Ian and Aggie

[Platinum]

CRASH!

Ian Bradford paused at his computer, glancing up at the ceiling in growing irritation. What the hell was Aggie up to now? He had a research paper due next Monday and she'd been bumping around upstairs all afternoon. The constant pounding was wreaking havoc with his concentration; he'd just written the same paragraph four times. God, he wished he could afford his own apartment. His life had descended into chaos since his precocious young cousin moved in. He turned back to the keyboard, shaking his head in mounting annoyance.

CRASH!!

"HEY!" Ian yelled, almost leaping out of his skin. Another concussion, loud enough to rattle the windows this time. What was going on up there? She couldn't have been jumping around on the bed again: not even that could've have made so much noise (unless the legs gave way, which was entirely possible). Then again, what else could it be? Mom had told her off about that last week, so she should have known better. Evidently, she'd suffered a relapse. Aggie tended to act up whenever Mom wasn't around to regulate her behavior, particularly when she was seeking attention. Oh well, the hell with it. He had more pressing concerns than playing hall monitor for a hyperactive eight year old. Shifting his chair closer to the computer desk, Ian placed his fingers on the keys and started typing.

A third, catastrophic detonation, shaking the foundations beneath his feet: CRASH!!!

And Ian saw finally red.

Pushing back from the desk, he stood up, saved his file and stalked out towards the staircase. Any more of this and the roof was likely to collapse. Aggie was - without exception - the most exasperating child in the universe. For all her endearing qualities (and there were many), she could be insufferably naughty when it suited her. Well, enough was enough. Time for some direct intervention, so to speak. Ian started up the stairs, heavy brown boots announcing his approach.

Aggie's quarters were at the far end of the first floor landing, a spacious, skylit bedroom with a slanting attic ceiling and cedar paneling. Ian loped down the hallway, listening for the tell-tale sounds of tortured bedsprings. He drew a deep breath, willing himself to be calm. Truth be told, he didn't mind her jumping on the mattress, he just wanted her to keep it down to an acceptable level. He strode down to her room and stuck his head in the door.

"Aggie!" he barked, a little louder than he intended.

Framed a hazy shaft of afternoon sunlight, Aggie Preston was a pretty little girl with rose-petal lips and curly blond hair spilling down to her waist. Her petite, babyish figure was outlined by a red cotton sun frock, so translucent that Ian could see the ghost of her underwear. She was standing before a large cheval mirror (an heirloom passed down from their mutual grandmother) with her arms raised over her head. She looked like a high diver about to catapult from a springboard.

"What're you doing? You're making enough noise to wake the dead!"

Aggie lowered her hands and looked over at the door, her face as bright and open as a summer morning.

"I'm practicing," she told him.

"Practicing? Practicing what?"

"Handstands."

Yeah, that'd be right, he thought ruefully, serves me right for teaching her how to do forward rolls yesterday. He shook his head incredulously. When would he ever learn? Next it'll be cartwheels and backflips.

"Why don't you go practice down in the backyard?"

"I want to watch myself in the mirror," she replied, gesturing towards the cheval, "only I can't because my dress keeps getting in the way."

Ian rubbed his temples in disbelief. Was that why she'd been thumping around like a goddam elephant for the past two hours? Surely not.

"Well, put some shorts on, then."

"But I want to see what I look like wearing the dress."

"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense," Ian commented wearily. The conversation was getting loopier by the second. He couldn't believe this was happening. Five thousand words due next Monday and here he was, talking gobbledygook with an eight year old. No, sorry - an eight year old who likes turning handstands in front of the mirror. Wearing a dress.

Aggie lifted her hands over her head once again.

"Can you watch me to see if I'm doing it right?" she asked, oblivious to the mayhem she'd wrought in his work schedule. That was Aggie Preston all over. Not content with simply ruining his afternoon, she expected him to stand around praising her gymnastic abilities to the skies. All the same, Ian felt inclined to capitulate for the time being. She'd probably lose interest if he indulged her whims for a few minutes. He sat down on the bed, resigning himself to the inevitable.

