Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 HOOKING AUNTIE'S BRA

   by Desi Ghee and Holi Rennick

   AUTHOR'S NOTES

   The story "Hooking Aunt's Bra" is posted in degrees of incompleteness on
several international chat sites, most of which are of hit-or-miss access.
"Found on the web" is the story's only attribution.  On Sept.  18, 2006, a
chatter known as Indian Incest appended, "thanks for the replies guys ..  i
m done with the story ..  if any body else wants to continue with it then
most welcome"

   I (Holi Rennick speaking) would encourage proofreading even chat
messages, but take Indian Incest at her or his word.  "Hooking Aunt's Bra"
indeed merits completion.

   I've rewritten the posting, but worked to maintain the linguistic clip
of the speaker.  (World-class English-language literature is pouring out of
the subcontinent these days.  It's all of our language.) I've changed the
"Aunt" to "Auntie" to differentiate my version from the original.  Indians
and Pakistanis say the latter, so I'm linguistically okay.

   A helpful reader uncovered the original author, Desi Ghee, whose
"Hooking Her Up" can be found at
http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=196357.  Desi was kind
enough to not object to my having taken on his plot.  Give him a read and
let him know what you think.

   For readers who've forgotten their Urdu/Hindi:

   Choli -- blouse that ends just below the bust.

   Lehenga -- full skirt.

   Salwar -- loose pants of many fashions.

   Kameez -- long, fashionable tunic, paired with a salwar.

   Dupatta -- trailing scarf draped over the kameez.

   Nala -- trouser-cord.

   Kurta -- square-cut tunic, often embroidered.

   Holi -- Hindu festival in which faces are brightly painted; the given
name of noted author.

   Let's join young Naeem and practice our vocabulary.

   HOOKING AUNTIE'S BRA

   This story takes place in my next to final year of secondary school.  I
was seventeen and ripe with energy I didn't know where from; energy that
kept me restless and got me into trouble more than once.

   There were five members in our household: my grandmother, my mother's
brother and his wife, my younger aunt, and myself, Naeem.  My younger aunt
was the smallest of my mother's siblings and was still waiting to be
married.  But this story is not about her; it is about my mother's
brother's wife.

   My uncle's wife -- her name is Mehnaz -- didn't really like my presence
in what was technically her husband's house.  I was entrusted into Uncle's
guardianship due to circumstances beyond my control and Auntie had no
choice but to accept my presence.  It was very clear from the beginning,
however, that she did so reluctantly.  Our interaction was polite, formal
and minimal.

   My room was a bit isolated from the rest because of its purpose for
guest lodging.  My daily routine was set so that after coming home from
school, I would take my lunch and disappear until the dinner hour.  After
that I would once again disappear until the next day.  I kept to myself,
and they to themselves.  I had so much time for studying.

   The first incident that brought about a minor change in my routine was
the morning of a rather hot day when Auntie entered my room and asked me to
hook her bra.  She was fresh out of bath, probably to stay cool, and I
assumed that she had come to me as neither my younger aunt nor my
grandmother was nearby.

   In our culture it is not uncommon for ladies to ask a male child to do
this kind of thing when there are no females available, but it is most
uncommon to ask a boy my age because of the feelings it can arouse.  As
this was the aunt that really didn't like me, however, I had to assume she
had no other choice.

   Auntie was holding her kameez to drape her chest and had pulled her
dripping hair to the front as well, leaving her back bare.  I had helped my
own mother many times with the same task, so the routine was nothing new. I
averted my eyes and quickly managed the fastenings.  She flicked her hair
onto her back and pulled her kameez over it.  Once it was on, she pulled
her hair out, straightened it, uttered a quick thank you and left without
looking at me.

   Uncle's wife was not as slim as my younger aunt because of being
married, though she had yet to give birth.  She was wider in her back and
had a few bulges where her nala tied.  Her back was also meatier, so when
my fingers touched it, as they had to, it felt soft.

   When I went back to my books, Auntie's moist skin lingered as background
on the pages.  When one studies a great amount, it is too easy to find
distraction.

   ***

   It was about a week later when Auntie again asked me to do the hooking.
She was coming from her room and it seemed she was preparing to go
somewhere.  She wore a newly ironed lehenga and was smelling of perfume
which she usually only wore when she and Uncle went visiting.  It was
Sunday, so that made sense because Uncle was home and must have planned a
small outing.

   Auntie had chosen a blush-coloured bra to match her choli.  In our
culture, cholis are sometimes too transparent and a stylish bra is part of
ladies' fashion.  The cut is modest, not like European bras, but the colour
is well thought-out.

