Twelve Days

[neverdoubted]

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Author’s note: the following is not the story, but merely a prologue. It was suggested that I post this to judge reader interest. If you would like to read the actual story, let me know. But unless there is a significant amount of interest, it will probably never see the light of day.
Copyright NeverDoubted. No usage or copy without permission.
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Synopsis:
Every other year, a naughty uncle's gullible niece comes to stay with him for twelve days over Christmas break. Follow along to see what special presents he has prepared for the buxom beauty to open this year.

Inspiration: stories with a Christmas theme.

Themes: ENF, Exhibitionism, Bondage, M/F

Enjoy,
~ ND


Twelve Days (Prologue)

Even though I almost never see her, I'm pretty sure my niece, Ashley, considers me her favorite relative. I guess it doesn't hurt that I'm practically her Santa Clause.

The circumstances that led to her spending time with me over Christmas breaks were unusual to say the least. Her dad, my selfish asshole of a stepbrother, had just finalized his first divorce and wanted to celebrate by taking his new girlfriend on a Christmas cruise. The only problem with that plan was Ashley, the daughter he never wanted. The custody arrangement, which he only accepted to avoid paying child support to his ex, required him to keep Ashley over Christmas break every other year.

I felt bad for the kid when I heard her deadbeat dad was looking for ways to dump her off and get away for the holidays. But that's just the kind of scumbag thing he would do. So, I stepped up and offered to watch her. I know, I know, I sound like a saint. You might not think so after you hear the whole story.

My intentions toward her were pure in those early years. That first one, when she was just six, was by far the most awkward. It soon became clear to me, when my stepbrother dropped Ashley off at my house, that he hadn't bothered to tell her the plan. She seemed confused that he was unloading her suitcase from his truck and why he was introducing her to this strange man he called "Uncle Andy". He barely said a dozen words to me before he was back in the truck with his girlfriend and headed off for high seas adventures.

I had practically no babysitting experience and since my own broken family had not provided happy memories and traditions to fall back on, I soon realized I had no idea how to celebrate Christmas. But every child deserves a Christmas, and this poor girl seemed to be in more need of holiday cheer than most.

Only able to draw from examples I had seen in pop culture, I did my best to cobble together some Christmas traditions and make happy memories for her. Since she would be staying with me exactly twelve days, I decided to make it like the song "The Twelve Days of Christmas” and give her another gift to open each day. Being a twenty-year-old bachelor with a decent job, plenty of disposable income, and no one to spend it on, it was the least I could do.

She was shy and quiet, but seemed to like opening the corny presents I picked out. I must have done a pretty good job, because I did see her smiling when she left.

Since my stepbrother only had to keep his daughter every other Christmas, it was two years before I saw Ashley again. Of course, he conveniently scheduled another cruise - his own favorite Christmas tradition. And since it had worked out so well the last time, he expected me to take care of her again. It was during that second Christmas, when she was eight years old, that we really started bonding. Knowing what to expect from our time together, she came to trust me, and I could finally see her real personality come out.

Being stuck in a trailer park with her strung out mom and neglectful stepdad didn't afford her many opportunities to get out and learn about the world. I kinda liked having someone around who responded enthusiastically to every activity I suggested. But I quickly learned that I had to be careful when joking with her. She was incredibly gullible and had a tendency to believe anything I told her.

"You know," I casually mentioned one evening while scooping out some cherry chip ice cream for her desert, "ice cream was actually invented in China. So, the correct way to eat it is with chopsticks."

"Really?" she asked, with wide, innocent eyes, "I didn't know that!"

I nodded solemnly and handed the bowl over along with a pair of wooden sticks. It took everything I had to keep from bursting out laughing as I watched the pretty, little eight-year-old struggle to consume the melting lumps before they reverted to cream. I can still see her chasing the little cherries around that bowl of slippery, pink sauce and bringing the chopsticks up to her mouth. When she was finished, globs of vanilla had dripped down her chin and onto the front of her shirt!

My singular purpose those first few years was to make Ashley's wildest dreams come true. I swear, it never even occurred to me that, one day, she might grow into someone who could return the favor.

Day by day, our trust in and comfort with each other grew as we established silly little traditions. We baked gingerbread cookies from scratch because that's the way Martha Stuart said to do it even though neither of us knew how to bake. She had never been ice skating and wanted to try it after seeing it in a Christmas movie we watched. But it was much too warm where I live for ice or snow. So, we had to settle for a trip to the roller rink.

We drove around late one evening and just looked at the holiday light displays. By experiencing it through the wide eyes of a grateful child, I finally started to appreciate what other people liked about Christmas.

One of her favorite activities was watching a different classic Christmas movie each night of her stay - after opening her present, of course. I can still picture her sitting on the other end of the couch from me, hugging her new, stuffed bunny. A formerly steaming mug of cocoa sat empty on the end table beside her. We were watching It's a Wonderful Life, and she was straining toward the tv. The glowing picture revealed a nervous expression on her cute, little, round face while the climactic ending played out.

She broke out in literal applause for that one and her bright, blue eyes were moist with dew. There's a reason it's considered a classic.

She stood up when I did, intending to help straighten the living room and clean the dishes. When I saw her yawning, I offered to finish cleaning up so she could go ahead and get to bed.

"Thanks, Andy Clause," she said, her pretty smile filling the room with warmth.

She had come up with that goofy nickname all by herself. I know it was probably just due to all the presents I was buying her. But it made me feel special to know that she cared enough to give me a term of endearment like that.

"'night, kiddo," I replied with a wink, "don't forget to brush your teeth."

Before leaving the room, she unexpectedly walked over and actually gave me a goodnight hug. It was the first time she had ever felt comfortable enough to show affection toward me. I hugged her back as best I could with my arms full of dishes, and just like that, another tradition was born. Every night after that, she was allowed to go straight to bed, after giving me a hug, of course. And I would stay behind to clean up the living room and put the dishes away.

