Promise Not to Judge

"Ya friggin' weeb poseur!" I shot back. Oh my gosh, but her eyes . . . they could have killed! Had I cut too deep? But at the moment, I didn't care. "Bryan?" I repeated, confident with pride.

"Coming," he said meekly, following me out the room, heading off to the guest room where he stayed.

The minor victory against Kayla faded while I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Had I been completely out of line? Should I just let the kids be kids, and accept my lonely middle age with grace? Had I ruined any future chance for more family time, for a stronger mother-daughter bond? I felt sick.

I tossed, turned, sat up finally. Two forty-five a.m. I need a whisky, I thought.

I went downstairs, toward the kitchen, when I noticed a blue glow coming from the den. Kayla? I wondered. Perhaps I should apologize . . .

It was dark, so I walked slowly toward the low light glow. I neared the back of the couch, and saw Bryan's hair sticking up. "Bryan?" I called out gently. He didn't answer. Was he asleep? What was he doing?

As I came to stand over him, I saw that he was under a blanket, looking at his phone, AirPods in his ears. He was watching what looked like a cartoon. Anime, I thought. Kayla's got her hooks in him. I was about to tap him on the shoulder when, as I stood right above him, I realized the nature of what he was watching. I've been around Kayla long enough to know the difference: this wasn't just anime . . . it was hentai: Japanese cartoon pornography! And he looked to be shaking, quaking . . . Oh no, I thought in horror. On my couch! My white linen couch!

Oh, I was livid. A deep meanness grew in my heart, from all the sadness and fear and disrespect of the day. So I'll tell you what I did. I walked around and I . . . well, I pulled the blanket right off of him! Yes, I did!

And yes, even though it was dark, I saw everything. He was naked from the waist down, pulling at himself! What's that? Oh . . . well, it was . . . nice . . . yes, very much so. Yes . . . I liked it, sure. Okay, a lot. Boy, you sure are inquisitive all of a sudden!

Once the blanket had left him, he stopped, of course, covering himself with his hand, trying desperately to pause the video with the other. Oh my god, his face . . . Like a deer in headlights, and beet red, those stupid ear buds in still.

Oh, I kind of felt sorry for him . . . it sure was humiliating, but really! On my new couch! Boys that age need to be taught right from wrong, am I right? And there's no better teacher than Shame.

"Bryan!" I yell-whispered, "what are you doing here! Why the hell are you doing this in the middle of the house?"

He was finally able to stop the video and knock out his buds, covering himself better with the now free hand. "I - I - oh, Aunt Heather . . . I was . . . " He was looking at me. I realized I was in my slip, a tiny one, without my robe. My breasts were barely covered, my nipples hard. I didn't care. I was too angry to be embarrassed. But I folded my arms in front of me anyway, to give myself the dignity he couldn't give himself.

"I know what you were doing," I hissed. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I, uh, don't get Wi-Fi up there . . ." Wi-Fi! These poor kids . . . they can't even jerk off without the internet.

"Get up there right now!"

He started to look around himself. "My shorts . . . do you see them?"

"Now!" I grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up, ignoring his cries. He stood there, bottomless, hands over his junk, not sure of what to do next; I swatted him hard on his bare butt, and I watched it bounce as he ran up the stairs.

I know — I can't believe I did it either. What did I do next? Well . . . I laughed. I laughed hard. Teary-eyed, belly-shaking laughter. I had to smother my face into the pillow to hide it. I laughed away all of the pain I had been holding onto. I lay there on the couch, spent from the effort, when I felt something under my arm. They were Bryan's shorts, and underwear. The same USC ones from that first day.

So, I — again, you have to promise not to judge! — I draped them over my face. And I smelled them. A big drafty inhale. It smelled wonderful, like a real man. I exhaled, and pulled up my slip to my hips, sliding my fingers down the front and into myself. I played and played with it, massaging my breasts as well, letting the stink of his sweat and his cum fill my nostrils. I circled my clit, then flicked, flicked away, more and more . . . thinking of Bryan in his thin boxers, standing there in my laundry room, getting nervous, getting cold, getting goosebumps . . . his plump wang, illuminated by a dim blue light . . . his big hand stroking it frantically, the look of crazed desire in his sweet face . . . him staring at me, at my tits, desire and fear still full in his soft eyes . . . I scratched the itch harder and harder, bringing myself all the way to a sweet, delicious orgasm, the first I'd had in months. Well, so what? It's my couch.

