Chapter 1

As it turns out, they have a name for the thing that I've become; an empath. At first, I thought I was psychic. But after extensive research on the internet, mainly done on forums for conspiracy theories, I have come to the conclusion that I am empathic, and not psychic. I can sense people's emotions. I cannot read their thoughts. Contrary to what people on the internet seem to think, the two abilities – assuming the other one even exists- are very similar. Emotions carry with them intent. It comes with a specific purpose. When my mother yelled at me earlier today, I not only felt her anger, but I also felt the reason for that anger. I felt that she was angry, but I also felt why she was angry. Dad had, once again, lost a lot of money gambling. She took it out on me. But it wasn't me she was angry with. So in a sense, I could read her mind. Her thoughts were completely hidden from me. I could not hear the voice in her head. Nonetheless, her intent was clearly felt.

I've learned a lot about emotions, and the people who have them, in the month since I, as they say, awakened. And to think, it all started with a childish prank by my five year old sister, who hid in the closet one morning as I was getting ready for school, jumping out and screaming while wearing a zombie Halloween mask. I was seriously startled, and I even peed my pajamas a little. Oh the glee I felt from Angie. Enough to subdue my own anger. If, in the future, I ever tell anyone about my ability, I'm going to come up with a different story. A near-death experience, perhaps.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" My mom yells, bringing me back to reality. I have grown fonder of my mom since the incident, because I often feel her love for me. Not always, mind you. I have, on at least a couple of occasions, felt hate and resentment coming from her. She feels like I stood in her way. That she could have become something more than a mother, if it wasn't for me. Well, she sometimes feels that way. Most of the time, she only feels love.

"Why do I have to go? I got nothing to do there," I complain, and am immediately hit with my mom's annoyance.

"So help me God, Christopher, if you don't get dressed right now…"

"Jeez, just chill. I'll get dressed," I say, knowing that my telling her to chill would annoy her.

"Five minutes! We'll be waiting in the driveway," She states.

I get up, and I see Angie run by the open door. She pauses and looks at me. "Five minutes!" She shrieks in her high voice. I don't know how my mom feels about Angie. I can only sense emotions directed at me. But I know that girl absolutely adores me. I feel the same way.

I open the closet and grab a pair of khakis, and a white button-up shirt, and begin putting them on. I much prefer to wear something more comfortable, but my mom made it clear that I need to look presentable for the annual family reunion. What a waste of time that event is. There is nobody around my age to talk to. My cousin, Charley, is fifteen, which makes him only three years older than me. But we never really got along, especially in the last few years, him having undergone puberty, while I maintain the appearance of a child. The next closest to my age is the supremely irritating eight year old, Paul. Speaking of loud and rowdy Paul, his dad, Uncle Larry, is my favorite relative. I haven't seen him for a couple of months, so there's at least that. And usually the food is good.

***

The food is not good, I note to myself as I force another piece of dry turkey down my throat.

"Where's Uncle Larry?" I ask, loud enough to interrupt the ongoing conversation around the table.

At least three out of the eight people present are offended by my interruption. I should be back to the kid's table next year, then.

"He's just running late. He'll be here," my grandmother says with a smile that hides her annoyance.

The conversation resumes and I go back to not enjoying my meal.

***

An hour later, Uncle Larry finally comes in with his wife, Clara. Paul is nowhere to be seen. I feel equal parts excitement over seeing my uncle and jealousy over his son getting to skip the reunion. He looks around, greeting all the adults. He sees me, and our eyes meet. He nods at me, before moving on. The exchange does not take a second, and yet, I feel something from him. It's excitement, I think. I am happy that my uncle feels the same excitement for seeing me as I do him.

I go back to sitting quietly, the urge to grab my phone getting stronger and stronger. But I fight it, not wanting to deal with my mom's crap.

I look around, and I listen to the ongoing conversations. My parents are talking to Charley. He's telling them about how he made the school's football team. They look very impressed. On the other side of the room, my grandmother is talking to my Aunt about the woman's recent divorce. Larry and Clara join them, and the conversation seems sharp and uncomfortable. Angie is in one of the bedrooms with my two cousins, Steve and Pamela, both around my sister's age. They are Charley's siblings, from a different father.

I get up and head to the bedroom. The children sit at a plastic table with toy tea cups in their hands.

"Chris! Come play with us!" Angie perks up.

"Please Chris, please, please, please," the other two join in.

"Oh, what's that mom?" I look behind me and yell. "Sorry, they're calling me. I have to go."

"Liar!" Angie shouts at my back.

I almost crash into my uncle, who stands just outside the hallway.

"Careful there, buddy," my uncle breaks, putting both hands on my shoulders.

He lets go.

"I was looking for you."

"Hey Uncle Larry!" I say excitedly, looking up at him.

My eyes widen and my heart beats faster.

"Hey yourself. How you been?" he smiles at me.

I am confused by what I am feeling. It's kind of like I'm slightly feverish.

"Be… been good," I stutter. "How come you don't visit more often? I haven't seen you in two months!"

No, it's not like I have a fever. Not exactly. It's more like the warmth I feel when I see a beautiful girl. Except, it's more intense.

Larry puts his hand on my head, my long blond hair flowing between his fingers.

"I meant to, but your folks are often busy, and it rarely works out for both of us."

His feelings are mirrored in me. How wonderful it feels to caress my head. How sweet the tickling of my hair on his fingers. How beautiful my bright, green eyes are. I am as in awe of myself as he is.

"Oh, that's too bad. Well, you should visit more often! I love hanging out with you," I say, turning to walk away.

"I love hanging out with you too, buddy," his hand drops off my receding body. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no, nothing. Why do you ask?" I say, desperately wanting our encounter to end.

"You're backing away like you're scared of me," he smiles.

"Of course not!" I force a disingenuous, awkward, laugh. "We can hang out all night, if you want!"

"Oh, if only," He says, admiring the curves of my cheeks, which he craves to touch. "Unfortunately, there's a lot of family gossip I still need to get through,"

He claps one hand in the 'blah blah' gesture.