   She clutched the choli over her front, bra straps dangling under her
arms.  As a choli is of less fabric than a kameez, I could recognize
somewhat more of the sides of her bra.

   But why had she come to me for assistance?  Maybe my younger aunt and
Grandmother were not available and Uncle had stepped out.  But I could hear
them conversing in the kitchen, discussing train schedules.

   As Auntie couldn't see behind her, I had looked closely at the stitching
of her straps.  My fingers again retained the warmth of her skin long after
I had made the closing.

   Everything was on the up and up, although it did feel a bit odd being
asked to do something like this at my age.

   ***

   As I was about to leave for school not that many days later, Auntie
asked me to come to her room.  Uncle had already left for his employment
and my younger aunt and Grandmother were elsewhere.

   As I waited to hear what my aunt wanted, she turned from me, crossed her
hands in front and lifted her kameez to her armpits, revealing the absence
of an undergarment.  As her front was away from me, it wasn't immodest, but
I was again able to see her entire back below where her kameez bunched.

   She bent over a little to pick up her bra from the bed, and it was
whilst extending her hand that I glimpsed the sides of her breasts.  I
didn't see that much, or for more than a moment, but I saw skin that I
shouldn't see.

   In our culture where people are pressed closer together than in the
West, we are still more modest.  We don't look where we ought not.  If we
do, we strike it from our minds like a hot coal.

   Auntie wrapped the bra around her, pushed the straps behind and motioned
me to do my job.

   I quickly did as I was told, nervous that she had seen me peek.  She
didn't act like she had been noticing, though.

   She pulled her kameez back down, turning toward me as she smoothed it.
The way she tugged made the fabric slide over her breasts.  She smiled as
she thanked me for the help and I took my leave.

   All day my mind I was seeing the sides of her breasts and thinking about
the way she had adjusted her kameez.  Even her smile seemed special in the
afterglow.

   I did wonder why she had first been without her bra.  Maybe she just
forgot and when she did remember, I was the only one around.  A few
mornings of sly attention, however, explained to me Auntie's routine.  She
would be without her bra when she arose to prepare breakfast -- one can
tell by the sway -- and only finish dressing later in the morning before
going out.

   In our culture, though we strike thoughts from our minds like a hot
coal, sometimes boys especially are not always diligent in the speed of it.
Knowing a female household member is going without a bra would be
interesting, but evaluating her habit of doing so, and thus predicting with
accuracy when she will be in such-and-such state, is more engaging.

   ***

   I knew the chances of helping with my aunt's bra were very small, as
Grandmother or my younger aunt would normally be available.  Thus, it came
as a big surprise when Auntie asked me to do the same a few days later when
she had just sent away my younger aunt.

   It in fact became a routine every morning for me to help her.  Auntie
would face away towards her bed where her bra lay ready, raise her kameez,
then hold her bra to cover her front and extend the straps backward.

   My task was simple and quick -- usually three hooks on straps with only
one receiving set, but perhaps only two on straps where the closure could
be in three locations.  I preferred the latter where the tightness was my
decision.  Auntie never corrected my choice, so perhaps it made no
difference.

   Perhaps I should add another item of information.  One can see in
Western magazines many bras where even a small error in adjustment might
cause an excess exposure.  But bras in our culture are more surrounding and
more directing, so a little too loose or a little too tight wouldn't be
critical to modesty.

   I was quickly familiar with Aunties bra collection and liked knowing
that she didn't mind my knowledge.  A boy can of course become familiar
with lady's underwear by watching the laundry line, but that's less
interesting than assisting with its attachment.  When one's seventeen, it
should be said, what is interesting is not the same as what was interesting
when one was twelve.  When one is seventeen, one's organs are more
developed and do things without planning.

   ***

   Perhaps two weeks passed before there was a slight change of routine. 
Auntie didn't pull her kameez downward after I had done the hooking, but
pulled it upward and off.

   "Which kameez should I choose, Naeem?" turning to face me.

   I had no idea.  An aunt never asks a nephew such a thing.  But more than
that, an aunt rarely stands unmoving in her bra before her nephew.  I of
course knew what her bra looked like, but to see the flesh between then
halves so straightforwardly and for such a time!  I could almost feel the
softness.

   In our culture - this distinction can be difficult for Westerners who
see everything in black and white -- there is distinction between levels of
personal interaction.  We frequently see the other sex in various degrees
of undress at places of public bathing, though we don't intermingle more
than is necessary.  For me to see my aunt passing in a bra from her room
would be no more erotic than for her to see me swimming with other boys in
our undershorts.  Things would seem differently if she had been touching my
shorts, or me her undergarment.  Thus my reaction wasn't thus simply from
viewing her bra, but also from knowing it so many times.

