Inspiration from the Piney Woods

Hanging my filthy charcoal-colored overalls on another nail, I grabbed the Ivory soap and scrubbed off the day's grit and grime, doing my nails and toes with an old toothbrush. Hunkered down, doing my toes, I saw a shadow cross the open side of the shower. Through soapy eyes, I jerked my head up to see a red halter top and a pair of tight-fitting cut-off jeans filled with long, milky-white women's legs.

"Jesus — Jesse!" she hissed, her eyes wandering over my bent-over pose.

Carla's infamously cute eyes roamed like some cougar watching its unsuspecting prey. "Sorry, I didn't know you got home so early."

"Quota was met," I muttered, trying to squat further down as her eyes poured over every inch of me. I watched those ruby lips purse into a curled-up grin at the corner of her lips as she leaned against the shower post.

"I come out 'cause I saw a colored boy running across the yard, and I was fixing to come out here and chase his ass off," Carla said, smiling and lying through her teeth as she watched me naked, bent down, and lathered with soap.

I did my best to keep my elbows strategically covering my dick. It was the sense of biblical nakedness that I had at the time ... besides she was my twenty-seven-year-old aunt staring at me in broad daylight, nine years younger than my mother when I was born, Lord rest her soul. Puberty generated some sense of modesty between us in my younger days, though here, she didn't take that with the same sincerity as I did.

Aunt Carla and I practically grew up together 'til she hightailed it off to live with some cousins in Gadsden, is what Grannie said. Grandpa had a different version when he had a few nips of white lightning from the bottle hidden in the car shed; she'd gone off with some White trailer trash and worked at a Gadsden bar.

I never called her Aunt; I just called her Carla, like an older sister. It wasn't unusual for us to see one or the other in some modest stage of undress in our younger days, unlike last week. In the past, before she left home, we was proper — not like this — naked and exposed.

Unabashedly, she stood there, watching me squirm, bent down, red-faced, and trying my best to curl up and become invisible in a puddle of soapy bubbles.

"Ya damn well knows it weren't a colored boy a running out here ... ya for sure, heard me holler out I was back from old man White's," I sputtered, trying to act like I wasn't nervous about her standing there with her legs spread. Her hands fixed on her hips like that nursery rhyme about the little teapot — I got the feeling she was getting a little steamed up seeing me butt-naked. I even had a few thoughts about tipping her over and pouring her ...

"Come to help Grannie with the canning?" I croaked out, to fill the void in the conversation since she didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave. I worked the toothbrush between my toes again, though they was already clean. It was the only way to maintain the modesty pose I'd been stuck in when she showed up.

"Lots of 'maters done this morning. Thirty-quart jars. Mama's done up some 'cukes, too. Your favorite butter pickle slices," she drawled.

"Green beans?"

"Tomorrow," her answer came out as a sigh, though it was pronounced as most folks called it in these parts 'Ta'mara.'

"Can't do everything in one day, Jesse," she added, "too damned hot."

"Yeah," I replied, dipping into that clipped conversation mode that conserved energy under the blistering 'Bama sun.

"You already did that foot twice," she observed with a snicker. "You know I changed your clothes when you were a young'un, and you was butt-naked back then. Don't suppose that's any different than right now?"

"It damn sure is," I answered. The situation was getting awkward, squatting on that slatted wood platform with soap drying on my back and doves coo-cooing nearby. I couldn't reach the pull rope without some exposure, and hell, if I would stand up and give her the show she wanted.

"Nudity ain't something you should be shy about, Jesse. A man should feel comfortable in his own skin, especially when ya gonna be around women at 'Bama University. A hunk of a man built like you aughta have all kinds of girls fawning o'er him. How you gonna act then if you don't get some help over this shyness?" she asked, letting the words roll provocatively off those ruby-red lips in syrupy 'Bama tones. It was a familiar line I'd heard her use before.

Carla seemed to be enjoying this, watching me getting uncomfortable with her, barring any means of escape from the outdoor shower without giving her what she wanted. She had some perversion for this, it seemed.

Or it just ran in the family. It was another possibility with eight kids and taking in a grandson crammed into a three-bedroom Southern shotgun-constructed home where every room had at least two, if not three, door openings to get from one room through another. You were bound to find someone undressed at some point; it was more interesting if it was a girl. Three to a bed wasn't uncommon. I vaguely remember Mom, Carla, and me sharing one of those on a roll-a-way bed ... 'til it was just Carla and me for a while. She up and ran off at that point as had all the other Moses kids before her when they was 'bout sixteen. I was the last young'un raised at the homestead.

