Weird Auntie Jayne Ch. 01byNigel Debonnaire©
It was another Friday night, and I was on the Mizzou campus with my buddies again. We were too young to drink, which stopped us from cruising the bars, but not from sneaking a couple bottles of Everclear into Mark Patrick's room and mixing it with lemonade made from Wyler's canned mix to get a buzz on. A couple of take out pizzas from Shakespeare's provided basic nourishment, so we had a solid base for heavy drinking. The party could have been at my house, the place I inherited from my folks across town, but my Auntie Jayne next door kept a close eye on my comings and goings and told me explicitly I couldn't have my friends over. She'd been my child care since I could remember, my parents both worked, when they were alive, and I think I spent more time with her than them. After the accident, she was my only family left, and I didn't want to make her mad or unhappy, so I went to Mark's room on campus for our drinking sessions when the weather didn't let us gather on a stretch of deserted road outside of town.
Anyway, we were chilling late one Friday night, the five of us taking a break from Dungeons and Dragons to drink and watch some free porn videos from the Internet. The rest of the floor was deserted by guys who had money and girlfriends to party downtown, and the lone Baptist God Jock had retired for the evening: a man capable of sleeping through the Rapture. Randy Jones had set his laptop's video to run through Mark's TV, so we had a good view of all the clips even if though the resolution sucked at times. Plugged into the college's network, we had good upload speed, better than the WiFi places around town.
We were hooting and hollering at every scene: Randy enjoyed doggy style fucking, Mark was into handjobs, Barry liked to watch girls giving head, and Bob was into anything strange. My turn on is girls with dimples, other than that, I'll watch almost anything. We took turns surfing the free clip sites, looking for the ones with the longest clips, and used a rule of Three: each guy got to pick 3 clips for us to watch, until everybody got off. No, we didn't jack off in front of each other; anybody who couldn't take anymore ducked into the bathroom to shoot his load in the sink, and after you did that, you didn't get a turn picking clips any longer. If you got off twice, you got to take turns picking again. We quit when we were tired of it; and usually that happened around 4:00AM.
It was getting to the end of the evening, we were winding down early, around 12:30 that night. Everybody except Bob had shot a load, so he was getting run of the equipment as long as he could keep from ejaculating. Between the lethal mix of cheap lemonade and Everclear and empty testicles, most of us were hovering at the edge of consciousness. Bob had pulled up videos people getting pranked by flashers on a dirty Russian TV show, which was fun but not too arousing, then switched to Japanese videos of women on the street being asked to reach blindly into a box to find a naked dick, which wasn't anybody else's fantasy. The room hadn't started to spin for me yet, and I hit Bob on the shoulder: "Hey c'mon, dude. Give us something worthwhile before we pass out."
"Oh, I remember something you might like, saw it a few days ago. A real cutie, with big boobs and dimples, just up your alley, Jake my boy. Ready for something hot?"
"Been ready for two hours now, I even forgot what shot my wad, it's been that long. Let's see."
Mark and Barry were dozing on the floor, and Randy was leaning upright in a corner with glazed eyeballs, unresponsive. "Let's see if I can remember where it is." Bob was an amazing drunk, his fingers flew over the keyboard as they always did, and he almost never typed in a bad address. He could also walk across the room to take a piss without staggering after three glasses of our potent punch. "Here we go, you can't see her dimples in this one, but her boobs are amazing."
A clip came up with a fat torso, stark white and naked except a grass skirt and flowered lei, with gigantic boobs. Hawaiian music played from the speaker as the dancer swayed and shashayed around a small area in front of an old wooden door. Her hands moved in imitation of Island dancers, gracefully but randomly. We watched this and my manhood stirred slightly in recovery. "Not bad, Bob. Good for this hour of drinking."
"Got another one of her. Same site. Look." This time the bulbous, bright torso wore a long, black, feathered boa, her fingernails were painted bright red and occasionally bright red pair of lips came into view. She moved to the Maple Leaf Rag, half as slow as the music, twirling the boa around her tits provocatively and making her boobs sway arhythmically back and forth until they almost made my head spin. My dick was already straining my pants, and I couldn't take my eyes off her big, dark brown nipples. Her ass was huge as well, with several creases and folds as it wiggled temptation, before disappearing, to be replaced by the mistimed mammary gyrations. "I think I know one more, but it's not a dance," Bob said. "She does something REALLY kinky in this one. Like your favorite aunt does self abuse."