   I must have mumbled something, but I'm sure it was without sense.

   "Well, you think about it," she added.  "I like to be pretty for you."
What a smile Auntie gave me!

   She likes to be pretty for me!  No one had ever told me that before!  My
eyes were focused on her bra.

   Then her expression grew serious and she asked if it was becoming too
much for me to do this small favour for her.

   I tried, but failed, to reciprocate her smile.  I shook my head and took
my leave.

   Obviously my aunt was becoming more comfortable with me, letting me see
her in that way, but I didn't want to feel the way I ended up feeling, my
breathing uneven, even sometimes a movement in my lower regions.

   In our culture, I was perhaps somewhat behind the eight-ball, not having
been with a member of the fair sex, but if I had, it was understood that it
would be with a prostitute or perhaps a servant girl who was willing.  I
wasn't that knowing about engaging a prostitute, though my school fellows
would have arranged it, and we didn't have a servant other than the
gardener and sweeper.

   I could only conclude that I had been harsh in judgment.  Perhaps Auntie
didn't dislike me as much as I was thinking, or she would have not been so
friendly.

   But I couldn't come forth and tell Auntie to cover herself because I was
starting to get excited at the sight of her.  Maybe she would tell Uncle to
send me away.  He would do just that if he knew of my behavior.

   No, I couldn't talk of such feelings.

   ***

   Things once again changed when Auntie left her bra on her dresser.  She
had lifted her kameez before looking for her bra, so she was up the creek
without a paddle.  As turning to fetch it meant exposing more of herself,
she cupped her hands on her breasts.

   I tried to look down, but not before viewing what her hands couldn't
cover.  I was embarrassed and flustered at seeing so much flesh, but it was
exciting as well.  I actually felt a little warm.

   I fully expected her to dismiss me for looking, but she didn't seem to
think anything was different, staying where she was before the dresser, her
bra now pressed over her.

   When I moved to do the hooking, try as I might, I couldn't help looking
into the dresser mirror.  Her bra, her cleavage, her belly, her belly
button, and the part below her navel were all in the looking glass!

   And in the mirror Auntie was looking directly back at me!

   A rush of blood made my vision blur so much that I mismatched the hooks.
I turned without fixing my error, not even giving her a chance to say thank
you.  I was ashamed of having seen my aunt in that way, but at the same
time, even more aroused.

   In our culture, a boy should not see a bared woman, but of course we
like to pass by the water tap when a girl of our own age is bathing.  An
elderly woman will bare her breasts, which is her habit.  A younger woman
will try to cover hers, but when she's unsuccessful, it's more sensational.

   A stronger rule, very much stronger, instructs that we should not be
aroused by a female of our own family, though that doesn't apply after
marrying a cousin.  There's no allowing for a nephew to be aroused by an
aunt, much less one who's married and elder.  It's a no-no.

   I don't know what made me look back, but when I did, our eyes met again,
this time directly, and she gave me a slight smile.

   I rushed away as fast as lightning.

   Her cleavage, her belly and the area below her navel stayed in my mind
through all the day, but so did my embarrassment.  When I came home that
afternoon, I didn't have the courage to take my lunch, I was so fearful of
coming face to face with Auntie.

   I was very hungry though and I couldn't even think, let alone do my
homework.  I was startled when she came to my room with a chapatti.  I was
grateful and even managed to come out to the dining room for fruit.

   As Auntie peeled my pear, I knew exactly what was under her kameez: her
bra (with its mishooking), her cleavage, her belly, the area below her
navel.

   When she gave me the fruit, I thought of her breast.

   "It's very sweet, Naeem," she promised.

   ***

   The next day Auntie stood before the dresser as if that's where we had
always done the hooking and when she lifted her kameez, her breasts were
fully exposed in the reflection.

   She realized her mistake quickly and covered herself saying, "Hai maan!"
[Oh mother!]

   In our culture, we see breasts and females see penises, but never at
close distance for any length of time.  This was my first time of seeing a
woman's breasts both closely and without hurry.  Auntie's were big and
round and supple and beautiful.  Her nipples were large like purple grapes.
Her wheaty flesh looked so soft.

   I of course turned, but had memorized everything.  Try as I might not
to, I again became erect and for that I was thankful I had turned away.

   When she called me back, I found her flushed.  I was flushed myself. 
When we resumed our positions and our eyes again met through the mirror, we
both looked away quickly.

