Winter Mix Ch. 01: Transit

As the driver drove away, Trixie suddenly gasped, "Uncle Phil! I completely forgot I was supposed to get P.J.'s for you. And a razor! And toothbrushes!"

Phil pulled her into his chest for a light hug and replied, "Never mind, honey. I can sleep in my boxers and T-shirt. Done it lots of times. But we can get toothbrushes, anyway." Breaking the embrace, he leaned forward and said, "Hey! Is there a drugstore between here and the hotel? Can we stop and will you wait for us?"

The cabbie growled, "What? You kiddin' me, mister? You think I got time to cool my jets while you're in a store shopping during a blizzard? Fuhgettaboutit! I'll let you out anywhere you want between here and The Plaza and you can pay me and I'll be on my way. Got it?"

Frowning, Phil sat back and acceded, "Okay, okay, just go to the hotel, then." Sotto voce, he added, "You don't need to be snotty about it!" At the hotel, after they were safely under the uniformed doorman's watchful gaze, Phil stiffed the rude driver and added a full-throated 'Fuck You!' as well.

All anger dissipated like magic when Phil walked up the steps to the front doors and entered the hotel with Trixie clinging to his elbow. At reception they took care of the check-in in good time. Phil asked directions to the gift shop so he could get their forgotten sundries, but the clerk waggled his finger at him and said, "Just wait one moment, please, sir."

Phil and Trixie looked at each other perplexed as the clerk disappeared into a back room and then returned with their Bergdorf sacks. As he put them on the counter, he smiled and declared, "You'll find two packets of personal health items in the bags with your purchases, sir. Compliments of The Plaza. Enjoy your stay with us!"

Although they had no luggage, a bellman escorted them to the elevators and then to their room on the fourteenth floor, overlooking Fifty-eighth Street. Unaware this was the hotel's smallest guest room, Trixie was agape at its resplendent luxury. She dropped her bag and promptly jumped up to sit down on the monstrously grand king size bed. Each of its pillows was at least as big as two, or maybe three, of her regular pillows at home.

Phil was less impressed. Turning to the bellman he said, "There must be some mistake. We booked a double, not a single king."

The porter held up the room key and shrugged, "I wouldn't know about that, sir. I just show the guests to the room number on the key." Pointing to the phone on the ornate writing desk, he suggested, "Perhaps the front desk can help you with that question."

Phil realized the issue was above the bellman's paygrade to resolve. Tipping the man, he said, "Alright, then. Thank you, you may go."

When the porter left the room, Trixie, slid from the bed and blocked Phil from moving to the desk. Her shed her purple hat, gloves and coat littered the white comforter on either side of where she had been sitting. Rising on tiptoes, she pushed her hands inside her uncle's unbuttoned overcoat, kissed the light sandpaper on his chin and exclaimed, "Oh, please, Uncle Phil! Don't make a big deal out of their goof. The bed is an ocean with oodles of room! It will be practically like sleeping in two beds. Really!"

As Trixie wormed herself between Phil's camelhair lapels and cuddled up against his charcoal worsted business suit, his conscience could not prevent his body enjoying the heat she exuded. Stretched out and laid against his chest, she naturally triggered his arms to reflexively close about her. His left hand lay upon her bottom while his right splayed between her scapulae. She squirmed beneath his touch and tossed a match onto the tinder.

"Are you sure, honey?" Phil protested weakly, while busily moving both hands in small tight circles and pressing Trixie ever closer to him. "I'm sure I could get us moved, or at least have a roll-away bed brought in." His voice was oddly husky in his fogged ears and he had trouble getting his words out smoothly.

Trixie tipped her head, switched targets and planted a swift light kiss on her uncle's moving lips. Breathily she sibilated, "Oh, you are being silly!" Then, pushing herself from his arms she crowed, "Come on! Which of those boxes has my 'early' Christmas present in it? I want to see what you got me to sleep in!"

Resignedly, Phil went to the closet to hang his topcoat while he spoke into the room, "Alright, Trixie, if you're okay with the arrangement, I'll make the best of it, too." When he turned around he saw his niece had tumbled the Bergdorf bags' contents onto the comforter and was holding two oblong cellophane packets in the air. Crossing the room to her, he asked, "What have you got there?"

