Dating Dad Pt. 01.5 - Tante Belle

My dick was so hard and throbbing, that precum hung from it in strings, dripping to the carpeted floor.

I wiped the saliva off my chin, wiped off the device and placed it neatly in the drawer. With one last reverie, I stared at it, licking my lips and imagining I had just tasted her. I spasmed. I was ready to cum with no where to release. Hurriedly, I made it back to the bathroom by the room she had shown me to.

Shutting the door, I once again let my PJs drop and grabbed my raging hard dick. I ached with the need for release, I craved it. Stroking myself, I found plenty of opportunity to milk my own lube, until I had a slick coating, which made a satisfying slurping sound. Looking around to find some place for release, and realizing I had no time. I lurched for the bathroom sink, shooting strings of cum all over the counter and sink bowl. I looked myself in the eyes, staring into the mirror, and shuddered with excitement.

Cleaning up took some time, but cumming had not curbed my curiosity. I found, as I snooped, that my arousal knew no bounds, as I once again became erect. Thoughts of my beautiful Tante Belle, teased my imagination. I dared to imagine what she felt like in my arms. Fantasies compounded upon fantasies.

Eventually I found the portfolio. It was from her early modeling days, in her late teens to her twenties. The things she wore in the photos, sent my heart racing. Never in my wildest fantasies had I thought to find such a treasure trove of nude photos or nearly nude photos. She was so free, and confident, so gorgeous. I was captivated. I took one of the photos, it was 8x11 black and white, in it she was on the beach and covered in sand. Her eyes were locked on the camera, and appeared to stare into my soul.

I don't know how I ended up doing what I did, or continued to do, but I know that my obsession only continued to grow. Every chance I got I would stare at her, imagining what was beneath her clothes. Being the owner of a gallery had in some ways freed her, and in others confined her. I soon found out that her extensive clothing collection was for her weekend attire when her gallery was open. I made special effort to arise in the morning, to see her away on the weekend. My eyes greedily drank in her attire and my imagination created very vivid scenes.

Spring came and went, and summer rolled in lazily. Day after day the lake looked more and more inviting as the heat settled in. One thing my aunt did not have was air conditioning. The living room under her bedroom was one giant glass pane, it rolled out and turned the living area into open door living. It was fantastic, during the evenings she would make me what she called 'French Blondes', a citrus alcoholic beverage.

We would sit together and have our drink, the cool evening air coming in off the lake. It was heaven. My ears would grow warm from the alcohol, and sweat would bead on my brow, and everything she would say was perfect. Laughter rolled out of me of its own accord and her face would burn alight with its own rosy hues, rather than it's normal pallor. This was heaven.

One particular evening, she prepared more than one drink and our conversations turned reminiscent. I spoke of our swims in the lake fondly and laughed that we skinny dipped. Who did that?

Her face came to life and animatedly she grabbed my hand pulling me from the sofa and across the patio. Our bare feet padded through the grass, my hand in hers, as I was dragged along. Looking back at me she winked, right before the darkness enveloped her, and let go of me. I slowed down, bewildered listening to her laugh in the dark. My eyes still had not adjusted yet. Then something hit me in the face.

It was her shirt. I could just barely make out the paleness of her skin, silhouetted in the dark as she struggled to remove her pants. I paused, then followed suit, removing my clothing and running to the lake behind her. In moments she had dove head first and disappeared, breaking the calm surface and quieting the local frogs. Taking a deep breath I jumped in behind her.

My first thought was that it was cold, but I adjusted quickly, it felt good. I floated there for a minute before kicking for the surface. A minute too long, my lungs burned as I reached for the surface, gasping for air, and treading the water with just a little panic. My aunt was on me just like that, her arms around me holding me up. I could hear her voice, pure and musical, telling me to relax. And so I did. I relaxed, realizing that I was just a bit tippy, and that up was still up despite my clouded judgement.

It took a moment for me to realise that her naked flesh was against me, her breasts were pressed into my back, and I could even feel the hardness of her nipples. I felt myself grow, and the heat rushed to my ears.

I pushed away from her, and turned around, treading water. Her hair was plastered to her head and her eyes shown in the moonlight. Her beauty was incredible, I nearly went under again. Her smile was radiant and twinkled in her eyes. I stared.

