Buck Fever

Buck Fever

by Robert Lubrican

zbookstore Edition

Copyright 2025 Robert Lubrican

License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

If you would like to share this book with another person, please share your reading device with them.

If you're reading this book and did not borrow or purchase it then please go to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The right to use cover art was purchased at freepic.com

Foreword

Readers often send me comments about a book I have written. Chief among those comments are imaginings (okay ... complaints) that the ending was rushed, or that I could have gone much farther with the story. People want to know what happened to this or that character after the book ended. Normally I respond by saying that I leave that sort of thing up to the imagination of the reader. Each reader can move the story forward in his or her own way.

But I get a lot of those comments. So, I decided to try writing one that goes much farther than those I've written in the past. And I did. But I'll be honest. I thought the last few chapters of this draft manuscript were boring. It was just fluff that required hours and hours to ensure that all the details were there and the timeline was correct. It wasn't any fun to write anymore.

So I condensed two chapters into an epilogue. It tells what happened, but without the hundreds of lines of tedious dialogue and explanation and minutiae.

I tried. I really did. But it just didn't work.

I think it's best if I trust your imagination. I hope you trust it too.

Also, the book was edited to comply with the publisher's standards. All characters in this book are eighteen years of age or older.

Bob

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Table of Contents

Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Epilogue | Afterword

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter One

Anybody who's been alive for a couple dozen years or so has learned that life is variable. It was even expressed in the title for a movie that became iconic. Sometimes life is good, and we get to enjoy it. And then there's the bad and the ugly, which we just have to endure.

Americans don't seem to reflect on that all that much. Typically, Americans try to ignore the problems in their lives and just move on. That attitude is expressed in the phrase, "Shit happens." The Chinese, on the other hand, mold these issues into their philosophy of how to live life. They don't call it the good, bad and ugly. It is what they refer to as the yin and yang of life. It's a pretty big deal in Chinese culture. We should pay more attention to Chinese culture by the way, and the philosophy by which many of those people live. Very soon they could own most of America, if we default on our debts.

Anyway, this story is about some people who went on a deer hunt, to put meat in the freezer. But it's also a story about yin and yang. It is promised not to bore you with a lot of philosophy, but you can't be told the tale without invoking some of the philosophy of yin and yang, and a dose of the Daoist perspective on life.

Don't go look it up. I'll give you the basics and then we'll get on with things. In Daoist metaphysics, distinctions between good and bad, along with other dichotomous moral judgments, are perceptual, not real; so the duality of yin and yang is an indivisible whole. In the ethics of Confucianism on the other hand, most notably in the philosophy of Dong Zhongshu (2nd century BC), a moral dimension is attached to the idea of yin and yang.

To oversimplify it, for the Daoist, good and bad is what you define them to be. For Confucius, good and bad are defined for you.

We, in America, approach things from the perspective of Confucius.

You are told all this because this story is about looking at things from the Daoist way of thinking.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Once upon a time there was a boy named Robert Jenkins, and a girl named Lucy Abernathy. They were born in different towns in different states and, at that time, had no idea the other existed. They were just two among hundreds of millions of Americans. They got served up equal measures of good, bad and ugly. Their childhood was normal in the Daoist sense. What that means is that they perceived it to be normal. There was a lot of good, though like many kids, they didn't know how good they had it. That mostly good - the yang, if you will - continued as both went to college, where they met who they perceived to be the loves of their lives. Both got married to those loves. As it turned out, Lucy married Bob's brother, Brad, which is how fate brought her into contact with Bob. Lucy, now also with the last name of Jenkins, had two children, a boy named Randy and a girl named Mallory. Bob's wife gave him one daughter they named Samantha. The girls were born in the same year and Randy was a year older. It would extend the tale to explain how they ended up living next door to each other, and that isn't really important, except that it meant the kids all grew up together, particularly because their parents shared the responsibility of home schooling them all. The term "home" was very fluid with this bunch.

Perhaps too fluid, in fact.

That's when the yin slammed down on them. Brad and his brother's wife, Valerie, decided that each of them was the love of their lives, rather than Bob and Lucy. This was announced by the simple expedient of Brad and Valerie leaving for a tour of the planet on Brad's yacht. Their return date was "undefined" since they didn't know how long it would take them to see what there was to see.

It didn't take long to realize that the sailors weren't coming back at all. Being served with divorce papers will communicate that pretty well.

That's a fairly good example of "ugly" ... when your brother runs off with your wife … and your mom runs off with your cousin's dad. And vice versa, of course.

The divorces were relatively equitable. Lucy got everything but the yacht, (which was the only thing that was actually paid off). Valerie didn't want anything, except out of the marriage so she could "go off and discover who she really was." Well ... she also wanted to give Bob the honor of continued parenthood. There wasn't room on the yacht for children.

In such breakups, the children are traditionally viewed as innocent victims. Their reaction can run the gamut of good, bad or ugly. In this case, the kids banded together and, more or less, adopted aunt and uncle as absent mom and dad, respectively. It was just natural that Bob and Lucy leaned on each other too, pretty heavily in the beginning, and less so as the kids got older. They maintained separate households, but saw each other "all the time". It was unquestioned they'd see each other at least twice a week as a "family" because every Friday night they got together for supper at Bob's house, and every Sunday, they went out together after church to eat.

The home schooling part of things was much more difficult with two of the "teachers" now gone, but it was decided to keep educating the children in that manner. Bob and Lucy shared that duty, depending on who had the time to do so. That was more often Bob, who was self-employed and had more freedom during the day to work with the kids. Those kids, having some friends who went to public school, had heard enough stories about what that was like to try very hard not to end up there, so they applied themselves to their school work. When they were ready for what amounted to the 7th grade, the adults decided to try one of the online schools, and that worked out well for all of them.

Bob and Lucy carried on bringing home the bacon and trying to save up for the kids' college funds, which took the majority of their time. There wasn't much time for recreation, as far as the adults were concerned. The kids, having decided long ago that they all wanted to continue their higher education in the same manner they were used to - i.e. together - studied and took tests together. As it happened, all three of them finished "high school" in September, which was too late to get into the fall semester of any college, so all of them had agreed they'd just start college at their local vocational/technical school in January. It didn't really matter when you took the initial, common core subjects and they were used to non-traditional study habits. They could get a few college courses under their belts and then move on to the state university to pursue degrees.

They were all excited, getting ready - slowly - to leave their respective nests and go off to college.

Bob, feeling "ownership" of their educational future, had been socking money away ever since the divorces. He worked hard and played very little so that "his" children (which meant all of them) could have a good start in life.

Which was why the one thing Bob did every year for fun was very important to him. And that was hunting - and hopefully bagging - a deer. It was equal measures fun and practicality, actually. It was enjoyable to be out in nature, where the noise was of a completely different variety than usual, and practical because it put meat in the freezer.

Lucy quilted. Again, it was equal parts fun and practicality.

You need one other bit of information before the story continues. Both Bob and Lucy had more than one discussion about what to do about the kids' sexual education. The online school didn't have that in the curriculum, but that didn't matter because both felt like the majority of such education should involve the parent(s). That said, neither of them felt either qualified or prepared to "have the talk." That's fairly normal. Most parents don't feel qualified to talk to their children about the complicated processes involved in relationships that include a sexual dimension. And that's both sad and illogical, because parents have been through it all and have experienced the good, bad and ugly that inevitably comes into those relationships. But, rather than using that experience to pass along lessons learned, most parents in Western cultures just handle the situation by making rules they expect their children to blindly accept.

At least, in the case of Bob and Lucy, they agreed that, regardless of what they did or taught the kids, they would all eventually experiment with sex, probably sooner than later. Neither was happy about that, primarily because both remembered their own first, fumbling attempts to figure out what sex was all about.

So, basically, they did what most parents do. While they knew it was coming ... they kept putting off dealing with it. They put off dealing with it, in fact, until Randy was nineteen and the two daughters were eighteen. Home schooling can do that to you. Your teenage children will probably study together and test together and graduate together, regardless of what "seniority pattern" exists in that situation.

That (ignoring the sexual education of your children), of course, has consequences. Imagine a speeding car that has no driver. You never know where it will end up, but you assume it will involve a crash of some kind. In theory, that car could go from coast to coast without anything more than stopping to fill up with gas. In theory. But nobody would even begin to believe that could actually happen. There would be a crash. It's just the way life is. And the "car" that was the almost college students' formal sexual education was about to smack into an obstruction that would change everything for everybody.

