One Page - 9. John's Erections

A business name whose time has come...and gone

Maybe he shouldn't have named the business John's Erections. But it made sense to him when he was starting his carpentry business and already growing his cougar clientele. John blamed his cocky twenty-three year old self for that lapse in judgment. From the seasoned age of twenty-nine it embarrassed him. It could even be losing him work.

Still, it would be a pain to do the paperwork and change all his marketing, especially the lettering on his truck. These thoughts lingered while he milled some molding for a restoration project in New Brighton using a custom bit to match the casing profile in an 1887 parsonage. He loved this kind of project, though the tedium of milling his own stock did allow his mind to drift.

He remembered how he'd gotten into the business. And how he'd gotten into bedding older women. They weren't entirely unrelated. His fiery, broken, playful, flirty, unrepentant, sexy Aunt Gloria was instrumental in both. Those summer days of 2012 were fresh in memory.

*********

By late July the full-leg cast and the forced stillness were making him crazy. Since that inattentive moment in June when a forklift accident sent him to the hospital he'd spent most of the summer in his bedroom in a hurry to heal. In a hurry to have some kind of a summer before leaving for college. His six younger sisters banged around the house enjoying their summer, going to camp, the pool, sleepovers. He was kind of neglected in his room, the only private bedroom in the house. His father was frustrated to lose his best employee for the summer and he missed the construction work much more than school. Maybe by nature he was a tool user.

For a month he'd been listening to his mother, her older sister Gloria and a rotating group of neighborhood housewives gossiping under his window. The small backyard patio was their social hall. He learned an incredible amount about women's attitudes and opinions when they didn't know he oveheard. It felt like more valuable knowledge than all he'd studied to get accepted at Princeton. And this proved to be true. It was his parents' dream that he go to an Ivy, not his.

The women's laughter and ribaldry surprised him. They could talk as dirty about men as men did about women. Even his up-tight mother dropped an f-bomb once or twice in telling a juicy story. There was wine involved. He got an accidental remedial female education in his hot room wearing just a t-shirt and loose boxers. His leg itched awfully.

Three years of intense college prep and evenings working at his father's construction company kept him a virgin. At the same time he'd grown into a six-foot-four adonis, the epitome of Sicilian-American studliness, an Italian stallion with no one to ride him. And his last summer in Staten Island he had the bad luck of convalescing at home with six noisy sisters. The house was crowded, privacy nonexistent. His libido no longer distracted by study or work, he was toweringly horny. John's erections were nearly constant.

"The dumbass made a video of it, if you can believe that!" It was Gloria, laughing in her musical voice through the unfortunate story of her awful husband. "He looked like a pot-bellied pig having a seizure. But that's how I got the house."

The women laughed along, entranced.

"Those two years weren't entirely wasted. It's a great house," Gloria laughed, too, seemingly delighted. She was always a buoyant woman.

His mom said, "Gloria, take Giovanni up his lunch, why don't ya?"

"When are you gonna start calling him John, Maria?" asked his aunt, "He's a man now."

"He's always gonna be my little Giovnanni 'til I'm in my grave," pronounced his mother, "Take the lunch, already."

Shortly, after a polite knock, Aunt Gloria came in with a tray of sandwiches, smiling, in a yellow sun dress and sandals, her sun-bleached hair in a knot on top of her head. As sisters, Maria and Gloria couldn't have been more different. After seven kids his mother was a short, solid, bossy, tired, round woman. She loved being a mom and didn't care about her looks beyond the practical. Gloria was only two years older but looked fresh and tight and happy. Without kids and with money to spend on the gym, always a little vain, she'd cultivated the air of a stylish ingenue, as old-fashioned an attitude in its own way as his mother's. She scandalized the family with her international affairs, the bad marriage, divorce and unapologetic pleasure in living.

His mother was a good catholic, raised to reproduce and obey her husband. She'd missed the women's movement altogether. Secretly, he suspected, mom enjoyed and envied Gloria's life. That's why she was happy to gossip on the patio with her. They argued playfully a lot.

"Hello, John," said his aunt saucily, standing over the bed, hands on hips and appraising him. "What an ordeal this must be for you."