"Grannie said supper was almost ready," I muttered, trying to switch the conversation. "Grandpa will be home in a few minutes."

'That should end this right soon,' I figured. It sure brought out a change in her tenor.

"Yep. So? Ya got just a little bit a time. Just do it, Whip, like last week. Might never be another chance. I'd hate to think that this might be the last opportunity."

My mind raced like a moonshiner on the backroads with an ol' bored-out flat-head eight-cylinder on the straight-away. But nothing came out of my dry lips as I froze in place — breathing deeply.

"Don't know when I'll be back again," Carla added as impetus, lifting her halter top over her hooters. I wondered if they were as soft exposed to the touch, when standing up, as they were lying down last week.

Her breathing rate told me what she wanted, what she craved, a repeat of last week. It had been a rare moment when we were alone that afternoon. Grandpa had taken Grannie to the doctor's office in Gadsden.

As the old Plymouth drove out onto the red chert road in a dust cloud, Carla said, "I'm tired, Jesse, gonna lay me down for a nap on your bed for old-time sakes. 'Member, how we used to sleep, the three of us with you in the middle between Audrie and me? Be sure not to let me sleep too long, Whip." Her face seemed flushed with a wry smile on her lips.

I recalled some of those days, smothered in love. Sleeping between Mama and her, listening to the rains pelting down on the tin roof above as they talked about places they wanted to see and finding men who would care for them — and me. Mama would say, "Whip, you gonna be somebody someday. You wait and see."

Whip, on account of, I was supposed to be smart — back then. Turns out I was in some ways.

Carla swayed her butt through the door to my room and closed it. It was a movement more womanish than I ever saw her do before.

I went to the parlor and switched on the black-and-white TV to see if the Gene Autry Show was on. Ten minutes passed, and I heard a muffled cry out of my name from the adjacent room.

Startled, I jumped out of the rocker and rushed to see what was wrong, stumbling into a scene I'd never expected. Her eyes closed, Carla lay on the bed, her head thrust deeply into the down-filled pillow. She'd gone off into another world and wasn't even aware I had jerked open the door.

She'd bunched up her daisy-print flour-sack skirt around her waist, and her blouse rode up over her tits. Her fingers were twirling in a slow circle over her pink panties, and her legs twitched a bit when she pressed down. Almost like Lot's wife in the Bible's Book of Genesis, my fingers froze on the doorknob, and I couldn't turn away. Like a lifeless pillar of salt, I watched those fingers swirl between her legs as she breathed deeply, her eyes closed, and her mouth gaped open.

I'd never thought about a girl playing with herself, let alone a watching one, doing it. I didn't even think girls did it at all — boys beat off, yeah, but I never heard about girls masturbating. In my sphere of influence, in those days, boys wanted it, and girls always resisted but eventually gave into it, out on some moonlit log trail or down by the swimming holes, so it seemed. That was how it was supposed to be — boys lookin' to get some pussy, and most girls, some reluctantly, providing it.

"Whip," she cooed softly like some morning dove calling out in the long needle piney woods for some lonesome dove to join her. One hand's thumb and forefinger pinched and teased her tit while the other stroked over those pink panties coaxing out some heavy breathing sighs.

"God damn, Carla," I whispered hoarsely, breaking her spell.

At my gasp, she hitched momentarily. Startled, she opened her eyes and then watched me locked into place with a death grip on the doorknob as my eyes bugged out. She pursed her ruby lips as if thinking 'bout how I wasn't scared off. It didn't bother her that I'd interrupted her private interlude. She smiled instead, and then slowly rolled her pink panties down like a woman experienced with hand-rolling a cigarette and slipped the wad down over her cream-colored hips, down her bare legs, and flicked them away with those suntanned ankles and red-painted toes.

"Bet you never seen a girl do this before," she huffed, letting her heels slide back down the bedsheets as she wiped her glistening fingers on them. Those sparkling blue eyes, like Mama's, studied me intently for my reaction to the honey-blonde thatch of pubic hair being divided as her fingers parted a path between the coarse strands on their way to disappearing between her thighs.

