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Jen

Asian

To my gentle readers: I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve contributed. Life manages to get in the way. I do have some more material that I hope to share in the near future. I hope you enjoy this and aren’t too disappointed that I remained true to what happened. Please feel free to vote, comment or contact me. I love to hear from you.

Jen

This whole thing started out about as innocently as you could imagine. Jen had updated her profile picture on social media and I ‘liked’ it. My wife Paula has a stepbrother and Jen is his daughter so she’s technically Paula’s niece, but I guess you could call her my niece as well. I don’t know what else you could call her but pretty. I’ve known her now for 34 years and through family events have watched her grow up from an 8-year old kid to the divorced mom of 42.

Jen always had big eyes, she really had to grow into them and they’re still big. Think Jennifer Love Hewlitt’s eyes and it would be a close match to Jen. Except for the dark hair and eyes, Jen doesn’t otherwise look like JLH, but she is still attractive.

So, since we’re related and such when I joined social media she was suggested as a friend. I offered and she accepted. We are both very kind to each other’s postings and like each others photos. So, like I said, she updated a photo of herself drinking from a famous-Seattle-coffee-company cup. Everyone liked it, including me, but I had to comment, “The cup hides your pretty smile.”

She commented back, “Thanks.”

Pretty simple right? Everything totally appropriate. Acceptable communication between an uncle and niece. But I guess, you can find the beginning of everything somewhere, and that’s where I found the beginnings of what later I’m sure many would view as far from acceptable conduct between an uncle and his niece. At least some would say that. We never did. I know I came to believe that it was wrong, but that only comes from experience, and thinking with the big head and not the little head.

Now, like I also said, Jen is divorced, for like a LONG time. Maybe 10 years. I don’t know if she’s too picky, or there just aren’t enough guys out there that meet her requirements. I don’t actually have any idea of her relationship needs, but a normal chick of her age and situation would probably want a single or divorced guy from perhaps 3 years younger to 10 years older than her, financially at least stable, preferably sound, weight and height within at least normal, preferably fit/athletic range, and likes kids. (especially hers) I’d think sober, maybe social drinker, disease free, average or better intelligence, heterosexual. (although I have no ideas what her fantasies could be) You get the picture.

So for whatever reasons over these last 10 years, boyfriends for Jen were very rare. She always seemed ok with it. I mean, it’s not like we hang with her 24/7, but when we saw her she never seemed depressed about the dating scene. She always said how many losers and liars were on the dating sites. I felt bad for her. She was wasting 10 of the most valuable years of her life she will ever have. At get-togethers I would often find myself near her and I strived to always be someone who would listen and empathize. Hello and goodbye hugs/kisses were always totally proper, but that didn’t mean I didn’t treasure that very brief moment of bodies and lips touching. I wondered if she ever felt the same. At the pool or beach I always enjoyed looking her over, but I have no idea if she ever felt the same towards me. I guess you could say I had the hots for her, but they were always well hidden and my conduct totally appropriate.

The next day I got a photo with caption from her. She had the cup below her chin and now had a bright smile. The caption read, “Better?”

“Much Better!”

So I thought that would be the end of it. Until the next day when another photo arrived. A selfie in the car. Jen’s smiling.

“Just beautiful, but I sure hope you took that while stopped.”

“I did. I’m the safety girl.”

“Isn’t that a line from the Julia Roberts character in ‘Pretty Woman’?

“OMG! You’re right!”

“That’s OK, you look just as good as her.”

“I wish! But thanks. Now I’m so embarrassed, copying a hooker.”

“Well, if you had to copy something from a hooker, her speaking would be the least I’d worry about.”

“LOL!”

The next day another smiling selfie arrived.

“Another bright smile!”

“Thanks!”

This continued, – here let me check the date – for about a month at this level. Just a smiling selfie and I’d acknowledge it. I was running out of positive adjectives! She would thank me. Somewhere late in this month she asked me to send her a selfie back. Well, I had to make sure I had as least combed my hair and didn’t have food in my teeth, but I did. She thanked me for it. She still sent me one every day.

Until one late Saturday night. It was almost 11 and she hadn’t sent one. At first I blew it off. Everything comes to an end sometime. Maybe she’s tired of it. Maybe her phone bursa escort died. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she’s on a date. So then I’m like, don’t be a pest, but then got to thinking the worst. Maybe check to make sure she’s not kidnapped. Crazy right?