"But it's like I always tell you, you're more than welcome to come over any time you want."

"Yeah, definitely, I should," I say, feeling the intense eagerness behind the seemingly nonchalant invitation.

"All right, I won't keep you," he says, pinching my cheek, in fulfillment of his desire to touch me again, then he walks away.

I spend the rest of the evening sitting in a chair as far away from the action as possible. My encounter with uncle playing in a continuous, unceasing, loop. Uncle Larry likes me. He really likes me. Unnaturally so, considering I am his twelve year old nephew. I feel my temperature rising as I remember the intensity of emotions that my appearance provoked. I am beautiful to him. No, not just that. I am unbelievably sexy. I press my hand against the erection growing in my pants. I want, more than anything, to play with myself. I cannot wait until I'm home. I get up, turning around quickly just in case my erection is noticeable, and I rush to the bathroom.

Once inside, I shut the door and lock it. I unbutton then drop my pants, along with my white briefs, before sitting on the toilet and beginning to furiously masturbate. It takes me a few minutes to orgasm, as I fantasize about how I felt to look at and touch. I think about the other things he surely wants to do to me. A single thin streak of clear liquid shoots out of the hole and lands on the faint fuzz around the base of my penis. I pinch the head under the foreskin, forcing a drop to form at the wrinkled top. I let go, and I use toilet paper to wipe.

I leave the bathroom, filled with guilt over my thoughts. I see Uncle Larry in my peripheral vision, but I make a conscious effort not to look in his direction.

Finally the night is mercifully over. I have successfully avoided my uncle all evening, aside from a brief goodbye at the end.

"I'm tired, I'm going to sleep," I say as soon as we enter the house.

"That's not like you," my dad chuckles.

I shrug. "I'm tired."

"Okay, good night, then," he says.

"Good night. Good night, mom."

"Good night, Christopher," she replies from the kitchen.

I walk to my bedroom and close the door. I turn the light off, strip to my underwear, then I get in bed. I immediately starting jerking off again.

***

Bacon and eggs for breakfast today. That's a good start for the day after a night of poor sleep, filled with strange dreams.

"Do you have any plans today? I don't want you playing video games all day."

I roll my eyes.

"I never play video games all day. I'm going to David's in the afternoon."

My mom looks at me sternly.

"And what do you do at David's? Play video games."

"Not always. Sometimes we shitpost on Reddit."

"Oh, I know what Reddit is, young man. Don't think you're impressing me with all that hip tech talk."

Her annoyance starts to grow into anger.

"Sorry, mom. Yeah, okay, I won't play video games all day."

"Good. I left you food in the fridge. Leftover turkey from yesterday. Eat before you go out," she says, nudging my sister to follow her.

"I don't want to go to day care. Why can't I stay with Chris?"

"Uh-uh," I shake my head. "No way."

"Come, put your shoes on, we're going to be late," my mom says, ignoring the exchange.

Once gone, I get on my computer and launch the strategy game that I bought a week ago. Thoughts about last night keep intruding, but I am determined to forget about the whole thing, and just focus on the game. I will most certainly try to avoid Uncle Larry going forward. What kind of creep feels that way about a twelve year old, anyway?

Things go to plan for two more hours, until I receive a text from David.

I text him back saying I am sorry. I resist making a joke about the woman's age.

Video games it is, then, for the rest of the day, I think to myself as I unpause the game.

It took three more hours for me to get bored and abandon my plan. I pace around the house, thinking of something to do. An absurd, and relentless inner voice keeps nagging at me. You should visit Uncle Larry. He's only a few blocks away. Come on. Do it. Don't you want to feel what you felt last night?

No!

I text two other friends, seeing what they're up to. One doesn't respond, and the other is busy with his so-called girlfriend that he met a week before summer break. I scroll down the names, and I see Uncle Larry's. I tap to see our text history. Simply out of curiosity. What's the harm?

Our last text is eight months old. My thumb hovers over the screen. I am just going to say hi. There is no harm in that either.

The response arrives less than a minute later.

I get up and pace around, waiting for the response, and cursing myself for my decision to text.

I sit back down. My mind is too busy to focus on a video game. Or even to look at memes on Discord. I lean back, and lose myself in thought. Why am I interested in my uncle's attention? Why does it excite me so much? Does that mean I'm gay? Maybe it doesn't work that way for empaths. Maybe there is no such thing as gay or straight, if you share the other person's emotions.

***

"I know. Larry called me. Have fun." my mom says, taking her shoes off as soon as she enters her bedroom.

"That's it? No 'don't be late'? No 'behave yourself'?"

"Yes, all of that! But also, have fun."

"Now that makes more sense," I say with a sarcastic tone, as I begin making my way out.

Uncle Larry lives twenty minutes away on foot. I used to have a bike, which would have cut the time significantly, but it was stolen a year ago, and it is yet to be replaced. But the weather is perfectly pleasant, and I am comfortable in my black basketball shorts, matching jersey, and a pair of white sneakers.

I look at my phone before knocking. It says 5:53. I knock, and the door opens a few seconds later.

It's Aunt Clara, to my disappointment.

"Hi Aunt Clara," I say as I walk in, taking my shoes off per the house rules, before making my way to the couch. "Where's Uncle Larry?"

"He just got out of the shower. He'll join us in a minute. Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure, do you have Coke?"

Clara turns around and heads to the kitchen. She comes out moments later with a plastic bottle of Coca-Cola.

"Thanks," I say as I twist the top. I take a sip. "Aah!" I loudly proclaim, and I'm glad to see Aunt Clara amused, instead of annoyed.

"Oh hey! How goes it, Chris?"

I turn to look at my uncle, his brown hair still wet, and wearing a pair of black sweat pants and a white t-shirt. His sense of attraction washes over me. He looks at my face, but he studies the rest of my body in the blurred edges of his vision. I know because I can feel his urge to openly check me out.

"I'm good. Thanks," I say with a smile, as he makes his way to sit on the other couch, next to his wife.