I smiled. "Don't know about you, dude, but I could get there soon. Go for it."
"Done." The next clip began in a bedroom, with a tray table and office chair next to a huge, unmade queen sized bed. The woman was completely naked on the chair and lowered it slightly as the clip started. It looked familiar and my erection faded slightly. A moment caught her whole face; it was a chubby face with bifocals, and long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. A face I'd known all my life: Auntie Jayne.
The tray table was covered with wax paper and two huge candles were burning on it. On the bed was a gas lighter and a bottle. In a sing song voice, my aunt started talking: "Hello there. Good to see you. Today I'm going to do some waxing of my boobs for you, don't that sound like fun? First, we'll lotion them up so they have a smooth surface for the wax." She squirted some lotion into her hand and rubbed it into her left breast, before taking another dollop and working it into her right tit. "Now we're all lotioned up and our table is covered, let's get started. How about the green one? Wouldn't you like to see the green? Let me get ready." She put her mammoth left tit on the table and held the candle above it, tilting it over until a stream of wax dribbled out.
The candle moved around to create a pattern before the melted liquid gave out. "Isn't that pretty? It's green. Look, it's even run down here. That's why we have the wax paper, so we don't get our table messy." A strand had flowed down to kiss the edge of her areola. She moved the candle up again, but after looking at it, shook her head and put it down. "We need to let this make some more wax. Let's do the purple next. Won't purple be nice?" Taking the candle, she hefted it and dribbled a generous dollop on her massive flesh, mixing with the green wax and trailing off on its own. She took care to dribble every last drop from the candle, making a row of dark dots. "Oh, this is really nice. All that heat feels really good, and the smell is wonderful. See how pretty this is?" She picked her tit up and looked underneath. "The nipple's hard, I guess it likes it. Let's do the other one."
As she lifted her right boob on the table, Bob ran off to the bathroom. I took a big pull from my glass of punch, and shook my head. Her voice was the same tone and emotion as when she told me bedtime stories, or showed me how to paint her back fence. Picking up the green candle, she poured it out, letting out a loud "Woo-hoo" as she did it. "My, that's stingy. Guess I got the candle too close to my breast. See how nice this looks? Woo!" She fanned her breast a moment before picking up the other candle. "Let's keep the other one a little farther away so it doesn't sting." Another stream kissed her white flesh, moving around to make a contrapuntal pattern to the first one, and she cooed and licked her lips as she worked. "That's a nice pattern, isn't it? My boobies are just tingling like crazy with all the pain and the heat." Taking her hands, she made her flesh quiver, a huge smile on her face. "Do you like it when they wiggle like that? Isn't that fun?"
A cat wandered onto the bed, casually interested in the action as cats usually are. It made the identification final: that was Mr. Whiskers, Auntie Jayne's cat, and there was no other cat on earth like it with a missing ear, mottled fur and patches of exposed skin. When she didn't pay any attention to the feline, Mr. Whiskers promenaded indifferently across the bed and off the near end as if it were his intention all the time.
Bob gave a long, low groan from the bathroom. My own pecker was stretching my shorts and I felt very strange. I was getting hard from seeing my dear Auntie torture herself naked on camera. She continued to play with her tits before taking out a digital camera and taking several shots of her artwork. "Now we see why the lotion is such a good idea." She began to slide the wax off her skin, moving easily onto the covered table. "The wax comes right off. Oh, there's some stuck underneath. Guess that's what I get for having such big ones. My, this piece's a big one, isn't that nice?" A few seconds later, her monster mammaries were clear. "See, no more wax, no more stingy. All better. I think they had a good time; see, the nipples are nice and hard. Maybe I should kiss them and make them better." Holding and caressing her boobs, she kissed the tops of them then held the erect nipples up for a sensual lick. Bob got back and sat down to watch the show. "Back to normal once again. Unless you'd like me to put some more wax on them. Would you like that?"