I send her a message, “Missed your smile today. Hope everything is OK. Don’t want to be a pest.”

No reply. Should I worry? She’s a grown woman. I’m not her husband, in fact, I’m nothing. Who would I call? Her son? Her mother? Paula? The police?

“Uhhh, Officer, you see my niece sends me a selfie every day and today she didn’t.” Like THAT would go over well.

At 1:15am she messaged back. I hadn’t silenced the phone like I usually did so I heard it.

“Sorry. I got all frantic getting ready to go out, and then was out and the music was loud and it slipped my mind.”

“Glad you are OK.”

“Missed it huh?”

“Of course. One of the highlights of my day.”

“You’re too sweet.”

I got a weird sense that she almost added, “if only.” I don’t want to talk myself up too much, but I’m a nice guy, have always done right by my family, keep myself in shape, have always been nice to her and have always been, shall we say, significantly more financially well off than she and her folks. If I were to guess, if I was in the market I would check off every box on what I’d guess are her requirements list. Every one except I’m not available, and I exceed the upper age number.

Of course, it’s possible she has hidden ‘Daddy Issues’ and is attracted to older guys, but historically her boyfriends haven’t been significantly older than her.

But maybe in her mind I don’t fall into that category. I keep fit. I think I could maybe pass for younger.

I press my luck just a little. “Why don’t you send me one right now?”

“Right now? I look like hell.”

“I doubt that.”

“I just got in. I was getting undressed.”

“Oh, sorry. Forget it then. I didn’t realize.”

Seconds later her selfie arrived. It wasn’t sexting (yet) maybe more like a boudoir shot. She was undressed, holding her bra over her chest, so you couldn’t see anything and she had her head down, looking up with those big, big eyes.

“So gorgeous. I won’t even deduct points for no smile. You look smoking!”

“Well, thanks. I’m glad someone finds me attractive. The losers at the club tonight all had their eyes on these young chicks. In fact, all the guys had their eyes on the young chicks.”

“They have no idea of what they are missing out on. Those young chicks are probably airheads, you have so much more to offer.”

There was a long pause and I thought she had gone to bed. Turns out, she was typing.

“They like them dumb. Until one day it’s like a switch goes off. I’m not out every weekend, but you see and hear about it. ‘Oh, Joey has finally found a girl to settle down with.’. Never mind that Joey is like 38, had been in the clubs since he was 18, slept with every chick he could talk into spreading her legs, liked them dumb so he could boss them around and never kept a girl longer than a month. Now, all of a sudden he’s marrying Candice who is 33, had been doing almost the same shit as Joey since she was 15 and now she too is ready to settle down. Besides, her biological clock is ticking!”

Wow. It sounded like Jen was really wound up and needed to vent.

“I don’t know what to say. I still think they don’t know what they are missing out on”

“Nothing to say, but goodnight!” she added a bunch of hearts.

The next day I got my selfie. She had her hand over her eyes with a small smile. The caption said, “I’m so embarrassed about going off on you last night.”

“It was nothing. Glad I could be a sounding board. It’s worth it for the smiles, but I must add, hiding your big beautiful eyes behind your hand is like, uh, horrible. I can’t think of the term. Darkening a sunrise?”

“Better?” New shot with her smiling face unhidden.

“Much better. There’s the girl we want to see.”

“Thanks.”

So the daily selfies continued for about another two weeks. I think near the end of the month something a little different arrived on a Friday.

Two full-length shots. Jen in two different outfits. The caption read, “Decisions, decisions.”

“Not easy, you look great in both.”

And she did. One was a blouse and skirt outfit that clung to her very well. The skirt was pretty damn short, the other was the ever-popular ‘Little Black Dress’ which while not quite as short was sleeveless and low cut.

“We are celebrating my carpool friend Zoey’s birthday at the club tonight.”

“I’d say the blouse/skirt then. This should be more casual and the LBD is crazy awesome but too fancy for a birthday. Save that for some affair when you want to floor the guys.”

“Really? Thanks. You’re so nice. I agree, the skirt.”

“Fine choice, but be careful just how you move. It is short enough to give the guys a heart attack.”

“Yeah, I will be. Thanks!”