"OK. Show me what you've got."

Aggie turned back toward the mirror, paused for several seconds, then dropped over onto her palms. Her dress fluttered inside out, allowing Ian a generous view of her fresh, white underpants. She arched her spine for balance, feet waving precariously in mid-air. Ian noted her locked elbows, the subtle curve of her belly. Not bad, for a beginner. She held her legs up for about five seconds, then fell back on to her feet.

"How was I?" she asked, eyebrows raised enquiringly. Her dress was still rucked up over one hip, holding on by a thread and a promise. A sliver of cheeky white panty peeked out from under the scarlet hem. Ian didn't bother trying to cover it up; the lesson wasn't finished yet.

"Not bad," he replied fairly enough, "but you're supposed to keep your feet together when you go up into your stance."

"Into my stance?" she asked uncertainly.

"When you're upside down," he explained, reminding himself how young she was. Aggie's face lit up with understanding.

"Oh, right. Like this," she said, and sailed over once more. Her skirt fell across her face, hanging almost to the floor. Pristine cotton panties went on open display, tightly stretched across her pudgy, round bottom. Aggie wavered at the height of her arc for maybe two seconds then started to topple backwards toward the bed. Ian caught her in his arms before she hit the floor.

"That's better," he nodded, setting her back on her feet, "just don't come crashing down that way. Feels like an earthquake."

"I want to try again," she chirped eagerly, "can you hold my legs, Ian?"

"Yeah, OK," he agreed, rising laboriously from the bed, "come over here." His academic responsibilities were swept aside in the torrent of Aggie's excitement. She had that effect on everybody. Reaching down, he took her under the arms and hoisted her up to his shoulder. She wrapped her legs around his waist, eyes glittering with innocent pleasure.

"Lean backwards and put your hands on the floor," Ian instructed, lowering her carefully towards the carpet. Her frock began to invert, exposing her creamy thighs as gravity snatched at the hemline. Ian glanced down to make sure she was bracing herself properly. Her panties were trimmed with pink lace.

"You ready down there?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm ready," she piped back, voice shrill with expectation.

"All right, here we go."

Holding her firmly by the ankles, Ian dangled Aggie upside-down facing the mirror, then allowed her to take some of her own weight. Careful to maintain his grip, he paused to check her stance. The reflection showed a little girl standing on her hands with her legs slightly apart. Her frock was trailing on the floor, completely covering her arms and head and upper body. Ian floated his gaze over her smooth tummy, her glaring white panties, her supple thighs. The dress continued inching southward, exposing more of her ivory flesh. An impudent little belly button pouted out of an alabaster torso. By this time, Ian was completely engrossed; all thought of his impending assignment had vanished from his mind.

"OK," he said, "bring your feet together. And point your toes at the ceiling."

"Like this?"

"Yeah, that's good, almost perfect," he answered. Aggie's frock had crept halfway down her midsection. Her full brief pants sat snug against the delicate rose of her skin. Tiny white ripples flowed across the fabric as she adjusted her weight from side to side. A fine lace tracery encircled the waistband, dimpling her slightly protruding belly. She'd never completely lost her puppy fat.

"I still can't see," Aggie twittered beneath a veil of scarlet cotton.

"Push your skirt out of the way.

"I'll fall over."

"No, you won't," Ian assured her, "I've got you."

Shifting her centre of balance, Aggie raised the hemline with her right hand, eyes widening as she glimpsed her reflection. It shouldn't have been such a surprise; she'd seen her friends turning handstands at school, pretty much every day. But this was different, somehow. She'd never actually seen herself hanging upside down with her dress over her head (even though she'd spent half her life on the monkey bars like any other kid her age).

"Ian! I wanna do it again!" she chortled, wriggling her hips impatiently. Her pert, plump bottom-cheeks jostled back and forth in joyful abandon. Ian smiled in spite of himself. She really had no idea how engaging she was. He set her on her feet once again, mindful to cushion her descent as much as possible. She'd weakened the floorboards sufficiently for one day. Aggie straightened up, literally dancing with excitement. She spun around, skirt flaring out around her calves, then cast a backward glance over her shoulder.