   As I finished, she asked of me, "You'll not tell anyone, will you?"

   The question caught me by surprise.  Who would I dare tell?  "No one," I
promised.

   I would never tell anybody, but my eyes were seeing those breasts
through all of that day's classes, especially English where I thought of
many phrases regarding girls.  I prefer American English, rather than that
of the U.K., because the U.S.A.  is where there's action.  Not the U.K. 
"Shagging the bird," for example, but the American "Screwing the chick."

   Auntie came to my room immediately upon my return.  It took her a while
before speaking.  "I'm ashamed."

   I thought about my answer.  "There's nothing to be ashamed of.  It was
an accident."

   She smiled weakly.  "It won't happen again.  I'll take more care."

   I would have liked to see those breasts again, but knew I wouldn't.  At
least she wasn't telling me I couldn't continue the hooking.  I should feel
lucky for that much.

   Then she asked, "Did you feel uncomfortable?"

   "It was a fluke thing; I got over it," I fibbed.  I wasn't over it at
all.  Even as she stood there, I was picturing what I had seen.

   Her tug tightening her kameez against her front hinted knowing of my
fib, but I pretended not to notice again the hint of her nipple.

   "Don't tell anyone," she reminded, but her sly way of saying it said she
knew I wouldn't.

   When she looked down to see what had caught my eye, she smiled.  If
anything, she acted not that displeased about the accident.

   Auntie left, but not before I had to cross my hand over my lap in a
casual manner.

   ***

   Things were normal the next time as I did the hooking.  It was her most
red bra.  I felt down in the dump for having seen her breast the last time,
but Auntie wasn't acting so badly about it.

   It was pleasant to me, how afterwards she sorted without hurry through
her wardrobe for a matching kameez, leaving me to be a wide-eyed item of
furniture.

   But though seeing is believing, I didn't want to be a chair or
nightstand.  I wanted to be me.

   Then it came to me.  We had always done the hooking in silence, no
conversation above a thank you.  I needed to break the silence.

   The subject came without much searching.  "Auntie," I made my remark as
casually as possible, "you seem to prefer red today."

   That was the first time I acknowledged giving attention to what I was
doing.

   "It makes me feel special," she replied, equally casually.  I think she
was relieved at the breaking of silence.

   We actually had a conversation about her underwear!  It was so intimate
for us to discuss something so personal, but we had done it!

   "What next colour should I try?" She spoke it in such a relaxed manner.

   "I don't know.  I hear good things about black." My knowledge on the
subject was tales overheard on the schoolyard, but I liked phrasing it as
if I were in the know.

   As I later reflected, I couldn't believe suggesting that Auntie should
wear black underwear, but perhaps after hooking her bra so many times,
seeing her in so many, it was only a slight jump to offering an opinion. 
In our culture though, that's a big jump.

   ***

   A few days later Auntie announced, "I have for you a surprise," nodding
toward her dresser.

   On the dresser was a black lace bra, one not from the market, I would
have guessed, but from the shopping mall.

   "It's very pretty," I volunteered.

   The hooks seemed tiny, but I was by now well acquainted with such
things. I none the less took my time, letting my fingers move along the
thinness of the strap.

   Auntie didn't seem to mind when I lingered.  As the bra was new, the
shoulder straps were not yet in adjustment and she had me move the slides
until the fitting was comforting.

   When she turned for my inspection -- she must have been knowing I wanted
to look more closely -- I could see nipples through the lace, barely
visible because Auntie's colour was dark enough to blend in, but fully
notable in shape.

   She seemed pleased.  "Your face tells everything."

   I stuttered, "It's very black."

   But in so few words, a huge wall seemed lifted from between us, a wall
that consisted not only of silence and position, but of something else as
well, of another barrier.

   "Indeed.  It is very black," she agreed.  Her looking toward the window
gave me more time to please my eyes.  If anything, her nipples became more
noticeable, but the increase may have been in my imagination.

   In the selecting of that day's kameez -- so many colors go with black --
Auntie had me fetch one garment after the other, and with each trial, I
came again and again close to her, seeing so many times how the lace
moulded to her form.

   As I was leaving, Auntie added, "I'm going to feel embarrassed, but
guess what more?"

   I turned to see her lift her kameez enough high to expose her navel and
pull her salwar enough down to expose the top of a matched black panty.

   "I thought you would like knowing," she offered, her smile revealing
perhaps a little pleasure with her boldness.

   I just laughed and she laughed with me.  My aunt had showed me her new
panty!  Just the top edge, to be sure, but knowing of that was almost like
knowing everything.