"Yeah," he said, glad of the pretty diversion, "I'm bored. I'm tired of reading, video games...all of it." The cast propped up on a pillow, he kept the tray in his lap to hide his rising organ. Shit, he thought, Lord, why do you torment me? I just want to look." Smiling back, he dared appraise her as well. Aunt Gloria glowed, tanned and toned, standing there so in possession of herself, biting her lower lip. A woman who knew what she wanted and went for it. She'd always intrigued and intimidated him.

She sat beside him. He could smell her perfume. He felt the heat of her skin where their arms nearly touched. He didn't feel like a little boy at all.

"Look at you, so big now, eighteen and tied to a bed," she smirked, eyes alight. "It must be hard."

Can she tell? He thought, She's just guessing, just teasing."

"When do you get the cast off?" She leaned over and ran her hand along the autographed plaster from his ankle, trailing slowly upward.

"Uhhh, a couple of weeks, I think. I hope." His voice rose embarrassingly. He felt imagined fingers in the hairs on his leg. The itching was terrible and his balls tingled.

Aunt Gloria turned when her hand reached nearly the top of his cast. John's eyes locked on her cleavage, the soft swelling of her breasts, tan in the yellow cotton. The fabric hung open. He saw a nipple like a ripe berry in the shadows. The plate rattled on the tray.

"Well," she said, rising, "I'll just have to bring you your lunch every day. Keep you company." With that she stood, gave him a knowing smile and slipped out of the room.

John shifted the tray to the dresser and struggled to get out of bed. He'd gotten fair at stumbling to the bathroom on his crutch. He wouldn't wait for his evening shower. The boxers tented ridiculously as he hopped down the hall praying not to run into any of his sisters. This was an emergency.

He locked the door behind himself and leaned on the sink with one hand, pulling his thick erection out with the other. In the mirror it looked gigantic. Aunt Gloria's breasts filled his mind. The raspberry nipple called for him to suck and his mouth watered. He spit on his palm.

Would she like his red, dripping cock? She'd seen so many, he imagined. Would she take it in her hand and squeeze? Would she feel the ooze running down and smear it? Maybe she'd ease down onto her knees and look in awe, cross eyed, at his bulbous knob, engorged beyond his foreskin. She'd say how beautiful it was. She'd run a finger along the crown and get a sticky drop to place on her tongue. She'd say "mmmmm" with her eyes closed and savor his flavor. Then she'd pull her sundress off of her shoulders and show him her firm, round and tan breasts, the nipples hard for him. Looking up, smiling, Aunt Gloria would begin pumping him. Using both hands of course, because he was so long.

She'd stroke him and tell him what a magnificent cock he had and he'd grin down at her, putting a hand in her sandy hair, giving the gentlest of nudges. Gloria'd open her mouth. She'd lick her lips. She'd extend her tongue. She'd touch his tip to her tongue and brush it side-to-side. As he trembled she'd pull him in and make a show of slowly easing her lips around the swollen, purple knob. Both hands squeezing, she'd explore his cock head with her tongue in her hot wet mouth, smiling up at him all the while.

Then she'd start humming and he'd rise up on the balls of his feet, convulsing as the spunk charged up his organ and burst into her mouth. She'd yelp, delighted. She'd stroke hard and fast and pull back to spray his seed across her face then down onto her breasts. Clots of bubbly white cum would sag down her flesh, dripping from the nipples, running down her belly.

John would thrust and thrust and thrust and Gloria would laugh at the volume of it, giggling as she licked at the sperm on her pink lips.

John held that image as he washed his semen down the sink - his juicy aunt on her knees, dress pulled down, breasts proud, dripping with spunk and a smile on her face, delighted with his orgasm, happy to be painted with his seed, like an old pin-up.

Back in his bedroom of course John's erection was back within the half hour. He wondered during the long afternoon if that glint in her eye was imagined. What did it mean when she bit her lip like that? Did she know what she was doing to him sitting that close, showing her breasts? He had more ideas of what he'd do to her.

*******

At lunch the next day Gloria arrived with sandwiches as he hoped. For a bit they talked as he chewed, about his college plans, about how she was restoring the house she'd got in the divorce. They heard his mother and the other women gabbling on the patio. The warm summer air moved slowly in the room. She sat on the foot of the bed facing him, in a halter top and short green skirt, looking like a blond Katy Perry. He could picture her singing Part Of Me since the divorce. The halter top could have been painted on - her nipples made little mounds in the fabric. With her leg pulled up under her John imagined a hint of panty winking at him.

