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A niece becomes curious about her uncle's cock.

Her blonde bush was beautifully thick, a dense triangle boundaried by strong thighs and the slightest bit of baby fat at the waistline. She bent over and her behind, full, round, magnificent, taunted me. It was over in five seconds; I resisted the temptation to re-play the video I had been recording of her. I knew, or hoped, there would be better things to come.

But as the weeks went by, it seemed as if there wouldn't be. All I had were brief glimpses of her dressing in the mornings; she evidently was a modest girl, undressing only in the dark. I knew, or suspected, that she masturbated quite a bit, since the microphone picked up her moaning late at night, in the pitch black. I was so frustrated I was beside myself.

Then, finally... She connected the TV cable.

I arrived late one night, and grumpily sat at my desk to play back the afternoon's Cindy Cam. I didn't expect much; most of what she did was read on her futon. I'd grown accustomed to fast-forwarding.

But as I fast-forwarded, I stopped abruptly and hit "play". Yes, she was trying to move the television. She found the cable. And now... Yes, yes, she had connected it.

Pushing the TV back, she sprawled, bored, on the futon before pointing the old remote. I heard a droning voice: "Low temperatures in the midwest tonight, followed by partly cloudy..." After a minute of that, she switched channels. Persian news. She squinted, confused. Huh?

She flipped channels again. I heard voices from THE TWO OF US, a seventies French movie with artistic pretensions and some very erotic scenes. The movie had just started; the girls were meeting each other. Cindy realized there were only three channels. She chose the movie.

As I watched Cindy watching the film, I savored her changing expressions: first, boredom. Then, interest, as she was pulled along with the story. Then unease, as the girls traded secret, longing glances in their all-girl's school. And finally, shock as the girls secretly began to kiss after lights-out.

I expected Cindy to switch off the TV immediately, but she surprised me. Her jaw fell, but she kept watching, glancing occasionally at the locked doors, as if worried someone would break them down and catch her. Perhaps because the French film was soft-core (no close-ups in the sex scenes), and full of beautiful music and cinematography, Cindy felt that what she was watching was art, not porn. Which, of course, it was. Ha ha ha.

At the end of the film, when the two girls are reunited and begin to make passionate love in a romantic hotel, Cindy's free hand began to stray, unconsciously, down toward her navel. It slowly slid past her belly button and inched, creeping, to the waistband of her jeans. Without realizing it, she traced a ever-so-light line back and forth at the edge where her jeans and shirt met. As the movie ended, she started, jerking her hand away. She quickly shut off the TV, killed the lights and went to sleep.
Two days later, she turned on the television again. This time, I caught it "live." She watched the weather channel for ten minutes, then actually watched Persian news for ten minutes, as if pretending that all she was doing was sampling each channel equally. Swallowing, she finally flipped to my special Girls Who Like Girls channel.

Her futon was folded to couch; she leaned back, splaying her knees wide. The film was TOGETHER, a classic from the early '70s about an aunt and niece who discover their feelings for each other. The scene Cindy had happened upon was where the aunt was slowly finishing the dishes, and the niece was preparing for bed, waiting for her.

Glancing at my other monitor, I saw what Cindy saw: the young girl, slipping out of her sun dress, combing her hair naked in the full mirror. Cindy exhaled, and suddenly stood up--oh, no, she was going to turn off the TV. But she only killed the light. She settled back on the futon, as before.

Maybe Cindy felt more comfortable in the dark; certainly she must have thought she wa

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