   I tell you, there was an erection between my legs that lasted all day
long.  I kept thinking of Auntie in her black bra and black panty.

   She had agreed to my advice and chosen the colour I had suggested! 
Imagining her selecting at the shopping mall made me yet more excited. 
Women's underclothing is sold on tables at the market, but items of this
sort at the shopping center would be sold out of common viewage.

   As I said before, in our culture a nephew should not become aroused by
an elder aunt.  But how can that apply when the aunt has purchased a bra
and panty to please him?

   Auntie came to my room as soon as I retuned that afternoon.  There was
nothing she talked about, only organizing my library a little.  I easily
recognized the black under her kameez and knew that she was wearing her
matched panty.  Then she left quickly.

   By dinner hour when Uncle returned, Auntie was in an older bra that I
had fastened many times.

   ***

   Then came her purchase of a bra of white lace, one that she could never
wear under a choli.  Under a bra so thin, the darkness of Auntie's areola
would be so visible.  Perhaps this bra could be worn under a kurta, I
judged, but I somewhat wondered if it was also bought with her nephew in
mind.  It was clear to me that she enjoyed my approval.

   She smiled at my adventuring eyes as I completed the adjustments.  "How
do I appear, Naeem?"

   I had no choice but to be honest.  "Pretty," as I tried too late to look
elsewhere.

   "You can look.  It's not too much, is it?  I'm not showing too much?"

   This was indeed about me, too, I realized.  Her question gave
permission, an order, even, for my eyes to return.

   In our culture, a boy might glimpse the nipple shape of every female in
family, but would never be led to think of such a thing erotically.  Being
asked to judge on modesty, however, would arouse an entirely different
process of thought.  It's not what the boy would see; it's his admitting an
opinion.

   "Well, maybe, but no one is going to see," myself seeing everything.

   "But are you pleased with it?  I mean, you are the one who is seeing."
Auntie knew without error what was pleasing to me.

   "I'm not minding," I admitted.  "What does Uncle say?" I don't know why
I asked that, but the thought was in my mind.

   She scoffed at my simplicity.  "I don't show this, especially to your
uncle.  It's our secret, is it not?"

   Auntie's statement said a lot, but I didn't feel the weight of it until
so much later.  Certainly I would not spill the beans to Uncle.

   In our culture, utmost respect is given a household's eldest male, but
at the same time, sometimes it is more harmonious for that person to be
removed from certain delicate situations.  Whilst he would care not a whit
about a family member seeing the shape of his wife's nipples in passing, it
would be so disturbing to him knowing she'd worn a special bra to reveal
them in private.  For certain, this must remain a secret.

   I was still looking through the lace until Auntie pinched my cheek.  I
think she was enjoying herself; or rather she was enjoying the teasing she
was giving me.

   Following school, however, Auntie came to my room, this time rather
subdued.

   "Are you okay?" I asked.

   "I have a headache."

   "Sorry."

   "I've been worrying since this morning that I distracted you from your
studies."

   She didn't bother to explain, but waited for my reaction.

   "I didn't think so much about it," I lied.  It had been the sum of my
imagination, were the truth made known.  The geography of Japan had slipped
my mind, when called upon to recite it.

   "You didn't?"

   "Not too much." I looked into Auntie's eyes to convince her of my
sincerity.

   She smiled.  "But maybe not too little?" twisting my ear for not telling
the truth.  It's difficult play an elder aunt for a fool.

   I was not surprised before Uncle's return when Auntie beckoned me to
help her exchange her white lace bra for something less naughty.

   ***

   Next morning, she again chose the new white bra, though I knew she would
exchange after the showing.  When I finished the hooking, she faced me once
more.

   "Are you sure you're okay with it?"

   "I like it okay," as she fully knew.

   She bent nearer.  "Sweet boy." She had no reason to whisper, but that's
how she said it, so calmly.

   As I was about to exit, she called me back, "Naeem!"

   "Yes?"

   Auntie's face had lost its calmness.  "Unhook me," an order.

   That I had never done, an unhooking.

   She faced away as I complied.

   "Are you okay with this as well?"

   "Yes." I was seeing nothing new in her back, but I knew she was talking
about the unhooking.

   "And this?" dropping her newest purchase to the floor and turning to
face me.  Unrestrained, her breasts parted from each other.  Nipples that
in quick viewing had looked like grapes now looked like cashew nuts.  I
could see the darker veins running though her flesh, the goose bumps around
her areola.