I'm not sure where I got the idea from, but another favorite tradition of hers was writing a letter to Santa on Christmas Eve. She must have known Santa wasn't real and that I was the one buying her all the presents. And I wasn't about to let some fictional character come in and take credit for my efforts. But she cared so deeply about it for some reason that I wasn't about to tell her “No".

We’d tried it the first year, when she was six. Since she didn't know how to write more than a few words, she had ended up just drawing him a picture. But that second year, when she was eight, she took the letter very seriously. I had even bought her a special set of red and green Christmas stationery with gold leaf trim and ornately decorated envelopes.

It was Christmas Eve, the last night before her dad was due to pick her up. She wrote for at least an hour and insisted I write one, too. Then, refusing to let me see what she had written, she went over to the fireplace and threw both our letters in. I didn't even have a fire going, but I knew what she was thinking. We had watched a movie, I don't remember the name, where a kid writes a letter to Santa and delivers it by putting it in his fireplace.

After she went to sleep, I retrieved the letters and read hers. It was a clumsy mix between a prayer and a dear diary entry. She mostly talked about all the fun things we had done that year and the presents she had received - as if Santa didn't already know about them? She ended it with a Christmas wish, "You know I've been a very good girl. So, if you only grant me one wish, please let me come back to stay with Uncle Andy again! Love, Ashley Melliger. Age 8". The signature part was straight out of the movie.

I brushed off the ashes and secretly saved it even though she would be mad if she found out. If Santa was real, I'm sure he wouldn't mind me saving such a sweet memento. When she woke up the next morning, she walked straight over to the fireplace and checked to make sure it had flown off to the North Pole as expected. She was so happy the rest of her stay knowing without a doubt that Santa would grant her wish to let her come back.

With a dad like hers, and a mom and stepdad who didn't sound much better, she needed me, that much was obvious. It may sound sappy, but Christmas is a time for giving. I couldn't do much to improve her crummy home life. But at least I could help her escape it all for twelve magical days every couple years.

But I must also admit that I needed her. The Christmases I spent without Ashley are colorless and bleak in my memory. I'm pretty sure I looked forward to her return just as much as she did. And even though I had only spent twenty-four days in my entire life with this little girl, even two years later, we picked right up where we had ended without skipping a beat.

With a hurricane bearing down on Florida that year and a cruise ship to catch, her dad was more of a jerk than usual. He barely slowed down to drop her off. But she had come to expect nothing less from him. I looked her up and down as she turned to face me, and the truck roared off down the road.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I said to the pretty, ten-year-old cherub beaming up at me, "I've been expecting a visit from Ashley. Are you her older sister? Do you know where she is?"

"Oh, Uncle Andy Clause," she replied, politely brushing off the compliment, "you know it's me!" And just like that, we were back in the groove.

I couldn't believe how much she had grown! But, then again, it had been two years. It's not that she was any more or less mature than other ten-year-olds. It's just that the changes are usually observed more gradually, instead of all at once. Her straight, mousy brown hair was longer, held back by a couple of simple barrettes, and her pretty face, featuring that perpetual smile of hers, had grown longer and less round. Her expressive, blue eyes peered out through actual bangs.

The weatherman was expecting the hurricane to eventually track directly over my house. It wouldn't be dangerous by that point, downgraded to just a tropical depression, but he did predict several days of steady drizzle. So, for the first six days, I drove her all around town so she could do our usual, external activities, like going to the mall, and looking at Christmas lights, etc. I didn't want her to feel like she had missed anything.

With the rain incoming, I prepared a few things to help combat cabin fever back at the house. We picked out a few puzzles which ended up being a good investment. I also took a chance that a ten-year-old girl who hadn't experienced much of life might want to play in the rain. When she opened my present for her that day, and her eyes lit up, I knew I had guessed correctly. It was a classic, yellow rain slicker with a floppy yellow hat and matching boots for jumping in puddles.

It wasn't cold outside in the slightest, but as she was running off to her bedroom to get ready to go outside, I called out an offer to prepare some hot cocoa with marshmallows to go with the sandwiches I was planning for lunch.

That's when I got carried away and something happened that changed the way I viewed Ashley forever. If you can't tell from the chopstick story, while I never want to go so far as hurting anyone, I do greatly enjoy a good prank. But with Ashley, it seemed like, no matter how outlandish my fib, she always fell for it! I once told her the colorful sprinkles on doughnuts are harvested by scraping the scales off tropical fish. She couldn't bear to even look at the ones with sprinkles after that.

I had never met anyone as gullible as that girl. I suppose she had no reason not to trust me. I had only ever shown her the greatest deference and care in our short time together. I'm sure she didn't get that treatment from anyone else in her life.

"Hey, Andy, can you help me with this last button?" she asked, wrestling with the rain jacket as she exited her bedroom. She was still wearing what she had put on that morning, a simple skirt with leggings and a colorful play shirt.

I was about to suggest she take off the leggings because they would get soaked when the idea for a prank suddenly came to me, something I considered relatively harmless. She froze when she looked up and saw me snickering at her. I found the prank so funny; I couldn't resist blurting it out. "That's a Parisian slicker, kiddo. You're supposed to wear it like a swimsuit."

"Really? I didn't know that!" she said with a surprised expression on her face. Embarrassed, she retreated back into her bedroom. You would think she would at least have a few follow-up questions at that point, if only to spare herself further humiliation. But not Ashley. Since the words had come out of my mouth, that was good enough for her.

She emerged a few minutes later, having taken all her clothes off, including her underwear, and put only her jacket, hat, and boots back on. It was so hilarious that I could barely keep a straight face. The jacket came down halfway to her knobby knees. Her bright yellow galoshes were a little too big for her. Even cinched as tight as they would go, they did not close completely over her skinny calves.