On the particular Friday night where this story actually begins, it was special, at least in Bob's mind, because Randy was clearly "a man" because he had passed into his nineteenth year of life, and deer season had just opened for center fire rifle. This being the last time (probably) that Randy would be free to go out and do what millions of males had done for all of human history, but very few do today, Bob hoped that Randy would want to do a little male bonding in deer camp, which Bob usually inhabited alone.

When he broached the subject at supper that night, things didn't go quite like he'd envisioned. They were just chatting as usual, talking about this and that, when he announced his plan.

"So, Randy," said Bob, suspending a fork full of green beans between his plate and mouth. "Deer season started yesterday. I'm going hunting next week. How'd you like to go with me this year? Hunting is part of human history that most modern people never experience and I think it would be useful for you to learn how to bring home some bacon in the literal sense."

Bob was looking at Randy, interested about seeing the young man's reaction, which is why he didn't notice that all three women had gone still.

"That would be awesome!" said Randy, excited.

This is when things went off the rails a bit, at least in terms of Bob's expectations.

"What about me?" asked Randy's sister, her voice almost a whine. "Why didn't you invite me too? I want to make some bacon too!"

Roughly three ounces of iced tea spewed from her mother's mouth and nose, forming a heavy mist that enveloped a quarter of Lucy's prized, antique, oak dining table. As she coughed and hacked, trying to clear her lungs, she looked at her brother-in-law in an irritated manner. Bob was laughing out loud. Rather than center on the phrase that had caused her this distress, which she knew Bob would milk for as long as he could, she decided to let it drop. Her daughter was simply very innocent. She decided to talk with Mallory later and educate her in terms of what "makin' bacon" meant. Finally she could speak without coughing, and she tried to move the conversation forward.

"Your uncle wants to do a little male bonding with your brother," she said.

Mallory was obviously irritated.

"So? Does that mean I can't do some male bonding with Uncle Bob too?"

Lucy put down the tea she'd been about to sip from again. A deep flush moved visibly from the skin on her upper chest, exposed by the blouse she was wearing, up onto her cheeks.

Bob laughed even harder, while three teenagers looked from one adult to the other in confusion.

Bob was able to get in a sentence.

"Honey, you're a female," he said, grinning.

"Okay," said his niece. "Then I'll do some female bonding with you!"

Bob put his head down and his shoulders shook.

Randy got it first, as evidenced by a grin that he tried to hide, and furtive looks between his sister and cousin.

That cousin, Bob's daughter, Samantha, got it next, but rather than explain it to Mallory, she scolded both males at the table.

"That's not what she meant, you perverts!"

"Well, it's what she said," laughed Bob.

"What?!" complained Mallory.

"The perverts at the table thought you meant sexual bonding," said Sam, patiently. She loved her cousin, but Mallory sometimes seemed very dense.

Mallory's eyes went round. A blush very like that on her mother's cheeks appeared on her face. Her mother, busy mopping up the tea she'd spewed earlier, missed the decidedly guilty look that came over her daughter's face.

Bob did not. He stopped laughing as the completely insane fantasy that his lovely, luscious niece, in the bloom of blossoming as a woman, might actually be interested in doing some ... bonding. Actual bonding! Quite suddenly, he felt a little like a pervert.

"That's not what I thought," he said, defensively, trying to stop imagining his niece naked, on her back, holding out her arms to him. He'd noticed her physical development on a number of occasions in recent years. She might only be eighteen, but she had a body that looked even riper.

"Yes you did," muttered Sam. "You're horny all the time. You might not be if you'd go on dates, like I keep trying to get you to do."

Complete, stunned silence settled on the others, as shocked looks were in abundance.

"How did we manage to get on the subject of Bob's dating life?" asked Lucy, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"He brought up male bonding?" Sam arched an eyebrow as she looked at her aunt. She briefly contemplated on the possibility that Mallory's mental density was genetic.

"I'm not into that kind of male bonding," said Randy, proving that his genes also ran true.

"That's not what I meant!" groaned Bob. "I simply invited you to go hunting with me!"

"And you did not invite me to go," complained Mallory, who now remembered why she was so unhappy.

"Or me," said Sam, adding her own complaint to the issue. "Or Aunt Lucy!"

"Don't drag me into this," said Lucy, holding out both hands, as if warding away bad luck. "I want nothing to do with bugs and having to pee in the woods."

"There aren't really many bugs left this time of year," said Bob, helpfully.

"And you're going to build me a bathroom?" asked Lucy, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"Don't you have a camper?" asked Randy. "It has a bathroom in it, right?"

"He never takes the camper anywhere," said Sam. "It reminds him of Mom."

"Oh," said Randy. Then he looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Because that's why Mom left him," said Sam, somewhat callously. "He used to make her go camping with him all the time."

"I didn't make her," said Bob, injured. "I thought she liked it."

"I did," said Sam, "but Mom? Not so much. She used to complain about it all the time while you were fishing. All she and I ever did was stay in camp."

"I invited her to go fishing," said Bob.

"She hated fishing. Even I knew that and I was only six." Sam rolled her eyes. "I think the reason we never go camping any more is because that's the last place you ever got laid."

"Samantha Bethany Jenkins!" barked Lucy. "You will not talk like that in my house. Certainly not at the supper table! Is that clear?"

The teenager's face clouded up, but her voice was meek when she bowed her head.

"Yes, Ma'am."

Lucy looked at her own children, obviously not at all contrite about exerting parental disciplinary force toward someone who wasn't actually her daughter.

"That kind of comment is not acceptable," she said. Apparently she'd seen that look on Sam's face and was pounding the point home. "Remember that when you're away from home."

"I said I was sorry," moaned Sam.

"No you did not. You merely agreed to my terms," said Lucy. "If you're sorry, then you should act like it," groused Lucy.

Sam stood. She looked tense, at first, but then relaxed. She moved to her father and leaned down to hug him.

"I'm sorry Daddy," she said. "That was cruel of me."

"It's okay," said Bob.

"No it's not," said Lucy.

"You've made your point," said her brother-in-law, looking at her with hard eyes. "She's actually right. Every time I look at that damn camper I think of the last time we took it out."

"I know," said Lucy, her voice softening. "How about we talk about something a little more pleasant?"

"Like all of us going with you," said Mallory. "I think it would be fun. And I really do want to learn how to shoot a rifle."

"Count me out," said Lucy. "I can see the future, and my future, should I agree to go, would involve cooking and washing pots and pans and cleaning dead animals. I think I'll stay here and get a couple of projects finished in my sewing room."

"So we can go?" asked Mallory, excitedly. "Me and Sam?"

Bob, looking a bit like a deer in the headlights himself, made what he thought was a perfectly reasonable comment.

"I didn't think you'd want to go kill Bambi."

Mallory, proving she wasn't a little girl any more, simply smiled.

"Why? I like to eat, too."

"I suppose it would be good for all of you to learn a little about hunting and gathering," said Lucy. "At the rate this administration is going there might be an economic crash at any moment and you'll need to have those skills in your tool box."

"Mom," groaned Mallory. "Not politics again, please?"

"You should care," said Lucy. "But go have fun with your uncle and learn something of value."

And that's how Bob's deer hunt, that year, got turned into something completely different than a little fraternal bonding behind a scope and around a campfire.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Had Bob thought about it, Randy's complete acceptance of the girls inviting themselves might have made him stop and ponder that. But he didn't. Truth be told, that's probably because he had his own thoughts about the girls coming along. He was used to seeing his daughter running around the house in a bra and panties, or maybe a T shirt or tank top and panties. It wasn't unheard of for her to leave her damp towel in the bathroom after her shower and go back to her bedroom stark naked. He "got" that. She had always been independent beyond her years and now she was eighteen and out of high school. She would start college in a few months. It was perfectly normal for her to want to walk around like an adult can walk around.

But a man and his teenage daughter are often at odds with each other. They even argue sometimes! I know that's hard for some folks to believe, but the fact is that at this stage of their lives, Bob and Sam lived more as equals in the house than father and daughter. Sam had, of her own volition, slowly taken over the role and duties traditionally thought of as being those of "the woman of the house." That wasn't so much because she wanted to be in that role, but she loved her clothes, and her father had no concept of how to do laundry properly, so she did that herself. It was easier to do it for him too, than have him muddling around in the utility room. It was much the same in the kitchen. He could cook certain things well, but if their diet was to be varied more than the four or five dishes he could produce, then she needed to be the one doing most of the cooking. And, while Bob wasn't a slob, he never seemed to remember where the vacuum cleaner was, or how to operate it. In many ways, she was the one doing the supervising of routine household maintenance.

