The Road Less Traveled – Chapter 5

“Dude!” I stared across the table at Gabe. I had no idea how messy an eater he was when spaghetti was on the table. Marinara streaked down his chest, where noodles now devoured, had landed. Even his chin was smeared in red. “You look like an extra in the Walking Dead, covered in blood.”

He giggled before stabbing another forkful of pasta into his mouth. Once Gabe swallowed the mouthful, he said, “Spaghetti’s my favorite. Mom fixed this at least once a week.”

I gave him a baleful stare, “Must’ve been when she needed you to take a shower. You’re a mess, you know.”

It didn’t help he looked so adorably cute, still in just his shorts. I took a napkin and rubbed at a drip of red on his bare, pale chest. He blushed as I scrubbed at the sauce. Finally, I licked my thumb and rubbed it directly on the stain until only pink skin remained. The flush on Gabe’s cheeks matched the heat on my face as I returned my attention to my plate.

While my stomach fluttered at the touch. Gabe glanced at his plate, then gave me a silly grin before shoveling more pasta into his gaping maw.

Afterwards, I showed him how to load the RV’s pint-sized dishwasher before finally tossing my arm around his bare shoulders, “Alright, Mr. Messy-eater, tonight you get a shower. Come on.”

Since leaving his mom’s, Gabe hadn’t come into my bedroom except once to grab a change of clothes. When I caught a flush on his cheeks as I guided him between the bed and the TV and cabinets, I wondered about how strict my sister had been about privacy issues.

“Come on through, Gabe. It’s not like you haven’t seen your mom’s bedroom or bathroom before. Right?”

He stopped at the doorway to the bathroom and glanced between the two spaces, “Mom made me knock before going into her bedroom. But the reason she rented our house was so I would have my own bathroom.”

More like so Abby could have her privacy. I shook my head and pulled a clean towel from a closet and tossed it to Gabe, “Well, that’s not going to work around here, is it?”

More rose on his adorable cheeks as he shook his head, “There’s only one shower.”

I smirked, “That wouldn’t work here. Otherwise, you’d smell like shit.”

He giggled at my casual use of profanity. I continued, “It’s just the two of us for the next couple of months, sharing a small space. There’s not much room for privacy, is there?”

Gabe shook his head and glanced back into my bedroom, no doubt wondering how he was supposed to take a shower in full view of my room.

I stepped around him and pulled out a sliding door a few inches, which was built into the wall between the bedroom and the bathroom, “Here’s a pocket door separating this bathroom from the bedroom. That’s about the best we can do for respecting each other’s privacy.”

The wheels behind Gabe’s eyes turned while his features remained guarded, “That’s cool. Mom was always going on about respecting her privacy. Aunt Sydney, how much, um, privacy do you want?”

I thought I was clear. But the look on the boy’s face said I hadn’t. “Abby and I aren’t the same person, Gabe. I don’t know why she makes a big deal out of it. After all, we’re family, and I want us to be comfortable around each other, and I don’t really want to get worked up about a bunch of rules around privacy. Do you?”

He chewed on his lower lip as he shook his head, “N-, not really. They’re her rules. She doesn’t care that I sleep in my underwear; just that I respect her privacy and, um, her rules.”

How the hell did Abby expect me to keep all her rules? I didn’t want to spend the next couple of months walking around my nephew on pins and needles. Sure, we deserved enough privacy to bathe in privacy. But the rest of it seemed like a lot of trouble when we live in such close quarters. I pulled the pocket door closed. The bathroom was spacious for an RV, but we were inside each other’s personal space. I replied, “When this door is closed, I promise I’ll leave you alone in here. I expect the same courtesy.”

I slid the door open and gave Gabe more space, “On this side of the bathroom door, there’s not much privacy. Wear what you want to bed. I don’t care if you wear underwear or sleep naked. Before you moved in, that’s what I did.”

Gabe’s eyes grew round, “You slept naked?”

I realized I’d said more than I intended, “I slept in my underwear.”

I don’t know why it bothered me, but that wasn’t entirely the truth and I didn’t want to lie to Gabe, even if it was a little white lie. I added, “Well, usually. Although a few times I slept in the buff.”

Gabe draped the towel over the top of the shower door, “But you’ve slept in pajamas since you picked me up. Why?”

Aside from a pair of pajama shorts that barely covered my upper thighs, I’d been wearing t-shirts. Before that, it was panties and maybe a cami. Sometimes, just panties. That’s one of the few perks of small-breasted women. The girls don’t get in the way if they’re uncovered. “Why? I wasn’t sure how you’d react to seeing your aunt in her underwear.”

