Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Title: Auntie and I Ch.01


Summary: A nineteen-year-old's aunt teaches him about sex.


Keywords: inc,fic



   Auntie and I have a secret.  It's a secret shared with eight other
women, women who live quiet lives up in Toad Harbor, Maine.  It happened
the summer of my nineteenth year, but, I should start at the beginning...

   My father died before I was born, shipped off to the Gulf War not long
after what I can only hope was a beautiful night of loving sex with my
mother.  I've had inklings over the years that make me think maybe it
wasn't such a beautiful night, and wasn't such loving sex, but I still like
to think of it that way, my mother the beautiful peasant girl, my father
the handsome prince, just like in the movies.

   My Aunt Pamela helped raise me.  She's my father's little sister, just
eighteen at the time of his death.  A talented artist with no money to go
to college, she stayed home and freelanced for a local advertising company,
sold her own paintings at art fairs, and helped my mother with me, the
baby. Mom named me Jonathon, the same as my father.  Most everybody calls
me Jon.

   As soon as I learned to talk I started calling Pamela "Auntie".  I still
like the ring of it, the way it rolls off the tongue.  Mom and Auntie, they
raised me into a boy, and eventually, a man.  From day one there was a
strong emphasis on respecting women, treating them the way a man should,
with love and reverence for their womanhood.  Maybe it wasn't quite that
sappy, but you get the idea.  I learned over the years that my dad probably
never got those lessons when he was growing up.  There were quiet whispers
of abuse, whispers I tried to close my ears to.  It all made sense in a
way, clarifying the reasons why I was taught the way I was, the reasons why
I think of women as Mother Nature's greatest triumph.

   I'm twenty-six now, married, with a boy of my own, living the good life
in Southern California.  I wouldn't be here without my father and his
family.  His parents passed away when I was seventeen, one from cancer and
the other from a broken heart.  The inheritance went to my mother and
Auntie, my mother's half financing my college education at a prominent
design school.  Freshman year I took an automotive design class and that
gave me my direction -- I minored in drawing and painting, but designing
cars became my passion.  Now, I happily spend my days working on top secret
projects at a Japanese car company's American design studio, and my
weekends are full of laughter at the beach with my beautiful wife and
child.

   But this story isn't about all that.  It's about the summer of my
nineteenth year, a summer burned into my memory.  The smell of spruce, and
low tide.  The smell of fishing boats, and oil paint on freshly stretched
canvas.  The sound of charcoal pencils on rough artist's paper.  The taste
of woman.

   You see, Auntie Pamela had taken her inheritance and ran.  That's how it
seemed at the time, to me.  Mom seemed to understand, but she was saddened
when her sister-in-law, her best friend, moved away.  Auntie had long been
in love with the coast of Maine.  It seems to be an almost universal
affliction among artists, drawn to the haunting light and the rocky, watery
scenes like moths to a flame.  Auntie used her money to buy a small
storefront with an apartment upstairs, in a small coastal fishing community
that was starting to developing into a haven for artists.  A few art
galleries had already opened on Main Street and Auntie sensed a real
opportunity, a chance to buy-in before real estate values started going up.
Mom and I visited her soon after she moved up there.  We stayed for two
weeks the summer before I started college.  The old store didn't look like
much at that point, having been empty for over a decade.  We spent part of
our vacation helping her rip out horrid looking wall-to-wall carpeting,
dirty orange and faded green, probably installed in the sixties, and
smelling at least that old.

   "Oh, I love this concrete!" Auntie said, excited when she saw what lay
beneath the old carpet.  "I can stain it and make it look like leather."

   My mother smiled and said, "You could make mud look pretty if you put
your mind to it."

   By the end of the day we'd deposited every scrap of the old carpet in a
dumpster out behind the marine supply store across the road, thanks to
Auntie sweet-talking the owner.  Her big breasts might have had something
to do with it.  Did I mention she has big breasts?  They were sweaty and
braless under a dirty white t-shirt when she went over to talk to the man.
She was smiling when she came back.  "We're in," she said.  "He said we can
use it for some other things, too, as long as I give him all my marine
business.  He knows I don't have a boat!" she said, smiling.

   When I think back on those two weeks I realize that was when I started
to get an inkling of the power that women hold over men.  Sexual power.  I
shouldn't say they hold it over us, because they don't for the most part,
but it's always there, always playing a roll.  Auntie Pamela is a beautiful
woman with a million dollar smile.  She doesn't look like a model or a
magazine girl, more like the girl next door with the big bazoombas and the
hourglass hips, full bodied in the voluptuous sense, with soft but not
unpleasant bulges where she probably didn't want them.  Muffin tops, I've
heard them called.  To me, looking at her with the hormonal eyes of an
adolescent young man, she looked like a wonderful playground.  They were
emotions I hadn't felt at home before she'd moved away, but not seeing her
for a while made her look new.  It was all me, I realize now, the
adolescent pathways in my brain rearranging, changing females from
back-lot-baseball partners to something so much more.  Did I mention Auntie
has big breasts?

