June Loves Aunt Greta

After the scandal ripped our family apart, the authorities might have sent me to stay with any of several relatives. I will never know how they arrived at the choice of Aunt Greta. But choose her they did, and so my life has unfolded in its strange, uniquely loving way.

This is my story.

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I still remember how scared I felt that summer day in 1974, as I pulled my little blue Gremlin into Aunt Greta's narrow driveway. Her house was a tidy, small craftsman-style bungalow in a working-class area of the city. She had been using it as her place of business (she was a financial advisor), but increasing success had allowed her to open an office in a nearby upscale shopping district. The prim white house, with chinese-red shutters and neat, organized beds of bright flowers which framed the small porch, seemed stiffly formal and yet somehow welcoming. It was nothing at all like the sprawling mansion I had been raised in, but then, after all that happened I could hardly have remained in that house...or even in that town.

The squeaky little AM speaker, my calming friend during the long drive, went silent as I summoned up the courage to at least turn off the car. I sat immobile, tapping out a nervous beat with my fingers on the steering wheel. Even at eighteen, I was fully aware that my life was at a monumental crossroads. The caseworker had called it my chance at a 'fresh start.' My reverie was finally broken by the appearance of my Aunt Greta on her porch, waving cheerfully at me.

"It's too hot to sit there all day, sweetie," she yelled good-naturedly.

I smiled for the first time in who-knows-how-long, recalling how Aunt Greta's southern roots had her calling everyone 'sweetie,' 'honey,' 'sugar' and the like. As she walked gracefully toward me, smiling broadly, I again was reminded of the aura of timeless beauty which surrounded her. Somehow she always seemed to have a bit of the style and glamour of some leading lady from the forties or fifties.

As I got out of my car, we approached each other, arms outstretched. Related by marriage, not blood, we were about as different in appearance as two women could be. There she was, imposingly tall, her flaming red hair softly framing her pretty face and amazing green eyes. She looked cool and elegant in a simple teal print sundress, which flattered her athletic, tomboy build. She was in her early forties, and very much in her prime.

I, on the other hand, felt unsophisticated and hardly her feminine equal. No doubt some of this was due to our age difference, and some to my gnawing uncertainty about the future. Looking back now, I know that I was pretty in a waif-like way, with good features just beginning to fully bloom. I must admit that I was quite vain of my long, jet-black hair, and 'electric blue' eyes. Many an hour had been spent posing in front of my bedroom mirror, singing top-forty hits into my hairbrush 'microphone.' Just four-foot-ten (for years I "rounded up" my height to five feet!) and ninety-five pounds, I was, and remain, quite the 'elfin' type.

Aunt Greta seemed to be trying to hide a faint look of disapproval as she took in my cut-offs, plain white t-shirt, and scruffy adidas, but that vanished as we came together in a long, genuine hug. Tenderness had been largely absent from my life up until then, and I soaked it up wherever and whenever I could. My face barely came up to her chest, and as she held me, ever so briefly, I felt her warmth, and smelled a wispy trace of her trademark Cabochard perfume.

"Honey, I am so glad that you are here," Aunt Greta said, now holding me by the shoulders and beaming at me.

I could not help but smile back, as the first tendrils of fear began to leave me. Even though we had not seen each other for several years, the very real connection we had always felt...part sisterly, part mother-daughter, seemed to be re-establishing itself very quickly.

"I'm just happy to be...well...anywhere, Aunt Greta," I said, intending it to sound light-hearted. Instead, it came out frightened and pathetic.

"None of that, June," Aunt Greta said with surprising force. "The past is past. That needs to be your motto now. Your life starts here and now, and I won't tolerate your acting or thinking otherwise."

She gently lifted my downcast chin with her thumb and forefinger, and gazed directly into my eyes for several seconds. "I absolutely insist on that. Nothing was your fault, and the 'new you' begins now. Understood?"

Her seriousness was so real, so direct, that I suppressed my natural instinct to try to be clever. "Yes," I replied, nodding almost imperceptibly, and returning her gaze fully.

Her expression instantly lightened. "Nuff said," she stated firmly, but now with crinkles at the corners of her mesmerizing green eyes. Suddenly she laughed out loud, and taking my hand in hers, said "Let's get inside before I just wilt out here, sugar!" She winked at me as we walked hand-in-hand like schoolgirls toward her house, and said "My other 'order' for you, little Miss June, is to never, ever again call me 'Aunt'...it makes me feel almost as old as the hills!"

Unable to resist, I responded with fake seriousness, "Yes, Aunt Greta." She swatted my bottom, hard, and we both broke out with the giggles.

As I gestured at my car, she re-assured me that bringing in my meager belongings could wait. Greta proudly gave me a quick tour of her flowers, and the tidy garden out back. As we went in the kitchen door, I smelled cookies baking. A feeling flooded over me...that I was finally in a place that was sane, normal, and safe.

How wrong I was. How very, very, wrong.

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We chatted the afternoon and evening away, becoming comfortable with each other easily and quickly. Plans were discussed about my working part-time, and starting junior college after I got acclimated to my new situation. We made and then enjoyed a leisurely, simple dinner of cold pasta salad, toasted english muffins, canteloupe and iced tea. Afterward, Greta insisted I take one of her 'special herbal vitamins.' It was large, bitter, with an unpleasant mealy texture, but I managed to swallow it to please her. We sat side-by-side on the sofa and watched a re-run of "The Waltons," during which I began to nod off. Greta chuckled softly and gestured for me to scooch closer. She put her right arm around my small shoulder. Her well-manicured hand rested lightly on my hip.