He felt like a grown up around her. She talked to him like an equal. He was confident enough to let his cock swell in the rumpled covers gathered at his lap. Dare ya, he thought.

"It must be hard being up here all day alone," she said with yesterday's hint of sauciness. Her hand found his bare leg and he jumped. "I can't stay up here too long, John."

"Oh?" he asked.

"I'm thinking that I can help you now and you can help me later with some "projects" around the house. When you're out of this nasty cast." Her hand crept toward his crotch.

John looked her in the eye. I'm ready, he tried to convey, saying out loud, "You need a handyman?"

"And you need a hand, am I right?" Gloria reached under the covers and grasped his hardon over his boxers. "I thought so."

John was silent, letting his body do the talking, tense as a drawn bow. He felt himself drip. She deftly worked her fingers up the leg of the boxers. "Mmmm-hmmm," she sighed, her warm hand wrapping the sticky shaft. "Are you a virgin, John?"

He nodded, but his eyes said, you can fix that. Or maybe they said, 'PLEASE FIX THAT RIGHT NOW!!

"Here's a plan," she said, looking serious while slowly stroking his organ, touching her own midriff. "I'll teach you what a woman needs...and you give me what I need."

John imagined her kneeling before him covered in his spunk and he came immediately, thrashing in the bed while she held on and jerked him with skill and an amused expression. It went on and on and he struggled not to yell. The women on the patio might hear. He was a sweaty, panting animal when she finished milking the last out of him. In the look that passed between them as she wiped her hand on his sheets and stood to leave was the understanding that they had a deal.

********

For three weeks Gloria brought him lunch and brought him off. They didn't vary the routine much except she jerked him first and he ate after. Gloria didn't even pull back the covers and look at his cock. But she was creative. He'd lay there, his cast raised and the covers bunched, still in a t-shirt and boxers and she'd tell him what to think about while she tugged him.

"I'm licking you, John. I'm running my tongue from your balls to your tip. Your juice is so tasty!" Usually, a couple of sentences and Gloria smiling into his eyes was enough. He'd burst into the wad of tissues they began using. He'd flush them later when he went to take his shower and rub one out again, remembering lunch time.

Monday - "Are your balls bottomless? I'm drowning in your cum."

Tuesday - "You feel so big in my mouth."

Wednesday - "I'm straddling you and my pussy's stretched so tight."

Thursday - "My pussy's squeezing your big, handsome cock."

Friday - "Your tongue flicks my clit so deliciously, John. Let's sixty-nine."

The weekends were painful and so were John's erections. He wasn't entirely sure this was helping.

********

On the second Monday she leaned over the bed and found his cock as usual. Her breasts hung in the shadowy dress, ripe forbidden fruit. But she stood with her legs apart and whispered in his ear, "I want you to touch me, John." He reached tentatively under the familiar yellow skirt and grazed her thigh. "Mmmmm, that's right," she murmured. The air filled with her musk.

While she pulled on his thick rod she whispered, "Slide your fingers up....yes...slowly...I'm not wearing panties...see how wet I am?" She was right, her thighs were slick. It surprised John, that first time, how smooth a woman's inner thighs are. He didn't encounter any hair on her sex. "Feel the soft, wet folds?...just gently run your finger along there...front to back...you've found my lips, the crinkly bits...do you feel that hard nub?....oooo, yesss, that one...just tap it lightly..." His fingers were soaked and his own sap was rising fast. He kept flicking at the bud. "That's good...steady...steady and gently...I'm close, John, I'm......uuuughghg." And she shook above him, head hanging down, eyes closed, steadying with one hand on his shoulder while the other filled with his sperm, her knees quivering.

By the end of the week he'd learned how to properly finger her. It was something she said was good in small doses and as foreplay. What she really needed she said was "his giant manhood balls deep" in her pussy.

They survived this way until the cast came off. Clearly it was both of them suffering from his being laid up. He wished it could be his aunt who washed him after the removal, who would run a warm, soapy sponge along his pale, newly freed leg. She could soap his cock and massage his balls, then jump on and ride him to glory. But of course he just imagined that as he did it himself. He had to jerk himself, too. Still, the erection was back a half hour later. He was told he could use the leg normally, but the doctor cautioned not to do anything strenuous. So he couldn't go back to work with dad yet.