I didn't have an answer--just a stunned look. I'd fondled a few tits over a bra at the drive-in picture show in the dark, but this was something else to see them exposed and in the daylight. It was also a damn sure first-time sight of a real pussy. I just shook my head and gawked as she gave a low moan, then stroked herself a few times for good measure. She paused long enough to take the folds of her pussy lips and spread them apart to expose the pink, glistening aperture and a plump nub, which I'd learned from Carla was called a clit.

"Come see, Whip," she crooned, as her breathing grew stronger. "This is where all the magic happens. Get closer, look, and learn, Jesse. You always say observation is the key to learning. Don't miss this chance to learn — this opportunity may not come your way again."

The logic of her voice was like a siren of the sea singing words of wisdom to me. I felt my hand let go of the doorknob that had anchored my reasoning from drifting away. I let reason slip away, caved into the siren's song, and knelt beside the bed, inspecting her perplexing mystery.

Carla, my mother's sister, lay there and offered herself up. We were alone, a rare event, as my grandparents were away at the doctor. Even my dick seemed to cry out 'yes' and accede to her logic. At least it began to stretch inside my overalls as I let go of the doorknob. I managed to reach the bedside, trembling as she opened her legs again and stretched her opening for me to watch. I was fascinated as she lay back, closed her eyes, and played with herself.

"Now, ya seen mine, Whip. So, ya gotta show me yours."

She breathed out the words as soft as a she-devil tempting me to sin as my fingertip reached out to touch her pussy lips. Those words set off a flicker of heat in my balls that rose upward through my chest and set my mind ablaze as my stiff dick envisioned being free and adding to her visual lust.

"I ... I didn't ask to see yours," I shot back, trying to fight out of a blatant awkward setup. But my eyes and feet seemed fixed: my eyes on her pulsing pussy and my bare feet nailed to the long heart pine flooring holding me there.

"Jesse, don't be like that. We all crave it. It's just natural. I've seen you eyeing me. It's okay — to want a woman. Every man does at some point. Every man needs a woman at some point, and a woman has needs, too, Jesse. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been born."

Slipping her hand between her legs again, she pressed her fingers into her pussy. I watched, mesmerized, as her ripe lips split apart under pressure and engulfed those long, red-painted nails.

"You don't want to go off to 'Bama University without getting some. They'd laugh at a country boy as good-looking as you arriving there — never having done it with a girl. They'd be thinking you were, well, you know ..."

"Come on, Jesse. We don't have to — fuck — if it bothers you much. Just do what I'm doing. Do it with me, together. Please, Jesse. Beat your meat with me," she huffed, plunging her fingers inside as far as she could reach.

Her jammed fingers moving inside her raised her head and arched her back as she stirred herself up even more. Carla was close to exploding; her legs splayed out and tensed with pleasure, jolting her muscles. I did that, too, when I beat off at night, so I knew she was on the edge of ecstasy.

I'd not ever given it a thought about going off to 'Bama University as a virgin, but then I wasn't ignorant either of what she alluded to. My Mama never married, nor did Carla, for that matter. The why questions never happened in my mind until now. But those were far overshadowed by the swollen, livid pink folds Carla's slick fingers traced as she huskily spoke. Her pleadings were urgent, almost whining for my dick.

When she offered an alternative to incest, I was moved over the edge. Mutual masturbation wouldn't be so bad, I figured, a watchin' her body squirm. I reached up to unhook my overalls. As the first strap slipped over my shoulder, she smiled a big watermelon-bite smile. Despite being my aunt and nine years older than me, she looked damn delicious, sprawled out naked.

"You go, Jesse. Ya gonna like this. Imma gonna make this extra special for you," she gleefully chattered while watching me skin out of my clothes and stand at the foot of the bed like I was at the pond with nobody around.

Dangerous, I know, but somehow gliding naked through the pond's algae-green water had a similar effect of watching Carla's fingers rolling her nipples, flushed with arousal. I watched her staring at my twitching member. She licked her lips unconsciously, then her luscious pursed orifice slowly parted as, in her excitement, she began to breathe through her mouth to suck in enough oxygen to keep her from collapsing.

"Damn, Jesse, you got a nice dick, nearly big as a mule's. That's gonna make girls happy ... if you just had some practice with it."