"Ian, can you undo me?" she trilled, indicating the back of her sun-frock. Ian arched an eyebrow, mildly amused by the request. He should have seen this coming.

"Why?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

"So I can see what I look like without my dress. Please, Ian!" She started bouncing wildly up and down, blonde curls whipping around her head in a platinum cloud.

"OK then," he nodded, managing to keep a straight face. He fumbled with the buttons for a few seconds, then sat back down on the bed while Aggie slipped the straps off her shoulders. She shimmied her hips for a couple of seconds, then slid the frock to the floor, unveiling her petite figure with a silken whisper. She stepped out of the discarded remnant and stood up in nothing but her socks and panties. A faint rose tint began to spread through her features. She was blushing all the way to her hairline.

Ian took a moment to scope her over. It was odd, he'd seen her undressed more times than he could number, but he'd never found her quite so appealing. Perhaps it was the sultry flush permeating her flesh. Perhaps it was her simple, girlish innocence, her unconscious femininity. She was small and plump and curved in all the places a little girl should be.

She ran over to bed, grabbing his hands and trying to pull him to his feet.

"Turn me upside down again, Ian! I wanna stand on my hands like before! Please, Ian, please!!"

"All right, all right," he said, sounding mildly harassed. Reaching forward, he planted her on his lap, sitting face-to-face so that her tummy was pressed against his. His fingertips stroked her bare ribs, raising gooseflesh in their wake. Ian breathed in her natural scent, a combination of apples and honey and warm, fresh cream. Her heart was racing like a miniature trip-hammer, he could feel it pounding against his chest.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

Laying hold on her midriff, Ian tilted Aggie back, allowing her to drop onto her down-stretched palms. She swung her legs up at the same time, remembering to aim her feet at the roof. She could feel Ian's large hands gliding over her belly, adjusting her position whenever she started losing balance. His touch was a gentle, tender caress. Her body was a shining arabesque in the mirror.

Ian transferred his grip to Aggie's ankles, then unwound himself to his full height (six foot two: he'd been a bit of a jock back in high school), hefting her off the floor by several inches. Aggie shrieked in happy protest as he walked her closer to the cheval. Lowering her gingerly to the rug, Ian fine-tuned her posture and leaned in for a closer look.

Aggie hung topsy-turvey with her arms braced and her blonde tresses sweeping the carpet. Her panties shimmered in the late afternoon light; Ian noticed for the first time they had a little tag on the front, just below the waistband. So fine, so translucent he could see her milky flesh-tones through the material. Catching her reflection in the mirror, Aggie giggled in sheer delight. High, silvery laughter tinkled around the room.

Ian knelt down on one knee, encircling her waist with both hands. One of his fingers dipped into her belly button; Aggie squirmed with ticklish rapture. She kicked her feet in mid air, lacy white socks flashing in the mirror.

"Ian, don't, I'm gonna fall!"

"No, you won't," Ian said, making himself more comfortable, "now - I want you to pretend your legs are like a pair of scissors. Understand? Open them as wide as they'll go. Then I'll show you how to dismount."

"How to what?" she gasped, breathless with laughter.

"Don't worry, you'll see," he replied. Aggie was giggling so hard that her eyes were overflowing with liquid mirth. Watching herself in the cheval, she began to part her legs - hesitantly at first, then with increasing confidence when she realized Ian was holding her up.

"That's right," he encouraged, "keep your legs straight. And don't forget to point your toes." He found that she was surprisingly limber. Her legs were splayed into a classic aerial splits, stretching her panties tight between the thighs. The gusset was framed on each side by a dainty lace trim. Ian returned his attention to the business at hand.

"All right, you ready to come down now?" he asked.