"I don't know," Trixie answered, looking first at the crinkly pink ribbon-tied sack in her right hand and then at its complementary blue ribbon-tied mate in her left hand. "It looks like toothbrushes and little tubes of Gleem, for sure, but where did they come from? We didn't go to a drugstore."

"Oh, yes," recalled Phil. "The desk clerk said he would give us some free personal health items. Those must be them."

Trixie tore the seal and spilled the right-hand sack's contents onto the bed. Gasping, she quickly picked up an item that Phil could not quite see and hid it behind her back. Sidestepping to her purse by the king bed's headboard, she stuffed the object inside. Phil was surprised to see she a rosy flush above her cheekbones when she turned back to face him.

Curious and concerned, he asked, "What's the matter, honey? What was that you put away and didn't want me to see?"

"Umm, n-nothing really, Uncle Phil," Trixie fibbed, hoping against hope he would drop the topic.

"Come on, now," Phil coaxed. "You can tell me. It's obviously something that embarrassed you, but there's just you and me here and we are family. So, give: What was it?"

Trixie pressed her lips tight together and reluctantly returned to her purse. Retrieving the secreted item, she held it out in her open hand and dropped her chin to hide her eyes.

Phil was amused at his stepdaughter's innocent girlish shyness. "Why, honey!" He exclaimed. "That's just a Tampax. Did you think I wouldn't know about something like that? Look, besides the Gleem and toothbrush, there's a small bottle of Listerine, another of Jergen's and even two Band-Aids. The hotel is simply looking out for its forgetful guests."

Removing the blue ribbon-tied sack from Trixie's left hand, Phil opened and dumped its loot onto the bed beside the other toiletries. Some items matched those in the pink bag. In addition, there was a cheap Gillette safety razor with a cardboard-covered Wilkinson Sword double-edged blade and a small square thin foil packet. Quicker than quick, Trixie shot out her hand, grabbed what looked like a solitary lozenge of some sort, and then demanded, "Well, what's this, then?"

Now it was Phil's turn to blush as he saw the distinctive flying Arabian horse image on the Sheik condom in Trixie's palm. "Uhm, that's uhm..." He stammered.

Trixie laughed out loud and threw Phil's earlier words back at him, "That's just a rubber. Did you think I would not know about something like that?"

Chagrined, Phil had to laugh with his niece. "You're right," he admitted. "I guess I can be as uncomfortable about intimate things as you. I'm sorry I pushed you about the tampon. Forgive me?" While he spoke, he shoved the prophylactic into his pants pocket.

Once again, Trixie leaped to hug Phil and kissed him. This time her lips lingered longer and pressed more firmly than before. "Mmmm, you're sweet, Uncle. There's nothing to forgive. I love you!" Again disengaging, she stepped back and stamped her foot, "But I still want to know which box I can open now!"

Well past the point of no return, Phil knew his innermost lustful thoughts would be transparent to Trixie as soon as she ripped the gift wrap from her Bergdorf box. It thrilled him as much as it scared him. Reaching past her to the medium-size flat package on the bed, he handed it to her and said, "Here you go. Keep in mind that you are a nearly-grown woman, now. It's not pajamas for a kid."

Trixie gave Phil a quizzical look as she pulled the broad gold organdy ribbon and bow from her gift. Shredding the bright seasonal paper, she lifted the box lid and spread apart its inside tissue paper. Her eyes saucered when she recognized the nighty as a shockingly sexy one she had seen on a mannequin in the store. She aspirated, "Oh, my gosh! Do you really think I have grown so much?"

Bounding excitedly into the bathroom before she could be stopped, Trixie yipped through the closed door, "I have to try it on! Right now!"

Phil was actually thankful for the break. He reached into his trousers and adjusted his swelling prick to be both more comfortable and less noticeable, then he loosened his tie knot. He could not believe how hot the room suddenly seemed; sweat trickled in his armpits. He hung his suit coat in the closet beside his overcoat.