The clip stopped and I could take it no longer. I went to the bathroom and whipped out my long cock, the image of my Auntie Jayne pouring wax on her breasts running through my imagination, and it was only two or three strokes before I shot a huge load in Mark's sink. My balls pulsed as the semen pushed its way through and I thought it wasn't going to stop. It took a long time, with the room starting to waver a bit, before I squeezed out the last drop of joy juice from my equipment. After taking a deep breath, I put my pecker back in my pants, went back into the main room and watched as Bob searched for more clips. "You done, man?" he asked.
"Yeah. That last set did it for me. You, too?"
He nodded. "That fat old girl is one of my favorites. Her name's Melissa LeTour, lives here in Columbia."
"Yeah. Sends pictures to Prof Larsen all the times, and he puts them in the exhibit hall over in the Visual Arts museum. Does lots of colors and combinations of wax on different parts of her body except her face. Prof Larsen eats it up, says she's the greatest artist since Jackson Pollock."
I shook my head again. Damn, I thought, I set her up with all that equipment: the video recorder, the digital camera, the computer and the Internet setup. What else don't I know about her? "Does he know her?"
"I think they only met once in person. He set the dances up on continual play for the last temporary exhibit. Says he sells the original files for a pretty good price."
"What, he takes her money?"
I stood up and wobbled a bit. All these revelations were too much for me. "Gotta go."
"Huh? Don't you gotta sleep first? There's a corner over there."
"Nah, I'm good."
I held my hand still in front of my face for several moments before Bob nodded his head. "Good. All right. Next Friday, D and D? Here?"
I managed to make it down the hallways and stairs outside, and walked the mile back to my house west of the University of Missouri campus. It's a two story, A frame house and my Auntie Jayne's next door is a huge old place with a wrap around porch. Looking at my watch, it was only 1:00AM when I staggered through the front gate, yet there was still a soft yellow light in Auntie Jayne's bedroom. She said she suffered from insomnia, but I knew she would be up until she heard me returning. It had been like that for five years, since the accident took my folks. I'd tried to stay at her house, but after becoming an orphan I needed the bed room I'd always known, so she let me stay alone next door with conditions.
After getting to my bedroom, I turned on my laptop and found the clips Bob played for us. A couple of times I watched her slow motion hula, three times I followed her wiggling boa, but the clip I played over and over again was her breast waxing. The sing song voice that reassured me through a marathon of childhood scrapes and burns, told the family stories stretching back to the Civil War and the Old Country, chastised me when I strained at my leash in high school, freaked me out when talking about her gleeful celebration of self punishment. My pecker got hard again, but my balls were too empty for another climax, so it was a while before I shut the computer down and fell into a semi-intoxicated sleep.
It was daylight when I woke up, 11:00AM by the clock, and I heard her puttering around in the garden. Looking out, I saw her in her favorite gingham dress, striped apron, sensible shoes and straw hat as she tended her roses and her hedges. I know she saw me, giving me a casual glance without pausing in her labors. Auntie Jayne had been very tolerant of me after I graduated from High School; I had an 11:00PM curfew then, but after starting College she allowed me to set my own hours without boundaries. "It's time you learned how to be an adult, and the only way is to do it. You pay the consequences of your actions, if you stay out too late and get too messed up, what happens the next day is your responsibility. If you need a ride home, I'll call you a cab, don't worry about that, no questions asked." I only partied on Friday nights, staying at home or coming in early on Saturdays so I could go to the First Baptist Church with her Sunday mornings. I knew she knew I would be hungover most Saturdays, and she respected my space by not calling until evening.
Throwing on a few clothes, I left in spite of my splitting brain when I saw her go in for lunch and went to the Visual Arts library on campus. There were several interesting exhibits, but I bypassed them all until I found what I was looking for. A small room, 10 by 12 feet, was dedicated to her work. It was amazing, the variety of colors and patterns of wax on naked flesh. Many pictures were wax drippings on unidentifiable parts of the body, there were a couple of sets of hands dipped in wax in glass cases, but half of them were clearly patterns on titflesh. They were usually small spatterings of wax spread out, a few were medium sized pools, and one were it seemed most of the breast had been covered by large sheets of color. When in view, the nipples were always erect. There were a couple where the wax had landed in her crotch. Nowhere was her face in her pictures.