I went back to bed, taking his shorts with me, and fell fast asleep, without a drop of whisky.

The next morning I awoke, feeling fantastic, but a bit sorry for what I had done to my nephew. He deserved it, sure, but I wanted him to feel okay for the rest of his stay. I really am crazy about the boy. So I went to his room first thing, wearing my robe this time.

"Knock, knock," I said, as I opened the door. He was still in bed, his back turned toward me. I sat on the opposite side, facing away from him, but gently touching his upper arm. "You awake?" He grunted.

"I brought your shorts," I said. He didn't reply, but I thought I saw his shoulders tense. "Listen . . . About last night . . . I hope you know that I'm not shaming you for what you did. There's nothing wrong with it, you know that. I was . . . upset at where you chose to do it. But I suppose that when the spirit takes you, it can . . . shut off the brain, you know?"

I turned slightly toward him. He lightly nodded. I rubbed his arm some more. "It's okay, and I hope we're okay. Are we okay?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Aunt Heather? I'm really, really sorry." I curled up behind him and hugged him from the back.

"Oh, that makes me so happy! I feel like I've grown so close to you over the last month, like we became a family for the first time. Don't you think so?"

He touched my arm. "I do."

"And after the summer I hope you'll come visit whenever you like, and we can come and visit you too!"

"I'd like that."

I kissed the back of his head. "Awesome!" I said, and I sat up, as he lay back. I put my hands on his chest, and gave him a pat. "Okay, now let's get up and get your cousin. We're going out for breakfast!"

"Okay," he said. I stood up, waiting for him to join me. "Can you . . . give me a sec?"

"Oh?" I looked down; I could see the outline of his erect penis through the thin cotton sheets, wet spots soaking through them. Now I got beet red. I forced my eyes to meet his, as quickly as I could . . . but, by the look of it, not quickly enough. He looked so guilty, vulnerable. My pants got damp instantly.

"Oh! Sure! Of course! I'll . . . I'll go get ready." Amazing, I thought. How many times can those young boys do it? I turned to leave, and then stopped myself at the door. "Oh and Bryan," I said, taking one last glance: "It'll be our secret." And I winked. And he smiled at me, and I felt all warm inside.

After that, well, I felt like we had a special bond. He still spent his nights with Kayla, playing weird board games and watching anime, but he spent more of the days with me. We went to the museum, to the bridge, even to a ballgame. I would walk with my arm in his, and he would hold the umbrella for me.

I know how it sounds. "It's nice to have a man around the house." Was it delusional? Was I just being a creepy old cougar? Probably. But so what? I was enjoying it, and you know what? So was he. It wasn't just placating. He liked it as much as I did.

The downside was my relationship with Kayla was deteriorating, worse than ever. I desperately tried to recreate the beginning of the summer, while she avoided me at all costs. She had fully forgiven me for my outburst earlier; and she resented my time with Bryan, I was sure, robbing her of her own. And to be honest, I was envious of her nights with him. I still suspected something untoward, taboo. But he was sleeping in his own bed, and I had no real reason to say anything to them. Whenever she happened to be around, she had her nose buried in her phone, making snide remarks and wisecracks. We lived like this, for about another month: sharing him, jealous of the other, never really talking.

Around late July, we had a real heat wave, were you here for that? I had to check one of our properties down in San Jose when the A/C unit went. I told the kids I would be a couple days, left them some cash, and took off. Well, that's not entirely true; I had invited Bryan to come with me. And I . . . well, I had rented a room with one bed. No, I don't know what I was thinking. And no, he didn't know about the bed. But he politely declined anyway, saying he and Kayla had plans.

I won't lie, I took it badly. Awful, right? Embarrassingly so! Jealous of my own daughter over my nephew, like a trailer park mom? But still, the whole drive, I imagined the worst. He was a raging ball of untapped testosterone, and she . . . black hair, white skin, full breasts; thin waist, round hips, shapely rear; soft facial features with round, deep blue eyes . . . my god, she's gorgeous. My daughter is really beautiful.

And evil, I thought. She would eat him alive, cousin or no. That harlot! That amoral princess! I had to rescue my boy!

I couldn't sleep that night and ended up leaving the hotel at 4:30am, sure I would catch them in the act. The not knowing was driving me insane. What would I catch them doing? In what particular deviant practice were they engaging? I had the most vivid, horrible fantasies. I was crying and screaming in the car.

Pulling into the driveway, I noticed her car was gone. I ran into the house.

