Aunt Janets Dirty Boy Ch 04

Fourth chapter. Mikey is stunned because of his nocturnal visitor. But are there more surprises waiting for him?

Thanks for reading.

GA -- Da Nang, Vietnam -- 29th of October 2017.

Aunt Janet told me not to worry. That she would, "Sort it out."

I felt the anxiety fizzing inside me, like a can of Coca Cola after being shaken. And I

had

been shaken, violently so.

"It wasn't you," I said, on the verge of hysteria. Then I started to babble, moving around the kitchen, a pinball trapped under the glass as I ricocheted from place to place. "Why would she...? I mean...? It's impossible. It

must

have been you."

She tried to soothe me, pulling out a chair while smiling in the cajoling way people use on recalcitrant toddler in a supermarket meltdown. "Mikey, sit down," crooned my aunt. "Relax, honey. Stopand let's think about it."

I gaped at Aunt Janet. "Aren't you bothered? Can you believe what she did?"

My aunt snapped at me, stern and commanding when she used my name. "Mikey! Just stop it. I told you, I'll sort this out. Just leave it to me. Wait 'til your mother gets home."

Everything went liquid in my stomach at the reminder I'd see my mother later that day. My sphincter loosened and my throat went tight and panic ballooned in my chest. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe, couldn't make sense of the topsy-turvy world. My aunt, my mother, the sex.

"I ... I can't face her," I gasped.

My aunt snorted and said, "She's got to face you, too."

I sat down, slumped in the chair with my elbows on the table and my face in my palms. "She knows what we did," I groaned in despair. She has to know. Why else would she...?"

When I looked at my aunt, her eyes slithered away, expression shifty all of a sudden. "I'd say you're right, Mikey," she said. "Margaret knows all right."

It was impossible for me to make sense of it all. I had questions, so many questions they tumbled and spun, the cacophony of voices inside my head hissing like white noise and rising in volume until I thought I'd go mad with it all.

"This is just crazy," I sighed. "And why won't you look at me?"

Aunt Janet winced. "Because it's my fault."

"I don't understand. What do you mean? Your fault? How could it be your fault?"

My aunt threw a quick glance my way, offered a wan smile, and then closed her eyes while shaking her head. She chewed on her lower lip and stared at the top of the table for several long seconds and, after heaving a sigh, managed to bring her focus up to my face. Then she said, "There's a lot you don't know, Mikey."

I saw her shrug, a gesture of resignation, like she'd given up.

"Maybe we better wait until Margaret gets home? I think your mum needs to be here before we ... uhm ... talk about this."

Anger, frustration, and a hefty dollop of confusion saw me up onto my feet. I felt a hot rush of emotion surge through me, the writers' palms of both fists hitting the table when I vented my feelings.

To Janet, I shouted, "I can't wait until then! This is fucking driving me mental! Don't you get it? Don't you understand? My

mother

was in my room last night. She got into my bed and ... and ... Fucking hell, Aunt Janet! I fucked my mother!"

We stared at one another. My aunt looked at me, eyes wide with what I took to be shock or surprise at my vehement outburst while I glared at her face. My heart jack-hammered inside the rack of my ribs, hot tears threatening to spill out of my eyes. I gulped, choking as I tried to suck in air. Then I was back in the chair, coughing and spluttering, close to crying because my tormented mind couldn't take much more.

My aunt had me in a tight embrace before I knew what was going on. She cooed at me, stroking my hair while I returned her embrace and took comfort from the familiar scent of her.

"It will be all right, Mikey," Aunt Janet murmured. "There, there, don't get all upset and worried. We'll sort it all out, sweetheart. I promise."

***

Back then, the mid-70s, my mother owned and ran a small newsagent, a shop which would later morph into what is today's convenience store. In those days a bell above the front door tinkled whenever a customer entered or left. The counter was fanned with the day's newspapers, comic in racks while large clear jars filled with confectionary items lined the shelves behind the counter. Sweets like pear drops and midget gems that my mother weighed out in ounces and handed over to eager hands, the goodies in a white paper bag with a twist at the corners. I loved the smell of the place. Her hours were from 9 a.m. until 6 p.m. She had an assistant to cover the early rush and evening trickle, so my aunt and I expected my mother to return home by quarter to seven that evening. For me, the wait lasted forever. I was the proverbial cat, unable to settle on the hot tin roof.

