A Boy No Longer

Chapter 1

Marcus was a fine looking young lad of fourteen when he came to live with me and my husband on our farm several miles outside of town. He had lost both his parents in a fire which destroyed their home above the general store they had owned in town. The loss was as hard on me as it had been on Marcus, his mother was my sister.

We were all the family he had left. For that matter, he was all the family we had left within a thousand miles or so. The rest of our family still lived back east. We had moved west five years earlier to stake a claim on a piece of Mother Earth and to become farmers. We were doing fairly well by ourselves but Marcus moving in had been a great help to my husband, Thomas.

He had been very withdrawn for a long time afterwards, never having had much to say, always off by himself. It was obvious he was lonesome and still grieving over the loss of his family. He also seemed to miss living in town where he had had friends. Out here on the farm, there was only us.

A week before Marcus' sixteenth birthday, we lost Thomas after a long bout with pneumonia. You would think that in this modern age of 1890 a doctor could do more for a person with pneumonia. Poor old Doc Howard had made the long horseback ride out to our place several times to treat Thomas. But there I was, at the ripe old age of thirty-two, a widow. Marcus hadn't taken this major life-changing event very well either.

I thank the good Lord that I had Marcus at that point in my life or I would have probably lost the farm too. He was a big strapping boy, with the same muscular build his father had had. I had always envied my sister for having a husband so handsome and well built. Not that Thomas wasn't a handsome and muscular man because he was, but Marcus' father had muscles that rippled under his dark skin when he moved. I knew it was wrong to feel that way, but I couldn't help it.

Now that Marcus was doing most of the physical work around the farm he was developing an even larger build. His skin was deeply tanned from many hours in the sun. When he came inside all sweaty after a long day of labor, the hard muscles in his arms and chest resembled large snakes moving under his skin.

One especially hot evening about six months ago, Marcus came in just before dark. I had supper ready for him. After quickly washing up he headed out of the kitchen toward his room.

"Where you going?" I asked.

"I'm just going to put a clean shirt," he replied.

"You don't need a shirt," I said, thinking to myself how much I would enjoy eyeing his muscles all through supper.

"I can't sit down at the table with no shirt on," he stated.

"Why not? It's very warm in here tonight. Besides, a hard-working man should be able to eat his supper in comfort and shouldn't have to wear a shirt at his own table if he doesn't want to," I suggested.

"It is awfully hot. You sure you won't mind?" he asked.

"Of course not," I answered. "Sit down and eat before your supper gets cold."

We sat through the evening meal talking about how things were going around the farm and such things as that. But my mind was far too busy watching him to pay too much attention to what he was saying.

By the time supper was over, I have to admit that things had gotten a lot hotter for me and a lot wetter. I was almost relieved to start cleaning up from supper and get away from the vision and the evil thoughts I was having about my young nephew.

While cleaning up the kitchen after supper I heated water and poured it into the big steel tub on the back porch for him to bath in. It took a while to heat and carry enough water. Finally I had enough water in the tub and pulled the door shut as he started undressing to bath.

I had been quite horny and a bit sneaky over the last few months and would turn the lantern in the kitchen down low and peek out the window, watching him bath. He had become an incredibly handsome young man. I loved to watch him lather up and wash his long blonde hair. With all that soap on his head, I knew he had to keep his eyes closed tightly and I didn't have to fear him catching me gawking at him.

My favorite part of the whole process was after he finished washing his hair, he would call for me to bring another bucket of hot water to rinse the soap out of his hair. He would cover himself with the wash rag and I would slowly, very slowly, pour the bucket of water over his head until the lather was rinsed away. I always wished for the wash rag to slip out of place; a few times it did, but I always acted like I hadn't noticed. I spent many wonderful evenings with my face pressed against that kitchen window and my hand under my skirts and inside my undergarments. Every time he would stand up in the tub and started drying, I would start getting wetter between my thighs. By the time he had finished dressing, I was always sitting in the front room with a book open like I had been reading the whole time he had been bathing.