That, of course, got my wheels turning. bursa escort bayan Just thinking about Jen in that skirt gave me a semi-hardon. Paula and I had been in a rare dry patch that didn’t look like it was going to improve any time soon and having this younger girl to talk to and look at was making me think even more inappropriate thoughts than I normally would.

Those thoughts made me send, “Let me know when you’re home safe.”

I regretted it as soon as I sent it. What an asshole. What? Am I her daddy? What if she goes home with some guy, or some guy comes to her place? It wasn’t my place to send that and I thought if there was any way to pull it back.

“May be late. You want another mirror shot?”

“I’ll treasure anything you send.” Of course I thought I may not be able to get to sleep thinking about what she may send.

She sent back a heart.

I wasn’t lying about not getting to sleep. The internet has millions of pages of porn. Totally explicit sex. Well-lit close-ups of the most beautiful women in the whole world with perfect bodies doing the hottest sex you can imagine, and beyond.

And I’m laying in bed, awake with my phone, thinking about my niece.

Early night. It’s only 12:20 when her message arrives. “Still awake?”

“You tease, you know I am.”

The selfie is in the bathroom mirror. The caption read, “About to hit the shower.” The light is good. Jen still has her heavy eye makeup on from the club and she looks hot. She’s holding a towel in front of her, hiding everything, but there is also a mirror behind her, revealing her naked body from about the back of her knees up so I can see her curvy ass.

“So yummy. Too bad I can’t wash your back.”

“Too bad indeed.”

Another shot arrives. Now the towel has been dropped. Jen is holding her phone with her left hand (I think, it’s through a mirror) Her right hand is across her breasts, hiding her nipples. The shot is high enough that you can only see down to just below her navel but the mirror in the background shows her back, legs and of course, her round ass again.

“Oh, you’re killing me.”

“Sorry. Time to get clean.”

I didn’t know what to say. This had somehow evolved into something that was sexily crossing the line. That didn’t stop me from saving the photos to a hidden photo folder. Those may become masturbatory fodder later. One awesome thing about digital photos is you can move and zoom on them. I tried zooming these to see if I could see more. The second shot almost delivered. If she had been turned just a little more left I could’ve maybe seen a little pussy between her legs from behind. Her boobs looked very full behind her hand and arm.

Fifteen minutes later another selfie. Jen is on her back on her bed in the sheerest, laciest pink negligee. The caption reads, “May as well get some use out of it.” Her nipples are pressing erectly against the lace, their dark, red hue unmistakable. Her legs are spread, pulling the nearly see-through panties against her sex. I can’t make out her lips (although I tried and tried later) but her moderate landing strip is clearly visible through the transparent fabric.

“OMG! I’m drooling so bad I can’t speak!”

“Too bad I’ll have to take care of things myself tonight.”

“Me too.”

“Where’s aunt Paula?”

“Let’s just say things are at a difficult spot.”

“Wish I could make it better.”

“Me too. I could think of so many ways.”

“Keep those in mind, I know I will.”

The next shot arrived. The negligee top was nowhere to be seen. Jen had her left middle finger in her mouth as she stared at the phone. The shot was so close to revealing her nipples, but stopped just in time.

I kept thinking of all the ways as I gazed at the photos. That was the end of that night. I saved all the photos to my hidden file. I zoomed over the negligee shot countless times, and yes, I ran one off.

The following week resumed as if nothing happened. Well, nothing did happen, except that Jen seemed a lot more comfortable sharing sexy photos with me.

This process then tended to evolve. Normal happy selfies pretty much every day. Light chit-chat. Nothing was ever discussed about the racy stuff. Maybe every other weekend there would be the ‘choose the outfit’ selfie competition. I was surprised just how many outfits Jen had. I shouldn’t have been. She had a decent career that paid well and she had a body that allowed her to wear some nice racy stuff out and she seemed to enjoy wearing it. She went out about every other weekend and I looked forward to those nights because she would check in when she got home from clubbing and would send sexier stuff.

It seemed to stay about where it was, towel or hands obscuring stuff, maybe a mirror behind her showing off her ass. I suspected she knew all about the mirror in the background. She either had some practice doing this, or had read about it or was just naturally talented but she explored quite a variety of poses, props and locations. escort bursa Side boob and under boob shots joined the list as well as the first shots of her hiding her pussy behind her hand. The first shot had just her hand over her mound, but in the second shot her hand has moved slightly further down and aside, revealing the edge of her landing strip and while you can’t be certain, it looks like perhaps she has a finger inside.

