Uncle Grant and I

My name is Carmen Smith, and I had just started my freshman year in university. With my innocent face and standout curves, I was voted as campus beauty.

But lately, a rumor had been spreading. It claimed I was easy, always hanging out with a bunch of bald old men.

The details made it sound almost real. I couldn't explain myself, and I didn't even dare go to compulsory physical education classes anymore. That was because too many boys would circle me, staring and calling me Milk Bags.

"Look at Milk Bags running like that. Who is she trying to seduce?"

"I heard she serves several sugar daddies in one night. She's really something."

Some young men even teamed up to block my way, talking in a mocking tone. "How much for one night? We can give you some business."

Hands on me without a second thought was nothing. To make matters worse, they would crowd in and push me to the center, their warm bodies right up against me. That made my skin crawl.

My waist and stomach were already sensitive, and the heat and pressure made it even harder to bear.

I could only clamp my legs together and grit my teeth to get through it.

I was lucky that time. Uncle Grant happened to be on campus for work, saw what was happening halfway through, and drove them off.

After that, whenever I had physical education on the outdoor track, I would only dare to show up right on the dot.

The university's group physical education exam came and went, and because I hadn't trained at all, I failed it.

I didn't dare sign up for the retake, so I just hid in my rental apartment, pretending not to see or know anything.

When Uncle Grant heard about it, he came to find me at the apartment. "Carmen, you can't go on like this. Don't be scared, I'll help you."

Uncle Grant was my dad's friend. After my parents died in a car accident five years ago, he was the one who paid for my education. He lived alone, and we leaned on each other.

I buried my head under the blanket in silent protest. Uncle Grant simply flipped the blanket back and pulled me up.

In the struggle, my nightdress rode up. My long legs were exposed, and the hem barely covered the edge of my pink lace panties.

His breath, hot and close, brushed over my chest. The wide neckline hardly covered my breasts, and my skin turned pink in an instant.

For a second, Uncle Grant's pupils darkened. There was a wild, hungry look in his eyes, like he wanted to devour me. He came back to himself quickly, shot a flustered look toward the window, and said, "Hiding won't solve anything. You have to face it."

He walked to the wardrobe and then took out my workout clothes. He then handed them to me. "Get changed. Come train with me at the gym."

Looking at the thick biceps on his arms and his V-shaped torso, I suddenly felt that training with Uncle Grant might not be so bad. He had been working out for years. Helping me pass a basic physical test should be easy for him.

But when I pulled on the tight yoga outfit, Uncle Grant looked at my body wrapped up in that fabric and swallowed hard with a frown. "Forget it. Let's just train at home."

I didn't understand why the change of heart, but I agreed anyway.

On the yoga mat, Uncle Grant started by teaching me how to do squats.

I couldn't find my balance, so he stood close behind me, guiding me hands-on. "Sit back, like you're lowering yourself onto a chair."

I leaned back against his solid chest, and I felt the hard lines of his abs. For a short while, my mind was racing with thoughts. When I sat back, I accidentally sat in between his legs, sensing something large behind me.

I was feeling a little numb from it, tears immediately welling in my eyes.

Uncle Grant thought I was crying, so he asked me softly, "Carmen, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Grant," I mumbled in embarrassment, hiding in my arms as my earlobes turned red when I felt his warm breath enter my ears.

"Good. Then let's keep going. We need to warm up first. If your muscles are too stiff, you'll get hurt." I straightened up out of his arms and started doing jumping jacks and high knees as he told me to.

But every time I jumped, the heavy weight on my chest pulled up and down, making it especially uncomfortable.

Uncle Grant had bought me the yoga outfit, but it hadn't occurred to him that I needed a proper sports bra.

I panted hard and pushed myself to keep going.

Still, he never called for me to stop.

When I glanced up, I saw his eyes glued to my chest, just like those young men at university. Not to mention his bulge was becoming even more apparent.

Shame washed over me. I stopped, braced my hands on my thighs, and tried to steady my breathing.

His gaze slid down along my neckline again. With his height, he could definitely see everything.

Embarrassed, I covered my chest. "Uncle Grant, it feels uncomfortable."

Only then did he snap out of it. His rough hand closed around my arm. "Carmen, what's wrong?"

I took the chance to slump into his arms to rest, a little tired, looking up at him with shy eyes. "Uncle Grant, I... might need a sports bra."

He finally got it. "Oh, right, I forgot! We'll go buy one later. But what about the rest of the training?"