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Visiting Aunt Alexandria

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When I was in junior high, my parents starting sending me to my uncle’s house for a few weeks each summer. He lived upstate and I didn’t like visiting him much…that is, until he got married. I never could figure out WHY this awesome woman, who became my Aunt Alexandria, married Paul, who was a complete disaster. But she did, and it greatly improved my summer visits…She was one of those people who brought a warm, light touch to any situation. I was, then even more than now, a hideous mass of introverted nerdy awkwardness, and she always made me feel like she was truly happy to have me around, and that I was funny, and even…less than hideous. Quite a feat.

Paul was a violent drunk, and seemed to lack all ambition. He worked at Home Depot and would get off his 8 hour shift acting like all should bow before King Paul, for he hath worketh a solid shift, and did needeth his Coors Light. I scoff, in part, because since my parents owned their own nursery, an 8 hour shift was what we did on off days. During the height of flower season, we all were expected to put in at least 6 hours after school, and my parents routinely worked 12s and 14s. At the same time, Aunt Lexy was teaching EMT and emergency rescue courses, and in grad school. So, it made me insane that Uncle Paul expected her to do all of the cooking, house work, and bring him his 12 pack a night…When I was there, I would take over cooking duties, do the food buys, and try at least to not make the house any worse for my presence…Frankly, I worshipped her, and would have done anything to make her life more pleasant. I knew she liked dark chocolate, and seemed at least to be amused by the cartoons I drew in those days, so I would often wrap chocolate bar in some stupid drawing of mine and hide it in her bag. Like a clandestine love note. Which it was, in a way. I had a terrible crush on her, but didn’t recognize it for that until later.

Like I say, none of us could see what a charming, good looking, dynamo like her was doing with a lump like him, but I was sure glad that she came into my young life. In addition to making the summer visits more fun, she was to introduce me to physical pleasure like I had only dimly imagined, and have never realized since…

My first taste of what was to follow occurred, improbably enough, in the parking lot of the Red Lobster. Red Lobster was the ONLY place that Paul would deign to grace with his presence, and so Aunt Lexy and I dutifully made our way there on this particular evening. It was their anniversary, and incidentally, my 18th birthday. I tried to bow out, pointing out the obvious, that “you guys aren’t going to want a kid hanging around to spoil your romantic evening.” Aunt Lexy gave me a bemused look, and said, “You mean, I don’t want Paul hanging around to spoil a perfectly enjoyable evening with my favorite inlaw … C’mon get dressed, we are going out, my man!”

When she talked to me that way, as though I were actually a person whose company she enjoyed rather than (as I saw myself), a burden to be endured, well… I fell in love with her all over again.

So I put on my church clothes, and was ready in, oh, maybe 10 minutes. I heard her call from their bedroom, “Claude, would you come and zip me up?” I walked into the bedroom, and my jaw dropped. Her back was to the door, and she was facing me in the mirror. The long expanse of unzipped dress, the white skin, the complete absence of bra straps crossing her smooth back or panty lines marring her perfect, full derriere; the calves thrust out by the high heels; the line running up the back of the stockings…I drank in this vision of feminine loveliness in an instant, and blurted out, ” You are gorgeous!” And then wanted to crawl under the carpet with embarrassment. She gave me the warmest, most mischievous smile. “Well thank you, sailor! And you thought that your presence would spoil the romantic mood…I suspect your uncle will just grunt and order a pitcher of Coors. For himself. I could be wearing coveralls for all he cares. Your response made the effort all worthwhile. Now, zip me up, and we can go meet the ogre!”

Hands trembling, trying not to touch her back too much, inhaling her perfume (“Happy Heart” I think it was called), I accomplished the task.

We piled into her jeep, and she drove us to the restaurant, and as she pulled in her phone chirped with an incoming text. At her direction, I read: “gun b haf hr lat.” I thought, “What an oaf,” but just read it aloud, in a exaggerated caveman grunt.

Laughing, she said, “Well that is YOUR uncle, fella. Mr. Charming.” As she spoke, she hitched around in her seat, causing her dress to ride up her thigh. She caught me staring, and said with a giggle, “Hey take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Emboldened, I retorted, “Woman, don’t tempt me. If I had my camera, I would be burning pixels, baby!”

She smiled and said, “You have my telephone in your hand, silly…” and reached across to show me how to activate the camera, and then leaned back in her seat.