"Chrisssssy!" Paul comes darting out of the hallway.

The eight year old pauses before lunging at me and giving me a hug.

"Oh, hey Paul," I say, patting the boy's dark brown hair.

A confusing pang of intense emotion hits me from Larry.

Paul lets go and turns around to look at his parents.

"Where's the pizza? I'm so hungry."

"It'll be here in a little bit. Come sit down. Tell me about your day," Larry says to his son, who squeezes himself between the two parents, and begins retelling his father the details of his uneventful day, spent at home.

Twenty minutes later, the pizza gets here. They ordered two medium pizzas. Clara places both boxes on the table and opens them, then she hands each of us a plate. One of the pizzas is pepperoni, the other looks like veggies. I take a slice of each, pepperoni being my favorite kind of pizza, while the other had artichokes on it, which is something I enjoy, but that I rarely get to eat.

I lift my feet up on the couch, and place the plate on my stomach, leaning back to watch TV. I look at the others, and I see Aunt Clara busy arguing with Paul about the pizza toppings. Larry looks at me, and I smile at him then turn to look at the TV.

I take a bite from the pizza, knowing he is still looking. He looks at my legs, bent at the knee. God, they're beautiful. They're smooth as silk. How incredible it must be to touch them. Larry looks away, feeling worried that someone would notice. But he can't help himself. He looks again, this time trying to be more subtle about the subject of his gaze. I am wearing ankle socks, and he is happy to see so much of my skin. I pretend to be adjusting my position, shaking my legs, and letting my shorts fall further down my thighs, as they bunch up on my crotch.

Uncle Larry is hard, and so am I. I take a bite from the slice of pizza. God, what I would do to lick those legs. What he would do, if he only could.

"How's the pizza?" Aunt Clara asks, looking at me, and forcing her husband's eyes to drift onto a safer place.

"It's delicious. I love pepperoni and artichokes."

"Oh, I'm glad!" she beams. "It's a locally owned joint. Not a big chain."

"Cool," I nod.

"He's only twelve. It's all the same to him," Uncle Larry laughs, his excitement not yet completely abated.

"Oh no, it really is good! Way better than Pizza Hut or whatever," I say, honestly.

"See? Kids can tell the difference," Clara states.

"Not that one," Larry points at Paul.

"Yes I can!" Paul raises his voice.

"He's just kidding," Aunt Clara reassures the boy.

Paul looks at Larry for confirmation, and the man reaches in, ruffling his son's hair.

"I am kidding, little monkey. You have a most discerning taste in food."

"What?" Paul asks, but Larry ignores him and looks back at me.

"So what do you want to do after dinner? Wanna play a board game?"

"Count me out," Clara says. "I am spent. I'm going to finish eating, then I'm going to empty this glass of wine, and finally, I'm going to clean up, take a long, luxurious bath, and call it a day."

"I wanna play!" Paul exclaims.

"That's between you and your dad. You heard my plan for the night."

"Dad? Can I play?"

"Sure thing, buddy. But we don't have many options for 3-player games. So it's going to be Monopoly."

"But I hate Monopoly!" Paul objects.

Larry shrugs.

"Scrabble then?"

"I can't win at scrabble! Let's play Chutes and Ladders!"

"No, Paul. That's boring."

Paul pouts, crossing his arms.

"Then I'm going to watch cartoons."

"You got yourself a deal. Chris, do you know how to play chess?"

"I know the rules, but I don't really play it, and I'm pretty bad at it," I respond.

"It's an opportunity to get better then," Larry smiles.

"Yeah, I suppose. It's something to do."

***

After an hour of inquiry about my life at school and at home, as well as reminiscences about what it was like for the couple when they were in 6^th grade, Clara finally excuses herself, wishing everyone a good night. Larry logs into Netflix and gives the remote to Paul to watch his cartoons, then he leaves the living room for a few minutes, before returning with a chess board.

Larry sets the board on the table and gestures for me to take a seat on one side. I choose the couch, and Larry drags a chair from the kitchen and sits on the other side. I make the first move, having chosen white. Larry takes advantage of the occasion to look at my arms and shoulders, and he tries to peak in the armhole when I extend my arm to move the piece. He loves everything about me. Even my hand, clutching the chess piece, turns him on with its smallness and its softness.

Six moves later, I find myself in a checkmate.

"Hey! That's not nice!" I say with a tone of indignation.

Larry grins.

"Who told you I was nice? Wanna go again?"

"Sure," I say, resetting the board.

The next game ends in four moves.

"What the hell? How did you do that?" I say with a smirk that hides my growing anger.

"It's called the scholar's mate. Here, let me show you," Larry says, resetting the pieces and replaying our moves to demonstrate my mistake.

"Ah, I see."

"Again?"

"I think I need to practice a little before I play you. It's not exactly a fair match."

"All right. We can play another game if you like."

"I have to go soon. Can we just hang out and talk?"

"You're the boss," he says with a smile as he begins packing the chess pieces into their grooves in the box.

Since Paul is lying down on the other couch, I remain in place, on the two seater, tucking myself into the corner with my feet on the couch and my knees bent in front of me. I turn to watch the TV as I wait for Larry to come back.

"So what do you want to talk about?" Uncle Larry asks, taking a seat next to me, an inch [2.5 cm] from my feet.

"Nothing in particular. So how long have you been playing chess?" I ask, before turning to watch TV, wanting to give my uncle a chance to examine my body.

A loud and colorful cartoon that I've never heard of plays. Paul seems to be drifting in and out of sleep as he watches.

"A long time. Since I was around your age," he says, looking in the direction of my face, but trying to focus on my legs and my crotch at the sides of his field of view.

"You're really good." I say, momentarily looking at him before turning back to the TV.

"I'm okay. You're just so bad."

I chuckle and nudge his leg with my toes.

"Oh, shut up. I'll spend the next week practicing and then I'll kick your ass," I say, playfully, and instantly worry that my overly familiar tone would be taken as rudeness.

"Oh, please do! I look forward to destroying your confidence next week," he says, and I feel nothing but fond amusement coming from him, barely noticeable in the ocean of lust.