That said, for the most part, Bob treated her like a roommate, rather than a supervisor. Most of that was because she was a good kid. She was smart, and knew the value of a good education. She also knew money didn't grow on trees. She didn't beg for luxuries often. She intended to get scholarships to help with college. She knew that the Optimists, Elk and Moose lodges in town liked to contribute to the college education of select young people and there were many other corporations who felt the same way. Neither did she flirt with her father like some girls do, to cajole him into buying her things she knew they couldn't really afford.

It should be noted, however, that Sam didn't need to flirt with her father. That appeared to be Mallory's job, who flirted with him shamelessly. Even at this stage of her life, when "childhood" was obviously long past, she sat on his lap, and rained kisses on his cheeks, and hugged him as if he was a life preserver and she just off a sinking ship. She even did some of that in front of her mother, who thought it was humorous.

Had Lucy given some thought to that, she might have pondered Mallory's sudden eagerness to learn to shoot a rifle and go hunting, something she'd never showed a single shred of interest in before this.

But a whole week of peace and quiet in a house that normally had two boisterous older teenagers in it was too luscious a gift to be looking in the horse's mouth about. She hadn't yet really thought about how quiet the house would get in six or eight short months.

And neither parent had ever noticed the occasional interested looks, shared between Samantha and Randy. Remember, they didn't want to see sexual interest in their children ... so they didn't look for it.

Another component of this whole thing was that both Bob and Lucy firmly believed that dating should be rare, and a privilege, shared with different people, rather than the same one over and over. When they got to college they could have "special" friends. Then it would be appropriate. And besides, at that point they could do whatever they wanted to legally, and thumb their noses at their parents if they chose to do that.

Bob and Lucy had been young once. They'd lost their virginities once. They'd suffered raging hormones as teenagers. And they'd both fallen madly in love with more than one member of the opposite sex during high school. They'd had their heartbreaks back then as well. And more recently, of course.

Both, not surprisingly, were a tad gun-shy about adult male/female relationships. And so, they didn't encourage their kids to be involved in them, either. There wasn't a lot of dating going on in either household. That was one reason Sam's outburst about her father needing to get laid was so shocking.

And so the day arrived when the camper, newly cleaned and spruced up by Sam and Mallory, and driven by Bob, made the completely unnecessary fifty yard trip over to Lucy's driveway to pick up two excited teens. There were hugs between all the kids and Lucy, and then Bob and Lucy, who wished them a safe trip and then waved as her babies were driven away to become adult hunters.

She giggled, as they drove out of sight, remembering Mallory's comment about wanting to make bacon.

She shouldn't, as it all turned out, have giggled.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The camper was a motorized vehicle. Having said that, do not be tempted to think of it as one of those behemoths you see towing an SUV down the interstate, looking like a tour bus, wherein its passengers live a life of relaxed luxury quite similar to what they left behind at home. Rather, this one was a good eighteen years old, of the sixteen foot variety, on a Ford Econoline chassis. When new it was described as sleeping six, but those six people would have to be very good friends indeed. In practice, it had two double beds, one of which was over the cab and the other, which was made up by removing the table and pedestal from the floor and rearranging the cushions of the seats there. A "couch" that spanned the width of the very back was the other bed, but it was only a couple of inches wider than a single bed. A small kitchen, tiny bathroom and some storage made up the rest of the interior. About the only modern amenity was a microwave and the air conditioner mounted on the top, which had worked well the last time the camper had been taken out, but hadn't been tested since then. Of course at this time of year, the heater was more likely to be needed than the AC.

On this trip, two of the hunters would sit in the front bucket seats and the other two would ride in the back. If someone wanted to nap, that could be done in the bed over the cab while the vehicle was moving, or in the rear of the camper, on the couch. There were games and decks of cards in the storage area, but the teens had long ago moved beyond Chutes and Ladders, and Candyland, and nobody thought to update them before the trip got started. The cards got some use, and Bob had thought to bring a bag of used, paperback books.

It was anticipated, at least by Bob, that most of their "free" time would be spent first, preparing to hunt, and then actually hunting. That included preliminary firearms instruction for the kids, setting up tree stands and that sort of thing.

Bob had hunting rights on five hundred acres of land about a hundred miles from where he lived. It belonged to a friend of his he'd gone through college with, who was a physician and only owned the land as an investment, rather than to be lived on. It was all wilderness, though there were a few old logging roads that went through it.

His plan was to teach the kids to shoot on one side of it, and hunt the other. To that end, their first stop, in terms of "camping" was not far inside the steel pipe gates, secured with a padlock that Bob had a key to. His plan was to walk off fifty or sixty yards on the "road" as a firing range. He knew that, when it came time to hunt, the actual distance anyone would need to shoot would be no more than that, because the density of the forest would prevent anyone from seeing farther than that. And, he intended to have them hunt from tree stands. If he set them up right, with any luck, a shot from one, successful or not, might scare a deer into the path of another.

Some of this was discussed with Mallory, who rode shotgun on the way there.

He usually brought his truck on these hunts and camped in a tent, roughing it. The truck also provided a handy way to get the deer back home. Since they had the camper this time, (assuming the hunt was a success), his plan was to teach the kids how to butcher the deer in the field. There was a luggage carrier on the back of the camper, of the type sometimes used to haul a motorized wheel chair, which he'd always used to tie down two big coolers to. Those were what he planned on taking the meat home in. What was currently in them would, in theory, be eaten on the trip.

They spent the afternoon setting up camp. Randy and Sam went foraging for firewood for a campfire, while Bob paced off the temporary range, which was in front of a low hill that would act as a backstop for the bullets. He also explored further down range to ensure no trespassers were there who would be put in danger when the firing started. Mallory said she'd start getting things ready for supper.

When Bob returned, Randy was just completing the assembly of a ring of stones in which to build the fire. Sam had unhooked the lawn chairs from the rear of the camper, and was inspecting them critically. They had been left there for years, and the webbing looked none too sturdy. There were also only two of them.

"We forgot several things," said Sam.

"We're out of practice," said Bob.

"Only two of us can sit in these," she said, pointing toward the chairs. "And that will probably be us girls."

"We're all equal on this trip," said Bob, his voice taking on the tone of lecture. "Women have fought for equal rights for decades. Now you have to live with the results of that."

"I was referring to the fact that either of you will tear right through them," said Sam, wryly. "Mal and I may weigh too much too, for that matter."

"Oh," said Bob.

"There was a tree that fell down over that way," said Randy. "We might be able to drag it over here and sit on it."

"I have a pretty big bow saw in the camper," said Bob. "If it's too big to just drag over here, we can cut a section with that."

"This is so cool!" squealed Mallory. "We're out here in nature, facing trials and tribulations, and dealing with stuff! I feel like a pioneer woman!"

Bob smiled. He knew they had it thousands of times better than any pioneers ever had, but he wasn't going to ruin Mallory's fantasy.

The men went to look at the fallen tree and, by the time supper was ready, they'd cut a five foot section of it and created a bench that would seat three, comfortably. The chairs did support the weight of Sam and Mallory, but neither felt completely secure.

Supper was macaroni and cheese with cut up hot dogs in it. Bob had brought a fresh pineapple and showed the kids how to cut it up. They got their fingers sticky in the process of eating it and Bob reminded them that water was at a premium, and could not be wasted. The camper's water tank held twenty gallons, but that would have to last all four of them an entire week. He didn't tell them about the two cases of bottled water he'd put in a storage locker. That would be brought out when they got ready to climb into their tree stands, where they might have to stay, quietly, for hours.

With that in mind, Bob required that they use the age old method of "cleaning up," by simply licking and sucking their fingers clean. He had not the slightest concept, when he instituted this policy, that watching Mallory's lips moving along the length of her fingers would affect him like it did. He sat, dumbstruck as her innocent actions caused blood to rush to his groin, which resulted in the stiffening of his male member so quickly it was as if magic had produced his erection. That she wiped those fingers on her shirt, including where the bulges of her teenage breasts stretched the cloth, only made his sudden fantasy even stronger. He had to keep looking away, because she kept looking toward him. It didn't occur to him that those repeated glances his way might have some significance. He was too busy thinking about how much she'd grown up.

"Are you okay, Daddy?" came the dim voice of his daughter. "You look funny."

"What?" He suddenly came out of the imaginary world in which Mallory was naked and he was sucking pineapple juice off her breasts and nipples while somehow, magically, she was able to suck the same sweet juice off his penis at the same time. His brain didn't even try to imagine how pineapple juice might have gotten on his cock. The realization of what had just happened made him wince and the first thing he thought of was that, perhaps, Sam was right and it was time for him to get out there and find some kind of female companionship. If he was thinking about ravishing his own niece, he must be pretty hard up.

