Jean-Michel Turquoise - An Uncle's Peverted Path To Lust

Montreal in the Springtime, eh. I was watching a Saturday match at the cricket club in a town a few miles from my home; I preferred this particular club ground because I could watch while sitting in my car, which was much more comfortable than the hard wooden benches next to the clubhouse. It was also quieter, as the local supporters tended to become rather noisy when lubricated with multiple cans of lager. My wife Niki had accompanied me to the town to go shopping, leaving me to enjoy the game by myself. After completion of the first innings, there was a 40-minute break while the teams had tea and sandwiches, or perhaps beer and curry, eh. I decided to walk into the nearby shopping center for want of something better to do, and when I arrived there I needed to have a pee, so I went to the public toilets. I was just about to enter when a small ginger-haired boy was ejected from the building with some force, inevitably crying his eyes out. I asked him what was wrong and he told me that he was desperate to pee, but there were three boys in there and one of them had told him to get out. I suggested that he could come in with me, holding my hand and addressing me as 'Uncle Jean-Michel'. His tears subsided, he told me his name, Vincent Vollmann, his age, ten, then he took my hand and we went in. As soon as the biggest of the three boys saw Vincent, he said, “I told you to get out, Ginger-Nut,” and tried to grab Vincent's hair with his left hand, but I just held the offending hand and slowly crushed it. The boy cried out in pain while his two friends watched in alarm. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a flick-knife, threatening me with it. I let go of Vincent's hand and grabbed the boy's right hand, enclosing the flick-knife and slowly crushing that hand as well. I could see his blood dripping from it, and when the boy also saw the blood he started crying. I said to the two other boys: “Look at your big tough pal, eh, he's crying like a baby,” and they appeared disgusted and walked out of the toilet. I released the boy's left hand and pried the fingers of his right so that he dropped the knife; when I released his right hand he ran out of the building. I picked up the knife carefully with my handkerchief, closed the blade and put it in my pocket.

Vincent had been peeing; he finished and I asked him to wait while I did the same. I noticed that he was watching my cock, but decided not to do anything about it. `While I was peeing, I asked him what he was doing in the town; he replied, “Nothing much, I'm just hanging around, waiting for my Moms to finish work.” He told me that his mother worked at a large department store in the town. He usually went to a friend's house on Saturdays but this week his friend was away on holiday and his Mum hadn't known about it; she assumed that Vincent was with his friend. The school summer term had just ended and he wasn't sure what he was going to do with himself during the working week. I decided to go and speak to Mrs. Vollmann to advise her of the situation that Vincent had endured. It occurred to me that if the bully-boy saw him again, Vincent might be in danger; boys that carried flick-knives were unlikely to give in so easily. We left the toilet building and walked to the department store, where I asked to speak to Mrs. Irene Vollmann. She was paged and when she appeared she was more than somewhat surprised to see Vincent with a stranger. I recounted the events of our meeting, and I could see the consternation on her face- she was thinking along the same lines as I was and was worried for Vincent's safety. I took the flick-knife from my pocket, asked for a plastic bag, enclosed the knife in the bag and suggested that she call the police. I pointed out to her that the only set of fingerprints on the knife would belong to the bully-boy, and that if his prints and/or DNA were on record they could probably identify him.

I was happy to explain the events if required by the police. I told Irene about Vincent's friend being away and she looked even more concerned that Vincent had just been hanging around the town for the day. I suggested that I could look after him until she finished work, that I could take him with me to watch the cricket match, and maybe interest him in the game. Her gratitude was almost overwhelming; we exchanged addresses and phone numbers and she said she would ring me on my mobile phone when she returned home. She was glad that Vincent would have something to do and someone to keep him safe for the rest of the afternoon. We returned to the cricket ground and as we walked, he slipped his hand into mine with a happy smile. The first thing I did when we arrived at the club-house was to buy two plates of chips and drinks. Vincent obviously hadn't eaten since breakfast, and he was ravenous. When we finished the meal, I bought us both an ice cream and we returned to the car to watch the match. I decided to sit in the front passenger seat and asked Vincent if he wanted to sit in the driver's seat. “I'd much rather sit on your lap, Uncle Jean-Michel,” he said; by way of reply, I lifted him into the position he requested. He rested his head on my shoulder and we both watched the game. I had to explain the action to him; he was obviously interested, to the extent that he cheered when a batsman hit a six.

Just before Vincent finished his ice cream he managed to spill some on his lap. I fetched a tissue from the glove-box and wiped it away; as I did so, I noticed that he was sporting a little erection immediately under the ice-cream spot. I decided to act as though surprised and asked him, “What's that in your pocket?” He giggled, replied, “That's not something in my pocket, it's my willy.” “Why is it stiff then, eh?” “Because I like you touching it.” I gave it a little squeeze and he giggled and said, “That feels nice. Do it again.” At that moment, a spectator walked past the front of the car. Although she was looking at the match and away from our direction, I decided that a repeat of that particular action might be dangerous. Instead, I loosened Vincent's belt and slipped my hand inside his trousers to caress his penis directly. He responded by closing his eyes and opening his legs, so I reached behind me and fetched a jacket from the back seat, covering Vincent's lap with it.

I undid his zipper so that I could expose his penis under the jacket. When I retracted the foreskin with one hand and stroked his glands with the other, he said, “Oh, that's a lovely feeling.”

His little cock grew as hard as a piece of wood; I continued stroking the rigid two-inch digit, and received the expected sigh of satisfaction. After a while I noticed that he had fallen asleep and his erection had subsided, so I removed my hands from his crotch and continued to watch the cricket match. While I was watching, my wife phoned and told me that she was walking towards the cricket ground and wanted to know where I was parked. I hurriedly awoke Vincent and dressed him properly, then moved over to the driver's seat and asked Vincent to sit in the rear seats. When my wife arrived, I explained the afternoon's events to her; she was as angry as I was at the sheer nastiness that some children could display to others.

She said, “Yeyah, I don't doubt that the bully-boy will be a drug gang member before long, eh, if he's not already?”

My wife introduced herself to Vincent as Auntie Niki and was quite happy to sit in the car chatting to Vincent while I watched the match. We waited until Irene phoned to say she had arrived home, then we drove to Vincent's house and were invited in by his mother; I performed the required introduction. Irene admitted that she was actually Miss Vollmann; she had never been married and didn't know who Vincent's father was, having had her drink spiked at her university graduation party and finding herself pregnant shortly afterwards.