"I guess we'll see," I theatrically yawn and stretch both arms over my head. "Man, I'm kind of tired."

"You ate a lot of pizza, so I'm not surprised," he smiles, then I feel a mixture of urges, one pushing him to say something and another stopping him. "Why don't you relax? Stretch your legs, I don't mind."

He pats his thighs, the first urge winning out.

Larry's temperature rises when I comply, laying my legs across of his, with my calves on his thighs. I tuck my hands behind my head and close my eyes.

"Mmm, this is nice."

Larry rests his hand below my knee, and I am overcome by a new wave of desire, as the blood rushes into his penis, inducing the same reaction in mine. Despite keeping my eyes closed, I know that my uncle can see the tent in my shorts. The dirtiness I feel is indescribable, formed from our combined sense of shame.

I open my eyes, and Larry quickly looks up from my crotch. Our eyes meet and we remain silent for a few seconds, until he breaks the contact to look at Paul. I look as well, and I see that the boy's chest moving in the slow rhythm of deep sleep. Larry and I look back at each other. Then he looks down and openly stares at my tented shorts.

"Someone seems excited."

I say nothing, letting the intensity of his desire wash over me.

Larry's hands slowly moves down my leg, stopping at my ankle. I inadvertently let out a soft moan, awed by the ecstasy my uncle feels as his hand drifts over my smooth skin.

"You're a horny young man, aren't you?" he whispers.

"You have no idea," I respond.

"Would you like me to help you with that?" he asks with a grin.

I nod.

My uncle's hands starts making its way up my legs. Larry is in heaven. He cannot believe his luck. He has never wanted anyone as badly as he wants me.

Then I hear the bathroom door open, and I, panicked, quickly withdraw my legs and straighten back up. I look at Larry, and he looks just as startled.

"Oh, look at that. Isn't he just the cutest?" Clara says, looking at sleeping Paul, with a towel wrapped around her head.

She turns to us.

"I thought you were going to play chess."

"We did. Chris didn't enjoy getting wrecked."

"Larry!" Clara says with a reprimanding tone.

"It's all right, Aunt Clara. I'm going to practice, and we'll see who gets wrecked next time."

"That's the spirit," Larry laughs and pats me on the shoulder.

Despite the interruption, he's happy for any opportunity to touch me again.

Clara bends down and puts her hand on Paul's head.

"Wake up, little man, let's get you in bed."

Paul whines but remains in place.

Clara puts her arms around his back and props him up. He clings to her in return, and she lifts him off the couch. Paul wraps his legs around his mom's waist.

"I'm going to tuck him in and then I'm going to read before bed," she says in a labored voice. "And Chris, I'm not kicking you out or anything, but it's after nine, and you should go home soon."

She starts making her way to the bedroom.

"Good night, boys."

"Good night," we both say.

After a few moments of silence, Larry speaks, "I'm really sorry about that, Chris. I crossed the line, and that was completely inappropriate," The man looks at the floor, avoiding looking at me, his lust not completely subsided.

"It's okay," I say, dumbly.

More awkward silence.

"Well, I guess I should get going," I say before standing up.

"Oh, of course." Larry stands up, and we walk to the door.

"Chris," Larry says.

"Yeah?"

"Are we good?"

I smile. "Of course."

Larry smiles back. "Okay, good. I hope to see you again soon, then."

"Me too. Good night Uncle."

"Good night."

***

"And then I was like 'no, fuck you! Nobody steals from me and gets away with it'," David continues his, almost certainly made up, story about his confrontation with an 8^th grade bully last year, as we make our way to my house.

"And then BAM!" the boy punches his palm. "I knocked him out. Just like that."

"You're full of shit! If that happened, the whole school would be talking about it," I snicker.

"I told you, it was outside of the school, before class. Nobody was around. Why would I lie to you?" he says.

"I don't fucking know! You're crazy," I shove him with both hands, and he flails in an exaggerated fashion as he takes a couple of uneven steps to the side.

"Fine, don't believe me, what do I care?" He shrugs and fixes his long, red hair.

It's been three days since my evening with my uncle. I wanted to text him, just in case he was worried or something, but I couldn't find the courage. Nevertheless, I have thought of little else since that night.

"David, I have a question for you," I abruptly say as we round the corner to my street.

He looks at me in anticipation.

"Let's say you knew that a teacher had a crush on you. What would you do?" I ask with as casual a tone as I could muster.

"Which teacher?"

"Hmm, just any random teacher. Say, Mr. Malone," I pick my fairly handsome, 20-something, English teacher.

"I'd go 'get the fuck away from me, creep!'" David chuckles. "Why, you have a thing for Mr. Malone?"

"That's funny. It was a random pick."

"Yeah, I'm sure it was!" he responds sarcastically.

"What about Ms. Stevens?" I say, picking the attractive music teacher.

"I'd be like 'Oh yeah, suck on that, bitch,'" he thrusts his hips, while sticking his arms in front of him, as if pushing someone's head to his crotch.

I laugh. "Yeah, I'd do the same thing."

"With Mr. Malone, you mean?" David says with a smirk.

"Oh shut up."

We stop in front of my place, and I turn to look at him. "See you in game?"

"Yeah, but give me half an hour. Ten minutes to get home, then twenty to take a shit."

"That's a long shit."

"I like to take my time, sue me."

"Fine, I'll probably play one match without you then."

"Don't you dare! One match will turn to five, and I'll be waiting for you all night."

"Fine, I'll be waiting in the lobby."

"Good boy. You can fantasize about Mr. Malone while you wait," he says as he walks away. "Oh, Mr. Malone, give it to me. Stick it in my little, blond, ass," David moans, his back turned to me, ten yards away.

Sitting at my computer a few minutes later, I pull my phone out. The longer I wait to text my uncle the more awkward it's going to get. I feel annoyed, wishing that he texted me instead. Regardless, it has to be done.

I wait nervously. Ten minutes pass without a response, so I log into the game's lobby and wait for David's name, on my friend's list, to glow green.