Nervously, she clomped across the room to seek my approval. The brim of her floppy hat obscured her face and she had to strain her head far back to make eye contact. The top button of the jacket was still open, and I could see down the middle of her pale, smooth chest, where her cleavage would someday be, all the way to her belly button.

Clearing my throat, I quickly helped her fasten the last button and cover up her bare body between the gap. Nodding my approval, I patted her on top of her head. A smile of relief washed over her trusting face, and she clomped over to the door. Opening the umbrella I had propped beside the door for her, she stepped outside to play in the rain in nothing but her new, Parisian jacket and boots.

The sandwiches forgotten, I ran to the window in disbelief to watch her. More than anything, I feared one of the neighbors might see her out there and come asking why I had sent a ten-year-old girl out in the rain without any clothes on under her slicker. The occasional wind gust caused the bottom to fly up and reveal her upper legs. But the flashes were so quick that it could have been my imagination, and the steady showers made it hard to see anything more intimate. I had to stop watching when I smelled something and realized I had scorched the milk that was heating on the stove for cocoa.

She played outside for at least an hour. When she returned, she was grinning from ear to ear and soaked from head to toe. Because of the strong wind, the rain had come down at a steep angle and rendered the umbrella useless.

Her hair was plastered to her face, but that's not the only thing that was plastered to her. I averted my eyes to preserve her modesty when I saw how much the waterlogged jacket was clinging to her. She was young enough and unconcerned about how much of her featureless, undeveloped body was revealed. I brought her a bath towel and gave her space so she could change out of her dripping things in private and avoid tracking water all over the carpet.

Returning to the kitchen, I busied myself with lunch. After a minute, she came around the corner and inquired about the cocoa. Not bothering to get dressed just yet, she sat at the bar and ate her lunch wrapped in nothing but the towel. I didn't make a big deal out of it. After all, she was just a kid, and it was only her shoulders and legs that were bared.

But the experience did give me some concerning truths to ponder. I had always seen Ashely as just a child; the ideal companion and perfect sidekick to share the holidays with. But for the first time, I realized that she wouldn't always stay that way. She was a girl. Girls grow into women. How many more years could I do this with her before it got awkward? It made me sad to think that our little biennial tradition, which I was coming to treasure more and more, could be coming to an end very soon.

From then on, I was extra careful about what I said around her. I didn't want to create another Parisian raincoat situation. But I also couldn't tell her I had lied about it, so I let her go on thinking that anecdote was true. It rained every remaining day of her visit. And every day, she would go outside dressed in nothing but her yellow jacket and galoshes and stomp around in the puddles because, apparently, that's what the little, ten-year-old girls in France do.

On Christmas Eve, we repeated the tradition of writing letters to Santa. Ashley collected my letter and placed it with hers in the cold ashes of my fireplace. After she went to bed, I retrieved them both and read hers. Her Christmas wish, once again, was to let her come back to visit me in two years. I had written the same thing even though I knew it was useless to make a wish to a fictional character.

I had a lump in my throat when I hugged her goodbye. I genuinely cared about her and knew it might be the last time I would ever see her. In the months that followed, I would go back and read her letter to Santa. Surely, someone that passionate and determined would find her way back, right? But even if she did, I faced two, long years of waiting.

My heart skipped a beat when I got the call from my stepbrother. After a rocky two years, his second wife had insisted he take her on another cruise to rekindle their romance and save their marriage. Knowing Robert, he would spend the whole time cruising for a new girlfriend, but I couldn't care less about his love life. I was just happy to hear that he needed someone to watch the daughter from his first marriage over the Christmas break again. I feigned annoyance, but on the inside, I was rejoicing. Ashley was coming back!

I immediately went to work planning to host her again. And as Robert's truck pulled up outside my house, a beautiful young lady peered through the window at me with a huge smile on her face. Thirty-six days spread out over six years. That's all the time I had ever spent with this girl. But once again, we settled back into our routine as if no time at all had passed and we had never been apart.

She had cut her hair shorter and wore it in an older, more mature style. But she was the same Ashley I remembered. She still hung on my every word and her fresh face lit up with a bright smile and nod in enthusiastic response to any activity I suggested. Knowing how innocent and trusting she could be, I had learned to watch my tongue around her.

That's not to say nothing had changed. She straddled that line between a child and a teenager, and her threadbare wardrobe, which her parents were apparently neglecting to maintain, could not be ignored. She still wore a lot of the same outfits she had brought two years earlier and was bursting out of them!

I called an audible, shuffling some of the presents on her list and adding a surprise shopping spree for new clothes at the mall. I knew I had made the right choice when she opened the certificate I had made and ran over to give me a huge hug of gratitude. Even at twelve, that girl already knew how to shop like a teenager! My sole contribution that day, other than paying for everything, was to pick her out a second suitcase to hold it all!

Another thing that did change slightly was our movie night seating arrangement. That first year, when I was still very much a stranger to her, she had remained a safe distance from me at the far end of the couch. But every subsequent year, she had crept a little closer. This year, she picked out the cushion right next to mine. After arranging her blanket around her legs like a nest, she settled in, cuddling her favorite, stuffed bunny - the one with the silky, pink ears that I had bought her years earlier.

The night after her shopping spree, I could tell she was worn out. Her eyelids were drooping, and she didn't look like she would make it to the end. Eventually, I saw her yawn. Then, she leaned over and rested her head on my shoulder. I didn't think much about it at the time, but that small act did establish a new tradition. Every night after that, her head found its way to my shoulder.

Everything was going great until the end of her stay when it started raining. Having already done everything on our list, I suggested we just settle in and work a puzzle to pass the time. But Ashley had other ideas.

"Hey, Uncle Andy..." she started, before hesitating.

She was biting her lip as if working up the courage for something. Obliviously, I looked at her for a few blank seconds before she spoke again.

"Um...do you mind if I go...play in the rain instead?" she asked, digging her toe into the carpet.