   Those two weeks in Maine were a revelation.  I'd never seen the ocean
before, and what a spectacular place to see it!  We spent part of a day on
the rocks at Pemaquid, in the shadow of the iconic lighthouse, Auntie and I
with our sketch pads, Mom happily reading a book.

   One day we drove to Acadia National Park.  We walked the carriage roads,
hiked some trails, listened to the waves at Thunder Hole.  We had lunch at
a restaurant in Bar Harbor and I fell in love.  A Japanese girl was eating
at a nearby table with her parents.  They didn't speak much English, but
she was fluent.  She saw me sketching and came over to look.  I blushed, my
face bright pink, when she saw the drawing was of her.  Some sort of
electricity shot through both of us.  I could see it in her eyes and hear
it in her soft voice.  I would have married her on the spot, the way they
did in the old days, but, alas, I was seventeen and she was gone from my
life as quick as she'd appeared.

   By the end of the two weeks, Auntie's gallery was stripped of its former
ugliness, the nice man across the road's dumpster was overflowing, and the
small upstairs apartment felt like home.  The Japanese girl was still on my
mind.  I was very sad to leave Maine, nearly in tears, deeply unhappy to
leave Auntie behind and terrified about my upcoming move to college.

   "You're going to love it!" she said, hugging me tight against the warmth
of her bosom.  "I would have given anything to be in your shoes.  Love it
for me, will you, Jon?  Love it for me."

   As we were leaving, walking though the empty old store, Auntie said
something that made my heart dance.  "You know, by next summer this place
will be busy.  I'll need help during the tourist season, otherwise I won't
have time to work on my paintings.  And I want to give classes, too.  Jon,
would you be at all interested in spending part of your summer here?  I'll
pay you.  It'll be a real job."

   I looked at my mother and she looked neutral.  I found out later that
she was disappointed I wouldn't be home with her, but she knew it was a
good opportunity for me to grow.  College was one thing, but it wasn't real
life.  Living in a small village, working at a gallery, it sounded perfect
in a lot of ways.  She signed off on it quickly, and I was over the moon. I
suddenly couldn't wait until next summer.

   --

   My first year at college was a watershed year.  The virginity I was
starting to worry about ended with a bang, an after-party coupling in my
dorm room with a cute Asian girl.  I'd developed an attraction to the
dark-haired beauties after the fleeting encounter in that Bar Harbor
restaurant.  The girl in my dorm room wasn't even a student, she was a
local girl who'd wandered into the party with some of her friends.  It
turned out they were more than a little slutty, seen in previous years
prowling the dorms looking for fresh boyfriends who had money.  I wasn't
one of those, and it ended up being a one night stand, but I didn't care.
My aching cock had found its real purpose in life, and I was a happy guy.

   The other thing I learned that night was that sex didn't have to be a
private event.  My two roommates and I all had girls wrapped around us, all
in the same room.  There was no swapping, but there was plenty of visuals
and exciting sounds.  Six naked people having a serious go at it.  An end
to my virginity that truly opened my eyes.

   A more serious relationship came and went.  In looks, she was the
opposite of an Asian girl, a crystal-blue-eyed natural blonde with long
legs.  She had the same muffin-top softness that Auntie has, and breasts
almost as big.  Her sexual appetite was voracious, much to my delight.  My
roommates were delighted, too, because she wasn't shy.  I'm sort of
surprised she didn't take us all on at least one time, after a drink or two
too many, but she never did.  The relationship ended fairly amicably, right
before summer break.  She left me horny, and a whole lot more experienced.

   And then it was summer, and I was nineteen.  I went home and spent a
week with my mother and her new dog, a kindly, bear-like Newfoundland that
had replaced me in her somewhat lonely life.  I packed the things I thought
I'd need in Maine and I got on a bus.  Auntie met me in Portland.

   "You've changed," were the first words out of her mouth.  Her eyes
twinkled as she scanned me, head to toe, settling on my face, which she
scanned even deeper.  "Girls," she said.  "Am I right?"

   To this day I don't know how she knew so quickly, but she did.

   We had dinner in Portland, near the waterfront.  It was wonderful to see
Auntie looking so full of life.  We fell into easy conversation just like
we always seemed to do, talking about my mother, my classes, drawing,
painting, the gallery and her new life in Maine.  She seemed truly happy.

   It was a three hour drive up the coast to Toad Harbor, the final leg a
narrow two-lane down a long peninsula, over a few bridges, ending at the
small village on the rocky harbor I remembered, some of the rocks as big as
islands.  The oddly sweet smell of low tide was in the air, and a fog was
rolling in.

   "Did you bring flannel shirts and a jacket like I told you?" she asked.
"Summer's different up here."