It takes David fifteen more minutes to get online. I put my headset on and start a call. He answers.

"Are you ready to kick some ass?" he asks in a hyped tone.

"Hell yeah!" I try to match him, feeling silly in the process.

Half an hour into our game, my phone vibrates. I look to see a notification about a text from my uncle. I lunge at the phone and unlock it.

"What the fuck, Chris!" David shouts into my headset. "What the fuck!"

"Sorry!" I say, putting the phone down. "Got distracted for a second."

"You really fucked me. There's no way we're going to win this match now."

"Relax, it's only one death. We're still two kills ahead."

"Okay, focus! Let's get those fuckers!"

We lose that match, and I suffer, silently, through a full minute of abuse from my friend, trying my best to appease him as I compose my response to my uncle.

As soon as David and I start a new match, I receive response from my uncle. I continue playing, not wanting to incur my friend's wrath. Once the match is done, I pick the phone up.

My pulse quickens. I don't know if anything will happen between the two of us again. I fear the guilt over impropriety will prove the end of it. That may still be the case, but why invite me while Aunt Clara is out, then, if his intentions are pure? My phone vibrates again.

***

I go through my clothes, looking for something to wear. Nothing is good enough. I feel ashamed of myself for putting so much energy into finding an outfit that my uncle would find sexy. There must be something seriously wrong with me, and I'm not just talking about my unusual ability.

Unless I am planning to walk to my uncle's in swim trunks, nothing is going to beat last week's outfit. So I put on the same black basketball shorts and white sneakers. I change my top, wearing a plain white t-shirt, then I make my way to Uncle Larry's house.

I knock, and my hands shake in my excitement. Larry opens the door a moment later.

"Hey, welcome, buddy. Come on in," he says, a pang of excitement passing from him to me, as he moves to the side to let me in.

"Chrisssssy!" Comes Paul running, dressed in a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt. He gives me a tight hug.

I pat his head.

"Hi Paul."

Then I gently push him away, but he locks his hands together behind my back. I begin walking toward the couch anyway, dragging the giggling boy with me. I sit down.

"What are we eating today? You didn't say."

"I slaved all day making lasagna," he solemnly responds.

"He bought it from the store!" Paul, who sits next to me, shouts into my ear.

"That was supposed to be our secret, little monkey."

"Oops! I forgot," the boy says, looking genuinely regretful.

"It is from the store, but it's good store lasagna, I promise."

"I've only ever had it from the store. My parents never make it from scratch."

"That makes sense. They're busy people. Clara is a stay-at-home mom, so she sometimes makes it from scratch."

I nod.

"Is it almost ready? I'm starving."

"I'm starving too daddy!" Paul says.

Larry opens the oven and looks inside.

"It's ready," he says, putting on a pair of oven mitts and pulling the tray out. "But it needs to cool for 10 minutes."

"Hey Chris," Paul pulls my sleeve. "Did I tell you about Disneyland? We went there last month."

"Yes, you told me all about it."

"Oh, Chris, it was so much fun. I rode two rollercoasters, and mom took my picture with Mickey Mouse," Paul begins telling me about his trip to Disneyland for the 4^th time.

Larry sits down on the other couch, and he takes advantage of my preoccupation with his son to check me out. I keep my attention on Paul, not wanting to interrupt the flow of Larry's sense of desire.

The lasagna is finally ready to serve, after ten minutes of conversation, monopolized by the eight year old.

Larry hands me a plate with a sizable square of lasagna. It smells amazing, and the sight of the melted cheese streaming in between the layers of sauce and meat make me ravenous. I begin eating, the still-piping-hot lasagna burning my mouth, but barely slowing me down.

"How are you eating it so fast? Isn't it too hot?" Larry asks with a smirk.

"It's burning the shit out of my mouth. I'm just hungry."

"He said a bad word, daddy!" Paul shrieks.

"Yes, he did. That was inappropriate, Chris," Larry winks at me. "Please apologize."

"I'm sorry," I say with an exaggerated pout, before taking another bite.

I get up, a couple of minutes later, being the first to finish my plate, and I drop it in the kitchen sink.

"We've got plenty more, if you want seconds," Larry says.

"I'm good. About to burst actually," I reply, putting my hand on my stomach, before walking back to the couch.

"I'm done too," Paul says, handing me his plate, a strange aura of mischief emanating from him.

I grab his plate and take it to the sink. I walk back to see the eight year lying down on the couch with his arms stretched behind him, occupying the entire space. I stand next to the couch, staring at him.

"Don't be a jerk, Paul. Let him sit," Larry says, finishing the last of his lasagna.

"He can sit on the other couch," the boy decides.

"It's okay, there's plenty of space on this one," I say, turning around and slowly lowering myself onto his chest.

Paul yelps and spin around with a giggle, forfeiting the stolen spot. I lean backward, squishing him against the back of the couch. In response, the boy starts shoving and slapping, trying to push me off. I turn around and grab his arms, and then I pull him onto my lap. I pin him with his hands immobilized against his chest and his back against my thighs.

I am caught off guard by Larry's wave of excitement. He is more aroused than I am when I look at porn. The feeling is very pleasant, but it still surprised me. Does Larry have a thing for his son, as well? I can, kind of, understand liking me. I am not that young, and I think I'm pretty mature for my age. But Paul? He's eight years old, and he acts less mature than my five year old sister. Not to forget that he is Larry's son! What kind of pervert is this guy?

"Okaaay, let meeeeee go! I'll sit normal!" the squirming boy howls.

I let go, still a bit shaken by what I felt. Paul jumps off and takes a seat next to me.

"So that's how it's done? I'll have to remember that in the future," Larry laughs.

"Yeah, tough love, as they say," I respond, trying to keep my tone light.

"Touché," Uncle Larry says, getting up and adjusting his khaki shorts, before walking to the kitchen. He comes back seconds later. "So, are you ready for some ass kicking?"

I smile.

"Been looking forward to it," I say, confident of a much-improved performance, after more than a dozen hours of practice.