"Yeah, OK." She replied, still giggling. Tears of laughter trickled down her face, running into her hairline. Moving with an almost professional ease, Ian tilted the girl to the right, allowing her to overbalance into a half-cartwheel. Taken completely unawares, Aggie gave a little shriek as she went over, flailing her legs in surprise. What was he doing?! He said he wouldn't let her fall!

"IIIIIAAAAN!!" she screamed.

But Ian was already there.

He caught her in his arms the instant before she struck the floor, sweeping her up onto his shoulder with a rakish laugh. She clung to his neck, squealing with both fright and pleasure, a beautiful little girl in cotton panties and frilly white socks. Ian dropped backward onto the carpet with a resounding THUMP, shaking the floorboards himself this time. He ran his fingers over her midsection, tickling her ribs and back and tummy. She thrashed and kicked in his grasp, desperate to evade those merciless, probing digits.

When she was all tickled out, Ian lifted her back onto his shoulder and stood up, affectionately smoothing her tangled blond hair. Aggie coiled her legs around him, laying a loud kiss on his cheek and hugging him with all her might.

"That was really fun, Ian. Let's do it again!!"

"Later kiddo, you're still out of breath," he answered, laughing good-naturedly (he was close to depleted himself), "tell you what – let's take a walk down to Wendys' and get one of those chocolate sundaes you love so much." Aggie's eyes bulged with delight. Ice cream at Wendys! This had to be the best day of her life!!

Glancing around the room, Ian leaned over and scooped up her dress. He held it up by the straps, checking for stains and scuff-marks. It seemed a little rumpled, but none the worse for wear. It'd do for a trip downtown. He walked out to the staircase with the girl on his hip. Aggie kissed him again, this time on the mouth.

"I love you Ian," she said.

"I love you too, kiddo," he replied, touching the tip of her nose with his index finger.

They trotted down the stairs together, Ian swinging the sun frock in his left hand. Aggie lay her head on his shoulder, eyelids drooping in blissful exhaustion. Out in the study, a computer sat unattended, its monitor flickering into standby mode. Ian didn't spare it a second thought. The term paper could wait, he could always get an extension. He had more important to do. Pocketing his keys, Ian carried his cousin through the front door and down the porch steps.

Aggie's laughter receded down the sidewalk as they walked off into a perfect summer afternoon.

[Platinum]

IAN AND AGGIE
PART TWO

1.

A late August mistral whipped through Domain Memorial Park, rustling through the trees with a promise of winter. The summer was finally cycling down and the skies were gusting with cool seasonal winds. Aggie's thin yellow sundress flickered up in the breeze, offering the world a glimpse of her creamy thighs. She was eight years old, an extremely pretty young girl with soft features and glacial blue eyes. Her face was flushed with a fine color; she'd just spent two hours in the playground on the other side of the park. That was part of her daily routine. Every afternoon ended with a trip across the Domain in the company of her cousin Ian, ostensibly for the fresh air and sunshine, but mostly to keep her out of the kitchen while Aunt Jessie cooked dinner.

Not that Aggie minded in the least. The playground contained about a thousand wonders and there was always a rag-bag tribe of local kids for her to play with. Ian often bought sodas for Aggie and her friends, and wasn't adverse to chasing them around the Indian Fort or spinning them on the merry-go-round. Unfortunately, the day couldn't last forever; which was why she was feeling so cross with Ian at the moment.

"Why do we have to go home now?" she wanted to know, "it isn't even getting dark yet."

"Mom'll be expecting us back for dinner," Ian replied, "and if you're late home again, I'll never hear the end of it." He was a tall, lanky freshman-type with short brown hair and picket-fence good looks. Aggie skipped along beside him, hemline dancing in the rising gale.

"Well, can we come back after dinner?" she chirruped hopefully.

"It'll be your bedtime then," Ian reminded her absently. Aggie's face fell. For most children, there was no greater injustice in the whole wide world than an early bedtime.

"It's not fair," she complained in stricken tones, "it's summer; I should be allowed to stay up."