   I could already feel it, the fog bringing an evening chill that felt
refrigerated.

   Auntie parked on the street in front of her gallery's big storefront
window, and my eyes barely recognized it.  A stunning large format painting
sat on a wooden easel in the window, lit with soft spotlight that was
turned down dim for the nighttime.  The lights inside were dim, too, but I
could see that the walls were lined with paintings and other framed work,
and it looked like there were some sculptures on stands.  A professionally
painted sign hung over the big window: TOAD HARBOR ARTS

   "Oh my God," I said.  "It's fantastic!"

   Auntie smiled.  She was proud, and rightly so.  "I'll give you the tour
later.  Let's go upstairs so you can unpack."

   Unpacking led to beer drinking, which led to sitting around talking some
more.  Auntie was worried about the beer, big trouble, she said, if anyone
found out she was giving it to me, but I assured her I wasn't a
lightweight.

   Halfway though our third bottle, it was getting late.  "You're
different, too," I said, letting the statement hang there.  I scanned her
with my eyes the way she'd scanned me, hoping she'd break down and tell me
something, but she didn't.  "Sorry, I got nothing," I said, my mischievous
smile drawing one from her.

   "You little stinker," she said.  "What, can't tell if your Auntie's
gettin' any?  Just for that I'm gonna make you tell me."

   "Tell you what?"

   "About your first time.  All the details."

   "No way!"

   "How long did you last?  Was it a quick spurt?"

   "Auntie!" I said, my eyes darting between hers.  Her face was alive with
excitement, different than I'd ever seen it.  My cock was acting different
than it ever had around her, too, suddenly rock hard in my pants.

   "Describe her to me," Auntie said.  "Were did you meet her?"

   I told her the story of the party and the party girls, me and my
roommates getting lucky all at once.  Auntie seemed particularly interested
in the "all in the same room" aspect, asking how much I could see of the
others, how much I watched, if I minded them watching me.  It was a little
like psychoanalysis.  I learned some things about myself from her
questions, and I learned some things about her from them, too.

   "A one night stand, that kinda sucks," she said, tipping her third empty
bottle into her mouth, hoping for more than the last drop.  "Got your
noodle all interested and then you had nothing.  Who was next?  Don't tell
me that was it for the year."

   Auntie liked my girlfriend better, and seemed quietly pleased at my
description of her body type.  I didn't come right out and say "big tits"
and "muffin top", but she got the gist and smiled softly when she realized
I like curvy, squishy girls.

   "A tit man, huh?" she said, smirking at me.  "I have a theory.  The only
men who don't like big tits are the ones who've never gotten their hands on
a pair."

   I could have sworn her arms squeezed her breasts together slightly,
making them look even bigger than their normal bigness, but I might have
imagined it.

   We ended the wonderful evening with a tour of the gallery.  I followed
her down the creaky back stairs, across the dimly lit back room to the
electrical panel.  Auntie switched on the lights.

   "This is where I teach my classes," she said, walking me between all the
easels, showing me the little stage where models pose.  "You've seen it all
in life drawing class, right?  Do you do men and women, both?"

   "Yup," I said.  "They're students.  They get paid a little."

   "I haven't told you much about my students, have I?" she said.  "They're
all married women, fisherman's wives, mostly.  This village is so isolated
down here, there's not a whole lot for them to do.  I have eight, now, and
really the only way to get models is for them to do it themselves.  It
wasn't easy to get them out of their clothes, and they still won't do
anything more than topless.  There's all types, but definitely a few
with...let's call them voluptuous."

   Auntie opened the drawer of a flat file and pulled out some drawings. 
"They all keep the nudes here for the most part.  Most of 'em think their
husbands wouldn't understand.  One thing you'll learn is that most of the
men around here are very conservative."

   Auntie pulled out drawing after drawing.  It felt odd to see all the
women bare-breasted before I'd met them clothed, but artists are supposed
to be detached when it comes to nudity.  That's when the drawings of Maria
started coming out of the drawer.

   "Whoa!" I said, a little too loudly.

   Auntie smiled.  "She's a hottie, huh?  I knew she was, but oh, man, when
she unhooked her bra and let it drop there was a hush from all the other
ladies that gave me goosebumps."

   Auntie showed me all seven of the drawings of Maria, some of them well
done.  One of the women had obviously focused her efforts on breasts and
nipples, and she'd done pretty well capturing the feel of what I would have
seen myself -- the sexy essence of soft, firm flesh, the lovely line of the
ski-jump curve of them, and the suckable quality of the most sculptural
nipples I'd ever seen.  Maria appeared to be a rather spectacular looking
young woman.

   "How's my tit man doin'?" Auntie said, smiling at the mesmerized look on
my face.  "Gonna make it?"

   I suddenly realized I had a throbbing boner, lumping out my pants plain
as day.  "Should I be...seeing these?" I asked.  "What if I meet these
women?"