Larry nods and disappears into the hallway. He returns after a minute, chess board in hand.

"I wanna play too!" Paul says.

"All right, little monkey. You'll play Chris, and the winner plays me," Larry says, setting the board on the table.

"Does he know how to play?" I ask.

Uncle Larry looks at me with a smirk, and I feel a reflection of his amusement. He doesn't think I've earned the right to ask if anyone knows how to play.

"He knows how to play. But he doesn't have much of an attention span."

"I have attention span!" Paul argues.

"You'll have no trouble beating Chris then?"

Paul shakes his head.

"I'll beat him easy!"

I take the kitchen chair this time, while Larry sits next to Paul on the couch.

I start confidently, with what I learned is called the Sicilian Opening. A dozen moves in, my confidence begins to shake. Paul does, indeed, know how to play. I struggle, taking longer and longer with each move, trying not to fall behind. But despite my week of training, the eight year old gets the better of me. I'm not going to lie. I feel absolutely devastated. I kept an open mind that Larry would still beat me, but not annoying, little Paul.

"Checkmate!" Paul states, jumping on his feet for a victory dance.

"I beat you. You're a loser!" the boy sings.

"Paul!" Larry sternly reprimands. "What did I tell you about being an ungracious winner?"

Paul stops singing and dancing and looks at his father.

"That I shouldn't do it," he says in an apologetic tone.

I find Larry's hypocrisy amusing, given that he mocked me several times for losing over the past week. I am still happy to see Paul put in his place.

"My turn to watch," I say. "Who wants to switch seats with me?"

Paul covers the distance between us in a skip.

"I'll sit in the chair."

I move aside to let him sit and take my place next to Larry on the couch, feeling his happiness for having me so close. The game begins, and even though Larry seems focused on the match, I know that the urge to touch me continually nags at him. It bothers me nearly as much, and I desperately want him to follow through. For a moment, I feel annoyed with Paul's presence. I do not know if the feeling is mine, my uncle's, or both.

In as subtle a way as I could fashion, I inch closer to the man. Encouraged by his wave of excitement, I spread my legs a bit wider, touching my hairless knee to his hairy one. Larry momentarily freezes, before casually moving his arm and resting it behind me, on the couch's backrest. After a few seconds of contemplation, my uncle shuffles closer to me, closing the small gap between us, until our legs are in full contact, as he leans in to move the piece on the chess board. He lets his arm drift down the backrest, then forward to rest his palm on the small of my back. The hand slides down until it feels the hem of my shirt, where it pauses, before curling the fingers to lift the edge and dive underneath.

I continue to be amazed at my uncle's composure, not wanting to alert the oblivious eight-year-old, given the intensity of his arousal. The reflection of his emotions is almost enough to make me throw caution to the wind. But other than our unusual proximity, I act like nothing is going on, as my uncle's hand caresses my back.

"Checkmate!" Paul shouts with two raised arms. "I beat you, Dad!"

Larry removes his hand and adjusts his position to create some space between us, before reaching for Paul and tousling his hair.

"Good job, buddy. You played well."

"I can't believe it!" Paul exclaims. "I never beat you."

"You've gotten better. It was bound at happen at some point," Larry smiles at Paul then turns to me. "Okay, Paul is the champion, now the two of us will play for second place," he says then stands up. "Can you go sit next to Chris, please?"

Paul nods, gets up, and takes a seat next to me.

Larry sets the board and we begin our match. I try to ignore the urges my uncle still broadcasts, wanting to focus on defeating him.

To my dismay, despite putting up much more of a fight than last time, the match ends quickly with my defeat.

"That sucks!" I say with a more flippant tone than I intended.

"You've improved a lot!" my uncle tries to comfort me. "I've been playing for a long time, it'll take you more than a week to beat me."

"Paul beat you," I say with a grin.

Larry smiles. "Paul has also been playing for a while. And, I was a little distracted."

"No you weren't!" Paul says sharply. "I beat you fair and square!"

"I was just kidding. You did beat me fair and square."

Paul relaxes, looking satisfied with his father's response.

"Want to try again?" Larry looks at me and asks.

"It's my turn!" Paul protests.

"I don't want to play anyway. I need more practice."

"As you wish. We'll do something else then," Larry says.

"Let's watch Toy Story!" Paul says.

"Whatever Chris wants. He's our guest."

I shrug.

"We can watch that. I don't care."

Paul jumps up excitedly and runs to the DVD shelf, grabbing the movie and sticking it in the DVD player, before turning the TV on and pushing pause.

"I gotta go to the bathroom. Don't start without me!" Paul says, before running to the bathroom.

Larry gets up and walks to the other couch. He looks at me as he takes a seat.

"Would you like to sit next to me?" he pats the cushion.

I nod, then I get up and move to the other couch.

Larry smiles.

"You're going to get me in a world of trouble, aren't you?"

"No…" my voice trails off. I hesitate, then I swallow, before adding, "I won't tell anyone."

We stare quietly into each other's eyes for a few seconds.

The silence is interrupted by the opening of the bathroom door. Moments later, the eight-year-old comes running in. He immediately turns the lights off and starts the movie.

"It's my favorite movie. You're going to love it, Chris," Paul says, jumping on the other couch and lying down.

"I've seen it before."

"Oh. Do you like it?" the boy asks, turning to look at me.

"Yeah, it's a good movie."

The boy smiles and nods, then he turns back to the screen.

"It's kind of chilly in here," Larry says, standing up. "I'm going to grab a blanket. Want me to grab you one, little monkey?"

"Yes please!"

Larry disappears in the hallway, then he comes back with a plain red blanket, and another covered in cartoon characters, which he hands to Paul.

"Thanks daddy."

"You're welcome," Larry says, taking a seat, before lifting his legs onto the couch and tucking himself into the corner of the two seater. "It's a big blanket, don't be shy," he says with a smile, as he pulls the blanket over his legs and stomach.

I tuck myself into the other corner and do the same, and the three of us sit quietly watching the movie.

