Aunt Jane and His First Time

"Such a long holiday now you're at College," said his mother, "What are you going to do with yourself?"

"Off with my mates in August. Now? Thought I might drop down and see Aunt Jane for a few days."

"Aunt Jane? Well, that would be very nice of you. What put it into your head?"

"She was obviously pretty broken up with Uncle Bob dying, when she stayed with us. Thought she might like a bit of family company. She hasn't taken up with anyone else has she?"

"Not that I know of. They were very close. Such a lottery isn't it -- him getting so ill at only his age. Do you want me to ring her for you?"

"I was going to myself."

"Might be easier for me to find out if she really wants to have you staying. She wouldn't want to hurt your feelings."

"OK. Not really on to go so far unless I do stay." In fact he had quite another reason for wanting to stay, the idea of a gamble he might or might not take according to how things worked out.

He drove up in the late afternoon after a long day's drive. She lived in quite a large suburban house, up a short drive. He had not seen it since he was a child, but decided he did not like it -- Uncle Bill, his mother's brother, had been a beefy obvious sort of man who had bought an obvious house. Neither were much to his own taste.

His wife was another matter. When he rang she answered, looking far better than when he had last seen her soon after Uncle Bob's death. She was a fully built woman in her early forties, wearing a summer dress, her off-blond hair its natural colour.

She welcomed him, showed him to a pleasant room at the top of the house, gave him time to shower and change, and had made a real effort with the meal she had laid out for the two of them on the plain wood table of her large kitchen. They gossiped of family matters and of his first year at college, and got through the best part of a couple of bottles of wine. At last, over coffee, he broached the topic he had come to broach.

"So," he asked, "How's your social life? Have you taken up with anyone else at all?"

She looked rather surprised by this, but went with it. "Since you ask, not really. I have my friends of course. But if you mean men, no."

"Too soon? Not interested?"

"Quite an interrogation. Actually not too soon and not not interested. More opportunity has not knocked. Or, to be frank, it has knocked a few times but not to do with anyone I would want to spend much time with."

"You're a very attractive woman. There must be lots of worth while men out there who'd grab at the chance of you." He looked at her intently.

She seemed taken aback again.

"You think so do you? That's new on me. Since when?"

"Since when we were on holiday, do you remember, you and Uncle and mum and dad and me, in that hotel south of Venice."

"That's very precise. How come?"

This was the point at which he had to dare all.

"It was one morning. After breakfast. Before we went out into the hills for lunch. Do you remember?"

"I dimly remember the lunch. Breakfast and after breakfast have left no trace."

"I was coming back to my room after breakfast. It was just along the corridor after yours, on the other side. You'd left the door ajar."

"Had we indeed."

"I couldn't help hearing."

"Come on, spit it out. Hearing what?"

"Well, you calling out to him."

"Calling?"

"That you wanted him. It was so sexy. I saw you absolutely differently after that."

"Calling out that I wanted him? Sounds very elaborate. What was I actually calling out?"

"You were calling out -- you won't be offended?"

"I won't be at all offended. I'm intrigued. Not that I remember. I'll have to take your word for it."

"You were calling out, Fuck me, Fuck me, only loud, you know."

"You mean I was shouting?"

"Yes, you really were."

"And did you see anything?"

"No. Just heard you shout. Then I went past."

"And that turned you on?"

"Ever since then I saw you differently. As such a sexy woman. Big, lusty, brave, really sexy, the way you look, you move, everything, that I'd never realised till then."

She paused for thought, looking at him quizzically while he stared intensely into her eyes.

"Have you fucked anyone yet?"

"No, I haven't.

Another pause, then,

"I suppose there's always a first time."

She got up and went over to the deep, battered old black leather sofa that ran along one wall of the kitchen.

"I think I remember now," she said as she sat down, "I was on the edge of the bed."

She lay back with her head and the tops of her shoulders just propped up by the back of the sofa and her bottom sticking out a bit from its edge. She looked at him as if to see how he was taking it. He stared.

"I remember I raised my legs, right up" -- and with this she raised her legs and held onto her knees right up just next to her shoulders. She was careful to keep her skirt between her legs to block the view, but it fell back from her full thighs, which looked so real to him, so unlike mere photos or the smooth featureless thighs of young girls at the swimming pool. She was giving him a chance he could take up or not.

"Was he -- fucking you then?" he asked.

"No. He was standing in front of me. Come over here if you want and I'll show you. Yes -- nearer, between my legs but not touching the bed, the sofa. There, that's better. I was looking at his cock. Telling him to fuck me, but before he did."

He stood there stalled for the moment. He was astonished at her cool. He could feel his cock was swollen but not erect, its head still lower than its root, its length pressing against the side of his trousers.

"Maybe if I gave you something to look at you would get the idea," she said, and pulled up her skirt so that her white cotton pants came into view, cut round the sides of her bottom, and with a loose pouch between her legs. He could not see the actual outline of her sex, but a few stray wiry hairs stuck out from the sides of her pants where her sex must be.

Slowly, so that she could tell him to stop if she wanted, he unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers then his underpants. She said nothing, just held her thighs open while he watched. He tucked up his shirt and started touching his cock, conscious that she was looking at it. He was too nervous for his touches to have much effect.