********

"Can you send John over to help me with some sticky drawers, Maria?" he heard Gloria say the next morning on the patio. "There's a couple of things I need done and seeing he's available..."

"Giovanni!" his mother yelled up, "Your aunt needs you!"

John wondered if mom had any idea of the truth in her words. He grabbed his toolbag and gingerly took the stairs, meeting Gloria in the kitchen. She looked amazing; hair in a pony tail, white blouse tucked into a pleated, plaid skirt. She even wore the tie. She had stockings on with the saddle shoes, maybe she had a garter belt. Gloria'd asked if the school uniform look turned him on. She'd already had him imagine her bent over with the skirt thrown over her back and her toned ass offered to him. Did his mother even notice when her sister dressed like a slutty school girl?

Oh, the curse of the catholic school uniform. Would he always get a boner thinking of them? He did now, right in the kitchen. Gloria grabbed his arm and pulled him to the driveway. "I'll have him back in a couple of hours, Maria!" she called. They scrambled into her Miata and she turned up the radio for the fifteen minute drive to Midland Beach, Gloria singing along all the way, hair whipping in the wind.

John's heart raced. The drive was a blur. It wasn't a notable house she'd gotten in the divorce, but it was a block from one of the least appreciated beaches in New York City. He wondered if he'd get a chance to see his aunt in a bikini. Could they go to the beach together without raising suspicion?

"Come inside and I'll show you what you need to do, John," she said leaning heavily on the double entendre and laughing at her own cleverness. He followed the flippy skirt up to the front door.

Once inside, the charade of the last month ended.

"You have no idea how hard it's been to keep from jumping your bones in your bed, John." She turned and lay her body against his, rising only to his collarbone, hugging him tight.

"Oh, I know about hard, aunt Gloria." He felt her firm breasts against his belly, his cock rigid against hers.

"I've been meaning to ask," she smiled, "You get hard a lot, don't you?"

It was John's turn to smirk. "Even with your 'help', I think I could come six times a day."

"You know, you're not my first student, but you're my favorite already." She pulled back and began tugging at his belt. "College men are wasted on the young."

In moments, jeans unzipped, his cock waved in the air between them. Fat, red and pulsing, she took it in her hands. "Finally. He looks as good as he feels." Gloria wrapped him in both hands and had a mouthful to spare. "Oh, boy..." she said, a hint of apprehension in her voice.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, stripping off his t-shirt, baring his thick, dark hair.

"Well, your body knows what to do, actually. But I'm here to help you understand that. The church has got sex all fucked up, what with guilt and sin and blah, blah, blah." She pulled down his pants, kneeling in front of him, helping him step out. "This, this here is our worship," she said, looking up his tall muscled body.

"Are you a priestess, then, aunt Gloria?" He teased, watching her slowly unloop her tie and strip it from her collar.

"You're a natural, John," she grinned, "Yes, a woman is a priestess, a goddess, and her man only needs to ask her what she needs." She began at the bottom button of the white shirt, slowly revealing her belly, her cleavage, the full round ripeness of her breasts. No bra, he noticed. "Just watch for a minute."

Aunt Gloria peeled back the shirt and proudly showed her breasts, the nipples hard and red, the areolas spongy. She stood and turned around for him and pulled up the skirt. They were thigh highs she wore and no panties. "I bet you want to come on my face, don't you? On my tits."

"You know I do." John was over being shy now. She'd already described about any kind of sex he could think of.

"First lesson," she sank to her knees again in just the skirt and hose and saddle shoes. "Don't worry about holding off coming today. Later you can learn to postpone gratification." She grasped his cock and brought it to her lips, saying, "I like a good load on my face. I know it means you'll last longer when you actually fuck me." Gloria took his knob in her mouth and strained around it, looking serious, but using her tongue in ways he couldn't have imagined.

And quickly, just like in his fantasy, his spunk raced through his cock, she pulled back and decorated herself with streams of white, frothy juice, laughing just as he'd imagined. And like she did under the covers she very slowly drained him, taking time to squeeze every last drop and gently carry his orgasm all the way to the end until he needed to sit down.