"Oh! Sure, kiddo, I don't mind at all," I was quick to reply, "I'll do the edges and you can help fill in the rest when you get back. I have an umbrella around here somewhere and a jacket you can borrow-"

"I don't need to borrow a jacket," she replied quickly, "I packed mine! The one you bought me from Paris, remember?"

Uh oh!

She continued, "I lost the hat, and the boots were too big to fit in my suitcase. But I don't mind going barefoot."

My mind was spinning as she retreated to her bedroom to get ready. I had so many questions.

Was she taking off all her clothes and about to come out dressed in nothing but her raincoat like when she was ten?! Surely, she had figured out the Parisian raincoat thing wasn't real, right?? It had just been a silly, childish prank.

So, why had she acted so weird when she was making her request to go outside? Why suggest it in the first place? It's like she had an ulterior motive, or something. But what? And she had planned for this exact possibility. Why else would she go through the trouble of packing that jacket specifically? Was she trying to send me a message?

In the end, I convinced myself that I was overthinking it. I was so sure that she would come out fully dressed with her jacket on over her clothes like any normal person and that would be the end of it. I was wrong.

If she was trying to impress or illicit some reaction, she accomplished her mission when she stepped around the corner. It was immediately obvious that she was naked except for the jacket. And as with her other outfits, her tween body had outgrown the rain slicker built for children and was bursting out all over.

Without boots, her feet and legs were completely bare. The lower hem had originally come half-way to her knees. Now, it barely reached the tops of her legs which were growing longer and less spindly by the day. The middle section hugged her torso so tightly that the buttons were straining to stay fastened.

"Can you help me with this button?" she asked innocently, her petite, bare feet padding silently over the carpet to carry her closer to me. That top one always confounded her. Even though her hips had just started to widen, the bottom panels of the jacket were still struggling to contain them and flapped open as she walked, giving enticing glimpses of the pale flesh of her thighs.

She stood patiently before me, puffing out her chest and waiting for me to recover from my stunned state and help her with the last button. Without a shirt on, her bare body was left to fill the gaping vee at the top of the jacket. Two small swells where her breasts were starting to form peeked in from either side. If the gap were any wider, her nipples would have been showing. Her breastbone formed a dividing line which pointed straight to her cute, round belly button.

Clearing my throat, I closed the jacket, securing the button, and patted her on the head. In return, she offered me one of her beautiful, beaming smiles. As she turned around and walked to the door, I tried not to stare at the cute, little crease that marked the top of her legs and the start of her bare bottom which the jacket didn't quite fully conceal.

Once she was gone, I snapped out of my stupor. I still can't say for sure why she had done it, or even if it was on purpose. Maybe she wanted to see how her step-uncle would react. She was getting older, growing in awareness of her own changing body. Maybe she wanted to know what it felt like to show off in front of someone she trusted. Or maybe it truly was nothing more than an innocent request to go play in the rain. Who could possibly interpret the thoughts and motivations of a twelve-year-old girl?!

I sat a towel out for her then busied myself with the puzzle. Figuring she would need privacy, I stayed put when I heard the door open. Pretty soon, she found me in the den.

"Have fun?" I casually asked, barely glancing up from my work as if the puzzle were at a critical juncture which demanded my full attention.

Instead of heading directly for her bedroom to change, she had simply wrapped the towel around her after drying off. But it was plenty big and probably more modest than the jacket had been. She had rubbed her hair dry, but it hung in strings and needed to be brushed. I kicked my inconsiderate self for not thinking to give her a second towel for her head.

"Yeah, it was so fun!" she replied. I swear, that girl loved to do everything! You could propose an activity of walking down the highway picking up trash and her face would light up.

She praised me for having finished the edge and kind of got sucked in to helping even though she was still just wearing a towel. She had hand-picked that puzzle at the store, a painting depicting Santa's workshop at the North Pole. All the snow pieces made it harder than we expected it to be, but we were determined to finish it before the end of the holidays.

We chatted like normal. Occasionally, when the towel started to slip a little too far, she would tug on it. Once or twice, she stood up and opened it completely to re-secure it under her arms. I kept my head down and concentrated on the puzzle during those times. Perhaps my intense concentration is why we made so much progress.

When she announced that she needed to go wash her hair and excused herself, I stood up to stretch and realized I had been sitting with my shoulders tense.

I resolved not to make a bigger deal out of the afternoon than she had. When she returned, she was dressed normally with her hair all clean and brushed out. That evening, she settled in beside me on the couch and was fast asleep with her head on my shoulder before the end of the first act.

On the last day, when her dad came to pick her up and we said our bittersweet goodbyes, her hug lingered longer than usual. As she rolled her two suitcases down the driveway to his truck, she looked back at me, and my heart ached.

Forty-eight days. That's all the time we had spent together. It seemed so insignificant against the hundreds and hundreds we each spent living our normal lives. But something in that forlorn expression made me long for another reunion more than anything in the world. It's stupid, I know.

I couldn't predict the future, but two years later, as December rolled around, I began to make preparations in earnest. I had no idea how to prepare for a teenager, but I had enough sense to know they don't celebrate Christmas the same way that kids do. A stuffed animal and a watercoloring kit wasn't going to cut it.

On the big day, as I waited nervously on the front porch for her arrival, new doubts started to creep in. Why would a teenage girl even want to hang out with her creepy uncle anyway? Technically, we weren’t even family! She only had fond memories of our time together because of the presents, right? Surely, now that she was older, she would see it differently.

But my fears melted away as soon as I saw that beautiful, familiar face smiling at me through the window. Ashley, now fourteen, threw open the back door as soon as the truck came to a stop.

"UNCLE ANDY CLAUSE!!!" she cried jubilantly, bounding across the yard with long, graceful strides and leaping into the air when she reached me. I held out my arms to catch her as her arms and legs wrapped around me in a smothering hug. That was new.