On several occasions while I was bathing I had thought I'd caught him out the corner of my eye peeking at me through the same window. I was never able to get a good enough look to see if he was or not. But if he was, I'm sure he got an eyeful, I made sure of that. I was going on thirty-five-years old but my body was still in good shape and us Irish gals are noted for having beautiful red hair. I mean, it wasn't like he was sneaking a peek at some old hag, if he really was peeking at all. But it was a nice fantasy for me even if he wasn't.

For his eighteenth birthday, I had managed to save a little money to give him to go to town with. I figured an eighteen-year-old young man had things he would like to do in town. I had talked with him about drinking too much and how the salon girls would try to come on to him. I didn't want him going to town and getting taken but the first floozy who flapped her skirts in his direction.

Early that afternoon I prepared his bath; he needed to get an early start, it was a two-hour ride to town. He would stay with one of his friends and come home the next afternoon.

I took my usual station at the window after he had gotten into the tub. I was ready with the bucket of water to rinse his hair when he called for it, even though I wasn't quite ready to leave my window yet.

As I slowly poured it over his head he started trying to talk to me. "Aunt Millie, I really don't like the idea of leaving you alone out here for two days and a night," he said.

I tossed a towel over his head and he started drying his hair. "I appreciate that," I replied, watching him rub the towel roughly over his head. "Is that how you dry your hair, boy?" I asked, taking the towel from his hands. "No wonder your hair is still wet for so long after a bath. Here, let me show you how to dry it right."

I worked the towel briskly through his hair, carefully making sure to work it through of all his hair. "See, you gotta work the towel through your hair, not just over it," I said.

"That feels great. I shoulda got you to do that a long time ago," he smiled up at me. "Maybe you better show me how to do it one more time, I'm a slow learner."

Now I took my time and even worked my way down to dry his ears and neck. I could feel the tension in his neck muscles. I gently worked my finger over his large neck. "How's that feel?"

"Great," he answered.

I kept massaging away, slowly working my way over his powerful shoulders and down his broad back a little.

"Oh, that feels wonderful," he moaned, leaning slightly forward so I could go farther down his back. At least, I was hoping that was why he leaned forward.

"Does that feel better?" I asked softly.

"That feels good enough to make a fella almost forget about goin' to town," he replied.

I stepped to the side of the tub, wishing he really meant that, but I knew he was just trying to please me. I looked him in the eye. "A young man needs to go to town now and then to sew a few wild oats, it's nature's way," I said. "Whew, it's getting hot out here," I said, fanning the top of my blouse. "All that steam from your bath is getting to me I think." I undid the two top buttons of my blouse. I was curious what effect this might have on him.

"I know you'll be fine, but still I'm not so sure I like the idea of leaving you alone for so long," he said.

I knelt beside the tub, took his hand, and leaned forward over the edge of the tub. I could feel his eyes boring deep into my cleavage. He tried to avert his eyes so I wouldn't see him staring, but he couldn't. "I'll be fine while you’re away. Maybe a bit lonely, but I'll be fine. There's things a man's gotta do, especially on his eighteenth birthday."

I watched his face turn three shades of red. His eyes were still trying to sneak a peek down my blouse. "Well, yeah, but you shouldn't talk about something like that. It's a little embarrassing you know," he stammered.

"Why is it embarrassing? It's human nature," I replied.

"Yeah, but it ain't the sorta of thing a fella talks to his aunt about," he said shyly.

"You don't have any men around here to talk to, so you're stuck with me. And I don't mind discussing these important matters with you," I said, trying to ease his embarrassment. "There's a lot of things a young man needs to know about life."

"I know, but gosh, Aunt Millie, I never figured you'd be the one to explain them to me," he said sheepishly.

"Well, I guess it's my place to tell you that stuff now that your father and uncle are gone," I replied. "And you're eighteen now, how about dropping the aunt part of my name? You're making me feel like an old maid aunt."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Millie, I mean Millie, I didn't mean to make you feel old. You're still a beautiful woman," he apologized.