I saw she was getting worked up over this, like me. That smile she gave me beforehand evaporated in the June afternoon heat and turned into taut facial lines of lust, as she reached out to touch my dick. Her touch was gentle, silky, and electric, like I'd stuck my dick in a light socket, died, and gone to hog heaven. The afternoon's heat drew beads of sweat to my brow, or maybe the heat of my loins did that. In either case, the air in the room began to fill with the ripeness of her musky smell as things heated up.

Constrained by her clothing, Carla sprang up from the bed, grabbed the hem of her blouse, pulled it over her head in one sweeping tug, then unfastened her skirt and let it drop. Freed and then butt-naked, she stood beside me, grasping my arm to steady herself while trying to slow her pounding heartbeat.

It must have been how Adam and Eve reacted after he bit the apple Eve gave him and became aware of their nudity. I became fully aware of her fully naked curves. Her pear-shaped tits with jutting firm raspberries on each one, glistening due to the heat. And the pathway, hidden by that lush patch of curly hair masking her pussy, was drooling wet. God, she was beautiful, even if I was only looking at her breasts on down.

"Maybe we should take this more slowly," I croaked, "like you said. 'cause ... we're kin ..." I felt my resolve slipping; I'd gone from thinking this was wrong to thinking like Carla — we didn't actually have to fuck. Did we?

"Whip, lots don't require getting off inside a girl that can make you and her almost as happy. Even if we are kin, still I can teach you about some of that." Her response came as she took her forefinger and thumb and pulled my foreskin back and forth as though inspecting it to see if it was attached.

"I'd ... like that," I hissed tight-jawed, as I reached out to grasp her shoulder to steady my balance; her touch shot electrical charges up my core, and my knees felt like they wanted to buckle. It seemed like I had a lot of things to learn under her skilled hands. Nothing I did when I beat my meat felt this damn good as having her fingers on my cock.

"Good," she shot back. "I was afraid I'd hafta break my promise to Audrie," she added, stroking her left hand under my dick and back against my balls. It sent a shiver up my spine as my legs tensed with the thrill of those sensations. I was beginning to think that, given a couple more moments, I would be shooting my wad long before she got around to her first lesson.

"What promise?" I stuttered; finally, the meaning of her words caught up to my nerve-ending's reactions as she pushed my foreskin further back and gave my dick a light squeeze.

"The one I gave your mom about me teaching you how to fuck, Jesse. And you know a Moses always keeps her promise."

"God, don't I know it!" I hissed again, as she reached up and flicked my nipple with a long, bright-red fingernail. It was all I could do to keep from begging her to do all of what she did again and again until I was sure to spray the bed with the load churning in my nut sac. In eighteen years on 'Bama dirt, I'd never felt this level of lust, and I wasn't even jacking my meat yet.

"Carla!" I moaned, as her lips sucked my nipple.

"I know, babe. Let's get ourselves over this first firestorm. Come," she huffed, sitting back down and opening her knees expectantly. My eyes roamed over those rose nipples and made their way down over her flat navel region ... to where she slowly exposed herself, kind of like a broad curtain at the theater drawing open to reveal quite a view. It made me purse my lips and tremble a little.

"Come, Whip," she cajoled again, "get on the bed with me and kneel between my legs."

I crept onto my squeaky bed as she beckoned and lay back. My nose nearly — stuck in her butt. Was we really gonna do it? I felt a little confused. First, she'd said we didn't have to fuck, and here I was, getting between her knees.

"First, let's quench the firestorm, then a lesson," she began, as she watched how I was taking in all of her nakedness. "I want you to come with me. Stroke yourself, Jesse, like you was alone at night. Just jerk off until you come, Whip, but try to stay in pace with me, though, as I get off with you. Can you try that, Jesse?"

"I'll try," I answered, watching her flat on her back, a hand pressed to her swelling tits, teasing a nipple, and with the other hand making small circles between her legs.

"Jesse put one hand on my knee. You know what to do with the other. Rise up on your knees; don't squat. It'll be easier."

'How many other kin have you done this with?' I thought to myself as she seemed to have all the steps down so well as how to do this. I could sense she was seeking her center composure point. I hurried into position, following her lead, raised up on my knees, and reached out my hand to her raised knee to steady my balance on the wobbly bed. I got the idea it would be easier, up on my knees, to jerk off. Her breathing slowed. It helped me, too, watching her breathing. I tried to match mine with her rising tits as we paused, studying each other's bodies.