I didn't stay there long. After walking back home, I slipped into bed and watched baseball as the sun traversed my living room wall. My head stopped throbbing late that afternoon, and Auntie Jayne had me pick up a plate from her kitchen for supper, which I took with minimal comment. She lifted an eyebrow, but didn't push the matter.
I walked down the street with her Sunday morning with my arm on her elbow. She didn't need the support, but it was proper in her eyes I escorted her there in an appropriate manner, so I was cleaned up in my suit and tie as usual. The routine of arriving, making small talk with her middle aged friends and users, settling in the usual pew and moving through the service was boring, but I couldn't help sneaking peaks at her. She wore a green striped dress with a black hat and pearl necklace, and short black pumps. Her nails were the same red as the videos, and I kept imagining her at her bedside as I hear her voice singing and making the responses during the service. It took all my concentration to keep focus and not sport an embarrassing erection, at times I even had to try to listen to the mind numbing sermon to keep my mind occupied and my dick soft. It was a communion Sunday: I passed the plate without taking anything while so took a cracker and a shot glass of grape juice. My mind just couldn't process that.
There was a potluck after church that day, and I chatted with the proper church girls my age to let Auntie Jayne have room to conspire with her friends in the corner. I felt like a fish next to a boat dock, with the lures dangling in front of me, but my recent obsession with Auntie Jayne's videos kept me immune from taking the bait. Feeling properly stuffed with good food and unspiked lemonade, we walked back home, my hand at her elbow in the mid afternoon, watching the wispy clouds wander across the sky. On entering her yard, I trembled a little as we crossed to the door and she unlocked it. "Come in a minute, Jakie," she said in a pleasant yet firm voice.
"Why, Auntie Jayne?"
"There's something up with you we need to talk about."
I took a seat on an old, stuffed chair in the front sitting room, and after giving me a strange look, she settled into a couch across the way. She looked deep into my eyes, concern on her face, before unbuttoning her top button and sighing. "All right, Jake Edward Fields. I've known you all your life and something's bothering you. Has been all morning at least, maybe for a while. Out with it."
"I don't want to say, Auntie."
"You've been looking at me in a strange way. Looking at my fingernails, looking at my blouse. I remember when you first got interested in girls, and you tried to sneak peeks at my breasts every chance you got. You're too old for that now, and you're at college where you've got a lot of young girls to look at. Since there's such a thing as the Internet now, I imagine you have a chance to see whatever you want to see whenever you want." I must have reacted, because she caught it. "Oh, that's it, you saw something on the Internet. What did you see?"
Taking a deep breath and exhaling it, I said as calmly as I could. "You."
"Yes. Friday night at the dorm. We were looking at some clips of different stuff, and there's this really weird guy there. . ."
"Yeah, Bob. How did you know?"
"He wrote me. Many times. I've blocked him. Go ahead."
"How did you block him? Does he know your email address?"
"Goodness no, Jakie. I don't use my real address for that." She fanned herself a little and continued. "So he pulled up some clips on the Internet."
"Yeah. First a headless hula clip, then a feather boa dance to the Maple Leaf Rag. And then, then. . ."
She leaned forward, concerned. "Yes?"
"Then a clip where you waxed your breasts. You seemed to enjoy it." She looked away out the window and breathed heavily. "I recognized your bedroom, Mr. Whiskers walked through the shot. You covered your breasts in lotion, then dribbled some wax on them. I saw you take pictures of them; Bob said you sold them to Prof Larsen at the College, so I went to the Visual Arts library and saw them."
There was a long pause, and then she asked. "What do you think of them?"
"They're beautiful. Inspiring. Compelling. Beautiful. Sexy." Her eyebrow lifted. "Is Prof Larsen taking advantage of you?"
She started out of her reverie, and looked at me. "Taking advantage of me? How?"
"Bob said Prof Larsen was selling your pictures for a lot of money."
A short laugh came from her throat. "No, Bill Larsen is my agent. The pictures are copyrighted, and he gets a percentage. Also gives me a fee for the exhibit. A nice little bit of cash for an old lady."
"But Auntie Jayne, what's going on here? Is there something I don't know?"
"Well, Jake, I didn't want to share this little story with you, but now I can't avoid it. I was the caretaker of your grandparents here all my life, it was common for one child to stay home in those days to do that, particularly the youngest of the family like me. Remember when they lived here?"