with the pill. What this meant, of course, was that I could take her all the way. This I did, and discovered her delight at feeling my hot sperm flow into her. We fucked several times that first day. Each subsequent time it became less fucking and more making love. By the time night fell I knew I was besotted with her. Her body, her looks, her voice, her mind, her jokes – everything. I wanted everything she had to give me, and indeed, she gave me everything. She gave me the joy of teaching her how to suck my dick and swallow my sperm. She gave me the joy of letting me eat her pussy (but I later found out she didn’t like this as much as sucking me). But principally, she gave me her virginity and her innocence. I had wanted to give her something to treasure. I never thought that I would receive something from her that I have come to regard as so valuable. The gift of her virginity let me take her over the threshold into womanhood. It set her off on a journey where she has enjoyed sex to the full, from myself and other fortunate men. I feel I am indeed lucky and truly blessed in having been the one who helped her take that first step.
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