"Oh, major civil rights violation there," Ian commented dryly, "better call out the national guard."

Aggie ran over and slapped him on the leg with her open hand. She didn't understand what he meant, but she knew he was making fun of her. She usually enjoyed his teasing, but evening curfews during the summer break were no laughing matter. Ian shrugged it off as he always did. Knowing she was probably tired out from the long play session, he decided to go with diplomacy.

"Tell you what: if you're very good during dinner, you can stay up and watch TV with me for an hour." Aggie's eyes brightened instantly. He had a feeling that would satisfy her for the time being. Despite the occasional slash of quick temper, she could be easily pacified with a little pampering. She slipped her hand into his, skipping and bobbing about like the breath of spring. They'd gone maybe sixteen feet when another idea popped into her head.

"Can we go to the Water Slide tomorrow?" she asked, looking up at him. Ian shook his head.

"No, I've got classes all day. Ask Mom. She'll take you." He and his mother shared responsibility for Aggie's upbringing according to their respective timetables. Ian normally handled the recreational side of things, and Aggie's disappointment was obvious.

"I wanna go with you. Aunt Jessie won't let me go on the big slide."

"Well, maybe on Saturday, then." Again, this seemed to placate her. They walked on a little further, approaching the weeping willows that marked the boundary of the Domain. There was a row of chess-tables lined up beneath the trees, where the town's elderly population came to play cards and shoot the breeze. Today the benches were littered with an assortment of retirees, including an old couple Ian saw loafing around the park most afternoons. The Donavans, if he remembered correctly. Both smiled in Aggie's direction, recognizing her from previous excursions (and let's face it, Aggie Preston never failed to leave an impression).

Aggie suddenly released Ian's hand and ran on ahead, face lighting up as if she'd just had a revelation.

"Ian! Watch me do a handstand!" she called back to him, raising her arms directly overhead. Her high, sweet voice chimed through the air like a bell. Ian smiled to himself, trying not to laugh. Aggie loved nothing better than an audience.

Gracefully arching her spine, Aggie flew up into a perfectly controlled handstand. Her dress fell away, exposing her satin panties to the world. Her alabaster tummy was exposed all the way to her belly button; slender white thighs flashed in the sun. Bringing her heels together, she aimed her toes at the heavens. Ian watched the performance with considerable amusement.

Aggie's spontaneous panty displays were amongst her more endearing qualities. She was at that age where she was crazy for school yard acrobatics - forward rolls, cartwheels and the like - and she seized every opportunity to demonstrate her gymnastic prowess. Ian's Mom had tried to persuade her to wear shorts under her dress, but Aggie thought that was just plain silly. None of her friends did, so why should she?

"How do I look Ian?" she warbled in her sing-song voice, "am I doing it OK?" Face hidden by the inverted skirt, she started kicking her feet in the air, calling for attention. Her pudgy round bottom jostled in time to her movements, the cheeks plainly visible through the sheer cotton. The frock crept down several inches, revealing more of her torso.

Over by the chess-tables, the card games had ground to a halt. Good natured laughter rippled across the grass. Old Mrs Donavan grinned across at Ian, her weathered face showing a fine set of dentures.

"Is she your sister?" the old lady asked.

"Cousin, actually," Ian replied, "although she's been living with my mother and I since she was four." He didn't add that Aggie's folks had passed on when she was still an infant. It had taken nearly three years for Ian's Mom to finalize the adoption. They thought it best not to discuss the matter with outsiders.

Meanwhile, the object of their conversation had started walking on her hands. This was a new skill, something she'd worked at under Ian's supervision. Legs waving in the endless blue sky, she hand-stepped carefully forward, her frock slipping lower down her body. The flesh around her thighs and belly glowed with a rosy hue. She started circling around, displaying her panties from all sides. They were snug-fitting full briefs encircled by an eye-catching red trim. A vibrant floral print adorned the gossamer pants, giving them a bright, pinkish sheen. They looked very, very cheeky. Just like the little girl wearing them.

