Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted 2009 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless otherwise explicitly granted. You are free to distribute this story to other venues, providing that you retain the author's name, this notice of copyright, and a link to the original page where you found it. You are NOT free to sell or use this story in any venue which charges any fees to readers without the express written consent of the author.

The Standard Legal Stuff Disclaimer: This story contains sexually graphic and explicit material and as such it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. If you are offended by stories featuring group sex, bisexual situations, incest, sex between minors and adults, or any other situation, please check the story code before reading the text.

Author's Note: This story is dedicated to my story editor & sometime web page designer. A better editor I could never find. One day there is going to be a very, very lucky lady who manages to snatch you up. If I weren't already married, you'd be dead in my sights. I hope you enjoy this little fantasy that I've created for you.

Sweet, Sweet Amy ~ Chapter I ~ Amy

Story Codes: M/g, Incest, Romantic, Consensual
Posted: 5 July 2009

I'm going to tell you all the story of how I first learned about sex. A part of my story might seem kind of sad, but I'm not looking for pity or sympathy. Things happen in life, some of them just happened to me when I was really young. But all in all, my life turned out to be pretty good, with what I like to remember as a mostly happy and well-adjusted childhood. I'm thirty years old now, married to a nice guy, have two kids, one of each variety, and I'm happy. I give lie to the rampant opinion that a child who has sex with an adult will be inevitably and permanently scarred.

I don't have a lot of memories about my biological Dad. I remember him only vaguely, but the memories I do have of him make me feel warm, even though they're nothing more than a blur, and a rush of warm and happy emotion. He was killed in a car accident very soon after my fifth birthday. All I remember of that was my Mom in pieces, crying and sobbing, and an immense sadness because I knew that Daddy wasn't going to be coming home again. I had only the vaguest concept of death. While my Mom tried her best to make sure that I understood that he wasn't gone because he wanted to be gone, it took me some years to fully comprehend the significance of his death. When I finally understood, at about the age of eight, I felt again that immense, overwhelming sadness.

My Uncle Steve, who is my Mom's brother, began to spend much more time with us than he had in the past. I had always worshipped my Uncle, and while I still felt the same, somehow his visits didn't seem to be quite as bright to me anymore. He tried his best to look out for his sister and for me, to make sure that we didn't go without anything, and that my Mom never had to work herself to death in order to make ends meet. In short, he took care of us, helping out around the house and yard, slipping Mom some extra money whenever she was a little short, and just being a "man around the house" for us.

Slowly, I began to come around, and I looked forward to my Uncle Steve coming over to visit, or to do some yard work, or to have dinner with us. He could always make me smile and laugh, and he always took everything I said to him seriously. He acted as though my thoughts and the things I had to say were important to him.

One evening, after we had eaten dinner, and I was in the living room watching television, I heard my Mom and Uncle Steve talking in the kitchen. They weren't arguing, but my Mom's voice was insistent, so I tuned out the sounds coming from the television and focused on what they were saying.

"Heather," Uncle Steve said, "don't you think it's kind of morbid to be talking like this?"

"No, Steve, I don't think it's morbid. I think it's something that I need to be able to know has been arranged, just in case."

"But why do you even think you need to ask me something like that? You know the answer."

"Damn it, Steve!" Mom's voice rose a little. "I just need to hear you say it, okay? I need to know for sure that this is taken care of."

"Alright, Jesus!" Uncle Steve was as close to shouting as I had ever heard him. "I promise you, if anything should ever happen to you, I will take care of Amy. I will raise her as if she were my own daughter. You have my word on that, Heather. Is that what you needed to hear?"

I didn't hear anything more of the conversation. Mom and Uncle Steve suddenly got very quiet, and then I heard Uncle Steve begin to cry. I got up, and crept towards the kitchen. I didn't have any idea what was going on, or what was wrong, but if my Uncle was crying, it had to be very bad.

My Mom was sitting at the kitchen table. My Uncle Steve was standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders, sort of massaging her shoulders and neck. There were tears on his face, and I was suddenly very afraid, although I had no idea why. Neither of them had noticed me.

"How long?" he asked my Mom.

"They think maybe eight months, at the very most."

"You're sure there's nothing that can be done?"

My Mom shook her head. "It's spreading like wildfire, Steve. Now it's just a case of what they're calling 'comfort care.' Beyond that, they can't do anything."

Both adults fell silent. I stood there for a few long moments more, then retreated back to the living room. I had no idea what was going on, but that sense of fear was growing huge within me. A few minutes later, my Uncle Steve came into the living room, and sat down next to me.

"Hey, Punkin, don't you think it's time for you to get ready for bed?"

I didn't know what to say. I felt like my mouth was glued shut. I desperately wanted him to tell me that I had nothing to be afraid of, but at the same time I was afraid that if I pressed him, I'd hear something horrible that I didn't want to hear. So I just looked at him for a moment, then nodded my head, got up from the couch, and went up the stairs to my room to get ready for bed.

As I stood brushing my teeth, I began to feel more and more afraid. I didn't know what I was afraid of, all I knew was that if my Uncle Steve - my wonderful, strong Uncle who always knew just what to do to fix anything - if he was crying, then he must be afraid. If Uncle Steve was afraid of something, then it must be very, very scary.

I didn't cry. I went to bed determined to be a big girl, and be very brave, no matter what might be wrong. Eventually, I fell into a troubled and restless sleep, jumbled nightmares finally waking me. My big girl determination forgotten, I padded out of my room and down the hall to my Mom's bedroom. I slid quietly into her bed, and snuggled up next to her, finally feeling safe enough to drift back to a less troubled sleep.

Six months later, my Mom was dead, the pancreatic cancer having made short, fast, and painful work of decimating her.

~ To Be Continued ~