She was still Ashley, just in a different body. She had curves now, not as many as a full-grown woman, but too many to miss. She was taller than I remember and had started growing her hair out again. It liked it better that way. Her stomach narrowed considerably around her middle as if it were taffy being stretched to accommodate her new, extended torso. Her legs were also longer, but not spindly anymore. Their shape ebbed and flowed in perfect proportion to the rest of her body. By the way she had bounded effortlessly across the yard to reach me and wrapped them tightly around my waist to hold herself up, she knew how to put those newly developing thigh and leg muscles to good use.

She clung to me and refused to let go until I had carried her inside the house. Her dad, in a hurry to meet his third fiancé at the dock, dumped Ashley's suitcase in the yard and sped off.

But retrieving it could wait. I had a surprise in store and couldn't wait to show her. You know how she always wanted to go ice skating but never got the chance? Well, I looked into it and you can actually rent a rink for your own private parties and events. It's not even that expensive! Ok, it is a little pricy. But I had two years to save up extra dimes and bonus checks. And the look on her face made it all worth it. Bringing her out into the backyard, I showed her to her own private skating rink!

"OH! Uncle Andy, I CAN'T BELIEVE...I....I LOVE IT!!!!" she declared, jumping into my arms, and wrapping her body around me in another smothering embrace which made my heart start racing.

My backup plan was to take her to the mall to buy something pretty to wear into the rink. That way, at least she would have a nice dress to take home if ice skating was too juvenile for her now. I still bought a few things at the mall, but she absolutely loved my original, grand gesture, and spent several hours skating every day of her visit.

That year, as we were sitting around the folding table in the den one afternoon working another puzzle, Ashley asked me something she had never asked about before.

"Hey, Uncle Andy, do you have a girlfriend?"

For a fourteen-year-old girl to raise the topic of relationships and dating didn't surprise me. Surely, she had started to develop an interest in boys her age. So, why wouldn't she be curious about my love life?

"No, not at the moment," I replied enigmatically.

"Why not?" she asked, clearly not done with that line of questioning.

I pondered her question for a moment. It's not that I couldn't attract women, mind you. I kept in shape and could hold my own in the looks department. And I never had a complaint in the bedroom. Throw in the fact that I earned a decent living and was a proud homeowner, and I would call myself a veritable "catch".

I think the problem lay in my own standards which were just too unrealistically high. I had this bad habit of sizing up my dates and noticing things about them right away. It bothered me that I could tell when they were trying too hard to cover up or compensate for some shortcoming or another. I just wanted someone to be themselves around me. But to do that would only cause all the little cracks and imperfections in them to widen. More than a few relationships I sabotaged by being unable to look past my partner's flaws.

The only girl good enough for me was perfection personified. A beautiful, loving, sexy, submissive, supportive, flawless woman willing to give herself wholly to me and who hung adoringly on my every word. But that kind of woman simply doesn't exist. At least, that's what I used to think.

I told her the truth. I had dated girls on and off over the years but hadn't found the perfect match yet. Being in my mid-twenties, I felt like there was no need to rush into a relationship that wasn't a perfect fit.

"What about you, kiddo?" I asked, turning the question back at her, "any lucky Mr. Melligers I should know about?"

"Egk NO!" she reacted visibly, her eyes squinting and her mouth puckering like she had tasted something incredibly sour. It was adorable. "I hate dating! I am NEVER gonna be a girlfriend!"

It later occurred to me that the frequency with which her own father committed to, then discarded, both wives and girlfriends, probably severely tainted Ashley's opinion on relationships and dating. I don't blame her for never wanting to engage in such a destructive activity.

"Never? Well, that's too bad," I replied, "because I just so happen to be single at the moment. Just think, if we got married, your name could be 'Uncle Ashley Andy Clause'!"

I was just teasing her and expected her to do something like stick out her tongue or give me a mocking laugh in response. But instead, I've never seen her get so quiet. As her unfocused eyes gazed at the scattered puzzle pieces, a huge blush formed on her cheeks. After a minute, just to break the tension, I changed the subject.

"I don't think we're going to finish this one tonight, kiddo," I said, making a big show of standing up, "I gotta get started on dinner."

I left for the kitchen, and she joined me a few minutes later. And that was the end of it. Well, at least I thought it was. The letter to Santa she wrote that year did include a few bewildering references.

"Dear Santa,

Thank you that I finally got to go ice skating. It was AMAZING! Please bring world peace. Also, please look out for Uncle Andy and make sure he does not find a girlfriend. I've been a good girl. So, my only wish is that I can come back to see him again and that I can find a way to thank him for everything he's done for me.

Sincerely, Ashley Melliger. Age 14"

Ok, that part about the girlfriend? Ouch! The obvious interpretation was that she simply viewed girlfriends as bad news and wanted to protect me from them. One had already caused her parents’ divorce and it was only a matter of time before her daddy made a mistake with another one. I wasn't vain enough to think she was hoping I would remain single until she was old enough to have me for herself or anything. What a ridiculous thought...

Her goodbye hug that year lingered longer than any before it. When she looked up at me, I could see heavy tears forming in the corners of her sparkling, blue eyes and threatening to spill out onto her smooth cheeks.

"Don't go anywhere, ok? Do you promise?" she asked, her trembling voice barely able to rise above a whisper.

A smile of relief broke through her troubled face when I answered with a reassuring, and genuine, "I promise".

Her next stay marked our ten-year anniversary of meeting. I had experienced a few minor changes that would accumulate for anyone over the course of a decade. I had grown professionally, taking on more complex responsibilities at my job and benefiting financially as a result. But I didn't feel all that different at thirty than I had at twenty.

Ashley, however, had undergone a much more significant transformation in the ten years I had known her. The ages six to sixteen are a time of rapid change in a girl's life and enticing curves were blossoming all over her once skinny frame. But it was the subtle changes in our relationship toward each other for which I admit I had not prepared myself very well.