“Go ahead, Mr. Photojournalist. Snap away. Oh, wait, boys like to queenbet güvenilirmi see the tops of stockings, don’t they? Let me adjust a little.” With that, she raised her hips and slid her dress up a full four inches, until a band of smooth, creamy thigh was framed between clingy red dress and black thigh highs. I resolved then and there to never be caught without a camera again…

For the second time that evening, I found my hands shaking in her presence. I snapped away, though, not wanting to give her time to change her mind. I sent the pic to my phone, and silently handed her back her telephone.

She called up the pictures on the screen, and said, “Hey, they don’t look too bad for an old broad!”

And again, without thinking, I stated bluntly: “You’re the sexiest woman alive.”

“Well, I don’t think we can go THAT far, but listen, you have certainly earned first base this evening. C’mere. Let me give you a lesson on kissing. Or are you already accomplished, good lookin’ stud like you…I don’t want to presume…”

Miserably, I replied: “Of course I’ve never kissed a girl. Or so much as touched one…Guys like me are invisible.”

“Well, Mister, that is all about to change” and cocking her right leg up to face me she leaned into me for my first kissing lesson from the lips of a goddess. Taking my right hand, she placed it behind her head, instructing me to gently run my fingers through her hair, massaging the back of her neck, at the same time demonstrating the technique with her hands on me.

She murmured, her mouth an inch away from mine: “Don’t force a kiss. Always better to let the girl take the initiative. If she opens her mouth to you, then that is a signal that you can gently start probing with your tongue, just gently pull on the lips with your lips, like this…”

“Now with a girl, you should keep your hands as they are now, in her hair, or cupping her chin in your hand. But with a woman like me, who you already know, you can afford to be a little more handsy…so run your hand down my back, slowly, caressingly…that’s it. Now, if you were standing in the doorway to her apartment you could run your hand down over her ass, but we can’t do that in this position. What you can do is this: run your hand down my side and around my hip…here, to my thigh” and she placed my hand on that strip of bare skin, above the stocking top.

“Just gently stroke it, you can reach the side of my ass, and stroke there, too…”

“OK,” she said, her voice cracking slightly “now slide your hand back up my side, under my arm…to massage the side of my…breast.” The last word was a dry croak as my hand had already found its way to that smooth, firm target. Then she stopped talking and we both just focused on: the feel of lips and tongue and hand on lycra/cotton blend- covered flesh…

When at last she pulled away, we were both panting, and I was erect. It wasn’t helpful to recall that she wore no underwear, nor to observe that with her legs in that position, her sex was obscured only by a scrap of shadow…My heart was hammering in my chest.

“Oh, my!” she sighed. “Look what you have done to me,” indicating her prominent nipples with a jerk of her chin. “Well, I guess we are even. You are gong to have to rearrange yourself before we get out of the jeep, Mr. I-have-a-big-KNOB.”

She pulled out her lipstick, flipped down the sunshade to reapply with the use of the mirror, then looked at me critically.

“Hmmm, that won’t do.”

She reached across to scrape her pigment from my lips. We climbed down from the jeep, I took the opportunity to adjust my erection, and Uncle Paul’s big dually came belching into the parking lot.