   What I'd seen before was in passing, explainable as a small accident. 
It was like the girls at the water tap who of course noticed when my mates
and I passed by and maybe let their wrappings slip a small degree to tease
us.

   But now my aunt was topless before me, asking if I was okay with her
being that way!  She wasn't teasing me; she wasn't even asking a real
question.  What I did know now was her demand for a response.

   A thousand and one emotions went through my system in a millisecond.  My
cock went from zero to 90 degrees in a snap.  She must have heard that snap
as it hit the cloth and stretched it outward.

   I did the only thing that came to mind.  More accurately, perhaps, as my
mind had no ability to think, I moved with instinct to place a hand on each
of her breasts.

   Maybe Auntie had been thinking I wouldn't be so forward, but she didn't
move from me.  To feel every part of her breast under my touch was like
heaven on earth.  Her eyes were closed as I enjoyed her, but after a few
moments, she opened them and only then I whispered, "Yes, I'm okay with
it."

   She giggled.

   I didn't know what to do next, so I took my leave before she could
notice my arousal.

   Her softness stayed on my hands all through the day.  I didn't even
attend some of my classes.  I sat under a tree, hidden from view of most of
my school fellows, and came home early.  I went straight to my room and
collapsed on my bed.

   When Auntie slipped into my room, I didn't rise to greet her, as I
didn't wish to appear too eager.  She had draped her kameez with a dupatta.

   "I spent all day this way," she said in her whisper, the sway of breasts
apparent as she removed the dupatta.

   "Why?" I asked with a similar whisper.  No one could have heard if we
had used regular speaking.

   "Because you didn't hook me," giggling as she had that morning and
showing the bra wadded in her hand.

   "You could have asked Grandmother?"

   Auntie put her finger on my forehead.  "Only my nephew is to do the
hooking."

   I sat up and reached under her kameez, not to hook, but to touch.  There
was vigour in my squeezes.  I was being rough with her, maybe even harming
her breasts, I wondered afterwards.

   When she realized I didn't know how to stop, she pulled herself from me.
"Quickly before somebody discovers," placing the bra and turning for me to
do my task.

   After doing the hooking, I again reached around to her breasts until she
again giggled.

   "You're very kind to help me so sweetly, Naeem.  You must not forget to
hook me tomorrow."

   My blood was rushing through my body so fast that I felt dizzy.  My
brain couldn't keep up with my emotions.  I spent the whole evening on hot
coals, but the fire burnt through my passion enough that by morning, I was
calm and at least in control of my hands.

   ***

   When I held her breasts the next morning, Auntie did something
endearing, leading my head down to where I could kiss her flesh.  She was
rubbing my cheek whilst I caressed.  There was so much tenderness in her
touch that I practically melted.  She let me use my lips as I wished,
showering me in return with unspoken love.  My chest felt so heavy that the
feelings almost oozed out of my eyes.

   I was savouring such delicious dishes.  I had of course heard stories of
kissing a breast, and here I was actually experiencing how it feels to be
intimate with a woman!  I was a village boy in the big city for the first
time!

   I felt a little foolish for acting so emotional.  I couldn't say for
sure, but the hardness of her nipples told me she found it pleasurable.

   But if Auntie was no longer hiding herself from me, perhaps it was more
necessary to control my temptation.  One becomes nervous when playing to
close to the fire.  If Uncle discovered me kissing his wife's breasts, I
was a goner.  A boy is so lucky to have known his aunt's breasts, but it's
better safe than sorry.

   Being of cautious nature, I resolved to be more restrained in future
encounters.  As they say, "It is better safe than sorry."

   ***

   So I ceased touching, other than in the hooking of her bra, even whilst
knowing I had adventured further without her stopping.  Even when she was
very careless, barely holding her bra over her, I stood my ground.

   To Auntie, though, it perhaps seemed as if I was again formal.  I could
tell that she was confused.

   Finally she asked.  "Why is it that you do not touch me any more?"

   I was taken aback, but before I could answer, she pursued, "I wait for
your hand to come and it is not coming.  Have I done something wrong?  You
kissed me there, even!"

   I was feeling blame for having done a thing, but now I was feeling blame
for not having done a thing.  What was I to be doing?

   "No.  It's not that way." For lacking a better excuse, I spoke the
truth. "I don't know what I'm to do."

   Auntie stared at me and slapped me in the face, hard enough to hurt.  "I
can't believe what you say!  I've let you do with me as you please.  Does
that not tell you?  You are the man!"