My stomach fluttered at the way the red flooded back into Gabe’s cheeks; there was something incredibly cute about it. He couldn’t look me in the eye when he said, “It’s, uh, okay. You’re super cool, so whatever is fine with me.”

I wanted to lean into him and plant a kiss on his rosy red cheek. Instead, I moved back into the bedroom and pulled the pocket door closed and let Gabe have his privacy. Before I could get comfortable, his unbroken voice came through the door, “Aunt Sydney! I can’t get the water to flow. It’s making a weird noise.”

Damn. I hadn’t considered all the buttons and knobs would confuse him. I hadn’t even gotten comfortable on the bed when I jumped off and came over to the packet door, “There’s a lever where you’d expect to find a knob. You see it?”

“Yeah. I tried it. That’s when the pipe started shaking. It’s not gonna break, is it?”

I couldn’t quite envision the problem, but didn’t want to pay to get something fixed if he broke it. “You need help?”

There was a long pause. His voice warbled, “Yeah.”

Sliding the door open, I went to the shower door. Gabe faced the outer wall, away from my prying eyes, but still giving me a perfect look at his boney rump. Skinny like me, he didn’t have enough meat back there to have a bubble butt, but to see him like that made the fluttering return in my stomach. I opened the door and realized my mistake. The last time I took a shower, when I shaved my legs, I hit a button that cut the flow of water. It was a water saving feature. I reached in and pushed the button.

Gabe squawked as water from the rainfall showerhead cascaded over him. He half-turned to adjust the hot/cold knob and in that moment, between pressing the button and closing the door, I glimpsed his midsection. It was but a fraction of a second. But enough to see his penis hanging down in front of a small ballsack. It was over too quickly to determine his size. But long enough to stir my curiosity and send the fluttering in my stomach into overdrive.

I settled back onto my bed and turned on the TV, eager to push that image from my mind. I found a mood station playing the best of pop music. I liked easy listening when I worked in bed. Evenings were for email. I had a few fan emails, which I ignored, focusing my attention on the latest art from my cover artist. The plot was about a hedge fund manager who used his wealth to seduce the heroine. The picture showed the two making out on a desk. Behind the desk was a window with a stylized New York skyline. The office was pirate themed to go with the bad boy image of a corporate raider.

I fired off an email to the artist, including the back matter I wanted to include on the book’s back cover. She did excellent work and her turnaround time made her a hit with other romance authors. If past experience was anything to go by, I’d have the finished cover before my editor gave me her final edits.

The water cut off, and Gabe moved around in the bathroom. I could imagine him, towel wrapped around his narrow waist, standing in front of the foggy mirror over the sink to comb his hair.

I swore under my breath; what the hell was going on with me, having sensual thoughts of my nephew? How weird was that? Gabe looked nothing like my college boyfriend, and neither of them looked anything like the gorgeous hunks in my novels. My favorite image of a hunk was a smooth chested man with wide shoulders and narrow hips, a thick cock and closely trimmed pubes. In my fantasies, I liked the idea of him taking me and having his way with me. Of course, in real life, that broke down to me using a vibrator while pinching my nipples to get me off.

The door rattled and Gabe stuck his head through the opening. An embarrassed smile creased his face, “I, um, forgot anything to change into, Aunt Sydney.”

Thoughts of sexy hunks evaporated, I pointed to the drawers where he’d stored his clothes, “Go ahead, sweetie. Unless you want me to get them for you.”

His face turned beat red and I couldn’t help wondering what got into him. What’s the big deal about going across my bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist?

“Um, okay. But don’t stare.”

With that, he slid the pocket door wide. He had draped the towel across the door of the shower. And Gabe was naked. Involuntarily, I stared at my nephew for those few seconds before his hands cupped his genitals. My earlier rushed assessment was right. He was smooth, like a little boy. His penis was long enough to hang loosely in front of a ballsack nestled tightly against his pelvis. The last memories I had of Gabe naked were when he was still a little kid, maybe six or seven. Back then, his penis had been no bigger than a macaroni noodle. Now, with enough time to see it properly, I figured it to three flaccid inches.

He wasted no time hurrying across the room. He pulled a drawer out and retrieved a pair of white briefs. When Gabe moved to pull the fresh underwear up, the reflection on the TV screen gave me another shot at his preadolescent cock. My stomach was a riot of fluttering butterflies by the time his waistband snapped into place.