"Daddy?" Sam stood and moved toward him. Now concern was clear in her voice.

"I'm fine," he said. "I was just thinking ... having a flashback, sort of. My mind was somewhere else."

"About Mom?" That sixth sense some women are reputed to have was strong in Sam.

"Something like that," said Bob. The last thing he was going to do was admit that there was still a vivid image in his imagination of sweet little Mallory lying spread-eagle under him as he demonstrated exactly what "makin' bacon" was all about.

"I'm sorry," said his daughter, the worry in her voice changing to loving concern. She moved to sit beside him on the log and enfolded him in her arms. "She was an idiot," she murmured into his cheek.

With something akin to guilty astonishment, Bob felt his daughter's soft breast mashed against his shoulder, and her lips on his cheek as she kissed him there caused a shiver to streak down his spine. His boner flexed in his pants. When the fuck had she grown up so much too? The sudden urge to grip his dick and jack off instantly was so strong that his hand actually moved before he could regain control over it.

"Thanks," he said, patting her on the shoulder and leaning subtly away from her unnerving presence. "It's okay. Everything happens for a reason."

"I heard something once," said Randy, who was sitting on the other side of Bob. "Confucius say that woman who run away not worth chasing."

"I can't believe you said that!" said Sam, sitting up and unknowingly easing the pressure in Bob's mind as her breast broke contact with his arm. "That's my mother you're talking about!"

"Well, she took off, didn't she?"

"Yes ... with your father, as I recall," said Sam, acidly.

"Stop it!" yelled Mallory, standing up. "They both left us all. They didn't love us. I'm glad they're gone!"

"Hey, hey, hey," said Bob, all thoughts of sex with either girl gone as quickly as they had bloomed in his mind. "That's not true, Mallory. Your father loved you. He still loves you." He looked at Sam. "And Valerie loves you. What they did had nothing to do with not loving you. Don't ever think that they don't love you."

"So why did they leave?" asked Sam. "You never talk about Mom. And Aunt Lucy never talks about Uncle Brad."

"Very true," said Randy, poking a stick into the fire.

Bob and Lucy had discussed what to say - and not say - to the children. Brad and Valerie had taken off when the kids were still very young, under eight. They'd been unable to decide at what age the children would be old enough, and mature enough, to be able to deal with the answers to what would inevitably be their questions. After a couple of years the children stopped asking where the respective Mommy and Daddy were. At first the story was that Brad and Valerie had gone to Africa to help children who had no parents at all. When birthday cards came from places like Venice and France and Hong Kong, the true story came out, but only in a very sanitized version. Over the years, they'd adopted a plan based more on avoidance than anything else. Quite suddenly, Bob was tired of avoiding the issue. He shrugged.

"You guys were very young when they left. They just couldn't deal with the rigors of raising children." He looked at Sam. "Your mother had dreams, and she couldn't follow them if she lived a conventional life." He looked at Mallory, and put his hand on Randy's knee briefly. "And your dad was always incapable of resisting a woman. In college, he must have had thirty girlfriends." He shrugged again. "I think they thought life was passing them by and they chased after it."

"Confucius was right, then," said Randy, darkly. "If they ran away from us, they aren't worth chasing."

"Don't think of it that way," said Bob. "You're young, and you think they abandoned you. But they didn't. Not really. Not in their hearts. They just can't be the same kind of parents that other people choose to be. They still think about you and love you. It wouldn't surprise me if some day they show back up here and want back into our lives."

"Why do you think that?" asked Sam. "The only time Mom ever writes anymore is on my birthday and at Christmas."

Bob didn't want to say that, in his own mind, the reason he thought something like that could happen was because Brad was probably cheating on Valerie just like he'd cheated on Lucy, and that sooner or later, Valerie was going to get tired of it. At least that was what he wanted to believe. In the few, short conversations he'd had with his ex-wife since the divorce was final, her comments were actually more towards an apology to him that she hadn't figured out that she and Brad were soul mates before she married Bob and Brad married Lucy. They'd all known each other in college, and had hung around together like friends do. Deep inside, he knew she was never coming back. But he also knew that her interest in how Sam was doing was still strong. Sam wasn't aware that Valerie emailed him roughly once a month, updating him on what their travel itinerary was going to be. Her reasoning for that wasn't to torment him, but to keep him up to date in case some disaster befell them. She had a significant life insurance policy, and Sam was the beneficiary.

That's why he replied to her infrequent missives with relatively detailed accounts of how Sam was doing. He included information about Mallory and Randy too, for her to share with her ... soul mate. The pain of rejection was still there, but it had faded over the years. He looked over at Sam now. She was a young woman. Maybe she was old enough.

"She writes more often than that," he said, before he could decide not to. "She sends me emails."

"Get out!" said Sam, slapping his knee.

"She always asks how you're doing," he said.

That was barely true. He knew Val felt guilty about abandoning her daughter. She never admitted that, or that her decisions had been a mistake in any way, but her veiled, muted requests for information about Sam were transparent. She cared. Maybe not enough to resist following her dreams, instead making the kind of sacrifices good parents have to make. But she cared. And Bob had convinced himself that she'd have made a pretty rotten parent anyway.

"And I tell her how you two guys are coming along too," he said, in obvious reference to Randy and Mallory.

"Does my mother know about this?" asked Mallory. Her voice was uncharacteristically serious.

"I've never told her," admitted Bob.

"You know she still cries sometimes," said Mallory. "At night, in her bedroom. I can hear her through the wall."

"That makes me sad," said Bob.

"Me too," said Mallory. "I don't like my father very much."

"I guess the lesson from all this is that sometimes life isn't fair, but we have to go on doing the best we can. And for you two, that includes helping your mom get through things. I know how hard it is to be a single parent. And Lucy has two uncontrollable, wild, crazy teenagers to put up with." He grinned. "At least until you go off to college."

"I think you just said that raising me has been a pain in the ass," said Sam, slapping her father's knee again.

"Not at all," said Bob. "All I'm saying is that there were challenges that would have been easier to face if there had been two of us."

"Like what?" asked Sam.

What came to Bob was the instant memory of the time when Sam came to him in hysterical tears, saying she was bleeding to death when, completely unexpectedly, she had her first period. She'd only been eleven, and he hadn't expected this to happen for another year or two. His panicked call to Lucy had brought help, but he was the one who had to go to the store and procure the necessary supplies and materials, while Lucy stayed home and had a long talk with Sam.

But, in truth, there had been two of them ... it had just been him and Lucy. And, in truth, had Valerie been there, he would have simply handed the whole mess off to her, too. But because Valerie wasn't there, he'd had to become more intimately involved in all aspects of his daughter's life. In that sense, he was almost ... lucky ... that his wife had run off. He didn't think about it in these terms, but his situation conformed perfectly with the Daoist philosophy of perceiving things as having a good component.

"Maybe I was wrong," he said, putting his arm around her. "I'm not complaining."

"You'd better not be," she said, snuggling up to him.

He found himself thinking of her in terms other than as his daughter, as again, her breast pushed into his arm and her warm lips brushed against the stubble on his cheek a second time.

That was made worse when Mallory suddenly appeared in front of him and, before he could do anything about it, wormed her way onto his lap, straddling him and pushing Sam to one side.

"Hey!" complained Sam.

"I need hugs too," said Mallory, putting her lips right where Sam's had been.

"You're just a slut," said Sam.

Again, there was a moment where, if Bob had reflected on what was happening and being said, he might have had cause to ponder. Such as the fact that Sam so casually branded her cousin as "slut," when Bob had probably only heard her use that word two or three times before that. And those times the word had been used with reference to some woman or girl Sam didn't like. And how could Mallory possibly be slut, since she had no frequent contact with any boys?

But Bob couldn't ponder anything at the moment, because two soft/firm breasts were pressed against his chest, and a jeans-clad pussy had settled to put pressure on his persistent erection. Warm lips seemed to be almost nibbling at his cheek and, somehow, his hands had settled on Mallory's firm, round bottom. Those hands were actually pulling her toward him.

In situations like this, the next logical step - when the man and woman are romantically inclined - is to kiss each other. That leads to other foreplay and Mother Nature is given her due. But this situation wasn't normal, and there was no kiss. That allowed Bob to regain some rational thought processes and he moved his hands, to pat Mallory on the back, instead of pull her against his raging hard-on. He wondered if she could feel it, and he felt the hot rush of blood into his cheeks as he blushed.

"I'd never leave you," said Mallory into his cheek.

"Get a room," scoffed Sam, who pushed at her cousin.

Mallory stood up and moved back. For whatever reason, her feet stayed shoulder's width apart and, perhaps since her loins were at the same height as Bob's head, his eyes centered on the point where two slim legs met, inside those jeans.