The following Wednesday morning, around 9, I was alone in the house, and as was my habit, teenage boy, was whacking off to a photograph that I had taken of her at a poolside BBQ the previous summer. In the photo, she was in a red sundress/swimsuit cover up, and was leaning down to ask a neighbor’s child what he wanted to drink…There was a glorious expanse of her breast exposed, her full sensuous lips, the familiar playful glint in her eyes… It was actually a brilliant photograph, and was the start of the hobby that I still pursue today. I still strive to catch those unplanned portraits that tell the person’s story, that reveal, in a flash, some aspect of the soul. As I took the picture, she looked up at me. Her expression was a peculiar combination of, “Oh, I know what you are ogling, you teenage boy, you,” and almost a satisfied, come-hither look. As if to say, “Finally, someone noticed that I really have a rocking body.” Anyway, that picture was my prized possession, and I literally used it every day. Others were into internet porn, or magazines, including, I knew, my Uncle. But to me the airbrushed models in those venues seemed too arid in their glossy perfection. Who could be aroused by those faint shades of commercialism when there, breathing under the same roof, was a voluptuous goddess? Paul had truly creepy porn sites bookmarked on the computer queenbet yeni giriş (Asianheshes.com…Seriously? Seriously!), and a stack of almost equally un-erotic Hustlers (too gynecological for my taste) under his bed. Yeah, I snooped when the house was empty. And, so it was that I was in the guest room, masturbating, certain that I had at least 6 more hours of me time, when in walked my aunt!!! I was totally mortified. As I fumbled to cover up, she said gently, “I am so sorry to have startled you. Class was cancelled, so I thought I would come home and see if you wanted to do something with me…” Her eyes tracked between the sizeable lump in the covers, and the photograph placed face up beside me. Her face transformed into a look of almost ravenous joy…as though a banquet were set before a starving man. She licked her lips, and said in a husky, almost whisper, “Well, it looks like perhaps you were thinking of doing something with me…or to me? Which was it, Claude? Do you want to play with your auntie?” she asked teasingly. “I’m really flattered. I remember when you took that picture, at the Fourth of July BBQ, and I wore that dress for you. I had caught you ogling my breasts the whole week before, and I thought, ‘At least someone appreciates me. Throw the poor kid a bone…’ Hmmm, but now it looks like you are the one throwing me a bone!” She began to stroke my thigh, perched there on the edge of my bed, slowly pulling the covers down as she did so…The effect was a sort of tantalizing strip tease, as my lower stomach, hip and then erection slowly came into view. “Oh,my. I think you might be very glad that I came home when I did.” She began sliding her warm, smooth hand over my hip, across my belly, gliding over the sensitive tops of my thighs. Instantly, I grew to full size again, recovering from the earlier shock of her arrival. She took me in her hand and lightly began to pull it up, making a loose ring of her fingers, shrinking the ring as she rubbed over the head. I was mesmerized. Up and down, up and down, now smearing a drop of precum, over the head, using it as lube. When she noticed the precum, she said, “It looks like I am going to need a hair clip. Don’t go away.” I was mystified and dismayed when she jumped up and ran into another room, returning moments later, arranging a barrette to pull the hair back from her face. This time, she knelt at the edge of the bed, which put her face right at the level of my penis. She locked eyes with me, leaned forward, and gave the tip the daintiest tip of the tongue lick…the precum bridging from my penis to her lips.

“MMMMM,” she moaned, deep in her throat, and gave the head a slightly longer, broader stroke with her perfect pink tongue. She did this for awhile, my stomach doing flip flops, as this dream came true, and then she said, “Oh, where are my manners? I bet you would like to see more of these…” and she did that crazy woman contortionist thing where they wriggle out of bra straps without removing the shirt. When she unbuttoned the top three buttons, I had an amazing view of her breasts, lightly covered in a cream-colored, semi-sheer blouse. In the next moment, she engulfed my penis with her warm, soft lips, laving the head with her moist tongue, looking me straight in the eye…I would like to say that this went on for hours, with me holding off my orgasm to provide her with the pleasure that she so richly deserved, but the sad fact is that the sight of her wonderful, full breasts, the warmth of her mouth on my penis, and those mesmerizing eyes on mine caused me to explode with the first devastating orgasm of my young life. She swallowed most of it, acting as though I had brought her a feast, licking her lips, and with the overflow, she rocked me again by saying “You need to rub this on my titties,” opening her shirt completely, sitting up tall to grant me access, and guiding my trembling hands to smear my own cum on her glorious erect nipples.

She moaned in earnest once my hands were on her breasts, and then guided her right nipple to my lips. “Suck it. Suck my nipples. Yes, that’s my boy. That’s right. Harder. Tweak the other one. Pull on it. Ohhhhh. Ohhhhh.” Her breath coming in short gasps, as I later learned she was violently rubbing herself, out of my sight, her right hand hidden by the edge of the bed. Together we brought her to orgasm, her first of the day, me tasting my own semen on her nipples, sucking and tweaking, and her rubbing herself.

My every sense seemed to be heightened and engaged, smelling and hearing and feeling and tasting, as though my life ’til then had been spent sleepwalking, wasted in a muffled dream. I became erect again almost immediately, and she wasted no time in shedding her panties, and mounting me, the joining of our sex hidden by the folds of her skirt, her blouse completely open now, and off one creamy white shoulder…it is sight that is burned in my brain, and to this day, that scene plays out in my head, as the interior accompaniment to most of the orgasms that I achieve. It is sad, in a way, that nothing, noONE, since, has ever affected queenbet giriş me as much as that illicit first sex with my succulent aunt. Ever after, sex has been a disappointment, and so I replay the video of that first encounter in the privacy of the room behind my eyes, and thusly achieve… moments of …bliss.