Inside the bathroom, Trixie squealed with delight. The thin translucent satin sheath was the palest champagne color. Bias cut, it draped on barely-there spaghetti straps, over her chest, to an inch-wide Chantilly lace hem at her knees. The bodice, made entirely from the the same sheer cream lace as the hem, was devoid of any support structure. Forming a deep V between her firm pert B-cup breasts, it delicately covered only the mounds' outer three-quarters .

Reflected in the large gold mirror over the pure white marble bathroom counter, Trixie stood virtually nude as the flimsy negligee molded itself to her slim 35-23-33 hourglass figure and melted into her natural skin tones. She watched amazed while her junior areolae puffed up noticeably and her hardening nipples stabbed out against the lace pouches. Tugging a Kleenex from a nearby gold metal box, she pulled up the gown's hem, daubed her aching labia and then brought the tissue to her nose. "So it wasn't my imagination," she thought. "I'm wet; and it's not pee!"

Meanwhile, to take his mind off his fattening cock and his palpitating heart, Phil picked up the phone and connected to the Palm Court. The maitre d'hotel regretted the Friday dinner seatings were all filled until nine-thirty, at which time there was a single opening for up to three people, but not at one of his best tables. As Phil sighed his disappointment into the receiver, the maitre d' amended his first statement. "One moment, sir... I am just being informed of a weather cancellation for a five-forty seating at a very nice table, indeed. It is short notice to be sure and earlier than you desired, but would you like me to mark you down?"

Phil glanced at his Omega wristwatch and noted, "That's only half-an-hour off. I think we can make it, but if we are five or ten minutes late, will you hold it?"

"Ten minutes," repeated the maitre d'. "Yes, but no longer. Please, Mr. Maxon, do your best not to be later than that."

Phil hung up, then knocked on the bathroom door and called, "Honey? We have dinner reservations in thirty minutes. Can I get in there? I'd like to shower and shave."

The door cracked opened enough for Trixie to show her nose and mouth as she answered, "Sure, Uncle Phil, but turn around please, while I bring out my clothes. This nightgown you got me is wonderful, but it's kind of, umm, revealing, if you know what I mean."

"Of course, I know exactly what you mean," Phil thought. "I bought the thing, didn't I?" Aloud, he whined, "Oh, come on, honey. We don't have time to be coy or shy. Just come on out, okay?"

Trixie scooped up her dress, bra, panties, slip, socks and boots. Holding them strategically bunched in front of herself, she toed open the door and slipped out past Phil, keeping her bundled shield between them. She almost made it to the armchairs at the bed's foot when first a boot, then an avalanche of clothes, fell to the floor. In an instant, she stood unprotected and fully visible.

Phil could not mask his dismay. "Wow! That is stunning! Somehow it didn't seem quite so, uhm, ethereal when it was folded up on the display table. And the dummy I saw wearing it had nowhere near the uhm, features, or complexion, that you have." He eyeballed the teen very closely and for several seconds said nothing. Then, he asked seriously, "Do you want to return it?"

Trixie looked down at her rising bosom and studied her décolletage. Raising her hands, she skimmed her front and smoothed the filmy material over her tummy. "No, not unless you do. It feels really soft and nice against my skin." She moved forward without warning and grabbed her uncle's hands. Placing them fully on her breasts, she pushed then down to her hips and asked, with no hint that she was teasing, "Do you think it's soft and nice? I mean, do you like it?"

In his head, Phil shouted, "Like it? God! I love it!" He had enough sense left not to spoil things, though. Treading very carefully, he pulled his hands away from Trixie, backed up a step and replied, "I think it's very nice and that you should keep it. I don't think you should let Mom know you have it, though."

Trixie laughed a little liquid laugh and agreed, "No, you're right about that. She wouldn't even let me get a two-piece swimsuit this summer. She'd have a cow if she saw this sexy nightgown! But, I'm really glad you like it. I can hardly wait for bedtime!"

"Alright, then," Phil concluded. "Get dressed again while I freshen up and smooth my face. Then it's dinner at Palm Court."

Hungry for another hug, Trixie lunged forward and slammed herself into Phil's arms. As he reactively wrapped her up, she peppered his throat, chin and cheeks with lightning fast little kisses and bubbled, "Thank you Uncle Phil!"