"She's late," I said, stating the obvious.

Aunt Janet nodded, lips a thin, horizontal line. "Yes, she is. But it's only just gone seven, Mikey."

"Then where the fucking hell is she?" I stood up and waved my arms as I spoke, frustrated and anxious. "I can't take this, Aunt Janet," I said. "I'm going to the shop."

My aunt was up on her feet as soon as I said it. She grabbed my forearm to hold me in place. "You can't go into the shop in this state, Mikey," she told me. "What will you say? You can't go in there and blurt it all out. Jenny will be there, too. You have to be patient. You have to wait 'til your mum gets back."

Part of my frustration came from the fact that I felt conflicted. On one hand I wanted to have it out with my mother. I wanted answers to a lot of questions. But, also, in equal measure, I was worried about what my mother might say. After all, I'd been fucking her sister, been involved in an incestuous tryst with my aunt and the whole situation had turned into a nightmare. How could I look my mother in the face knowing she knew about me and Aunt Janet? What could I say after what had happened the night before?

My mother -- my

mother

-- had come to my room in a clandestine visit. She'd used the darkness as cover, fooling me into thinking she was my aunt. My mother had climbed into the bed, naked. She'd sucked my cock and kissed my mouth. Then she'd climbed onto my hard-on and fucked her son. I'd heard my mother gasping and moaning, felt her sex squeezing my dick. In the end my mother had offered her sex from behind, taking me in up to my balls, my hands full of her buttocks and hips until I'd squirted cum into her body.

Why

had she done it? What

had

she been thinking? If she knew about me and my aunt, why hadn't she railed and wailed and kicked her sister out of the house? For that matter, why was I still there? Surely she would be just as angry at me? It just didn't make any sense. I would have expected my mother to throw a fit when she realised what was going on between me and Aunt Janet. Anger and tears were one thing, coming to my room to fuck me didn't add up.

My aunt still had hold of my arm when her head snapped around and she looked at the living room door.

She let go of me while saying, "Did you hear that?"

"No," I said. "Hear what?"

"The front door," Aunt Janet replied.

I followed behind her as she went out into the hall.

"Margaret," I heard my aunt say. "You need to come down here. I know you're up there, Margaret. I saw you at the top of the stairs."

***

My mother not only owned the shop; she owned the house, too. My father, a heavy-goods driver, had been hauling a load of steel when something went amiss and the whole lot rolled down an embankment. Life insurance paid out a few thousand pounds. Enough to pay off the balance of the mortgage on the house and set my mum up in business. It was decent place in a nice part of town. A three-bedroom semi, which meant there'd been a room spare when my Aunt Janet's marriage disintegrated. We had a lawn at the front and a driveway up to a gate which then led into a long back garden at the rear. Bay windows overlooked the road at the front. My mother's bedroom was at the end of the corridor upstairs, and it seemed she'd snuck in, quietly closing the front door without us knowing.

But she hadn't been quick enough. Aunt Janet heard the snick of the front door and was out in the small hallway at the foot of the stairs before my mother could make it all the way to the top.

My aunt cried out again. She called, "Margaret! You can't hide from it. We all need to talk!"

I moved in close behind her and saw the shadow against the wall upstairs just before it flitted away.

"I don't want to," my mother called down. "Leave me alone, Janet."

My aunt's head swivelled so her face was towards me. I watched as she grimaced and muttered a curse. Then she baffled me by shouting, "This is like Simon, all over again!"

I wondered what she was talking about.

Simon

? Who the heck was Simon? Then the penny dropped and I was more confused than before.

While I mentally connected the dots, my mother shouted, "Shut up about that, Margaret! You just shut your fucking mouth!"

I took hold of my aunt's arm and turned her to face me. Asked, "What's going on?"

