Here I am at the start of my sixties, looking back on special moments in my life. Unquestionably the best gift I have ever been given was my niece’s virginity. She was nearly eighteen, had just finished sixth form and was ready to go off to college. A sweeter girl you could not wish to imagine. Bubbly and beautiful, full of the exuberance of youth, yet somewhat sad because she still had to find out about sex. Oh yes, there were still girls like that then. I was staying at their house, her dad was my brother, for a family get-together. Let me call her by her middle name, Christine, for the purpose of this story. Well, Christine had confided in me that she and her boyfriend had wanted to get it together, but it just hadn’t worked out. As a result, she was feeling bad about herself and sore at the world in general. You need to understand that although I had been married, as the result of a stupid affair I had started and finished almost immediately, that marriage had collapsed. Christine was looking for experience, I wasn’t getting any – it seemed a reasonable thing to offer to help her do something about the situation. Of course, it wasn’t as bald and simple as that. I had to create the opportunity by offering to take this truculent teenager off my brother and sister-in-law’s hands for a week or so during the summer holidays before she went off to college. istanbul travesti Imagine my surprise when both they and she agreed. So, there I was, some eighteen years older than Christine, fancying her like any red-blooded man would, and wondering just how this was going to unfold. My immediate concern was to break down any barriers of shyness because I figured that once that was done, the rest should follow quite simply. Naive? You might say so, but you have to remember, I really couldn’t see too clearly beyond this lovely girl who was half my age. Through her teens I had watched her grow up, losing her childishness and developing into a young woman. Although her only uncle, if there had been others I’m sure I would have been her favourite. We had always been close, going for walks with the dogs, speaking to each other more like friends than relatives, sharing silly (and private) jokes that nobody else seemed to understand. We would often walk, hand-in-hand or with her arm linked through mine, enjoying the closeness of one another. But there had never been any question of any contact other than that – that is until now. But contact there would have to be if I was going to help her. The thing that was really worrying her was the age-old worry of doing ‘it’ for the first time. Was I building a mountain out of a mole hill? Just give it to her, istanbul travestileri plain and simple – job done! Well, yes – but at the same time, no. You see, I wanted better for my little Christine. I wanted her to discover the joy of sex. I wanted it to be something more than just a sordid little experience where she lost her cherry. I wanted it to be something she would treasure, something on which she would build throughout her adult life, something she would smile about and remember the pleasure of her first time. I suppose our social circumstances had something to do with the dilemma I faced. Although we like to think that class no longer exists in England it, of course, still does and is alive and kicking. Her family, and I myself for that matter, could best be described as middle England. Professional occupations, owning our own well-appointed homes, and maintaining standards and a lifestyle that openly demonstrated we were not wondering where our next meal was coming from. I know it sounds ridiculous today in 2010, but back then this was certainly quite a situation on which I was embarking – well, for me anyway. We drove down to my house, about a hundred miles away from where she lived. The car journey was filled with frivolous conversation and also some more serious moments in which I must have sounded like a boring old fart, speaking of travesti trust and confidence, but with no real substance. Bless her, she humoured me. So I was neither embarrassed nor uncomfortable when we arrived. You’ll laugh when I tell you I persuaded her to take a warm bath after the journey. I even suggested she left the door open and I would come in and chat to her. But she did what I suggested, so there I found myself, sitting on the edge of the bath, my niece trying to hide herself beneath the water and the bubbles. She looked so beautiful yet so vulnerable there. I simply wanted to cuddle her, but settled for rubbing soap onto her shoulders and tracing patterns in the suds on her shoulders, and onto her neck and arms. The touch of her soft skin dispelled any doubts I may have had. The bulge in my pants was massive, but I was afraid to slip my hands beneath the surface of the water to discover her body further. I took heart from the way she seemed to be relaxed beneath my touch. Still shy, but the initial tension had gone from her shoulders and her voice as we chatted. I massaged her shoulders. It had been quite a while since I had felt a woman’s flesh beneath my touch, and I was desperate not to ruin this situation. It would have been so easy to succumb to impatience, but don’t they say ‘everything comes to those who wait’? It took all my self-control to tell her to go and get dressed. Then, I would take a bath in the same water. I left the bathroom for a few minutes, and returned when she had vacated it. I left the door open and called to her to come and do for me as I had done for her.