"Yes?" she asked with a quivering note in her voice. Her long black hair was fashionably frizzed, vaguely Afro-styled. She wore glad rags and antique clothes, clunky thirties wedgies. All in all, he was quite in approval of the teenager's appearance.
"Can I help you?"
"You might," he said with a good-natured laugh, wishing she'd invite him inside. "I'm Drew Livingston… your friend Amy's uncle. Her mother's my sister."
"Oh, I see," and her plucked eyebrows were drawn up in a surprised gesture. "Well, come on in, Mr. Livingston."
"Drew," he corrected with a laugh, having already decided what had to be done, the best way to handle the girl. She had a smart and inquisitive air about her. But even more than that, she was also far from unappealing, far from being a turn-off, especially sexually.
As she led him into the house he had a chance to look her over. Her jugs were larger than his niece's, firm and rounded beneath her loose-fitting blouse. But it was her ass which delighted him, a round apple which jutted out prominently and swished from side to, side as she locked the door behind her and led him into the living room.
"Uh… would you like your mother to be here when I talk to you?" he asked, using that as a ploy to find out if she was alone in the house.
Rachel fell for it, not in the least bit suspicious. "She works. Anyway, it's none of her business really, is it?"
"No, I guess not," he replied and seated himself on the couch. She kept her distance, at least in the beginning, and sat across from him, folding her hands in her lap. "You see, Amy's parents told me all they knew about what happened. But I'm leaving for Paris in two days and I wanted to know if there was anything else you… you might have forgotten to mention, that you might have remembered since you last spoke to them about Amy."
Certain that a look had come over her eyes which told him that the teenager was holding something back, Drew was now more determined than ever to get to the heart and the truth of his niece's disappearance. But he had no idea what Rachel was afraid to mention, what she had not told the Mitchell's.
"No," she said with a telltale nervous stammer in her voice. "I don't… don't think I forgot to mention anything. Amy just wanted to split before we went home, that's all. She didn't say why and I didn't ask her, man. I mean, what she wants to do with her body… I mean herself, that is, is her own business, dig it."
"I dig it," he murmured, the word "body" reverberating in his head with the sound of crashing cymbals. What she wants to do with her own body is her own business, he thought to himself. He could only think of one possibility and he didn't even like to consider it.
"That's about it, I guess," Rachel said, looking a little more relieved.
"I see," Drew replied thoughtfully. There has to be something, something else, he thought, I just know she's holding back on me.
"Come now," he told her in a soft and appealing voice. "You and I both know that I'm not stupid, Rachel. If my niece didn't want to come home, it wasn't because she missed her independence. Her folks are the last people in the world to hassle her. They let her go off to Europe with you and your other friend, didn't they?"
"Well, I guess so," Rachel murmured, turning her eyes down as he edged even closer so that now his thigh was up against her nearest leg.
Drew trembled involuntarily, able to feel the heat of her flesh permeating her skirt and the material of his trousers. Slowly as possible he slid his leg back and forth, frictioning and rubbing up against her thigh. It was all he could do to contain himself, feeling the need to reach out and embrace her, to pull her towards him and press his body hotly against her slim and nubile young figure.
But he held himself back, enjoying her covert glances, the way he was positive he kept seeing her eyes dart down to gaze with flickering pleasure at the sight of his bloated and swollen crotch. Behind the fly of his tweed trousers his cock seemed to be on fire. His crotch felt hot and clammy and already, thick pearly dribbles of pre-seminal fluid were leaking out of his piss-hole and trickling down along the trapped and imprisoned length of his boner.
"So where is she then? Jeez, if she's having a ball, if she met some stud, I'd be the last person in the world to drag her home," he announced, choosing his words carefully.
At the mention of "stud" her eyes betrayed her.
She glanced up into his eyes with another telltale expression. Drew felt he had latched onto something and he was already trying to put the pieces together in his mind.
"Sure," he continued, "I wouldn't think twice about leaving her, if she's having fun, that is. But if she's decided he's a drag, well, then she might as well come on home. Right, Rachel?"
And saying this, even as he continued to rub his leg up and down along her thigh, he slid his hand down from where it was resting possessively over her shoulders, draped there like a boa, or an ornament of flesh, bone and muscle.
He inched his fingers towards the jutting shelf that was her jugs, his fingers tingling as he felt her breath coming in sweet hot surges. Her breasts rose and fell and she held her breath, not saying a word to him as his hand moved slowly down, trying to cup the nearest of her twin rounded knockers.
"Come on, tell me," he insisted in a more forceful and demanding tone of voice. "I can keep a secret, for God sakes."
She said nothing.
"Come on," he prodded.
"I… I promised," she stammered, blushing with confusion.
And it was then, even as she hung her head down, red-cheeked and not knowing what to say or do, that his fingers made contact. The instant he touched her nearest tit, cupping it firmly in the palm of one large and hairy paw, the girl trembled almost convulsively. But what delighted Drew more than anything else was that the youngster made no move to pull away.
Girls these days were a different lot than when he was a teenager. Now, sex was as prevalent and open as the use of drugs and confident that this was just the beginning of what might very well turn into an hour or two of both revelation as well as revelry, he began to rotate the palm of his hand around in circles, pressing his fingers down against her lush succulent young boob.
Rachel stiffened, but still she made no move to pull away. Drew grew even more confident of his powers of seductive persuasion. The best way to the truth was through her twat, he quipped with an unseen grin, knowing too that he would not be satisfied until he had gained rights to both of these concepts, learning what had happened to his niece as well as learning what lay beneath the girl's loose-fitting clothes.
So he continued to palm her jug, squeezing it delicately and able to feel the way her nipple was swelling in heated response. She whimpered softly, as if she was a trapped animal in less pain than otherwise might have been the case.
But Drew Livingston had certain things going for him, and one of those – aside from his big meat – was the fact that he was the kind of man many girls, teenagers in particular, fell for, hook, line and sinker.
Possessed of raw and burly good looks, the picture of a middle-aged man in his athletic and virile prime, he had a rugged movie star quality about him, that and a general openness to new ideas. He was the kind of man who liked Bach and the Beatles, who could just as easily get stoned and wiped out on martinis as well as marijuana, the kind of well-hung stud who at the age of thirty-five was just reaching his virile peak.
So it was actually no great triumph or surprise to him that the dark-haired teenybopper was being so receptive. Despite her passivity, she wasn't stopping him and he had all the moves at his disposal, knowing exactly how to turn her on and keep her aroused until he was up there with her, the two of them enjoying the fruits of each other's physical presences.