It started that very first evening. After settling into her bedroom and unpacking her suitcase, she joined me in the kitchen to help with dinner. At one point, she stretched up to retrieve some bowls from a high shelf with only a minor assist from the countertop. She had sprouted to a statuesque 5'8" and didn't need to pull out a stool or chair to stand on anymore.

In my opinion, she was far better looking than any actress or starlet I could think of. And this pose emphasized her already impressive assets more than most. Her proud breasts, already at least a "C" cup, stuck out over the counter in a gravity-defying feat while her firm, jean-encased bottom, which had swelled to rival her chest for attention even as her stomach somehow remained impossibly small, jutted out behind her.

Catching myself gawking at my sweet, sixteen-year-old kitchen assistant, I quickly turned back to the stove before she noticed the attention. We ended up having a lovely, and perfectly normal dinner together. It was just like old times. But that's the thing about old times. They are inevitably replaced by new times. And I admit, I had not prepared myself to face the fact that the dynamic between us could ever change and was already changing. I had to contend with such changes in a hurry when she showed up to movie night without pants on.

Ok, I'm exaggerating - using hyperbole to make my point. She wasn't totally bottomless. That's just the first impression I had when I looked up from the couch and saw her enter the living room and my eyes landed on the sexiest pair of long, shapely legs imaginable. The era of fuzzy pants with cartoon character print and attached footies that she had worn as a little girl was long gone. She had swapped them out over the years for articles more for fitting for a young teenager.

But apparently, sometime in the past two years, she had updated her sleeping attire again, and even cozy sleep sets and shapeless nightgowns wouldn't cut it anymore. This year, her...nightgown?...night shirt?...nighty? was a form-fitting, low cut top with spaghetti straps. I hadn't seen that much of her exposed skin since...well, since she had last worn that raincoat when she was twelve.

At first, I thought something had gone wrong while she was in the middle of changing and she needed my help. But I saw no sign of distress other than her missing pants. When it finally registered that she wasn't supposed to be wearing pants, I'm pretty sure my mouth fell open.

Not quite long enough to reach her legs, the silky, dark blue material flared out around her middle, bouncing playfully as she walked over to me and flashing her matching bloomers which were hardly bigger than a pair of panties. That left her strong, sculpted legs completely exposed all the way down to her bare feet.

She was holding her favorite stuffed bunny, but no blanket. She immediately sat down, so close to me on the couch that her bare hip grazed the hairs on my leg. To my dismay, in response to the sight of her exposed cleavage, I felt myself starting to get hard. Before I could get up to retrieve a blanket or throw to hide my building erection, she shivered and wrapped both her arms around my right one, effectively trapping me in place.

With her head resting on my shoulder as usual, I spent more time staring at her perfect cleavage than I did watching the movie that night. I kept readjusting as best I could to try and de-emphasize the throbbing tent in my sleep shorts. But because she remained attached to my right arm, I never could get up and grab a blanket to properly cover my embarrassing erection.

When the movie was over, she stood up. My eyes bulged as she stretched her arms high above her head in a tired yawn and her braless breasts shifted beneath the thin, silk nighty. The short top rose up above her skimpy bloomers which were hugging her swelling hips. They were doing the best they could - given such little fabric - to conceal her most private places, but the ruffled hem did not extend very far at all. Her smooth abdomen peeked out at me as she was stretching.

"Mmm," she sighed contentedly before lowering her arms, "that was fun. Well, goodnight, Uncle Andy Clause," she said, leaning in to give me what I assumed was going to be a goodnight hug. My soul left my body as she leaned over me and the nighty fell uselessly away from her body. For just a couple seconds, her large, firm breasts came into view, framed within the plunging neckline of her top. I only caught a brief glimpse of her perfectly formed nipples capping her breasts like ripe, pink berries before her lips reached my cheek and she stood up.

Only after she left the room did my soul find its way back inside my body and my brain resume working to process the implications of what had just happened.

Surely it had just been the careless act of an innocent young lady who did not fully understand what power her body could have over grown men, right? If that were the case, a gentle reminder to be more careful when bending over without a bra on would settle the matter and spare her further embarrassment both with me and other, less considerate men she may encounter in her life.

The other possibility, that she had flashed me on purpose, was much more perilous to consider, but also had much greater support. Her new pajamas weren't exactly built for comfort or warmth. She had shivered as soon as she sat down and immediately cuddled up close to me as if her plan all along had been to depend on my body heat. This was also the first time I could remember, since before she started wearing them, that she had come to movie night without a bra on under her pajama top.

Only after I stood up and started toward my bedroom did it register that she had kissed me. Though merely a considerate peak lasting no more than a fraction of a second, the sensation of her soft, plump lips still lingered upon my cheek.

All the evidence supported an intentional act, but I still couldn't fathom that little Ashley might find me at all attractive or be trying to send any such signal. If nothing else, our age difference made the idea hard to grasp. Perpetually viewing her through my experiences with her younger self severely hindered my ability to see what was happening. Twelve days every two years is simply not enough time to adjust to the critical developmental stages that a teenage girl goes through on her way to becoming a woman.

The entire next day was a struggle for me. You wouldn't believe how many occasions exist for a young lady to extend her lithe body and limbs while performing even the most mundane chores and household tasks! One minute she would be straining with a feather duster to clean the den bookshelves, the next she was hanging pretty baubles among the highest branches while decorating the Christmas tree. And every time I looked at her, the image of her firm, round melons hanging bare as she leaned over me popped back into my head.

I played it cool, clinging stubbornly to the past and convincing myself that the first night's little peep show had just been an aberration and tonight would go back to normal with her wearing regular, comfortable pajamas and sitting by herself on the couch during the movie.

My prediction that she wouldn't be wearing the same thing as the first night was accurate. But things went in the other direction than I was thinking, and I was blindsided by her boldness. As soon as she showed up in the living room that second night, I knew I was in deep trouble.