The ogre got home that afternoon around three, and greeted her with his customary warmth:

“What are you doing here? I thought you worked Wednesdays?”

“Class was cancelled so I came home and Claude fixed me a delicious lunch.”

“Goody for him,” and he orced off to sit in his DISGUSTING recliner, in front of the TV, first 6 pack of the evening in hand. That´s right, he would routinely take a six of Silver Bullets with him to his throne, and then have one of us bring him his second six 90 minutes later. Like a fucking clock. The good part of this charming pattern was that effectively we had the house to ourselves by seven each evening. Typically, we would all watch some crap on the TV, SciFi channel ONLY for him, Auntie and I sharing the sofa. Love of science fiction was about the only thing Uncle Paul and I had in common. In a sense, of course, we were now “sharing” the same woman, but according to Lexy, “He really lets me go to waste…”

Another irritating trait of Uncle Paul, was that he always left the AC on STUN. So we would freeze when he was home, and would often be huddled under a flannel quilt as we watched TV. That first night, we took extremely juicy advantage of both the coverage of the quilt, and his alcohol-induced stupor.

Around seven, she said “Well, I’m going to go put on my PJs”

Paul gave a little snore-grunt in response. As she left the room, she turned off the overhead light, leaving the room dimly illuminated by the blue glow of the TV. She emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, wearing a long, sleeping Tee, that came down to mid thigh. She slid under the quilt alongside me, smelling pleasantly of facial soap and toothpaste. Not a word was exchanged, but I immediately placed my hand on her thigh, and started caressing her bare skin. I heard her breathing quicken, saw her glance to her sleeping husband, not three feet away, and shift her right leg up on the couch, toward me, granting me access to her silky inner thigh. I took this to be a subtle “go- ahead,” and so I slid my hand down between her legs, moving in small, light circles, gradually working my way up toward her molten core. Through it all, she stared fixedly at the TV screen, though, later we both joked that we had little idea of what was on…Maybe one of the “Planet of the Apes” movies. At some point, the edge of my hand reached her, and I left it there, making a gentle sawing motion, loving the feel of her silky wetness. After some time, she clenched her thighs together, her body, shuddering, rigid. I felt like I had just won the Boston Marathon, or discovered the cure for cancer.

The next afternoon, she called me and asked if I had any interest in helping her pick out a swimsuit at the mall. Of course I said yes, that I’d love to, and we decided to meet at Robinson-May. I hopped on Paul’s mountain bike, only used when I was in town, and met her 15 minutes later, only slightly sweaty from the ride. She gave me a chaste peck on the cheek and a hug by way of greeting and we proceeded into the cool maw of the department store. We ultimately decided on a fairly conservative, white, one piece, a racer backed Speedo that was cut quite high on the legs, and thus had the effect of elongating them. While shapely, her legs were not long, and the effect was quite pleasing. She had brought along a pair of high-heeled sandals and I thought she looked stunning. I thought she looked good in ALL of the suits, but being a woman, she had a very self-critical streak in the bathing suit department! It took quite awhile to make the selection, but I remember experiencing none of the impatience that would have marred a like excursion with my sister. I was happy to just be there, and play boyfriend for the afternoon. As we walked out to her jeep, I said, soto voce, “I dare you to cut the lining out of that suit…”

“Oh, yeah, well I double dare you to climb into the jeep for about 10 minutes.” As she groped for the keys she said, “Huh, I seem to have left my underwear…in my bag. That’s odd”

We climbed in and I wasted no time in reaching for her. The jeep was a soft top, with those crappy plastic windows which afforded a modicum of privacy. We locked lips, kissing greedily, and I worked my hand inside her top, fumbling with the front closure on her bra. She leaned back, so that she was across the seat, the gear shift poking her in the side, so that I could reach all of her. I played with her breasts, savoring the fullness, the perfect gourd shape, the exquisitely-responsive nipples, while reaching my right arm down to raise her skirt. The whole situation was thrilling, and the semi-public nature of it made it even more so. She told me later that a young bicycle-mounted mall security cop had ridden slowly by, stopped, and peered intently through the windshield. She locked eyes with him, and he stayed, watching, watching me groping her breast until she achieved orgasm, then he saluted and rode off. That experience awoke in her an exhibitionist streak that would shape much of our activity over the following days.

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