He sent a baleful glance my way, “You looked, Aunt Sydney.”

The whole thing seemed absurd. I pushed my feelings away and laughed, “Oh, sweetie, I thought you were going to come out with the towel wrapped around your waist. Why didn’t you?”

Gabe’s eyes bugged at that. “I-, I didn’t think about that. Gosh, you must think I’m stupid.”

I rolled to the edge of the bed and grabbed his hand, “Not at all. I guess I figured you wanted to see if I was serious about the whole naked thing.”

He smiled through his blush, “Yeah, right. I’m an idiot.”

I hated to see him beat himself up over something so trivial. “No, Gabe. That was really brave of you.”

The doubt in his eyes was more than I could stand. No nephew of mine, especially one so cute, should feel like that. I ratcheted up compliment, “In fact, you’ve got a very nice body and you should be proud of it.”

He squeaked, “Really?”

I did then what I’d thought about doing in the bathroom. I stood and gave him a kiss on his blushing cheek. “Yep. Now, go on and get ready for bed. It’s my turn for my shower.”

The lights were out up front by the time I closed the pocket door and undressed for my shower. My emotions were messed up. I told myself whatever I needed to convince myself that little kiss on Gabe’s cheek was Aunt-like. But my unsettled stomach told a different story. I hadn’t had nerves like this since college and that horrible night with Kyle.

I grabbed a clean towel from the closet and stepped into the shower and turned the water on. I took some bodywash and a loofa and was soon scrubbing breasts that could only charitably be called perky. They needed more breast tissue to rise to the level of perky. Still, my tits, such as they were, were what nature endowed me with. It wasn’t long before I flicked and rolled my nipples to an erect hardness. They were rubbery under my thumb and forefinger and around the same size as an eraser on the end of a pencil.

Like a thousand times before, I imagined being held by some romanticized version of Blackbeard. He held me close to his bare chest before ripping off my bodice. It was my fantasy, so my tits were fuller, truly perky in their perfection. And the object of Blackbeard’s hands. It wasn’t me squeezing my tits, but Blackbeard. It was my fantasy, so I relished how this idealize perfect man forced himself on me.

I sat on the tile bench and slid my finger into my slit, pushing through my labia. Instead of my finger, I imagined it was Blackbeard’s enormous cock rubbing against my clit. Both my hands were working me toward an orgasm. It had been too long since my last release. One hand rubbed against the stubble of my shorn bush while flicking my clit. The other, my index finger pushed deep into my pussy.

I lost myself in the tremors working their way through my body. I pulled my index finger out and slowed the massage against my clit with the other. I loved to imagine Blackbeard whispering about the abuse he wanted to inflict on me.

Both hands sped up again, and I closed my eyes. I pretended to be limp, held in his powerful, calloused hands. The thrumming of my body told me I was closing in on an orgasm and I moved my fingers faster still. I bit my lower lip as I felt a moan come up my throat. I couldn’t let Gabe hear.

Just his name was enough. Another spasm clenched my pussy, trapping my index finger inside. Blackbeard faded into the mist of my mind. In his place was Gabe, holding me close, rubbing his cock along the lips of my wet pussy, as another orgasm shook me. My eyes flew open even as I shook in the throes of another, more powerful orgasm. I was alone in the shower. Juices flowed from between my legs, washed away by the waterfall showerhead.

This was crazy. No, I was going crazy. I didn’t have feelings for Gabe. For God’s sake, he’s my nephew. Sure, I loved him. But not like what I felt a moment before in the shower. No fucking way.

When I finished with my shower, I dried off. Whatever just happened was nothing. It couldn’t be anything. I might write about women who enjoyed the rough treatment dished out by their bad boy billionaires, but that was pure fiction. There was no reality where I could possibly do anything sexual with Gabe.

I wrapped the towel around my chest as I muttered below my breath, “Get a grip, girl. You’re just feeling compassion for what Gabe’s going through. That’s it, nothing more. Now, stop talking to yourself and get to bed.”

The RV was dark when I opened the pocket door and left the bathroom. I had convinced myself the lapse was just momentary. It meant nothing. I grabbed a change of underwear and a pink cami and in the darkness, let the towel fall away. That I felt a little naughty standing beside my bed naked had nothing to do with Gabe. That’s what I told myself.

The moment passed. I put my underwear and cami on and crawled under the covers. My mind was a riot of conflict. It didn’t mean a thing. I was a long time falling asleep.

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