A few minutes in, I look at Paul and see that he's absorbed by the movie. I slowly untuck my legs, nudging Larry's butt with my toes. Without looking at me, his hand slides under the blanket and grabs my ankle. Larry leaves his hand in place for a while, feeling around the protruding bone with his thumb, before sliding upward, his palm pressing hard along its path, as it deeply feels my soft flesh.

I let me body droop, gradually, toward my uncle's, and he turns to face me, unbending his knees to let my legs extend between his. I lower myself until I'm lying flush on the couch, my legs sandwiched by my uncle's.

Larry's hands continue exploring my legs as far as they could go without having to lean in, which happens to be just above the knee. I can feel how desperate he is for more. But I understand the need for discreetness with Paul sitting a few feet away.

Nonetheless, as horny as my uncle is, I am even hornier, with my own emotions compounded by his. I decide to take the risk, trusting that Paul is too childish and oblivious to notice that anything is amiss, even if he turns to look straight at us. I shuffle my back, scooting in closer, until my feet reach Larry's crotch. I press gently with my toes and feel the squishiness of, what I assume is, his testicles under the fabric. I climb up with my foot, turning from the movie to look at my uncle. His eyes remain fixed on the TV while trying to control his heaving chest. I feel something solid pressing to the side of my rising foot and I stop. Larry grabs my foot and holds it to his erection, before squeezing with such force, that I feared he'd burst his engorged member. But he feels no pain; just pure ecstasy, closing his eyes and mouthing a long moan.

His other hand still caresses my legs, going most of the way up my thighs. I reach down between my legs and start fondling myself over my clothes. Larry senses my movement, and he glances at me with a smirk, before taking hold of both ankles and pulling me forward. I lie with my head in the middle of the couch, with my knees bent over Larry's thighs and my feet hanging by his sides, under the blanket.

"Daddy, that's my favorite part!" Paul turns to us and shouts, startling both of us. He give us a curious look then adds, "Why are you sitting like that?"

I freeze in place, unsure if it would be better to slide back up the couch, or just stay put.

"Because this couch is too small for both of us to stretch our legs and relax. You took the big couch," Larry responds.

"I see the TV better from here," Paul says, turning back to his movie.

I breathe a sigh of relief and look at my uncle. He looks at me, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Despite his strong urge to immediately resume his task, Larry stays still for a couple of mins, with his hands loosely gripping my ankles.

Excitement fills me when I feel Larry's right hand slowly gliding up my leg. It pauses momentarily at my knee, before spreading wide and gripping hard as it slides up my thigh, with the thumb pressing down on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and the pinky all the way on the other side. Going under my shorts, Larry pauses again and looks at me. I continue looking at the TV like nothing is happening. My uncle's hand continues moving upward until it bumps the elastic of the briefs' leg hole. The grip loosens, and the thumb makes contact with the bulge of my testicles before slowly drifting up, down, and around the outlines of my genitals. Both Larry and I breathe heavily, and I feel the coolness of the evaporating sweat on my forehead.

After feeling around with his thumb for a minute or two, Larry's hand moves to grip my package. He squeezes, mashing my balls into one another, before easing up and spreading the briefs' fly with two fingers. Larry's fingers dive in and fish my erect three and a half incher [9 cm] out through the opening. With his thumb on its underside, Larry glides up its length then all the way back down to grip it with two fingers like one would a cigar. With my dick firmly held, my uncle presses into the padding around the base, forcing my glans out of my foreskin, before he takes the shaft into his hand and begins stroking. Overwhelmed by our combined feelings, I struggle not to moan.

I let him explore and manipulate my genitals for a few more minutes before reaching down and taking hold of the waistband of both shorts and undies. My uncle, sensing the moving fabric, removes his hand, and I pull my shorts and underwear halfway down my thighs. Larry looks at me and I glance at him to see his hungry smile, then I turn back to the TV.

Larry subtly lifts the blanket and looks in. I am satisfied with the wave of lust I receive when he sees my exposed privates. He lets the blanket go and reaches in to grab my pole and begins stroking it. He strokes vigorously, his hands visibly gyrating under the blanket. I worry about Paul looking in our direction, and I know that my uncle is now horny enough not to care about such trivialities any longer. With much struggle, I reach with both hands under the blanket and grab his.

"Shhh," I whisper and give Paul a side glance.

"Sorry," Larry mouths, apparently brought back to reality.

I let go, and the man resume his stroking more covertly.

I discovered masturbating about a year ago. I sometimes do it without any visual aids, but more often than not, I end up looking at porn. I typically look at straight porn, but since the revelation about my uncle, I've been more drawn to gay porn. In my fantasies, I'm typically the one receiving the pleasure. My uncle's hand is doing a great job, and it's giving me a lot of pleasure. But the pleasure Larry feels for stroking me is greater. That people can experience more pleasure giving than receiving was strange to me, until tonight. Sensing the ecstasy Larry feels from his caressing of my genitals, I long to return the favor, and I wonder what sensations await me.

Tingles run up my shaft and my body tenses in anticipation of the coming climax. It comes, and I close my eyes and clench my teeth.

"Mmmm." I can't help but moan through tightly shut lips, waves of pleasure rippling through my body.

I open my eyes and immediately look at Paul. He is still completely unaware of his surrounding, watching his movie with droopy eyes. I turn to Larry, who lets go of my penis and pulls his hand out. Larry looks at me then at his hand, thin ejaculate glistening on his thumb and forefinger. He presses his lips together and nods as if impressed, before bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking it clean.

I pull my shorts back up and lie down collecting my breath. My arousal is gone, but I can still feel my uncle's, and it's more than enough for the two of us. I turn to Paul, and I see him struggling to keep his eyes open, as he fights sleep.