   "You'll meet them," Auntie said.  "Just don't say anything about it."

   My education about the eight wives was slow but steady.  It seemed odd
that it started with a parade of bare breasts, but I wasn't in a position
to complain, and didn't want to anyway.  As I remember and contemplate that
summer, as I've done for years now, I often wonder if Auntie had a master
plan that she carried out to perfection.  What I do know for sure is she
had me fully aroused within hours of my arrival, the crotch of my pants
full of hardness more than once, with her loving eyes more than glancing at
it, making me blush.  Either Auntie was a sly one, or she innocently fell
into the path of the rolling snowball and was carried away by it the same
way I was.  Even now, seven years later, I'm still not sure which it is.

   --

   Tourist season in Maine doesn't really get up to full speed until July,
so I had some time to draw and paint and do some poking around before
Auntie needed me to man the gallery.  My mother made a quick visit, but she
didn't want to leave the dog in the kennel too long, so she was gone soon
after she'd arrived.  Toad Harbor was such a sleepy little village, it was
hard for me to believe it would come alive with tourists in the heart of
the summer.  It turned out I was right.  It was pretty much a sleepy little
village all year 'round.  Oh, there were cars that came into town, many of
them art enthusiasts and collectors who'd read about the galleries there,
but even in 'high season' it was pretty darn quiet, by my standards anyway.
It didn't surprise me at all that some of the local women wanted to take
off their tops and draw each other's tits.  There just wasn't much else to
do.

   Personally, I enjoyed the quiet.  Freshman year at college had been a
whirlwind, so it was nice to spend my days sketching and then go back to
the little upstairs apartment for a critique from my favorite artist.  I
guess I didn't mention yet that the apartment was very small.  The entire
back half of the upstairs was the office space for the old store, and
Auntie used it for storage mostly, with a corner work table set up for
matting and framing, and another table for crating and un-crating,
packaging, shipping and that kind of thing.  That left half of the upstairs
for a two bedroom apartment.  If you told me it was built with little
people in mind I'd say that's about right.  Auntie didn't seem to mind.  We
bumped into each other often, and it always drew a laugh out of her.  The
narrow hallway wasn't built for two full sized people.  There were plenty
of times she could have ducked into an open doorway when I needed to pass,
but she always chose to flatten herself against the wall as best she could
and let me squeeze by.  I never knew if she was going to go face to the
wall or back to the wall until she did it.  She giggled either way, but one
time, when I squeezed past her soft, warm ass, with both of us in
sweatpants and me half-hard from watching some porn, her giggle turned into
a soft moan.  I remember it registering in my brain in an odd sort of way.
We were two weeks into our cohabitation at that point, and she sort of felt
like a college roommate.  Sweatpants were our usual uniform.  Auntie was
braless under her t-shirts in the mornings and evenings, and quite possibly
pantyless too.  The bathroom door didn't necessarily have to be closed
tight and latched.  We felt like buds.  So the moan in the hallway was no
big deal, even though I thought about it for the next few days, wondering
if it would happen again.

   I started meeting the wives within the first few days, even though I
wasn't officially working yet.  Meredith and Abigail were the first,
stopping into the gallery to say hello when Auntie and I were hanging a
huge painting.  It wasn't going smoothly and we were both sweating, worried
about damaging the expensive frame.

   "Oh my God, that looks heavy," Meredith said.  "Can we help?"

   "Down, down, down," Auntie said to me.  We lowered the massive painting
to the folded up blanket on the floor.  "Damn!" she said, looking at the
dents in the soft parts of her fingers.  "I need gloves."

   "Hi, I'm Jon," I said, extending my hand to the women.  I recognized
them as two of the art class students from the topless sketches I'd seen --
Meredith with the low-hanging handfuls, Abigail flatter chested, with
nipples that stuck out like those pegs you put coat hangers on.  It was
awkward having that information in my mind.  I was starting to wish I
didn't have such a good memory.

   "This is the handsome nephew I told you girls about," Auntie said. 
"He'll be with us all summer.  I'm hoping to persuade him to model for us."

   "Oh, wow," I said, flashing a blank stare at my aunt.  "We hadn't
really...talked about that."

   Auntie shrugged her shoulders.  "We'll see," she said.

   Meredith and Abigail had blank stares, too.  I can only guess they were
contemplating having me sit naked on the little stage in the back room. 
I'd only just met them so couldn't be sure, but it appeared all the color
drained out of their faces.

   "What are you two up to?" Auntie asked them.

   "Oh, just out for our walk," Meredith said, still looking a bit stunned.
"I need some eggs at the store."

   They seemed embarrassed and left a few moments later.  Abigail hadn't
said a word.