Throughout I’ve been encouraging her, telling her how hot she is, how beautiful. How hot she is making me. How I wish I could be there. One late night I sense she’s hotter than usual and I risk it to ask her:

“Can you show me a wet finger?”

Now there is no specification on how that finger would be wet or what it would be wet with. You could run it under the faucet or stick it in your mouth, right? But we all know what I was suggesting.

“OOOOOhhh. Yesssssss.” A shot of her face, her eyes closed, gently biting her lip.

The next shot of her right hand, the middle finger shiny and wet held in front of her face.

“Oh, to be able to taste you.”

She sends a shot with the wet digit now in her mouth. Her eyes seemingly staring into my own.

“Oh, now you’ve done it. I have to go take care of things, right now!”

“OH! Can I watch?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

A few minutes go by and I’m wondering if maybe I finally added the straw that broke the camel’s back. I was still looking at the shots of her with her hand over her crotch, then with maybe a finger inside, then the wet finger, glistening in the light and finally her defiantly gazing back at me with that finger in her mouth. I have my cock out and I’m stroking it, photo to photo, stroke after stroke. I’m almost there. My phone goes off:

“I needed that. Send me a picture.”

I wasn’t going to play dumb on the photo. Fair is fair I guess and if she’s willing to show that much to me I should be willing to show something to her. Thankfully I was freshly showered and was feeling pretty good about the way I looked. I was hard as a rock and would send her a shot of my cock. It’s not like I’d be including my face, so I could.

Then I chickened out.

She’s sent me lots of suggestive shots, but so far nothing that has truly crossed the line. What if I sent her a cock-shot and she freaked out? Accused me to being a creep or coming on to her?

I stripped down to my briefs and took a shot of myself in the bathroom mirror. My cock was fairly hard and pretty well defined in the tight shorts but was covered. I thought I looked good. I wouldn’t want anyone else to see it though.

“Awesome! You look so hot!”

“Thanks. I try.”

“Looks like you’re ready to burst out of your shorts!”

“You have that effect on me.”

“MMMMMM. Makes my mouth water!”

“Funny, I was just thinking about your mouth.”

“Tell me what I should do with my mouth.”

A photo arrived. A familiar setting, except this time Jen has her back to the mirror but you can only see to the top of her bottom. She is gazing over her shoulder at the mirror with her finger in her mouth. The reflecting mirror in the background reveals her uncovered breasts.

“Oh, such a nice mouth. Perfect for kissing.”

“What do you want me to kiss?”

“Anything and everything you would want to.”

“Anything in particular?”

“I know I’d like to kiss every part of you.”

“Maybe these?”

This time when the photo arrived Jen had turned directly towards the mirror so I didn’t have to look to the background. She was naked. Holding the camera in her right hand, she lifted her left breast in her left.

“Absolutely those. I’d give them French kisses.”

“I’d like that.”

“I’d want to trail my kisses lower too.”

“MMMMM. How low?”

“All the way to your pretty feet if that was what you wanted, but I think I’d really like to stop and concentrate a little higher.”

“Like maybe here?”

Another photo arrives. Jen is on her back, on what looks like her bed. She is nude with the shot centered between her spread legs. She has her hand concealing her pussy but there is no mistaking what I’m looking at.

“Definitely there. Right behind your hand.”

Another photo. She’s moved her hand and her exposed pussy is displayed fully. I can finally get a good look at it. As I deduced from the earlier shot through the thin panties, Jen has a cute landing strip of pubic hair rising from her slit but everything else seems waxed or shaved. Her slit itself is surprisingly narrow with thin, pink inner lips just barely protruding. I’m no pussy expert despite the zillions of them I’ve seen on the internet, but her pussy looked like it belonged on a much younger girl than a 42 year old mom.

“Yes. Right there. As many kisses as you could stand.”

“It’s been so long. I have to say good night.”

And she was gone. I don’t know if she needed to masturbate right then but I know I needed to.

So the next day her selfie arrives and she’s got her hand in front of her eyes. The caption says, “I’m so embarrassed.”

I’m thinking of course that she’s referring to the photos and chat we shared the night before.

“Please don’t be.”

“I can’t believe I sent those photos to you.”

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