Her new nighty, a flirty shade of pink, was somehow even more skimpy and revealing than the last one! It was still made of silk...mostly. The silk fabric ended just below her breasts and the rest of the gown was nothing but thin gauze and delicate lace. Her bare torso and little pink bloomers showed clearly through the translucent fabric.

The top was cut strategically with two silk panels that didn't even connect in the middle and left most of her breasts sticking out on either side. As she settled in beside me and hugged my arm, I saw how much of her bare chest would be visible to me and felt my erection stirring. I mentally kicked myself for forgetting the blanket again and spent the whole movie with my cock jerking up and down under my shorts like it was fighting to get free of its confines.

When the movie ended, she stood up and made a stretch that would make a napping cat proud. Her bloomers never stood a chance staying hidden beneath the nighty which was lifted almost to her belly button. From my still seated position, I gazed starry-eyed at the ample curves of her muscular ass encased in pretty, pink fabric and lace. Then, she turned around to offer me a goodnight kiss.

Bending over, she said something to me. The part of my brain that processes sounds and words had stopped working, so I couldn't say for sure what she said. If I had to guess, it was something about how much she enjoyed watching the movie with me. I was too distracted because the top of her gown had fallen away and her gorgeous, naked breasts were once again exposed. The creamy flesh of her young mounds was tinted slightly pink from the panels of silk, but the shape of her perfectly formed nipples is seared into my memory.

After another peck on my cheek, she stood up and left the room. I had no more doubts. That was no innocent mistake. I had to face the truth. Ashley was flirting with me, perhaps even trying to seduce me. The only question now was how I was going to respond.

Telling myself she couldn't possibly know what she really wanted, I refused to act on her advances. My plan was not to encourage her, but neither would I deter her. I would do everything in my power to remain neutral and pretend like it wasn't happening.

The biggest obstacle to that plan lay directly between my legs. How could I pretend like I did not find her attractive when my own body was betraying me like that? She had to have seen where my eyes were glued. Surely, she knew what was causing the suspicious jiggles and jumps in my shorts during the movies, right?

My resolve was tested the very next night when Ashley showed up in her most revealing nighty yet. This one was made of the purest, white silk which perfectly matched the contours of her hourglass figure. The lower hem almost reached her legs, but stopped short so you could see the cutest little triangle of chaste, white panties beneath. No more bloomers for her! The nighty curved up to her waist on each side to show off the silk ribbons of her panties which had been tied into cute little bows on each hip.

Thin silk was also tied into a bow over each of her shoulders to form a strap and hold up the gown. A huge section of fabric had been scooped out in front to show off the inner portion of both her breasts. She was perfection personified.

I lost control for a second and every naughty fantasy I had ever dreamed up flooded into my brain at once. And, let me tell you, I have a very active imagination!

Ever since the raincoat debacle, I had learned to practice restraint around Ashley, limiting my natural inclination for pranks. But what if I allowed myself to unleash all restrictions? And what if my muse were an innocent, trusting virgin, practically throwing herself at me? Oh, what fun I could have toying with and defiling such a vessel!

Exercising an ungodly amount of restraint, I kept my naughty thoughts to myself and refused to react outwardly to her incredible display of teenage perfection with anything more than a serene smile.

As she floated gracefully toward me and settled onto the couch, I felt my erection returning and was glad for the blanket draped over my lap which I had finally remembered to grab. But as I lifted the remote to start the movie, she gave an involuntary shiver. I understood why she would be cold. She was practically naked in that incredibly thin nighty! What I didn't expect was for her to reach over and pluck the blanket off my lap to keep her bare legs warm. And just like that, the throbbing tent in my shorts was once again exposed.

Every night after that, it was the same thing. And every night, the tension was palpable, and I had to hold myself back. She rotated through those same three nighties four times each during her stay. And I survived them all. While I survived, our relationship did shift in interesting ways, some subtle, some blatant. Her nightly fashion show shattered the illusion of the little girl I had built up in my mind. That's for sure!

On Christmas Eve, I joined her in the tradition of writing letters to Santa. While I knew they weren't really going to the North Pole to be read by a man in a big red suit. But what is it that Frosty says? Perhaps there was some magic somewhere in that fireplace. After all, every, single thing Ashley had ever wished in her letters had come true. Since her faith in Santa was so strong, the least I could do was take it seriously. So, I wrote a simple request. "Give Ashley whatever her heart desires. I just want her to be happy."

More than anything, I was just eager to gather some insight into her inner thoughts and true feelings. So, after I was sure she had fallen asleep, I rushed over and retrieved the letters from the fireplace so I could read hers. It was written on the same red and green, Christmas stationery she used every year, in neat handwriting so Santa would have no trouble reading it.

"Dear Santa,

I loved visiting Uncle Andy this year and I think we both had a wonderful time.

As you already know, I have been a good girl. So, please grant my Christmas wish and let me come back and see him again. A new car would be nice, too, if you're not too busy. Just kidding!

Sincerely, Ashley Melliger. Age 16"

Hmm, that was a letdown. I was disappointed to see her letter didn't provide any real clues. My thoughts were unsettled, but I reminded myself that, while it might not have been the right course, I had done the best I could and had kept everyone from getting hurt.

When I hugged Ashley goodbye that year, I felt the same melancholy I always did about facing two more years without her. I had gotten used to tamping down the feeling of dread that this Christmas might be our last together.

Only after she was gone, and the feeling refused to go away did I think to do the math on her age! In two years, Ashley would be eighteen. That meant her father would no longer be obligated to pay child support and would have no reason to "watch" her over the holidays. So, why would he even bother to send her to my house again? She would be an adult, for Santa's sake! I had lost her forever.

