My hands rise from her hips and find the clasp at the back of her bra. Her hands find the clasp on mine. We tangle a little as we each try to remove t...e other's with both hands. She releases her grips and I toss the tangled garments dramatically over my shoulder and across the room with a giggle. She giggles, too, and I feel a good chunk of her anxiety melt away. I look at her breasts and then back up into her eyes. "Too small. I know." She's biting her lip nervously, as if my opinion really. Christine’s real father was a loser who had been out of the picture since she was a baby, so she grew up without a father. I have known Christine since she was a very young girl of about 7 (I was 22 when I married her aunt), and I have always been her favorite uncle. I guess I was the cool uncle with the Harley and the tattoos that listened to rock and roll or something. Anyway, we were always close – she would hang around me and ask for rides on my bike. She would talk to me about her. More

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