   It was like the floodgates opened after that, the rest of the wives
seemingly coming out of the woodwork.  I can only guess it was to have a
look at me.  Dina and Ginette.  Phoebe.  Celine and Leah.  Everyone but
Maria.  I was beginning to wonder if she was still one of Auntie's students
when she walked in out of a foggy morning, just like a character from a
movie.  A swirl of fog even followed her in through the door.  I was alone
in the gallery, holding down the fort while Auntie was out running errands.

   "Oh, hello," Maria said.  "You must be Jon." She extended a delicate
hand that squeezed mine tighter than I expected.  "I'm Maria, one of
Pamela's students."

   "Yes.  I mean, she did mention there was one I hadn't met."

   "You met all of them already?" she said.  "Wow, word travels fast around
here."

   Maria's amused smile was lovely, and the rest of her, well, I was
feeling a little faint as I imagined her sitting topless on the posing
stage in the back room.  She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. 
Dark and exotic, like a gypsy, with a body that was the stuff of a horny
man's dreams.  My dreams.  I was trying to claw myself out of one of them
when Auntie walked in.

   "Maria!  How nice!  What brings you out in this fog?"

   "I was told I had to get down here and see your new employee," she said,
looking right inside me with her black, barely smiling eyes.

   "What do you think?" Auntie said.  "Will he do?  He doesn't clash with
the decor, does he?"

   "No," Maria said.  "He doesn't."

   She and Auntie started chatting about the crew on one of the fishing
boats; one of the new men had gotten arrested and Maria's husband was
hoping to hire a new hand.

   "Do you know anything about fishing, Jon?" she asked.  "It pays a lot
more than working here."

   "Don't even think about it!" Auntie said to me.  "You're mine this
summer!"

   "I wasn't thinking about it," I said.  "Besides, the pay'll be pretty
good here when you give me extra for modeling."

   Auntie looked at me funny, and glanced at Maria.  I was panicking a
little inside.  Taking off my clothes in front of the eight wives, in front
of Maria, in front of Auntie, seemed out of the question.  And yet, I'd
just offered it up.

   "You'll be modeling for us?" Maria asked, looking excited.  "Wow. 
That'll be...fun."

   "Tell the others," Auntie said to her, "but lets all keep this quiet,
all right?  I don't want a bunch of angry husbands coming down here giving
us grief.  It's just figure drawing class, but a lot of them wouldn't
understand."

   "Right," Maria said.  "Yes, we'll keep it under wraps."

   She smiled, looking happy and a little shy.  Her face was intoxicating,
and the rest of her more like heroin, dangerous but irresistible.  Auntie
told me later that Maria was born in Portugal, the daughter of a fisherman.
The family had come to Maine when she was ten, which explained the unusual
trace of an accent that I couldn't place.  She was twenty-eight years old
and already firmly entrenched in the life of a fisherman's wife.

   The other women were older, ranging from thirty to fifty-six.  Five were
married to fisherman, one to a mail carrier, and one to a diver who
specialized in working on the hulls of the fishing fleet.  I didn't think
too much about all that.  The modeling thing was stuck in my head.  It
seemed like an okay thing to do.  Men modeled nude at school, so it
couldn't be all that bad.  I was glad Auntie said it would stay quiet,
though.  That seemed smart.  I could already see how news in a small
village traveled fast, and bad news probably spread even faster.  If I was
really going to take my clothes off, I wanted as few people as possible to
know about it.

   --

   Auntie suggested I call her Pam or Pamela when we were at the gallery.
She thought it might be more comfortable for me when the others were
around, less childish sounding than "Auntie." I agreed.  I'd actually been
thinking about doing it, but I didn't know if she'd like it.  I was working
full time with her, learning the business, and it seemed silly to revert to
Auntie in the evenings, so Pamela it was.  It seemed more adult than Pam,
sexy even, although I wasn't sure why that angle was in my head.

   The first art class with me involved took place on a Tuesday night.  I
was interested to see how it all worked.  It was exciting, really, with a
lot of nice energy in the air.  I wondered how much of it had to do with
me. None of the women had been around to say hello for days and I was a
little worried that my willingness to model had disrupted the regular
routine, but on Tuesday night at seven o'clock all the ladies were there,
most of them dressed in jeans and simple shirts, ready to work.  Some
looked a little shy, and some looked excited.  All of them seemed to have a
happy twinkle in their eye.

   Auntie had asked me to bring down a box of wine and a bowl of pretzels
from the apartment.  The women all chipped in to buy the weekly wine.  The
buzzing conversation quieted when my footsteps on the creaky staircase
announced my arrival.  It felt odd to be wearing nothing but a bathrobe in
the middle of a gathering of women.  My hairy legs showed out the bottom,
and my newly hairy chest showed out the top.  My cock was blessedly soft,
only subtly pushing at the front.

   "There's our handsome man," Auntie said.

   "Where do you want these, Pamela?" I asked.

   There were many smiles when they heard me call her Pamela.  I blushed a
little.  Maybe Auntie was the better choice?  They probably would have
smiled at that, too.

