Uncle Erich

For the life of me, I can't remember when or how my childhood sexuality awakened. Or maybe I do; there was the matter of Uncle Erich. I must say in advance that I hardly remember back today, because I was about 6, maybe already 7.

Father had had to give up work on the farm and hire himself out as a truck driver, he was often on the road for weeks at a time. Mother was alone with me ‐ as father sometimes joked ‐ "in the valley of the frogs". One day Uncle Erich was suddenly there; obviously a war invalid, who besides his stiff leg and empty dangling shirt sleeve was also a bit strange in the head and never talked. Mother took in the completely starved and terribly emaciated uncle, although we had to be very frugal ourselves. He wasn't really an uncle, but we all called him that.

Day in and day out, he sat in the tool shed behind the big woodpile and stared out at the field. When the meal was fixed, Mother would send me to call him, and I would run off exulting, only to drag him out by his still hand and foolishly skip and dally to the kitchen. I think I missed Dad a lot then.

When I ran off to him like that, his buzzing and mysterious nesting stopped, and my curiosity was never satisfied as to what he was nesting about. Day by day I became more and more curious about what Uncle Erich was doing in the mornings and afternoons; for whenever I approached, he looked out at the field with a smile and did nothing, until one day I had the idea of sneaking up on him through the cellar, bravely biting off my fear. So I came to the last little cellar window through which I could look up. Uncle Erich was sitting there quietly, had his hand tucked into the front of his pants, and was playing with his tippet.

Yes, with his corner, because I had seen with Andi, the neighboring boy, that boys have such a small, dangling corner instead of the slit. And it was now sticking out of Uncle Erich's fly, and he was playing with it, slowly rubbing it back and forth, and that was really all. I trolled myself again and then got doubts again, whether that was already everything. I now spent every free minute sneaking up to the basement window and watching him, but all I saw was a long, long time of nothing and then a bit of tip playing and then nothing again.

Curious as I was, however, I wanted to see everything in more detail. So I climbed one day very, very carefully on the wood pile, which was under the cellar window, and waited anxiously for the cock game. Now I could see much more clearly that Uncle Erich was gripping the tip tightly with his hand and slowly rubbing it up and down. I saw something small and red dancing up and down the front tip, between Uncle Erich's fingers. I stretched higher to see it more closely, kicking loose a few logs as I did so.

Uncle Erich paused, let the cock slide into his pants and looked me straight in the eye. I was stiff with fright and was about to start crying, when he smiled very kindly and shook his head reassuringly that I shouldn't cry. I looked at him with wide eyes, and suddenly he beckoned me to come to him. After some hesitation, his harmless smile convinced me, and I climbed out through the basement window. I sat down next to him and we looked out at the field together.

This went on for a few days, I began to find it monotonous and boring. One day I had to pee now urgently and went to the elder bush, squatted down and let it run. I looked around and saw Uncle Erich unbuttoning his pants and rubbing the top while he watched me pee. When I finished, I stood up, undecided; but Uncle Erich beckoned me to join him. Then he told me to climb onto the little table and told me to squat there. When I understood, I followed guilelessly and now squatted in front of him, while he looked up my skirt and stared at my slit; in summer, we girls in the country rarely wore panties. He looked and looked and got a very red head, only now I noticed how bright his blond hair and eyebrows were. I was a bit scared and embarrassed, but he whispered that I shouldn't be scared and then I wasn't; on the contrary, I got a very exciting feeling. And while he looked at the slit between my spread legs, he quickly pulled out his little tip and rubbed it, up and down, until a few white, sticky droplets squirted out.

After that, he tucked the little tip away again and we looked back at the field and kept silent, because Uncle Erich practically never wanted to talk. The strong, burning palpitations were always stronger than my fear to show him my little slit. Heart pounding, I squatted in front of him, because he liked to look at my little slit, and so the days went by with the same ritual; looking at the field for a long time, squatting on the little table and letting him look at the slit, then taking out the tip, rubbing it and squirting a few drops, then looking at the field again. Probably would have gone on until the end of the summer if Mother hadn't surprised us one day.

When she, rubbing her wet hands dry with a towel, came through the tool shed towards us, saw me squatting on the table with my legs spread, and in front of me poor Uncle Erich, who was rubbing his cock, she shrieked loudly and hit him several times over the head with the towel, tore me from the table and dragged me into the kitchen, yammering and moaning madly. I understood nothing except that I was a poor, seduced girl and how bad this Erich was and that father would not bear this terrible disgrace. In the midst of all her wailing and lamenting, I began to cry and sob, because I believed her threats that she would "cut off this Erich's cock". Mother took me, still sobbing and crying, to the neighbor's house, where I was locked in the empty bedroom and heard the two women scolding and clamoring in the living room. I heard loud screaming again when Mr. Moser, the neighbor, came home and now also rumbled and scolded loudly.

What happened next, I no longer remember, only that Uncle Erich was suddenly gone and never came back.