   I wasn't sure what that all meant, but I touched her breast and she
smoothed where she had slapped me.  After only a short time, she led my
face downward and I kissed her as I'd kissed before.  Perhaps the waiting
made the taste of Auntie's breasts even sweeter.

   ***

   When next I went to do the hooking, we hugged, but not in the way a
nephew and aunt should be hugging.  I would have not started the hugging
myself, but when she took me, it was a cinch to respond with enthusiasm.

   She was so soft and so warm, holding herself against me to soak me with
tenderness.  I wanted to absorb every part of her.  When she let my leg
press the flat place above where her thighs came together, I could only
hope that her allowance was not to feel my hardness.  Hugging in this way
makes you aware of such things.

   But what was I to do when her knees embraced mine?  My undershorts and
trousers did little to prevent my arousal being made known and the movement
of her body was such that she was feeling every part of me.  Auntie's eyes
were shut as she wiggled herself until I, too, rubbed back so she would be
knowing everything.

   Her eyes had been closed the first time I had touched her breasts.  Now
they were closed as she came to know my excitement.

   I was so lucky to still be maintaining control of my emotions when
Grandmother called from the kitchen for someone to help relight the gas.

   ***

   Nothing was said between us next morning as we waited for Uncle to leave
and for Grandmother and my younger aunt to go to market.  It wasn't as if
we had a plan, but on the other hand, perhaps the way we hugged yesterday
is how plans become drawn.

   Auntie stood in front of me topless, perhaps almost as hesitant as
myself.  When I reached to take off her salwar, I was serious, but not too
sure of what would happen.

   After a slight pause, she herself loosened the nala and let her salwar
drop to the floor.  She stood awkwardly, her hand shielding the black
triangle so apparent through her panty.

   I came close and moved her hand aside.  She lifted one foot and then the
other when I removed her panty.

   My breath was coming so hard and fast that it was getting stuck on the
sides of my throat.  I swallowed hard.  I must have been yellow in the face
as all the blood must have drained from it.  I was in it hook, line and
sinker.  The world lay before my eyes.

   Suddenly smiling, she took my face in her hands, "Calm yourself or
you'll faint."

   I had thought I knew my role as the man, but maybe I needed slight help.

   Auntie perhaps decided the same.  "Let me see you," placing her hand
between my legs.  As no one never ever touched me there before, I squirmed
when she felt my hardness, but she must have been knowing, as she didn't
seem surprised.

   She lifted me outward until she could grasp me fully.  "You seem to have
serious desire," using her other hand to unbutton my shirt.  I could see a
certain satisfaction in her appraisal.

   I was nervous, but not enough to dispute her observation.  A married
aunt is superior to an unmarried nephew in knowledge of sex.

   The relief of not having to make each decision left me feeling free.  I
rushed through undressing and stood in front of her naked, my cock pointing
towards the ceiling fan.  I was without hesitation in letting her take me
in hand.

   "Naeem," she ordered.  "Have you had experience with a woman?"

   "Not exactly."

   "Look at my eyes.  Have you?"

   "No."

   "Have you looked at me with certain thoughts?"

   I nodded.

   "Not here," indicating her breasts.  "All of me." Auntie would have
known of my certain thoughts from hugging, but perhaps she found it good to
make me admit the same.

   I nodded again.

   "Then you must learn," in absolute seriousness.  She paused, watching me
as a snake might watch a bird.  "But you must tell nobody.  Your uncle
would be too angry."

   "Maybe..." I started, but Auntie wasn't taking maybe for an answer.  She
quickly stepped to her bed, lay down and with a lifting of her nose
motioned me to follow.

   I was maybe not that confident, but having confessed my certain
thoughts, went to her.

   "This is for my happiness, too," she admitted, which made me feel a bit
older.

   When Auntie opened her thighs, I feared I might climax on the quilt, the
sight of what I saw, but I regained some composure by thinking of the
American idiom, "Fools rush in."

   She asked me to overshadow her with my body, a position requiring much
skin delightfully touching.  I at first was hesitant regarding touching my
cock against her body, but it was difficult to avoid.  When she raised her
leg to have contact, though, her agreement was made known.

   When I was more fully above her, she pulled me upward until my cock
touched every part of her breast, but when I became nervous, she let me
settle myself more squarely on the mark.

   When my cock poked her pubic place, she let me push it against the hair,
but soon grabbed me with a surety that sent shivers up my spine and rubbed
me down and up until I could feel wetness between her legs.

   Unlike yesterday, I knew that Grandmother's call wouldn't interrupt us.

   Auntie was taking pleasure, of this I could be certain by the way she
teased.  Being a married woman, she was knowledgeable regarding how far she
might engage me without my loss of control.