"There, there, honey," she said gently, several times. "You are home now, you are safe, and you are loved." She emphasized the last point with a soft, ever-so-lingering kiss on my forehead, which felt so calming and natural. I remember I dozed against her, smelling her perfume and her skin...my head on her chest, feeling the slow rhythm of her breathing. It was exactly what I needed.

It was that night that I had the first of my 'strange dreams.'

It began with the sense that someone else was in the bedroom with me. We all know the eerie feeling. No light came in but the subtle blue faintness of the full moon, so perhaps it was more hearing and scent, than sight...the stealthy breath of another close by...the tiniest rustle of clothing...the faintest blush of body-warmth...the trace of perfume...

Yes, that was it. Gradually my eyes made out the shape of a person in the easy chair in the corner of the comfy little guest room. It was a woman, a tall woman.

The headlights of a passing car flashed horizontally in a narrow band across the room, momentarily lighting up a pair of haunting green eyes...Greta was in the room with me.

It was not the prim and proper woman I thought I knew (of course, dreams are weird by nature), but it was certainly her...or some 'version' of her. Her eyes, now that I knew where to look, even in the near-dark, had a kind of hungry stare to them. Her gaze seemed predatory somehow, as if she were not looking at me, but through me. I sensed movement, then saw that she had reached up and turned on a dim little reddish lamp on the dresser. The hue of the light, and her feral gaze, made her seem 'on fire,' in some vague and unsettling way. I could see her, or this dreamed-up version of her, clearly now. I sat back against the headboard, and brought my knees up, protectively, to my chin.

Greta was naked...rather, almost naked. She sat, clutching the arms of the chair, stiffly upright, but with her knees far apart. Her feet were flat on the floor. She was wearing a pair of insanely high stiletto heels, shiny black, with a strap across the ankle. Each strap had a silver chain, which I shuddered to see matched the loops of chain that seemed to be...pierced? how could that be?...into her large pink nipples. Her lips were done up in a deep, blood red, which looked almost black in the unusual light. Her hair was piled high, in some kind of unstylish retro beehive, which made her beauty appear icy and demanding.

A thin sheen of sweat was visible on her throat, her full breasts, and her womanly yet taut tummy. Greta's left hand was making slow circles in between her thighs. I was perversely transfixed, and though scared and embarrassed, could not look away. Almost as if reading my thoughts, she shifted her hips forward to the edge of the chair, and sluttily draped her legs on the outside of each padded arm. Her shoes dangled just inches off the floor. Our eyes met, briefly, as if she were challenging me to get a 'good look.'

To my horror (but , I wondered, then why were my pajamas clinging so wetly to me...down there), Greta stood up, in one graceful movement. We locked eyes as she came to me, and cat-like, crept up from the foot of the bed until we were nose to nose. I had not moved, so she was above me, her warm, full breasts hanging down and grazing my forearms and knees. She sat down, her sex sliding down my shins. I could feel the tingling of her full red thatch, and her excited slippery wetness, settling hotly on my feet. Our eyes and lips were just an inch apart. I could feel us trading warm breath back and forth. I wanted to her to kiss me, while I worshipped her jade-like eyes, more than I had ever desired anything in my life. She smiled, evilly, shaking her head slowly side-to-side, and said words that both frightened and aroused me:

"I am going to fuck you, June...but I won't kiss you."

With that, she shifted forward, and roughly pulled each of my ankles out from under her, and up over her shoulders. Greta jerked my pajama bottoms out of the way, and began sliding her wet sex, so red and bushy, up and down on mine, with its jet-black fur. Our grinding slid us further down on the bed, which squeaked in time to her violent thrusting. Her face was just above mine, and I was transfixed by the sight of her obscenely red lipstick smeared, like blood, across her white teeth. A pearl of salty sweat dropped from the tip of her nose, and I opened my hungry mouth to taste it.

Her pounding pace increased. Greta moved upward, and began to slap my face with her hanging breasts. The silver nipple chains grazed my cheeks, somewhere between pleasure and pain, and I loved it so. I saw her eyes roll up a tiny bit under their lids, and her breath came in short, guttural rasps. Her body began to shudder, and she pushed her sex hard against mine, and held it there, her climax beginning to trigger my inexperienced one. Suddenly, to my agony, she got off me, satisfied, and sat on the edge of the bed, leaving me desperate and longing. I moved to her, clutching and reaching, wanting my release too. Greta grabbed my throat with her right hand, controllingly.

"No," she said in the dominant, calm tone of one used to being obeyed. "You are having a dream...go back to sleep now, sweetie."

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The morning found me nude, awaking in the 'mountain climber' position I have always favored, in the bright, feminine, yellow-themed bedroom. The door was wide open. Embarrassed, I quickly closed my legs, and pulled up the sheet...which, I thought, wrinkling my nose, did not smell as crisply fresh as one would expect from a fussy housekeeper like Greta. Then I saw the daintily handwritten note lying on the other pillow, which read:

"" My dear June,

Ladies do not sleep in the nude. Enough said. Please take the whole day off, bring in your belongings (we are going to throw most of it away; tomorrow we will shop, and begin to dress you properly), explore, and simply enjoy!! I

have appointments with two clients today, and will see you at dinnertime.

Love, Greta. ""

I set the letter on the dresser, very red-faced to think that Aunt Greta...oops, Greta, I reminded myself...must have seen me nude this morning, and maybe had even seen my sex, the way I was sleeping. On top of my 'strange dream' (which seemed so vivid even the morning after!), I wondered in my naive, teenage way, if I was becoming 'some kind of bad girl.'

No, I wasn't really a 'bad girl' on that sunny summer morning. But I would be, very soon. And I am a 'bad girl' to this very day.

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to be continued...