I tried to tell myself it was for the best. She would move on and meet someone. Eventually, they would build a life together, and build their own Christmas traditions based on the ones I had formed in her as a child. Perhaps I would even find someone else to share my life with. I shouldn't be surprised. After all, I had wished for her to be happy. But as soon as the thought occurred to me, my heart gave me a painful squeeze, and I had to drive it away.

As a gloom settled over me, I began to pack up the Christmas decorations alone and in silence. Putting the boxes away in the attic, I wondered if they would ever see the light of day again. Without her, what was the point of decorating? The house suddenly felt like a grave.

While straightening up her bedroom, I found the empty box of Christmas stationery which she had discarded in a small trashcan beside the desk. The ornate letters had run out on the final year of her stay. How fitting. I opened the pen drawer and stowed the pen she had used. Then I grabbed the loose notebook paper and box of plain envelopes sitting on the desktop and started to put them away in a second drawer. As I was holding that box, unable to put it away, something made me pause.

......Why?

The plain envelopes were for mailing normal letters. She didn’t need to get them out to write a letter to Santa. Had she written to someone else and put it in my mailbox when I wasn't looking? Where did she get a real stamp?

Wait. Could it be?

Jumping to my feet, I ran into the den and dove for the fireplace. I found it after a few seconds of sifting - a plain, white envelope, buried beneath the ashes. If I hadn't found it, the next time I built a fire, I would have certainly burned it up without ever knowing. But why did she write a second letter? My hands were trembling as I carefully unfolded it.

Based on the scrawled handwriting and what she wrote, I pieced together what must have happened. Feeling guilty about her first one, and unable to sleep, she had gotten up in the middle of the night and quickly written this second, more honest letter.

"Dear Santa,

You know I've been a very naughty girl. I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry for sneaking into Uncle Andy's bedroom while he was sleeping that one night. I was so horny and just wanted to be close to him. I couldn't stand it! Also, I'm sorry for peeking into his bathroom while he was taking that shower. I was just trying to see what that thing was that kept moving around in his shorts. But I didn't see anything, I swear! And now I'll never know :(. Please please please forgive me?

Thank you for making my wish come true and letting me come back to see Uncle Andy again. I had the best time in the world! I especially liked getting dressed up for him every night and watching movies with him while he watched me :). It made me feel warm inside. I'm so happy that I have finally figured out how I can pay him back for all the things he's done for me. I have the perfect present. I'm going to give him...me!

I might need your help with this, though. Because even though I'm pretty sure he wants it, I could tell he was holding himself back, probably because he thinks he's too old for me or I'm too young. But I love him, and I know he wants me. I can see it in his eyes! Also, I can feel him looking at me all the time.

I promise I'll be a very good girl. I won't even look at another boy. If I save myself completely for him for two more years, will you please grant me this final wish? The next time I see him, will you make it impossible for Uncle Andy to hold back?

Love, Ashley"

Oh, Holy Night!

[superevil7]

I'd love to see more

[jimmythehand]

An excellent start. Practically a complete story in itself, though you did say it's only the prologue.

On the question of whether or not you should continue, if I'm perfectly candid I'm of two minds. On the one hand, it's a very good story so far and I definitely want to see where it goes. On the other hand, I'm not sure how much enthusiasm I'll be able to drum up for a Christmas story at this time of year. If you do end up finishing it then I'm sure I'll read it... but I may wait until December to do so!

[Frank89]

Having joint custody over a child after divorce (like every other weekend and every other holiday) does not exempt one from paying child support at all.

As for the story, not sure how I feel about an adult potentially (maybe?) taking advantage of a minor's naivety. At least that's where I see this going. Dare Me started on a similar premise, but it works well because Mikey and Lucy are much closer in age.

[neverdoubted]

Well, the story doesn’t have any minors in it. So, no worries there.

[Casanova]

Awesome start. I knew where the story was headed, having read Usagi drop.

Please don't keep us waiting.


On a side note, it is genuinely heartwarming. If the adult themes were excluded.

[perseus]

This was a really enjoyable story! So well written too! I was even sad every time they parted at the end of the twelve days, each visit could have been their own stories.

I'm very much looking forward to the next part! Hopefully we'll get to read it.

[TeenFan]

The way I imagined the story going forward was starting at age twelve, when it's discovered that Ashley will do just about anything to keep her
uncle happy. Uncle Any Clause never touches the girl, but he keeps finding creative ways for Ashley to end up partially or all the way exposed
to other people in a public setting. As long as Ashley doesn't get too upset with it then ho harm no foul.

The visits at age 12 and at age 14 present many opportunities to send Ashley out wearing somewhat inappropriate outfits. The girl is getting
embarrassed at times, but she doesn't want to complain too much. And who would she complain to?

The writing challenge will be in how to keep the two of them out of legal trouble with the authorities when a girl flashes parts of her body while walking around the shopping mall.

[neverdoubted]

I see from everyone's comments that I did not do a good enough job establishing the timeline. I'm happy because that knowledge will make me a better writer. Please allow me to clarify. The prologue is meant to tell a backstory. It spans six Christmases over a ten year period - Ashley between the ages of six and sixteen and Andy twenty to thirty. As some have pointed out, it could stand alone as its own tale.

The titular story is much tighter in scope. It begins two years after the prologue (when Ashley is eighteen and Andy is thirty-two) and only covers those twelve days. I only wrote the prologue so the timeline wouldn't have to jump around and to avoid having to depend on flashbacks to establish traditions and identities. With everything already explained, including both character's motivations and intentions, the story can jump right into the good stuff when they are finally reunited after two long years.

Unlike the prologue which is very much meant to be heartwarming, the story itself is much more salacious and sexually explicit. Because it doesn't really fit the theme of this board, it might not belong here, and I see now why its existence has confused many readers. Also, who posts a Christmas story in January? I may just follow jimmythehand's advice and surprise everyone by posting it next Christmas.

~ ND

[Kazu]

Well, then I guess I'll wait until then...

Now, back to the last two arcs from dare me that I need to catch up on.