"That would be hard to do in the middle of the woods," said Mallory. She put a finger to her lips. "I guess we could use the camper."

It was at that point that Bob's brain finally alerted him that something ... was off. There was entirely too much casual reference going on to things of a sexual nature. He didn't get a chance to contemplate that, though, because his thought processes were interrupted by Randy, who asked a question.

"Speaking of the camper," he said, "who's going to sleep where?"

"I don't know," said Bob, who realized he hadn't thought of that at all. There were so many things he hadn't thought of. He was used to doing this alone, and when he did it alone, everything came without doing much planning or thinking, because he'd done it so many times.

"There are plenty of beds," observed Sam.

"Yes, but not much privacy," said Bob, his mind heading off in the wrong direction again, as he imagined watching the girls changing into their PJs. Sam usually slept in just a T shirt and panties. In the past, that hadn't been a problem. But that was before he noticed her as a woman, instead of just as his daughter.

"We don't need that much privacy," said Mallory. "The bathroom has a door."

"You can't turn around in there without banging into a wall," said Randy.

"Who turns around when they sit on the pot?" asked his sister.

"I thought you meant for changing clothes," he said.

"Why would we need to do that? You've seen me naked plenty of times. I'm guessing Uncle Bob has seen Sam that way too. So what's the big deal?"

"Uncle Bob hasn't seen you naked," said Bob, sounding a little dazed, staring at Mallory.

"Oh, poo," said the girl, tossing her long, blond hair. "Like I should be afraid of you?"

"Remember," joked Sam, grinning. "He hasn't gotten laid in years."

"I thought you weren't allowed to say things like that," pointed out Randy.

"At your house," Sam said, taking the legalistic approach. "This is my house."

"It's totally inappropriate," said Bob, trying not to imagine Mallory prancing around naked, in front of her brother.

"It's totally true," said Sam.

"Why are we talking about sex?" groaned Bob. "This is a hunting trip. There isn't going to be any sex. I shouldn't even have to say there isn't going to be any sex!"

"Who said there was going to be sex?" asked Sam, innocently. "All I did was point out that you haven't had sex in ages and ages. I admit I was alluding to the possibility that, should Mallory get naked, you might take an interest in that fact. But then that would be pretty normal, after all. I mean Mallory is killer cute."

"Why are we talking about sex?" moaned Bob again.

"Because very soon, dear daddy, we're going to be at college, where we'll get to have sex whenever we want to, as often as we want to." Sam jutted her chest out. Whether it was intentional or not was not clear.

"No sex!" gasped Bob, now trying not to imagine some faceless stud mounting his daughter's somehow willing body.

"Now you've gone and ruined everything!" yipped Mallory, glaring at Sam.

Bob stared, speechless.

"I didn't ruin anything," scoffed Sam.

"Yes you did. Now he's starting to lay down rules. This trip was supposed to be fun, not the same old thing we get at home."

Randy stood up.

"I'm going to sleep on that couch thing in the back," he said. "You guys can argue all you want. Just do it out here and be quiet when you come inside."

He moved off toward the camper.

Sam leaned against her father.

"You can sleep over the cab," she said. "That's the most comfortable one. Your poor old bones will need that."

"Right," said Bob, trying his best not to think about sex. It wasn't working. At least if he was in the cab-over bed, it would be dark enough that he could beat off and nobody would notice.

"What time are we getting up?" asked Sam.

"On hunting trips, I get up when I wake up," said Bob.

"You usually get up at five," said Sam. "This is a vacation. You can sleep in if you want."

"The deer don't sleep in," said Bob. "But I'll let you kids sleep. There is much to do that does not require you three to be there. I need to scout out places for the tree stands we're going to build, and that needs to be done quietly. That's why you're going to learn to shoot on this side of the property. Hopefully, that will scare all the deer over to the side where we'll actually do the hunting."

"So you're going to bed now?" Sam's voice held a note of something odd. It was like she was almost urging him to go to bed now.

"Might as well," he said, deciding not to worry about it. The whole evening had been strange. When had his daughter grown up to the point that talking about sex seemed routine?

"Sleep tight," said Sam. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "We'll be quiet when we come in."

"Okay," he said.

He got up and went into the camper. Randy was already crashed on the couch in the back. All he had on were briefs, but that didn't seem odd, as Bob had turned the propane heater on in anticipation of a chilly night. Bob skinned out of his clothes, tossing them into the sleeper over the cab. He planned on wearing the same pants the next day, with a fresh shirt and socks. He never wore underwear. He thought about the running shorts he'd brought to sleep in. He usually slept nude. Since he would get dressed in the sleeper when he woke, he decided it wasn't worth getting into his back pack for the shorts. Naked, he climbed up into the sleeper.

Five minutes later he was stroking his rigid prick. Images of both Sam and Mallory, naked, danced in his mind.

Outside, Sam nudged her cousin and nodded her head toward the camper, which was shaking almost imperceptibly. They were too young to have seen the old bumper sticker that said, "If this van's a rockin', don't come a knockin'," but they still recognized the significance of that slight movement.

"See? I told you he'd be horny," she whispered.

Both girls grinned at each other. Their evaluation of the situation was distinctly more Daoist than what Confucius would have approved of.

Inside the camper, Bob didn't dwell on it, but his thinking about Sam and Mallory had become more Daoist as well. His perceptions changed as the conditions around him changed.

Actually, he wasn't thinking about much at all, except the sweet pain of semen rushing through his penis, jetting onto one of his dirty socks.

Chapter Two

The sweet release that coursed through his penis ejected with it the stress Bob's mind had been under allowed him to drift off to sleep. Whether his sleeping mind was tormented by the burgeoning sexuality of his niece and daughter or not, we don't know. What we do know is that sometime later that night he woke up, his sleep-muddled mind trying to instinctively alert him to some anomaly in the dark night around him.

At first, he assumed some noise outside the camper had caused the alert. We think of the night as being silent, and that as we become dormant during the hours of darkness, everything else does too. But that's anything but true. Many animals come out only at night, and there are both predator and prey represented in their numbers.

We also think of night as being totally dark. That's a result of our constant use of artificial light, which causes our eyes to fail to adjust as natural light wanes. Granted, human eyes aren't well adapted to sources of light other than the sun, but the fact is that on most nights, other than the few in which moonlight is completely absent, one can often see one's shadow at night. Human eyes will adapt, as much as possible, to the ambient light available at night.

Bob had been asleep long enough for his pupils to have become fully dilated. He didn't think about that as his eyelids slid upwards. All he thought about was that something "wasn't right." His first thought was that some animal was sniffing around outside, and had made a noise that woke him up. Then it registered in his brain that it wasn't as dark as he thought it should be. There were windows in the camper, but the one in the cab-over "bedroom" where he was sleeping was small and covered with a thick curtain. Some instinct told him it wasn't morning yet, but there was dim light coming into his sleeping area from somewhere inside the camper.

His next thought was that Sam had remembered the night light they'd used when she was little and they came camping as a family. It was a 12 volt model, made especially for camping in vehicles that had 12 volt power supplies. He had two extra batteries in a compartment under the camper floor that were wired to the lights inside the vehicle. They also powered a radio and the pump for the water faucet.

He closed his eyes again, relaxed, now, but the susurration of a whisper made them open again. He lifted his head, turning it, and he heard more soft whispering. Curiosity caused him to move his head enough to look out into the rest of the camper from his dark nook, and his entire body went rigid.

At the other end of the camper Randy lay on the couch, right where he'd been when Bob came in and crawled up into the cab-over bed. He was no longer adorned in tidy whities.

Now he was naked.

More than that, there were two girls kneeling on the floor next to him.

Sleep vanished and Bob's mind transitioned to full wakefulness. He was paralyzed by a mixture of normalcy and craziness that made the whole scene surreal.

The normal things were obvious. The girls were Sam and Mallory, of course. Randy's face was normal too, with that lopsided grin on it that was there so often. Randy was a pretty happy young man. He had a good attitude about life, generally, and he smiled a lot.

One reason for that was now apparent.

His sister's hand moved gently up and down, stroking what could be nothing other than his nineteen-year-old erection.

That was part of the craziness, but another part was that both girls were just as naked as Randy was. Not only that, but one of Randy's hands was casually moving around on Sam's chest as if that were perfectly normal. Bob couldn't see what that hand was doing, because both girls had their backs toward him, but it didn't take any imagination at all to deduce that her breasts were involved.

And she obviously didn't take umbrage at his outrageous touch.