"It needs encouragement, " she said, "Take your damned shoes and the rest off."

"And my shirt?"

"No -- I like it with some clothing."

He fiddled about at his feet feeling embarrassed while he divested himself as required, than stood again. His cock, discouraged by this distraction, had further shrunk.

"That's all right," she said. She put her hands down the sides of her thighs, lifted her bottom, and started to draw her pants off, slowly. He gazed as the crack of her bottom started to appear, and she could lower herself again. Slowly like the curtain of a theatre the white pants withdrew to reveal, of all things, her anus - somehow, daftly, he had not expected it. It was so desirable, another surprise, so neat, a tiny hollow infolded among its radiating ridges, deep set in an aureole of dark brown flesh that gradually merged with the paler flesh of her cheeks. She had paused, obviously well aware of its fascination, giving him time. Then she tugged off the pants, pulled them over her feet, and chucked them away. The thick hair of her bush, the fat closed lips of her sex, were only a few feet from him. He clutched at his cock.

"Come back here and let me encourage it," she said, lowering her legs, "Turn round. Back over me."

He turned and planted his knees on the sofa on either side of her. She pulled him backwards, then pushed him carefully down to just where she wanted him. He felt a soft touch between his balls and his anus -- she was tonguing him, wetly stroking. Her right hand went up to encircled his cock from behind. She touched it so gently, smoothing it, stroking it as one might a pet, clasping it softly as it grew. She shifted him back a bit. His felt his balls dangling around her mouth and then the one that hung lower being taken into her, gently sucked. It was so exciting, not physically so much as in the idea of it and that idea actually happening, real. She pushed him forward a little and he felt her tongue in the ring of his anus, moving round and round its indentations and feeling and tipping at the centre. He thought with sudden and incongruous relief how fortunate it was that he always washed it after he had been to the lavatory.

She pushed at his back. Lifted his bottom, said, "Go down. Go forward. Lick me." Then drew him back onto her.

He bent right forward. Below his eyes was her mat of hair and her fat slit. He managed to reach across with one hand and open the slit, not as easy as it seemed, disentangling the hairs. Inside she was pink, like the photos of sexes he had seen. But what he had not expected was how wet she was. She glistened. He pushed a finger tentatively inside her -- she was soaking. But he had been told to lick. He bent, got his tongue at her, licked down through what he knew were the shaft of her clitoris, the little knob at the end, her inner lips, her vagina. His cock jerked and throbbed in response.

She let go of it, pulled him back up. He was sorry at the interruption.

"Go and stand where you were," she said.

He did so, staring down at her, still in her dress, as she raised her knees again to offer herself to him. He held his cock, now rigid. She put a hand on her cunt, opened its lips, spread them for him, showing him the wet pink depths.

"Now - bring it to me," she said.

He bent over her, his cock almost touching her.

"Rub up and down with it," she said, "Gently." He sank it between her open lips, felt her wetness, rubbed his tip against her clitoris.

"Now," she said, "Slip it in. Carefully. Get the angle right."

He shuffled about, pushed at his cock, slid into her hole, slipped inside.

"How's that?" she asked.

"It's lovely. It's so soft. It clasps. So natural. At last. Such -- such a relief."

"You can say that again. Now go in and out. Easily. Not like machine gun fire. Take time to enjoy it."

He slid to and fro. It was wonderful. So easy. So right. His cock loved it. So much so that, to his surprise..."

"Oh, I think I'm going to come. I'm so sorry," - he knew enough to know she was only at the start.

She laughed. "That's fine. What I expected. Only natural, like you say. It's lovely for me too, to give it to you, to see you loving what I can give you."

He kept on moving and the swell, starting at the root of his cock, surged up it, flooded out if him and into her. The rim at the head of his cock quivered in ecstasy, so pleasurable it was almost pain, and his whole body seemed to vibrate in rejoicing.

He eased, slowed -- and did not quite know what to do next.

"It's nice to linger," she said, "But not in this position."

He eased out, half sat and half lay next to her on the sofa.

"Don't worry if you've gone off the whole idea now you've come, " she said, "Sometimes it just works that way. Give yourself a pause and a break and interest will revive, believe me."

He held her hand, and the two of them clasped one another. They lounged together, their bodies oddly half-clothed.

After a while, she bent over him, stroked his hair. "I'm not going to ask you to share my bed to-night," she said. "You may feel anything. You may want to get out now, go home. Don't feel guilty though. I won't. You wanted it, you wanted me, and I'm glad to give you both."

Another stroke of his hair, a quick kiss on his lips, and she was off. He lay back. Go off straight away? She had a point. Stay on? Then what? Do it again, he supposed. Did he want to? He could scarcely not if she wanted to. Or she might not -- might think enough was enough. Or they might do it in other ways - such as he had often imagined -- but then it felt quite different, the idea of doing them with Aunt Jane, which anyway might not suit her. He was so relieved it had happened, and proud he had taken his gamble. But he had no idea what he wanted to happen next.

He got up, opened the kitchen window on the warm sweet night air, and slumped back facing it, not so much thinking as just slumped.