   For my part, I took my own pleasure in knowing Auntie's increasing
anticipation for the screwing.  One might think that an older aunt would be
of lesser emotion, but this is not the case.  She was as fit as a fiddle.

   In our culture, Auntie shouldn't do what she was doing, but by now I
realized that Auntie was a modern woman.  The times they are a-changing.

   Finally she guided my cock to her most female place.  "Very slowly," she
ordered.  "You're young."

   I felt myself getting inside her and shook with the force of sheer
pleasure as the doors to heaven started to open.

   "Ohhh, Naeem," she encouraged in a less aunt-like, less smooth voice
when I passed some magical place.  Maybe it was a physical place or maybe
it was a thought place; of that I'm not certain.  As to the physical, she
was very wet within, making my progress problem free.

   As there was no need of her hand to further guide me, she grasped about
my shoulders, allowing me better opportunity to enjoy my situation.  Her
deepest place became known to me and it pleased me to have reached so far.
Of course she was grabbing me with her legs to further my entrance, so I
don't deserve all the responsibility.

   "Ohhh, Naeem!" I felt a bit scared at the voice now coming out of her
throat.  It was good that the house was empty.

   After the most splendid lingering, she whispered for me to pull back,
but when the head was about to leave her, she grabbed my behind and
returned me into her.

   I at first feared I might last not so long, but now that I was again in
her, my confidence improved.  Auntie was the teacher, but I was always
known to be a willing student.

   For a coincidental reason I thought of "Alice's Adventures in
Wonderland" by the English author Lewis Carroll.  Alice had adventured down
a tunnel to find a mysterious place.

   I kept moving in and out, with an occasional push (at my own deciding)
to hold myself all the way in.  The movement came quite by nature, if I do
say so.  Auntie was finding it very agreeable also, I noted, by the hurry
of her breathing and the closing of her eyes.

   For so many moments, the two of us worked in sensational cooperation, my
cock going about its business.

   Then, to my surprise, Auntie arched upward with strength greater than my
weight downward.  "Ohhh, aaaahhh!"

   It was all I could do to be maintaining my superior position.

   "Ohhh, Naeem!" as her body shivered and jerked.

   Yes!  I told myself when I realized I was pleasing Auntie to the
fullest. Knowing such gave me even the ability to increase my role.

   I knew she was reaching the heavens, even if I didn't exactly know what
it involved for a female.  Knowing I was giving that to someone so
experienced even made me feel somewhat haughty.

   And soon I felt the signal to please myself as well.  "Auntie!"

   "Don't call me Auntie," but I was too far gone to care.  My liquid spilt
forward, first in big spurts, then in short ones and she held me inward for
as long as it took for my last juices to leak into her.

   Auntie let me linger within until there was nothing left of me.

   We were both pleasured.  When I departed to school, she was in a common
bra and kissing me to beat the band.  Whilst perhaps I had not done
everything in perfect manner, the fact that my aunt had so wonderfully
expressed her heavenliness spoke a mouthful.

   Success of course must also be credited to Auntie.  In English, "mate"
can refer to either one's colleague or to the act of union.  To a complete
degree, we qualified in either meaning, Auntie and I.  As they say, it
takes two to tangle.

   Needless to say, I wasn't in the mood for studies, but I had
examinations upcoming.  I spent that day's classroom hours, however,
remembering the "Ohhh, Naeem!"

   ***

   Auntie presented Uncle with girl baby Seetha precisely 262 days after
that morning of my manhood.  I counted them in my diary.  Human gestation
requires approximately 260 days.  I researched that at an internet cafe.

   Maybe Seetha is other than my cousin, but as Auntie said of her best
white bra, "It's our secret." We're all one family, though not all of us
(especially Uncle) know to what degree.

   I didn't do that well on my completion examinations, but Uncle's
connection to the Ministry of Finance assured my admission to university.

   And yes, my story does mention my younger aunt, virgin at the time. 
There's a second chapter to be told, but you'll have to request this
story's second author about it, since I am now owning a software startup in
Mumbai.  We process your phone bills if you live in certain of the United
States.

   Our commercial future, however, is much more in China.  Unfortunately I
do not know the language, but money talks.  The sun rises in the east.

   THE END

   The following chapter's posted as "My American Bra."

   Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to the server.  My
problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As
literary errors (or just lame word usages) are made known, I'll repair that
which is salvageable on /~Holly_Rennick.  If you take
the time to read me, don't wade through an early version.

   You can contact me via the site's message form.
   Holly