"Is... just like old times? Oui? Her French accent was thick from drink and she cocked her head to the side when she asked.

"It is..." my voice felt heavy and my tongue thick. I ached to reach down and squeeze my erection, but reason prevailed.

"It had been ah... long time since we swim." She frowned at me. "I have forgotten the joy." Her smile returned and lit up my soul.

"It's okay, Tante, I think that I forgot the simple things too." I said, watching her push back into a backstroke, inadvertently her small breasts floated above the water, glistening in the moonlight. I groaned to myself, thinking how perfect she was. My normal feelings of awkwardness and inadequacies, forgotten for the moment, as alcohol had fogged my brain.

"Ah neveu..." my aunt said wiping lake water from her eyes. "You are young... to forget... why did you give up?" She dove forward then, and her back arched above the water as she dove headfirst. She rolled beneath the water, only creating ripples. I watched, as her dimples in her back gave way to her rounded ass. My dick ached as I watched her lower half gently disappear into the dark water. Silently, fluidly, without a single splash.

I gave a start as she surfaced, barely a foot in front of me. Had she seen my erection? Could she see beneath the water at night? How had she known where to surface? I pushed away the muddy thoughts to find clarity and respond.

"She... Rachel, I thought she... well I thought she loved me... she said she did." I cringed at how juvenile I sounded. And decided to divulge the truth. "I am alone..." I whispered. "I just wanted someone to love me." I feel hot tears in my eyes, and clench my teeth to try and force them away.

"Je comprends..." she said thickly, and cupped the side of my face with her hand. She looked me in the eye, and gave me a sad smile.

She gets it? How could she possibly understand? My mind races and my body tingles. Then I think of her isolated lifestyle, out here all alone. I think about her gallery, and suddenly I understand as well. She needed to talk to people, to interact, she was lonely as well. My heart opens up, and for the first time I realised that other people can be lonely too.

I wanted to kiss her, to pull her into an embrace and make love to her. I wanted to hold her. I needed her to hold me. Instead, she let go of my face and stopped treading water, she slipped below the surface without a sound. I stayed there floating, lightly treading water, until she surfaced a few feet away. She splashed me, giggling with glee, and my somber mood broke, just like that. I chased her back to the shore, clumsily we broke from the water, splashing and laughing.

This time my eyes were adjusted to the dark, and I could see her tall, lithe and slender figure, darting and bending to scoop up her clothing. I could see her breasts bouncing, and though I was still aroused, I chased her back to the house, both of us laughing like children. She turned, once inside the living room, facing me and clutching her now wet clothing to her chest and groin.

The smile on her face, nearly brought tears to my eyes, as I was reminded of my youth. This was my Tante Belle, that I remembered. Vivacious and charismatic, completely carefree. Her cheeks were flushed, and shivers ran through her, making her chin and teeth chatter.

"I will return!" She turned and ran up the stairs calling over her shoulder. "Revenir!'

Suddenly embarrassment washed over me. I realised that I stood there nude, with a raging hardon. The nakedness of her backside had me inadvertently clutching my dick. I let go in shame. She had seen, had that been a blush? Had I embarrassed her, or just myself?

The next day I arose early to find her cooking breakfast, she danced lithely around the kitchen, humming to herself. I stood for a moment watching, not sure how to approach her and explain my drunken carelessness from the night before.

She noticed me before I had made up my mind. Her face lit up with a smile and she coaxed me into the kitchen.

"I have been waiting for you!" She exclaimed. "Come! Sit... have cafe... and omelet"

I sat, and said nothing, not sure how to hide my embarrassment. But she put me at ease, placing a folded egg omelet in front of me.

I don't know if you've ever had a real omelet, but my aunt is a pro. She doesn't put filling in it, simply folds the egg with butter. Simple, but amazing, and the buttery egg compliments her coffee.

The morning departed and with it conversation became easy for me once again. Things were going to be okay.

That late afternoon, she received a phone call. For the first time, I saw in my aunts face, panic, and terror. When she was off the phone, I rushed to her side.

"What is it Tante Belle?!" I asked in a rush, "what's wrong?"

"Our cousin... he has been shot." She was as pale as a ghost. "We must go to the hospital."

We left then, heading for town. I had never met this cousin, but I found myself praying he would be alright. The pain that was so evident in my aunts face, had me worried.