   "Over here on this table, Jon.  We keep the glasses in this cupboard
here."

   Auntie was setting out the glasses when I got there, bent over in her
tie-dyed peasant dress, her heavy bosom hanging braless, opening the
low-cut dress like a window to heaven.  I fumbled the bowl, almost spilling
the pretzels, and I felt my cock double in size.  I was in trouble, and
class hadn't even started.

   Luckily, drinking seemed to be the first order of the day, so I hid my
problem behind the wine box and I filled glasses, including one for me.

   "No tattlers about underage drinking, okay, girls?" Auntie said.  "Jon's
only nineteen."

   "Nineteen?" Ginette said, looking happily surprised.  "Oh my..."

   At fifty-six, Ginette was the oldest of the women, old enough to be my
grandmother, I suppose.  That wasn't something I wanted to think about, so
I picked out her best features and thought about how I would draw them. 
Her lovely eyes were the standout, and the turned up corners of her mouth.
She looked quite good in her bluejeans, too, once I started thinking about
it.

   "Surprising, right?" Auntie said.  "I think he looks very mature for
nineteen.  It's the dark hair and the dark eyes, and all that nice hair on
him, I guess.  How tall are you, Jon?"

   "Six two," I said.  "One eighty last time I checked, if we're...doing
stats."

   "We won't tell you how much we weigh," Auntie said.

   All the women chuckled in agreement.  There was nervousness in many of
their laughs, and on some of their faces.

   "There's plenty of wine, girls, and we're all walking home, so drink up.
Your sketches will be better if you're loose."

   Auntie gave me the bottoms up signal, encouraging me to finish my wine.
I guess she thought I looked nervous, and she was right.  She refilled my
glass and I guzzled it halfway down.

   "Fill that up and bring it with you," she said.  "Why don't you take
your place.  Are we ready, girls?  Ready to make some art?"

   I was relieved that my cock was behaving, and the quickly ingested wine
felt warm and mellow.  I was suddenly excited to be there, in a room with
good energy, with art to be made.  I strolled to the little stage, set my
glass down, slipped off my robe and took my place on the high,
barstool-like chair.  You could hear a pin drop in the room, and a couple
of audible gasps.

   It wasn't terribly surprising to see some of the women staring at me
with open mouths, but seeing Auntie that way did surprise me.  I glanced
down at myself to make sure everything was all right, and I was greeted by
the sight of pretty damn big cock.  The boner I'd sprung looking down
Auntie's dress had softened, but the length and girth hadn't dissipated
much.  My cock is funny that way, a grower not a shower, but a very slow
shrinker.

   "Now that's a male specimen," Auntie finally said.  "We can draw that,
right girls?"

   There were murmurs and nervous nods.  More wine was consumed.  Charcoal
pencils started scratching on art paper.  Drawing was underway.

   "Pay attention to your basics, girls," Auntie said.  "Light and shadow.
Don't let the form overwhelm you.  Light and shadow.  Light and shadow."

   She started walking around the room, giving quiet advice.  She bent down
next to each student, the top of her dress opening each time, her breasts
hanging full, moving freely.  I was in trouble.

   "Jesus!" Maria whispered.  Her eyes flared wide when they caught mine.
Auntie heard her, and looked up at me.

   "Yes," she said.  "Like I said, a real male specimen.  We can work with
this.  You might want to start fresh, girls, and go for a different
emotion."

   Paper hit the floor all around the room.  New drawings were started,
some with frantic movements, trying to catch lightning in a bottle.  My
cock was fully hard, throbbing.  I could barely breath.

   "Can you hold that pose, Jon?" Auntie asked, looking hopeful.

   I nodded, unsure.

   "Let's go for the erotic, ladies.  This is a special moment.  Capturing
magic is what makes art special."

   I started to wilt a little and Auntie walked over to me.  She leaned in
and spoke quietly.  "Can you keep it hard?" she asked.  "It's just perfect.
So beautiful.  You can use your hand if you need to."

   "Don't be alarmed, ladies," she said as she walked away from me.  "Our
model's just going to firm things up so you can keep working on that pose."

   My hand went to my cock.  My stomach muscles flexed when I felt my
touch. I stroked the full length of me, trying to avoid eye contact.  The
sound of charcoal pencils on paper had fallen silent, my short shallow
breaths the only sound.

   "That's good, Jon.  Very nice.  Let's draw ladies.  Concentrate.  It's
perfectly acceptable to add the hand if you like.  You could add some
motion if you want, the way I've showed you, with smudging or one of the
other techniques.  Or draw a nice, crisp line.  Whatever strikes your
fancy." She looked at me again.  "Jon?" she said, nodding at my cock.

   I took it in my hand again, not as embarrassed, stroking slowly, more
naturally.  It felt good, and my eyes went to Maria.  She watched as I
stroked, and I stroked, and I stroked.  I guess I was waiting for Auntie to
tell me to stop, but she didn't.  My body started spasming and my breathing
went ragged.