Bob's brain tried to deal with the parts of this scene that were wrong - inconceivable! - and it was made worse when Sam leaned forward to kiss her cousin on the lips. As if that wasn't bad enough, Mallory then leaned down, in concert with her cousin, to take turns sucking the tip of her brother's cock!

Bob realized his breath was frozen in his lungs. He had to concentrate to force the air out of them, and then draw in another fresh breath. That process was noisy and Sam's head suddenly came up, swiveling on her neck to bring her elfin features into view as she looked toward where her father was ... in theory ... sleeping. Some instinct caused her to nudge Mallory, who also lifted her head in question.

"Don't stop!" gasped Randy, his voice no longer quite a whisper.

"Shhh!" shushed Sam.

"Don't stop!" urged Randy, much more quietly.

Mallory's hand went back to stroking his boner and he relaxed back against the couch cushions.

"What?" said Mallory, looking at Sam.

"I thought I heard something," whispered Sam, looking over her shoulder towards where her father was supposed to be sleeping.

Bob held his breath again. This time it was voluntary. He moved his head back, further into what he perceived as the darkness of his nest. He realized his own penis was hard again. Not only that, but his hand was gripping it. His mind was awhirl with a plethora of sensations. Among them were the stark admission to himself that he was clearly interested in his own daughter's sexuality. That made the fact that he wanted to bang his niece like a drum seem a little less troublesome.

Mixed in there was both envy that Randy obviously had access to both girls, sexually, and outright rage that any boy had touched his little girl at all. He'd always been able to manage his fears about her dating, but only because she never came home looking like a girl who had been messing around. Now, though, knowing she was sexually active, at least that Randy could touch her that way, made his mind produce lurid visions about what all that touching might have looked like before this, including Sam on her back, legs open in acceptance, as some little prick - quite literally, in one sense - plundered her sweet, innocent sex.

What made it difficult to stay mad about, though, was her attitude, which suggested she was completely comfortable with the situation. Her behavior was adult, whether she was a teenager or not. She showed no indications of hesitancy, fear, discomfort, guilt or anxiety, all things that Bob remembered vividly from his own fumbling experiences as a teen, exploring the strange, fascinating world of sex.

Samantha was comfortable with who she was and what she was doing. She wasn't sneaking around behind his back, out on a date with some boy. And she could have been. She could have said she didn't want to come on this trip. And while he was gone, she could have done anything she wanted to ... in her own bedroom … on her own bed.

With whomever she wanted to.

That was what actually calmed him down. She had chosen to come on this trip, to spend time with her cousins. And it was obvious she had spent some time with them like this before.

Now he waited with breathless anticipation. What would they do next? How far would this escalate?

More importantly, if it escalated too far ... what would he do about it?

Mallory's head was down and bobbing again, and Bob could hear little sounds escaping from Randy's throat that made it clear that if she kept going much longer, the possibility that his daughter might get a prick up inside her would be vanishingly small.

Bob was astonished as he caught his lips mouthing silently, "Suck, baby. Finish him off."

She did. It was obvious. And while his hips bucked and his adolescent penis fired off a volley of teenage spunk in his own sister's mouth, Sam kissed him on the mouth, muffling his whimpers of ecstasy.

Bob watched in awe as his daughter extended a leg, straightening it and lifting the foot off the floor of the camper several inches. As she did so, she twisted sideways, giving her hand room to move between her legs.

While she kissed her cousin, she masturbated, doing for herself what Randy could not.

And then, suddenly, it was over, and young people were moving silently and quickly, breaking apart. Randy was left, almost abandoned, as the girls scrambled to put on their sleepwear and get into bed. Mallory lay on her back, next to the wall of the camper, her hand inside the running shorts that were her "PJ" bottoms. Sam, having apparently reached some kind of climax, relaxed beside her cousin, composing herself for sleep.

Randy simply pulled on the briefs the girls had obviously stripped off of him, and rolled over to put his back to the night light.

Mallory issued a whimper or two, but that was it.

Then it was quiet in the camper.

It took Bob an hour to get back to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Bob woke up the next morning, it was to a different reality than when he'd crawled up into his bed, the night before.

He pulled on the clothes he'd taken with him into his "bedroom" and eased out of the cab-over nook.

The kids were still sleeping. He stood beside the bed the girls were in and stared down at them. Mallory was lying on her back with one arm over her eyes. He could see the bump that was caused by one of her nipples. Sam had rolled to face her cousin during the night. His eyes followed the curve of her hip to where the bare skin of her thigh was exposed.

He glanced over at Randy, who was in the exact same position he'd rolled into after being given what had looked like a doozy of a blow job.

They looked exactly like they had looked the day before, young … and innocent.

But they were not the same teenagers he'd ridden with to this place. It was as if aliens had taken over their bodies, and he'd only discovered this by accident, the night before.

He had no idea what to do. In fact, he had no idea if he should actually do anything.

He left the camper as quietly as possible. He needed time to think. He'd done a lot of thinking last night, of course, but most of that had involved wondering what else these kids had done together. He wondered if Sam was still a virgin. He wondered if Mallory was still a virgin. He wondered if Randy had lost his virginity with either of these girls.

He put together a fire and made a pot of cowboy coffee, just dumping grounds into the pot with some water. While it heated, he paced. He thought about calling Lucy and telling her what he'd seen. But she'd just worry. Or demand he bring them back. Maybe he should do that anyway.

They hadn't fucked, though. And they could have. Really, compared to that, what they had done wasn't so terrible ... right? And, around the campfire that night, maybe he could find a way to talk about all this. Share his wisdom. Demand they stop! Beg them to stop?

The program for the day was to teach the kids how to shoot and get the tree stands ready to be occupied. He had already built stands in various places around the property and he had planned that two hunters would sit in a stand, so they'd only have to spruce up two. All that was required was checking the lashings that held things together and getting rid of leaves; making sure the hunters would cause no noises by moving. He had a box full of "instant ladder" steps, which were held to a tree trunk with a couple of short ratchet straps. Four of them set roughly two feet apart would get you ten or twelve feet off the ground, which was sufficient, as long as you remained still.

That meant he would be in a stand with one of the kids, a girl, he had assumed. Now, he wondered if he could do that. Well, he could do that, of course, but his mind wouldn't be on shooting a deer. It would be on whichever girl he was sitting next to.

At the same time, though, he didn't feel comfortable putting the two girls together and taking Randy as his partner. They were miles from anywhere, but he still felt that leaving the girls out of sight of either male was not right. A proponent of women's liberation could have given him an hour long lecture and it wouldn't have made any difference. It was just the way he was raised.

He was still trying to decide whether it would be better or worse to have one or the other girls sitting next to him for hours, when Sam opened the door and came out dressed for the day.

"Morning Daddy!" she said, her voice chipper. She sounded perfectly normal.

"Hi, Baby," he said, automatically. He stared at her chest, then realized it, and looked away.

"How'd you sleep?" she asked. Before last night he'd have thought it was just a casual question. Now, her voice was tinged with typical teen angst. He almost laughed. Then he wondered how she would react if he just told her he'd seen everything. Something made him decide not to.

"I've slept better," he said, vaguely.

"It's always hard to sleep when you're not in your own bed," she said, sagely.

How did she know that? He wondered how many beds she'd slept in that weren't her own. Then his mind insisted that, in that scenario, she probably wasn't sleeping anyway. Finally he forced himself to stop thinking about that.

"Are the others up?" he asked. "We've got a long day ahead of us."

"They're getting dressed," she said. "Want me to start breakfast?"

"Absolutely," said Bob, happy to think about something other than sex.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He did all right for the next hour, concentrating on eating, and getting the rifles ready and thinking about what he was going to do to teach them how to shoot. He owned a number of guns, and had brought four different rifles with him. He started with a general class on how each rifle worked, safety issues, and his two hard and fast rules: 'Never point a gun at anything you're not willing to shoot, and never shoot unless you can see your target clearly.'

"Nobody else is supposed to be out here tramping around in the woods," he told them, "but that doesn't mean they know that. The last thing we want to do is shoot something behind a bush that we think is a deer, and have it turn out to be a trespassing hunter."

After that he went over good shooting techniques, talking about aim, hold, trigger pull and breathing.

Then it was time to see if they could hit anything.

"I'm going to work with each of you individually," he said. "While I'm doing that, the two who aren't shooting need to get started refurbishing two tree stands to sit in tomorrow morning. I've built them in several places but most of them are just branches lashed together with rope. The rope might need to be replaced and we need to choose two that will hold two people. So before we start shooting practice, let's go get somebody started on a stand."