"Hello?" I called out. "Anyone? Bryan?" No answer. Up the stairs I flew straight to Bryan's room. His sheets were smooth, just as I had left them the day before. I went next to Kayla's. The door was shut; I gave the knob a turn.

Bryan slept soundly in Kayla's bed: shirtless, sheet loosely covering him, his bare leg sticking out to the upper thigh. No boxers on. I knew it, I thought. What sick children! What lost souls!

"Bryan!" I shrieked. He shook his head, looked around. As he saw me, he seemed surprised, but not overtly guilty.

"Oh, hi," he grinned. "You're back early?"

"Guess you weren't expecting me? Is that why you decided to sleep naked in my daughter's bed?" He looked down, and pulled his leg inside the cover.

"I'm not . . . I'm not naked," he replied unconvincingly.

"Tell me the truth," I demanded. "What did you two do last night."

"Nothing," he said quickly. "I guess I just fell asleep . . ."

Oh jesus, are you two . . . have you . . ." My face said everything.

"God no!" He yelled, his voice breaking.

"Answer me! What did you do? Why are you naked?"

"I'm not!"

"Oh no?" I belted out, and I grabbed the duvet with both hands. This time he was more ready, and he grabbed the front of it. But it didn't matter; I had the leverage. We tugged it, back and forth, for a good thirty seconds, until he lost his grip, and the material slipped right through his fingers.

He had been right; he was not naked. Indeed, he was clothed — with nothing but a pair of the tiniest pink panties you ever saw.

Oh, I kid you not! A pink string waistband, and little white hearts drawn on them. It barely covered his parts; I could see the sides of his . . . well, the sides of his balls, peeking out. He immediately grabbed a pillow to block my view.

"What the —" I let out. This was the last thing I was expecting. "Why, why are you . . . Bryan, are you wearing Kayla's underwear?" He shook his head. "I, I don't understand." I wasn't mad anymore. I was confused, and a little disgusted.

"She, she bought them for me," he spoke low. He looked gut-punched, devastated.

"She bought them for you? Why?"

"She likes to see me in . . . clothes." His eyes lowered. "She dresses me."

I was beginning to get it. Are you? "She . . . dresses you? What do you mean?" I wanted to hear him say it.

"She dresses me up. Like a, like a little girl."

"Oh . . . oh, Bryan," I hoped the sadness and disappointment in my voice wasn't as obvious as it felt. I sat down on the bed next to him. "I . . . I don't know what to say." He sniffled. I really didn't know what to say next. But I'll admit: I was curious. I wanted details. "Does she . . . undress you too?" He nodded. "Is that all she does?"

"She . . . takes pictures." I put my hand over my mouth. There are pictures! How many? Where did she put them? Are they online?

"How long has this been going on?" He wouldn't say. "All summer?" Nothing.

A terrible thought crossed my mind. "Longer?"

His face scrunched up, and his eyes welled with tears. He let out a gigantic sob. Oh my god, I thought. Oh god. My daughter is a monster! And all of a sudden, so many things made more sense, like I had solved a giant puzzle in my life.

He wept and he wept, without pause. My heart broke; I felt a terrific pathos toward him. "Oh, you poor boy!" I reached out to embrace him. The pillow was in the way, so I thoughtlessly took it from him and threw it on the floor, sitting right by his side, hugging him tight. He buried his face in my neck. I brushed at his hair, kissed his forehead and cheeks; I stroked his back as it shook from crying. I pressed my bosom into his bare chest; I pulled my dress up a bit so I could lift my legs onto the bed, sitting on my feet, pressing his face into me more, rocking him to and fro with my arms. He put a hand on my bare thigh, the other on the small of my back.

"It's okay, it's okay," I kept repeating. "Just let it out."

I looked down. There it was . . . barely, ridiculously concealed. I guess he found the situation arousing (and you know what? So did I), because it was, well, enlarged, and bent backwards under the pressure of the panty gusset, pushing away at it. Oh, it looked so manly and so . . . girly at the same time. I found it twisted and hot. It was such a cute little package wrapping for such a nice piece of meat, and it just made me ravenous. Am I shocking you yet? Good, because I shocked myself.

Especially for what I did next. I lightly touched the tip with a finger, wet through the cotton. I know. I know.

"Oh dear, is this . . . because of me?" I asked innocently. He started to cry harder.

"I'm . . . so . . . sorry . . ."

I leaned in, adding a second finger. "Oh stop, I'm not mad! I'm . . . flattered really." I pulled a little at the waistband. "This looks painful," I cooed into his ear. "Does it hurt?" He nodded slowly into my neck.