   "Easy, big fella," Auntie said.

   There were nervous giggles.  I broke my eye contact with Maria and let
go of my cock.  It was red, the tip dark purple.  My balls were tight.  I
stood for a moment to get some blood flowing in my ass.  Then I was back on
the stool, back in my pose.  Auntie walked over and handed me my wine.  She
whispered in my ear.  "Awesome, sweetheart.  Totally...fucking...awesome."

   So that was the first night of modeling.  It ended with much awkwardness
an hour later -- me standing on the stage, my swollen, unsatisfied cock
hanging like a sausage between my legs as I pulled my robe around me,
hiding it.  Auntie made the rounds to her students, guiding them on
finishing touches, critiquing their work.  I was sitting on the stool,
sipping wine, trying to make sense of things.  The women starting to
mingle, showing surprised looks at each other's creations.  I was
embarrassed and wanted to leave and I think they could tell.  When I stood
up to go there was a strange look on all their faces, like they wanted to
applaud my crazy, inappropriate performance but were too embarrassed to do
so.  Maybe it was just my imagination.  Auntie could tell I was
uncomfortable.

   "Thank you, Jon," she announced.  "You did wonderfully.  We'll see you
next week?"

   I nodded, waved, and climbed the creaky staircase to some much needed
privacy.

   The women were downstairs for another hour.  I could hear them through
the floor, nothing I could make out clearly, but a general murmur of happy
conversation.  I desperately wanted to masturbate, but I was worried Auntie
would appear around the corner at any moment.  I thought about doing it in
the shower, but that seemed blatantly obvious, and I worried the women
would hear the water running and know what I was up to.  I don't know why I
was so embarrassed about it, I just was.

   As I sat and waited I wondered what the women thought of the situation,
me living in the apartment with Auntie, me unafraid to be naked, me with
the hard cock that she seemed to like to show off.  Did they all think it
was appropriate?  Aunt and nephew, shacking up?  Would it become a village
scandal?  Did it matter?

   I heard the women leave, the circuit breakers clicking off, the creak of
the back stairs.

   "Wow!" Auntie said, her face smiling and luminous.

   The tie-dyed peasant dress she had on looked even more peasanty in the
dim light, even more curvy in the shadows.  I was sprawled on the couch in
my sweatpants, trying to look casual.  I suddenly wished I'd put on a
shirt, and for some reason my bare feet felt naked.

   "Looks like we've got ourselves an erotic art class!" she said.  "I love
it!  Wasn't it fun?"

   A smile took over my face and all my nervousness faded away.  Auntie was
spectacularly happy, and just plain spectacular.  There was no way to be
unhappy in her presence, a presence that was perfect in every way.

   "I was worried when you first got hard," she said.  "But then, it was
just perfect.  You're just perfect.  You should have heard everybody
talking about you.  Most of them have never seen anything like you.  You're
special, you know.  Most men aren't as...beautiful.  I shouldn't admit
this, but I happen to know your father had a really big dick, just like
yours."

   "Auntie!  How do you know that!"

   "Brothers and sisters see things sometimes.  I was oblivious one
morning, hungover.  Mom and Dad weren't home so there was loud music on, I
think.  I walked into the bathroom and saw him masturbating.  We both
screamed, but I got a really good look at it.  Seeing you downstairs
brought that memory back, I'll tell ya!"

   I knew I looked like my father, from all the old pictures of him I'd
seen.  Finding out my sexual parts were the same made me feel good,
connected in a deeper way to the man I'd never known, but it was surprising
to learn such a thing from Auntie.

   "It's funny," she said.  "Seeing him totally skewed my perceptions. 
When the first dick you see is eight inches and thick as a post, it sorta
ruins you for the little ones.  A big cock is a special thing, Jon.  You're
lucky.  I'm surprised that gold-digging slut that took your virginity
didn't stick around just to fuck you some more.  I would have."

   Everything Auntie said was surprising.  What she said next surprised me,
too.

   "Did you relieve the pressure?  I thought for sure you were gonna spurt
in front of everybody.  That would have opened some eyes."

   "No," I said.  "I though maybe you were coming up."

   "What, you're not embarrassed about jerking off, are you?  It's not like
we haven't heard each other.  It's a small apartment."

   I just sat there, unsure of what to say, slowly realizing the noises I'd
heard through the bedroom wall were just what I'd thought they might be. 
Auntie's eyes got wide as she contemplated my silence.  "Oh," she said. 
"You mean...you thought I was coming up to...help you?"

   "No!  That's not what I was thinking about!"

   "And?" she said.  "Now that you are thinking about it?  Now that we're
thinking about it?  I'd be happy to.  Really."