He was aware that the shooting they'd be doing during the day would probably start the deer moving. He hoped they'd move toward where the stands were. Instead of using an hour to hike in, Bob decided to take the camper and drop two teens off. He drove half an hour, taking it slowly because the logging trail they were on was being reclaimed by nature. The kids had decided who would stay and who would start building by the simple expedient of a session of rock, paper, scissors.

They walked with Bob to the base of a tree that had a stand in it. He showed them how to hook up the instant ladder steps and pointed in one direction.

"There's a whole line of stands in that direction," he said. "When you get this one squared away, go about a hundred yards and find another one that will fit two."

"Got it," said Randy. Sam was already installing a ladder step around the trunk of the tree.

Bob drove back to the campsite with Mallory in the passenger seat.

He put an empty five gallon bucket upside down as a makeshift seat for Mallory, with one of the lawn chairs in front of her as a gun rest. Again he went through the elements of hold, trigger pull and breathing, and told her to squeeze off a shot at the paper plate he'd stapled to a tree fifty yards down the trail.

She put the bullet square in the center of the plate.

"Outstanding!" he said, peering through his binoculars, really pleased.

"I just did what you told me to," she said, smiling.

"See if you can do it again," he said.

She put that one half an inch from the first one.

"This is fun!" she said.

"That's fine," he said, "but this is to put meat in the freezer."

"I know," she said. "This will be easy."

"You won't be shooting at a paper plate," he cautioned.

"I know that, silly," she said.

"A lot of first time hunters get buck fever," he said.

"What's that?" she asked.

"That's where you have the deer in your sights, but you can't pull the trigger," he said.

"Because it's pretty," she guessed.

"Or because you can't bring yourself to kill something," he said.

"I don't think I'll have that problem," she said. "I get that food has to come from someplace and that it doesn't just magically appear in the store."

"You're in the minority, then," said Bob.

"I can do it," she said. "I won't have any problem."

Bob snorted, but only to himself. Kids always thought they could do anything. He wondered if he should do something to distract her, and see if she could still shoot under those conditions.

And that was when things started to go off the rails.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Later, he would decide that what happened was the result of what he had seen the night before. The whole time he'd been teaching Mallory how to shoot, he'd been intensely aware of her as a female. The previous paragraphs, describing that process, can't convey the sense of intimacy involved in being so near to her, touching her hands, arms and shoulders, as he put her into the proper shooting position.

That he was so aware of her as a woman was obvious to him. Her smiles and the obvious ease she felt about being touched may have had something to do with it too. For whatever reason, when he decided to "distract" her, what leapt into his mind was not something he would have chosen to do twenty-four hours earlier.

"See if you can still shoot while I distract you," he said, moving behind her.

And then, while she prepared to shoot, he reached around her and cupped her breasts.

That she wasn't wearing a bra was instantly obvious, as his hands found themselves full of warm, soft, teenage titties.

"Uncle Bob!" she said, without taking her eye from the scope. "What are you doing?"

"Distracting you," he said, breathing more quickly.

"You're being naughty," she breathed.

"Concentrate on the target," he whispered into her ear.

"How can I when you're doing that?" she muttered.

"I saw what you three were doing last night."

It came out without a conscious decision to say it. She went very still.

"You did?"

"Mm hmm," he said, squeezing her soft breasts gently.

The sudden report of the rifle shocked him. She lifted her head, hitting his chin gently.

"How'd I do?" she asked.

"To be honest I don't want to let go so I can use my binoculars," he admitted. Her casual acceptance of his outrageous behavior allowed him to simply be honest with her.

"Wait a sec," she said, and leaned to look through the scope again. "I don't see anything. I think I missed," she sighed.

"Because you were distracted," he said, needlessly.

"I can do better," she said. She pulled the bolt back and the expended case leapt through the air as she smoothly chambered another round.

He knew he'd gone way too far. Reluctantly he started to slide his hands free of her mounds. His fingers dragged along the sides of her breasts, reluctant to break contact.

"Reach under my shirt this time," she said, calmly.

"You're kidding me," he gasped.

"No I'm not." She was already looking through the scope again.

As if in a dream, he moved his hands lower. She sat still as he found the hem of her shirt and tugged, baring her stomach. His fingers gently slid from her sides to her belly button.

"Don't tickle," she said. "That's not fair."

"You call this fair?" he asked, sliding his hands up to find hot, naked breasts.

She let out a long sigh of air.

"I call that lovely. Don't stop, please."

Her addition of "please" amused him to the point that, quite suddenly, his thought process turned to ponder the fact that, obviously, what was happening did not bother her at all. There were firm indications that she actually welcomed this kind of attention. He reminded himself that she was no innocent lamb, that she had done this - at least something like this - before.

His fingers found and gently squeezed turgid nipples.

"I don't think I can shoot if you do that," she said, breathing quickly.

"Try," he said, hoping to prolong this startling, unexpected, and very fun game.

He kept kneading her nipples. Again, the report of the rifle startled him. She laid the rifle across her lap and, when he started to release her, put her hands over his, trapping them against her breasts. She reached for the binoculars and, as if she knew he would now leave his hands where they shouldn't be, lifted the optics to her eyes.

"Ooo!" she said, sitting up taller. "I was wrong before. There are two holes right next to each other. And I hit it again this time!"

"Damn," he sighed.

"Why'd you say that? I thought I was supposed to hit it every time."

"You are. But now I have to stop doing this." He squeezed her orbs again.

She stood, dislodging his hands as she turned. Rather than get her shirt all twisted up, he pulled his hands away from her. She handed him the rifle.

"Who said you have to stop?" she asked, looking through her eyelashes at him.

Then, in one smooth movement, she pulled her shirt up and off, over her head.

He stared at round, firm breasts, capped by puffy pink nipples.

"What are you doing?" he breathed. The question was purely reflexive.

"I've wanted to give you my virginity for years," she said, softly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In one of those cheap, dirty books, he'd have been on her like a lion on a lamb, fulfilling her stated desire ... and his too.

But, of course, this isn't one of those kinds of books. And Bob, as much as he wanted to sate that desire, was wise enough to put the brakes on. At least initially.

"Maybe we should talk about this," he suggested.

"Can you get rid of my virginity while we do that?" she asked, sounding completely serious.

"Virginity isn't something to be 'gotten rid of.' Virginity is something you should share with someone special."

"You're the most special man in my life," she said, her voice calm.

"Randy looked pretty special last night," he said.

"Randy is only for practice," she said. "I've been saving my virginity for you."

"That's crazy," he said.

"Maybe," she said, but it wasn't an admission.

"So you and Randy haven't ...?"

"Had sex?" she finished, when he didn't. "Of course not. He's my brother, silly."

"I'm your uncle," he pointed out.

"I don't want to marry you," she said, smiling. "I just want you to be my first." She cocked her head. "And probably my second, and third and so on. I don't know any boys I'd let touch me like that."

"Except Randy," I reminded her.

"Oh, he wants to, but like I said, he's only for practice ... for doing other things. I have this fantasy, and in it you make it very good for me, and I make it very good for you too."

He was stunned by her calm, and very adult attitude. But he had other concerns at the moment.

"So ... has he ... practiced ... with anybody else?"

She smiled.

"You mean besides with Sam? No. He has it bad for Sam. He hardly even looks at anybody else."

"Except you," he reminded her.

"He's a man. He's frantic to get into Sam's panties, but she and I made a pact. She won't do it until I've done it."

"And you won't do it until she does it?" he asked, taking it to the logical conclusion.

"No. I have to go first. With you. Only then will she let Randy have his nasty little way with her. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. We planned on it happening next year."

"You planned this?" He goggled.

"Well of course," she giggled. "How else was I going to get you to pop my cherry? Haven't you noticed how much I tease you?"

"Well ... yes, actually."

"But you're too proper to do anything about it," she said.

"Of course," he said, using her own phrase. "You're my niece."

"Well, now you know I don't care about that. Like I said, we're never getting married but I love you, and I've loved you for years. I want my first time to be with someone I really love, and who I know really loves me. If you don't remove my virginity, I'm going to have to let some guy I meet in college do it. I suspect, though, that college freshmen aren't much different than high school seniors and since I don't know any boys I think are worth spit, that means I'll probably have to let Randy do it. He'd love that. Do you want that on your conscience?"

"That's hitting below the belt," he said.

She moved then, to come right next to him. The tips of her naked breasts touched his shirt.

"It's what you have below the belt that I want right now," she whispered.

Then she reached up, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

With tongue.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She had to settle for finding out what it felt like to have a different man's mouth sucking avidly at her sex. He marveled at how eager she was to do that, all the while thinking about the fact that Randy had done it before him. She was quite vocal about how much better he was at it than Randy was. She didn't sound like she was making a porn video. She sounded like she meant it.

