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«Uncles awful urge», Dump Jackson

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There were numerous reasons why Drew Livingston was concerned, numerous reasons why he was willing to do his sister and brother-in-law a favor and head over to Europe to try to find their teenage daughter, seventeen-year-old Amy Mitchell.

For one, he was due for a three-week vacation anyway, and he'd planned to spend it either at Majorca or Corsica. Now, he'd have to spend much of his time running around from city to city, trying to track the girl down.

But he was far from unhappy about the prospect. For what Amy's parents didn't know was that her uncle was more than just fond of her. Ever since she was a little girl, Drew had pictured what she'd look like when she got older. And all of his dreams and expectations had blossomed into a vision of a lithe and nubile female girl-child, not yet a woman and no longer a mere child, but a combination of the two which made him fawn over her every time he saw her.

She had emerged from her cocoon to become a butterfly of his imagination, a succulent young vision of lusty sexuality. The girl was everything Drew had always wanted her to be, everything and more. And though he lusted after her, and had since she had reached puberty and had begun to sprout fur on her tender private parts, he had never been able to consummate his desires and sexual appetites.

How could he, when he rarely if ever saw Amy without the company of her parents. So he was relegated to the position of the doting bachelor uncle, the family eccentric who refused to get married and give up his independence, who led a playboy's life in New York City without the boring day-to-day responsibilities of supporting a wife and children.

But that, needless to say, didn't preclude the fact that Drew was so turned on to his teenage niece that she peopled his dreams, wet and dry, consuming him with the image of what it would be like to take her up in his arms and teach her all the things thirty-five years of virile and studly manhood had taught him.

No one, not his close friends nor his business associates, knew of Drew Livingston's secret needs, the constant letch he had for adolescent girls. Oh, he often went to bed with women his own age or women in their twenties. But it was a rare occurrence indeed when he found himself wrapped up around the lush and tender body of a teenager.

And of all the girls he had seen and known in his life, none could even begin to compare with his niece. Amy was possessed of a vitality and raw untarnished youthfulness that he found utterly and absolutely enchanting.

Many were the nights when he found himself lying awake in bed, thinking of her, picturing her in his mind, undressing her too and then planning all the countless and diverse sexual acts they would one day perform together. But seventeen years had passed, the last two or three being the most painful ones in particular for Drew.

For as she had approached sexual maturity, as she had evolved from an awkward and gangly child to a fetching teenager, he had become more and more turned on to her, barely able to control himself and keep his hands off of her whenever he went to visit her and her parents in their suburban home on the outskirts of the city.

Just before she'd gone off to Europe for Easter vacation, he had been able to arrange a little bon voyage party for the two of them. Actually, he had some of his friends, married couples as well as single men and women, over to his plush bachelor apartment for cocktails.

Amy was the guest of honor and when she had arrived he hadn't been able to believe his eyes. She wore seemingly nothing more than an ankle-length jersey sheath, a kind of polo shirt dress that clung and rustled to her body.

Her long tawny blonde hair hung down over her back and shoulders and when she walked when she laughed even, her ripe young breast jiggled back and forth and up and down beneath their flimsy and revealing jersey covering.

Even many of Drew's friends were visibly impressed by his niece's physical and sexual comeliness. But none more than her uncle, who could not keep his eyes off of her all that Sunday afternoon. When they were finally alone together, just before he took her to the train station to return home, he had the greatest of difficulty keeping his hands off of her.

And it was on that occasion, the last time in fact that he had seen his niece, that he almost felt she was on the verge of reciprocating his sexual attraction. She held onto his arm in the taxi and he felt like a kid again, out on his first date.

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