Not wanting to get Paul's attention, I slowly move my right leg from its position between the backrest and my uncle's side, going over his thigh to plant my foot between his spread legs. I push my foot forward, tucking it under his butt, with my shins pressed against the bulge of his balls. Larry looks at me with a combination of warmth and hunger, along with a sense of fondness, before wrapping his hands around my calf and pulling it against his groin. One hand keeps my leg pressed in place, as it gently glides up and down my calf, while the other releases and goes for the zipper on his shorts. I hear the sound of the zipper opening, and a moment later I feel the weight of the warm, hard appendage on my knee. I lift the blanket and look underneath. I've never seen the erection of a grown man in person before, and it looks huge. For a second, I feel embarrassed over my own smallness. But only for a second, remembering how much my uncle loved the look and feel of it.

Larry lifts my leg up with one hand, and presses my shin to the underside of his shaft with the other. He moves my leg up and down, rubbing against his member from my ankle to my knee. I feel the trail of moisture that his glans leave in their path, and the electricity my skin induces in my uncle with each pass. It takes about a minute for me to become hard again.

I turn to look at Paul, and he has fallen asleep. I stick my hand in my shorts and begin to masturbate, as my uncle aggressively grinds against my leg. It doesn't take him long to reach the threshold, and I worry briefly, struck by knowledge that I'm about to feel my uncle's orgasm, before it hits me like a punch.

"Aah!"

We both moan at the same time. My body convulses in the spasms of pleasure with every spurt of warm liquid that strikes my leg.

We both lie back exhausted and breathing heavily. I look at Paul again, and he still sleeps. Our moans must've been drowned by the noise from the TV. I notice that my penis, still in my hand, has gone soft, as if I had an actual orgasm. But it left none of the usual wetness. I pull my hand out and sit up, before moving back up the couch to lay my head against the arm rest. I lift the blanket and look at my leg. It is drenched in cum. The white fluid covers a large part of my shin, and it flows down my leg to soak the top of my socks. A couple of streaks went up my thigh, with one hitting the edge of the shorts. Larry lifts his side of the blanket to take a look. We look at each other under the blanket, and he grins at my surprised expression. We both look let go and look up.

"Wow! That's so much!" I whispered, wiping my leg with the blanket.

"What can I say? You drive me crazy." Larry whispered back, helping me wipe with his end of the fabric.

After several minutes of cleaning, Larry stands up and grabs the blanket. "I better toss this in the wash before Clara gets back."

"When is she getting back?"

Larry pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at it. "Within an hour, I'd guess."

I nod, and he smiles at me and makes his way to the basement's door.

"Where are you going, daddy?" Paul says in a small and sleepy voice.

"Just putting the blanket back in the bedroom. The movie is almost over."

"Okay…" the boy's voice drifts as he falls back asleep.

I sit up and examine my clothes for any missed evidence of tonight's events. My legs and my shorts have been wiped clean. The edges of my ankle socks are still wet. But who's going to notice something like that?

The sound of the washing machine reverberates in the distance, and moments later, my uncle reappears.

"Isn't it suspicious doing a wash this late?" I ask.

"I had to wash it before the red wine I spilled on it sets." He winks at me and makes his way to the kitchen.

Standing up, I follow him, walking by the scrolling credits on the TV screen. I see him open the cupboard and take out a bottle of wine and a glass. He fills the wine glass half way then he looks at me. "Would you like some?" Larry holds the glass out for me.

I nod and grab it with both hands before taking a large sip.

"How is it?"

"Not very good," I respond, scrunching my face.

Larry chuckles. "Hand it back then."

I hand the glass back to Larry, and he downs the entire thing in one go.

"There, the perfect crime." He puts the glass down into the sink with a smirk, before taking a few steps to stand in front of me.

Uncle Larry drags his arm up to my face, gently coasting along the curve of my cheek to settle at the back of my head. He stares at my face, his fingers twirling the strands of hair, and his outstretched thumb moving in circles behind my ear. I sense a mixture of love and physical attraction coming from him.

"What?" I ask.

"Can I kiss you?" He responds with a warm smile.

I nod, and he immediately lowers his face until his lips hover a hair above mine. I close my eyes and loosen my lips. Our mouths lock, and Larry alternates suckling on my upper and lower lips, ecstatic at their delicate softness. I am thankful for that, because I wouldn't otherwise enjoy the scratchiness of the sprouting hairs on his shaven face.

"Dad?" I hear Paul's voice coming from behind me.

Larry breaks his kiss and lets go of me, taking a few panicked steps backward, with a look of horror on his face. I turn to look at Paul, who stands confused at the doorway.

"Why were you kissing Chris like that?" the boy asks.

Larry swallow then walks closer to his son, getting down to his face-level on one knee.

"I was teaching him how to kiss. He'd never done it before," Larry says, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder.

"Oh," is all Paul says in response.

"You shouldn't tell anyone about this. Specially not your mom. I would get into big, big trouble," Larry caresses the boy's shoulder. "Do you understand, little monkey?"

"Okay, daddy. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone," Paul says in a comforting tone.

Larry's hand moves to his son's head and tousles his hair. "Thanks, buddy."

Having been frozen since Paul's appearance, I finally make my way to the kitchen's door. "It's real late. I better get going."

Larry stands up and moves out of the way. "All right. I hope you'll visit us again soon?"

I nod and squeeze past the eight-year-old. "Bye Paul."

"Bye," the boy smiles and waves.

I pick up my pace as soon as I'm out of view, and begin jogging once I'm out of the front door. My heart races, and I long to be alone in my room with my thoughts.

I arrive at my place ten minutes later, and I'm annoyed that the door is locked. I knock and my mom opens a few moments later.

"How was dinner?" she asks, moving aside to let me in.

"It was real good," I reply with as much casualness as I can.

"Is something wrong?" she inquires as I walk toward my bedroom.

"No, everything is great. I just have to get on my computer because David is expecting me," I say without stopping.

"Video games this late?" I hear my mom's voice as I enter the bedroom.

"Just for a little bit, Mom." I shut the door and throw myself on top of the bed.

I stare at the ceiling and replay the evening's events in my head. The sex was fun and I'm turned on again thinking about it. But I worry about Paul's discovery. I hope the boy keeps his mouth shut. Knowing the eight-year-old, however, I am not optimistic.

To Be Continued