   It was the moment.  The big one.  The moment that unleashed a torrent.
It started slowly, though, with a trickle, or more accurately, a spurt.  As
I sat there reclined on the couch, it was obvious I was hard again.  I did
nothing to hide it.  Auntie waited for an answer, but my silence seemed to
make her happy.  She smiled and my heart melted.  I lifted my ass and
pushed my sweatpants down around my thighs.  Auntie got them down the rest
of the way, leaving them around my ankles.  She sat down next to me, eyeing
the hard hunk of meat that had lifted above my thighs.

   "I've been told I give good handjobs," she said, glancing at my eyes. 
"You can tell me if its true."

   The next few minutes aren't the clearest in my mind, but I'm sure you'd
like to know what happened, and I'd like to remember it better, so I'll see
if I can separate the memory from the psychedelic swirl that's still alive
in my mind when I think of that evening.

   Auntie's fingers wrapped around my throbbing girth, slowly, like she was
picking up an injured bird from the forest floor.  Her touch sent shivers
through me and goosebumps rose on my skin.  Her open lips flashed a smile
when she saw my reaction, her eyes seeming to flare with an inner light.

   "Look, sweetheart," she said.  "Your goosebumps gave me goosebumps." Her
face lit up like it was wonderful news, and it was.  Her hand moved on me,
gentle, with a touch like velvet.  "Fuck you're big," she said, her voice
breathy and soft.

   The next part surprised me.  For a moment I thought she was going to
take me into her mouth, but instead her head hovered over me and a
shimmering drop of spit fell on my hard shaft, spit that was still
connected to her luscious lips by a thread-like string of saliva.  She
worked the slippery lube with her hand, moving more deliberately, squeezing
my throbbing cock a little tighter.  And then another drop fell from her
lips, bigger, bubbly, and then another.  Her hand was sliding over slick,
slippery skin.

   "How's that feel, baby?  Hmm?" she asked, her voice a sexy whisper.

   I couldn't speak.  My muscles were locking up and doing things on their
own.  I didn't feel an orgasm yet, but Auntie had me floating in another,
similar place, my mind detached, my body swimming in warm, tingly energy.

   Auntie let some more lube drop from her lips, and then her other hand
joined the party, sometimes working my cock two-handed, sometimes massaging
my balls in a way that should have been too rough but felt so good I cried
out in blissful joy.

   Auntie smiled, her hands working in well-oiled rhythm.  "Huh?" she said,
a tiny, strange little word that seemed perfect.  Her eyes asked the
question along with her mouth, and I gave her the answer I think she was
hoping for.  I came in a gusher, spurting high in the air in a hot,
splattering mess.  My voice went free with a deep, moaning bellow.  It's
still, to this day, the most extraordinary orgasm of my life.  There was so
much behind it -- the women of the art class, Maria, the unexpected
exhibitionism in front of them, even the Japanese girl was in there
somewhere -- but it was Auntie, dear sweet sexy Auntie, she was the one
with her hands on me.  She was the one I dreamt of.  The emotional aspect
of it took it to a whole 'nother place.  A place of heavenly rapture and
drug-like intoxication.

   "Wow!" Auntie said, her eyes wide as she stroked spurt after spurt out
of me.  "Big cocks don't always have a lot in 'em, but yikes, honey, you
got some reserves!  You been saving it up for me?"

   Auntie winked at me, and my blurry mind melted even more.  Where was
this expertise coming from?  My sweet aunt had played with enough big cocks
to know their differences?  And she thought mine was worthy of being in
that category?  And oh my God that felt good!  She's a fucking expert! 
Will she do it again another day?

   She wiped up the considerable mess with the bottom part of her dress,
and then she took it off over her head.  She wore only panties, her
spectacularly firm, amazingly soft-looking tits bare before my eyes for the
first time.  "So messy," she said, winking again as she casually folded the
dress to keep the slippery goo inside.  "I'm going to soak this in the sink
and go to bed.  We've had a long day.  Sweet dreams, Jon."

   And then I was alone.  I lay there for quite a while, sweatpants still
down around my ankles, a film of stickiness all over my stomach and thighs
from Auntie's quick wipe-up of the mess.  I didn't want to move.  I didn't
want to touch myself.  I could still feel Auntie's hand, like a phantom,
and I didn't want it to go away.

   I gathered my senses and went to my room.  Toad Harbor was a ghost town
at night, and the apartment was as quiet as death.  I stood in the shadowy
light of my bedside lamp and I heard her.  Auntie.  It was nothing but
breath, and the barely perceptible sound of her mattress moving.  She was
trying to be quiet and doing a good job of it.  I put my ear to the wall.
Her breath was short.  She was close.  Her breathing went silent and the
mattress jerked, a little bit louder, to a new rhythm.  Finally an exhale,
deep, with a soft, sweet moan.  Toad Harbor was silent again, and people
were dreaming.

   to be continued....
   For pics visit ---->> https://bit.ly/2ReHUJI