That led him to think about what Randy hadn't done before him. He was sorely tempted to give her what she thought she wanted.

Instead, he settled too ... for finding out what Randy already knew ... what her mouth felt like coaxing a load of hot spunk out his balls.

It was enough, but he knew that would only be temporary. She had a dream, and he was in it, and he knew she hadn't given up that dream.

He insisted that she try shooting again.

She insisted he "distract her" with his finger in her pussy while she did so.

His feelings were a little hurt when, after she wiggled through another orgasm like that, she wanted to suck him again, but couldn't get him hard.

"I heard old people can't get it up as often," she said, finally, after working on his still worn out cock for a while.

"It isn't for lack of trying," he said.

"Randy can get hard even after he cums," she commented, casually.

"Please don't tell me you two have proven that," he groaned.

"Okay, I won't. Are you hungry? I'm starving. Your spunk tastes delicious, but it's not very filling." She batted her eyelashes at him. "Not filling where I want it to be filling, anyway."

It was surreal. She exhibited absolutely no guilt at all about what they'd done. At the same time, dressed again, she acted just like the "old" Mallory. He distracted himself by teaching her how to clean the rifle.

"We should probably go see what they're doing," she said, after she had completed that task.

"Why?" he asked, his fantasies lighting off again. "Do you think they're doing something?"

She giggled.

"No, but they both have to learn how to shoot too, right?"

"Oh. Yeah," he said, a little sheepishly.

She faced him and put her hands on his shoulders.

"Please don't feel guilty," she said. "I'm a big girl, now and I wanted this. I want more. I've had a long time to think about this, Uncle Bob."

"You're eighteen," he sighed. "You haven't had time to think about much of anything."

"Sam's a good girl," said Mallory. "She's very level-headed; much more than I am. I'm horny all the time. She gets horny, but not unless she lets herself. You don't need to worry about her."

"Hah," said Bob. "I saw her last night naked, kissing a boy who was also naked. I can't help but think about what else she's done with naked boys."

"There are no other naked boys," said Mallory. "I told you. She won't do it until I do."

"And you want to do it right now," groaned Bob.

"She's not a slut, Uncle Bob," said Mallory, looking serious. "She's going to pick and choose her lovers very carefully."

"She isn't supposed to have any lovers," said Bob, stubbornly.

"You know she will," said Mallory. "Every girl does. It's normal. It's practically required. Don't you want to be involved in that process?"

"What?" Bob looked shocked.

"Not like that, silly," she said, slapping his shoulder. Her eyes went unfocused for a few seconds. "Though, knowing the way she feels about you, I suppose that's not completely out of the question." Her eyes cleared. "I meant don't you want to be her advisor, you know, help her make her choices?"

"Crap, Mal," groaned Bob. "Fathers just don't think of themselves in that kind of role."

"Most fathers don't have a daughter like Sam, or the kind of relationship you do with her."

"You're telling me she'd actually talk about ... um ... sex? With me?"

"Why do you think she keeps trying to get you to date?" asked his niece. "She knows it's normal to have a sex life too. But you don't. Neither does my mother. You two are the ones who are acting abnormal."

"Things sure have changed since I was your age," sighed Bob.

"No they haven't," said Mallory. "My peers these days are just willing to talk about it." She leaned up to brush her lips against his. "With the right adult, that is."

"So would you talk to your mom about sex?"

"If I thought she wouldn't go berserk, I would," said Mallory.

"Yeah, she probably wouldn't handle that well," said Bob. "Especially if she knew about you and Randy."

"Yes," said the girl, showing the first signs of discomfort. "But I figure it's better to experiment with him than do it with some strange boy I've only talked to half a dozen times."

"I guess, in a crazy kind of way, that makes sense," said Bob, his mind whirling.

"It makes sense for Sam too," said Mallory. "Please don't yell at her."

"I'm not in much of a position to yell at her," said Bob. "I watched you guys last night, and I didn't stop you."

She grinned. "That's true! I have you where I want you. I'm not above blackmail, old man."

"Speaking of that, why are you attracted to an old man?"

"Because I know you, and I love you, and I know you love me. I know you'd never hurt me, or brag to your friends that you got some from me. I know you'll be tender, and you'll care about how I feel. What's not to be attracted to?"

"Girls are supposed to lust after handsome young men with muscles," he said.

"They're cute," she admitted. "But they're also immature. You're not."

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome. So, can I sleep with you tonight?"

Bob's eyes widened. He didn't know what to think of first, the image of her crawling in bed with him, willing and eager, or what his daughter might then do with Randy at the same time. They had made a pact, after all.

"Let's not rush things. You said yourself you were going to wait until next year."

"That was then. This is now. You know how I feel now, and I know how you feel."

"How do I feel?"

"I sucked your boner, Uncle Bob. It was ready to pop my cherry. If you didn't like the idea of doing that it would have stayed soft."

"Point taken," he admitted.

She frowned. "Though, come to think of it, it did stay soft the second time."

Again, he was stung.

"That was for the reason you intuited," he said. "That was only age, not interest."

"We're going to have to work on that," she said. "When we start doing it, I'm going to want to do it more than just every four or five hours."

Bob groaned as he felt his penis stiffening again.

He didn't tell her about it.

Chapter Three

Bob felt chagrined as they approached the area where he'd left Sam and Randy, and found them still at work. They had replaced all the ropes lashing it together and were improving it, adding a back rest. They'd obviously been hard at work while he and Mallory ... well ... hadn't.

He had a moment of doubt, though, when his daughter stood up from where she'd been bent over cutting a branch with the bow saw, and smiled and waved at him.

She looked just like she'd looked every other time he'd seen her.

But now he knew she wasn't just like he'd thought she was every other time he'd seen her.

"Boy are you in for a treat," Mallory, called out to the pair, brash as all get out.

"Why?" asked Samantha.

"Mallory!" warned Bob.

"Wait until you get to the part where he distracts you while you try to shoot," said Mallory, ignoring him.

"Oh?" Sam obviously heard something in her cousin's voice, and looked questioningly at her father.

"Mallory!" barked Bob.

"Oh, calm down," said Mallory. "I'm not going to ruin the surprise."

"What surprise?" asked Sam, now suspicious.

"There won't be any surprise," said Bob, doggedly.

"Oh, is Randy going to surprise her instead?" asked Mallory, grinning.

Bob felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realized Mallory was not going to give him any time to adjust to their new relationship before the others were made privy to it.

"Stop!" said Bob, tensely. "There's a right way and a wrong way to go about this."

"What's going on here?" asked Sam, fully suspicious now.

"Yeah? What's going on?" asked Randy as he approached the group.

"I see you've made good progress," said Bob, trying to steer the conversation to a more comfortable topic.

"We made excellent progress too," said Mallory, smoothly.

"You did?" asked Sam.

Bob wanted to grab her and put his hand over her mouth. She spoke before he could.

"I put five bullets in a circle this big," bragged Mallory, holding up her hands to form a circle.

"Impressive," said Randy, wiping his hands on his jeans. "We heard the shots. Who's next?"

"I think Sam should go next," said Mallory. "He's very good at teaching a girl what to do."

"Oh, crap," groaned Bob.

Sam reached to take Mallory by the arm and dragged her away from the men until they were far enough that they couldn't be heard. Their heads went together. Mallory was obviously doing the talking.

Sam's head went back sharply, her neck stiff. She darted a glance in the direction of the men. Bob was quite sure that look was at him. He wondered what he was going to do now. He expected her to react like any normal girl might react if she found out her father had diddled her best friend. Not happily.

But the conversation went on. Now it was obvious Sam was interrogating Mallory.

"What's going on?" asked Randy, again. He looked puzzled.

Bob had no answer. So the truth just slipped out again.

"I saw what you three were doing in the back of the camper last night," he said.

"Shit!" gasped Randy.

"I discussed it with your sister," said Bob.

"Oh." Randy looked away. "Are you going to shoot me?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"Of course not," said Bob, shocked.

"I didn't do anything to Sam that she didn't say was okay," the boy argued.

"Mallory told me all about that," said Bob.

It finally penetrated Randy's brain that Bob wasn't breathing fire.

"I bet that was interesting," Randy hazarded.

"You have no idea," sighed Bob.

"I bet I do," Randy responded.

"Why do you say that?"

"I know how she feels about you," said Randy. "So does Sam."

"Criminy," said Bob. "Is there anybody who doesn't know?"

"Oh, it's only me and Sam who know," said the boy. "And it's not like they talk to me about it directly. But they talk to each other about how they feel about you, and I'm there, sometimes."