"Why thank you, kind Sir, I appreciate the compliment. A woman my age needs that once in a while, just like a young man needs certain things once in a while," I said with a coy grin.

"Honest, you are a beautiful lady. I wasn't just trying to make you feel good," he said looking a bit embarrassed again. "Any man would you be proud to be seen with you and pleased to be with you."

"Marcus, now you're beginning to embarrass me," I grinned. "And just what do you mean by, 'pleased to be with me'? Be with me how?"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Millie, I didn't mean it that way," he tried to retract his statement. "I mean you're a nice lady to be with." He kept getting himself in deeper and I wasn't about to let up on him now.

"I know what you meant. And I'm honored that a handsome young fella like yourself would feel that way about me," I smiled. "I noticed you looking down my blouse a while ago."

He face turned crimson. "I didn't mean to, but I couldn't help it. Please forgive my rudeness," he begged.

"I didn't mind. It even excited me a little. It's been a long time since a man looked at my breasts that way," I said, undoing another button for his benefit. "You've probably never seen a woman's breasts before have you?"

"Ah no, Ma'am, I ah, haven't," he stumbled, his eyes widened as he stared farther down my blouse.

"Have you ever wanted to?" I asked in a soft, gentle, yet teasing voice.

He couldn't answer; he just sat there, stared with his mouth open as I undid another button, than another. I thought his jaw was going to drop into the water when I pulled my blouse back over my shoulders, slipped it off my arms, and let it tumble to the porch. I noticed the wash rag over his lap was sticking up into the air a bit now too.

"Looks like you have a pretty big problem there," I smiled, leaning forward to give him a better view of my cleavage.

He tried to conceal his growing member from my sight. I pulled his hands away. "That's all right, that's what's supposed to happen when you see a lady undressing for you," I said.

"I know, but I've never, I mean, I've… Oh God, I don't know what I mean," he apologized again.

"Well, I know what you mean even if you don't," I smiled into his bright-blue eyes as I slowly lifted the wash rag from his lap revealing his swollen manhood. He gasped as I gently wrapped my hand around it. "How does that feel?" I purred.

"Oh my God!" was all he said as I felt him growing harder.

"Does this feel good?" I whispered, slowly stroking his now throbbing shaft. I could sense his embarrassment, but I could also sense he didn't want me to stop.

His head leaned back, his eyes closed, and groan came from deep within him. I squeezed his shaft tight and stroked faster. It didn't take long for his body to go completely rigid, and a deep guttural growl to escape his lungs.

"Oh God!" he groaned, his body quivered and shook. Then it happened, he erupted in my hand.

His juice shot high up over his chest and stomach. I kept stroking him and it kept coming, some landed on my chest and slowly trickled down between my excited breasts. Some of it shot into my face, landing on my lips, which I quickly licked clean and wished for more. As I felt the pulsing of his still hard shaft slowly subside, I slowed but continued to gently stroke him. I didn't stop until I had felt the very last tiny pulsation.

I knelt there for a while still gently rubbing him as he slowly began to shrink in my hand. I watched the last thick droplets of his delicious cum lightly spurt from him and glide down over the glistening swollen head of his penis and onto my fingers that were still wrapped around him.

When I felt his body start to relax I leaned over him and licked the remaining cum from his spent member. It was delicious. I sucked him deep into my mouth and gently milked him for every last drop of the precious fluid I could coax from him.

I finally released him as his body wilted into the tub. He lookup up into my eyes with a warm glow I had never seen in him before. A sweet smile covered his face as he watched me lick the last of his cum from my fingers.

I slowly stood up, smiling down at him. "You better hurry if you're going to make it to town before dark."

"I don't think I'll be goin' anywhere tonight," he mumbled, a huge smile crossed his handsome face, "except maybe to bed."

"And just whose bed are you going to be sleeping in tonight?" I cooed, leaving the porch before he could come up with an answer.