"A little," he answered.

"Do you . . . want me to take them off?" He nodded again. "You do?"

"Yes," he whispered. I took the lacy band in my fingers, pulling them back and over till he sprung free. Instinctively, he moved the hand that was resting on my leg to cover himself. I moved it back.

"Don't," I said softly. "Just leave it."

With both hands I slipped the panties down his legs, off his feet, and I stroked his arms to calm the shaking. He sobbed some more into my hair. "Shhh . . . it's alright. Everything's going to be alright."

His penis began to twitch, like it was nervous or scared; I wanted to calm it too. "Shh," I continued, gently caressing it with my fingertips. I kissed him again, on the cheek, near the mouth. His weeping had slowed. I looked him in the eyes: they were red, frightened, pathetic, helpless.

"I can take care of you, Bryan. Is that something you want?" I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and my fingers around his cock. "Do you? Do you want me to take care of you?" The lines on his forehead smoothed. His mouth opened. He closed his eyes and nodded.

I stroked him now for real, working my hand faster, kneading the fat, squishy head like dough. "I want that too. I want to take care of you." The hand on my thigh clutched, moved higher, and higher up, till his hand was palming my bare ass cheek; the other hand grasped my shoulder, then my breast, massaging at it through my dress and bra.

I moaned a little. I was pulling at it at full speed, using the precum to lubricate it, rubbing faster and faster. He was making little grunts and sounds, like a small pet. "Come on, that's it, come for me, doll!" is what slipped out of me in the heat of passion. Strange, I thought. I've never called anybody 'doll' before, especially not a lover. But I could tell he responded well to it, pressing at my nipple with his thumb, grunting harder than before. I started to make out actual words.

"AuntheatherauntheatherAUNTHEATHER!" he cried, and he leaned back hard on the bed.

"There you go, baby doll! Oh! OH!" I yelped. A strong blast of young cum erupted from his cockhole, straight up and back down, splattering his abdomen and chest. I kept on; three more impressive loads shot out, drooling down the side of his shaft as he made loud, passionate cries of pleasure. "Oh my goodness!" I exclaimed, hovering my face over his as he lay on the bed, smiling down upon him, my hands on his shoulders. "That was SO good!"

He was covered in his own semen. "But baby, we need to clean you now!" I was talking to him like he was a toddler without meaning to, but It felt right somehow. "You want me to draw you a nice warm bath?"

He nodded. "Yes, Aunt Heather." Dreamily, I stroked his forehead and the side of his face, and gently patted his half-flaccid penis, because it was there.

"Good boy," I said. "Come, let's go my bathroom. And make sure you don't drip on the way!" I threw him his own shirt to wipe himself with, and took him by the arm, leading him to my room. He followed along without a comment.

So this is who he was, I thought. I was reminded of the first day, in the laundry room. Of Kayla, sitting on the bed with him, of all the odd nights and strange habits she kept with him. He just, he just lets this happen? Where is his dignity, his self-respect, I wondered? What kind of man would he become? And yet I couldn't help but be overjoyed, for purely selfish reasons. Is this what Kayla found with him as well?

"Stand there," I ordered. "I'll make it nice and warm." He stood in the corner, next to the toilet, while I turned on the tub water. He still had the cumrag in his hands, holding it in front of himself in a late display of modesty.

"Don't cover up, silly," I laughed. "Put your hands down." He hesitated for a second, but he complied. "Drop that thing." He did that too. His crotch, at eye level as I knelt by the bath, was right there. Then I looked up, into his eyes. I giggled playfully. And wouldn't you know it, it started to grow again! I could not believe my luck. "Oh baby, you make mama so happy." Why was I talking like this? "Now, into the tub!"

He stepped in gingerly, one foot at a time, lowering himself down into the water. I knelt on the bathroom mat, took a sponge, and rubbed soap into his skin: along his neck, his glistening shoulders; I lifted up an arm and washed along it to the pit, then the other; I washed his chest and flat, defined stomach, cleaning off the dried jizz.

"Okay, flip over. On your hands and knees," I directed. He looked at me blankly and nodded. As he moved, water splashed on my dress. "Hey, watch it!" I reprimanded gently.

"Sorry, Aunt Heather! I'll be more careful," he apologized sincerely.

"Best be." I smirked. "I suppose I should take this off, just in case. What do you think?" I put my hands on my hips, then a finger to my chin.