"Ian! See, I'm hand-walking! Am I doing it right? How do I look?"

"Your dress is about to fall off," Ian warned her complacently. He wasn't far from the truth, either. The frock had slid all the way down to her shoulders, where it clung on by the grace of god alone. She might as well have been wearing nothing but her underpants.

"Don't listen to a word he says, dear," Mrs Donavan told her, evidently believing that Ian's remark required further clarification, "I think you look absolutely adorable."

Aggie dropped lightly back onto her feet, returning her hemline to a more modest position, and came running over to join her older cousin. She grabbed Ian's arm with both hands, eager hear what they were saying about her. Wild roses burned on her cheeks, her thick blond hair blew about in wild disarray. Her smile could have powered a city block.

"Seems quite a handful," old man Donavan observed with a chuckle. He was a big, beefy old guy with salt and pepper hair.

"You got that right," Ian agreed ruefully.

"What's your name, sweet-heart?" Mrs Donovan asked, beaming down on the little girl.

"Aggie," she answered, then turned and hid behind Ian's bulky windcheater, feigning shyness. She peeked out from under his arm, batting her eyelids.

"You're getting very good at those hand-thingies," the old woman said, trying to draw her back out. Naturally, the ploy worked; Aggie stepped out of Ian's shadow, throwing her hands up in the air, baby face radiant with childish excitement.

"I can do cartwheels, too!" she declared exuberantly, "you wanna see me do a cartwheel?" Without waiting for a reply, she swept over sideways, turning head-over-heels with her legs splayed out. The dress flipped inside-out once again, billowing around her upturned bottom in a yellow blur. She star-rolled across the turf, panties flashing at every turn. Mrs Donavan covered her smile with a polite hand: what a little show off!

"Pretty good for her age," the old man commented. "She taking lessons?"

"Not yet," Ian said, "we're planning to enroll her in gym class when school starts up again."

"Gold medalist in the making," Donavan laughed.

"That's what we think, too," Ian replied. Both he and his mother agreed Aggie was showing a rare aptitude for gymnastics, an innate talent worth fostering. Although Ian had taught her the basics, most of her present skills were entirely untutored. She seemed to pick up some new trick everyday, mainly through trial and error.

Her free-wheeling concluded, Aggie came sprinting back at full bolt, her tiny features lit up like a Christmas tree. Spreading her arms wide, she took a flying leap and launched herself through the air at her cousin. Swinging about on one heel, Ian scooped her up onto his shoulder, where he subjected her to the torture of a thousand tickles. Aggie shrieked in gigglish rapture, kicking and squirming. The Donavans chuckled over her antics, perhaps remembering their own daughter at that age.

Ian planted the girl on his hip, letting her catch her breath for a few moments.

"With any luck she'll be too tired to argue over bedtime," he told the elderly couple in confidential tones. Aggie opened her mouth to protest this overt betrayal of their earlier agreement, then suddenly thought the better of it.

"Ian, spin me round by the ankles like you did yesterday!" she twittered, rocking back and forth in his embrace, "please Ian, just one time, I really like it when you do that! It's so much fun!"

"No, I think you've shown enough panty for one day, missy" Ian replied, not fooled for a second, "anyway, we have to get going; Mom'll be wondering where you are.

"But Ian -"

"No buts, kiddo. Say goodbye to the Donavans."

Aggie said: "Bye-bye."

"Goodbye, Sweet-heart," Mrs D replied fondly, "see you tomorrow." The old man touched his hat with a chunky index finger, grinning through his sunglasses. Ian returned the salute, then shifted his passenger higher up on his hip.

"Ready to go?"

"Okay."

He carried her out through the gridlocked chess tables, where a score of aging, itinerant card-sharps paused in their games. Cards were laid down, plastic teeth were bared in resinous smiles. Aggie waved back over Ian's shoulder, her fingers spread in a fantail. The breeze whickered around her knees, finicking at her hemline.

"Bye-bye," she called in her high, piping voice, "bye-bye!"

To be continued...