"Look, give me a few minutes to talk to her, Mikey," Aunt Janet said. Her eyes flicked to the ceiling in exasperation before she returned her attention to me. "I'll go up. You stay here."

"What did you mean it's like Simon all over again?" I was in no mood to let my aunt go. I wanted answers.

Aunt Janet glanced at my fingers when she tried to pull away from my grip and I grasped her tighter. "Something that happened years ago," my aunt replied. "Before you were born; before either of us was married. Before everything, Mikey."

"Simon? As in--?"

My aunt cut me off, interjecting with, "Yes. Him." She then yanked herself free of my grasp and started up the stairs. "Stay there," she snapped when I voiced an objection. "Let me talk to her first."

I let Janet get onto the landing above before I followed her. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, my aunt was already at my mother's bedroom. The door was open, loud voices on the cusp of a full-blown argument spilling out into the corridor. I didn't have to do much in the way of eavesdropping due to the volume. I could hear quite clearly from where I stood. I'm surprised the neighbours couldn't hear through the adjoining wall, which, thankfully, was at the opposite end of the house.

"You did it," I heard my mother shout, voice cracking. "I know you and Michael have done it."

Aunt Janet replied in an accusatory tone. "And what about you? You were in his room last night. He told me what you did, Margaret."

"I won't let you take him away from me."

I heard one of them sigh, and then my aunt's voice, quieter, much quieter. "I don't want to take him away from you, Margaret."

My mother was sobbing when she said, "Then why did you shag him?"

"Look, Margaret, sit down. Sit next to me." My aunt used the same soft croon she'd used to settle me earlier in the day. "Let's just talk this through. We've been here before."

The exchange grew muted. I could hear the murmur as conversation passed between them, but couldn't make out the detail. Desperate to learn more about what the hell was going on, I crept closer.

I got as close as I dared, the doorframe a few inches away while I hugged the wall, ears tuned.

I heard my mother say, "How could you, Janet?"

A pause before my aunt replied with a very subdued, "I'm an emotional wreck. It's been quite a time with the divorce. I suppose I wanted some ... comfort. He'd been looking at me. I could read Mikey's mucky thoughts, Margaret. I'm sorry, I should have been stronger. But I get so lonely and so ... well, so bloody

randy

. You know what it's like. You of all people should know."

"But it's

Michael

," my mother put in.

"I know, and he's lovely. He's a really lovely boy."

"God, Janet, what have I done? How the hell did it come to this? And why did you have to sleep with my son?"

My Aunt Janet let out a sigh. "Why did

you

sleep with him, Margaret?"

There was no answer forthcoming. At least not one I could hear.

But what I heard next sent an icy shard through my heart. What sounded like heart-rending sobs reached me, and my face burned with shame at the anguish I'd caused.

"Mum," I said as I stepped into her room.

They were both on the bed, both sat side-by-side, bookends with only heartbreak between them. My aunt held my mother, an arm around her sister's shoulder. My mother cried out huge blubbing tears while Aunt Janet, after looking up at me, held mum to her, lips pursing in a moue of disapproval when she saw me standing there gawking and useless.

Then my mother must have noticed my presence. She too looked at me, a wail issuing forth. "Oh, God, Michael," my mother howled. "This is just so fucking awful."

"Not now, Mikey," my aunt put in with a shake of her head.

"But--" I began.

"Why not wait for me downstairs," Aunt Janet added. "You could open a bottle of wine. There's that red on the counter."

"My mum's upset."

"I know, Mikey. That's patently obvious. But, please," Aunt Janet implored, "go downstairs. You can't help me with this. Not at the moment, you can't."

It was more to do with the pleading in her beautiful eyes that bade me to do as she asked. I didn't want to leave, was loath to do it, but the way my aunt looked at me compelled me to obey her wishes.

"Okay," I said with reluctance and a long look at my mother. "I ... I'll be in the kitchen. You know. When..."

Aunt Janet smiled and waved me away while my mother mumbled something indecipherable, gazed at the carpet near her feet, and rocked back-and-forth in apparent torment.

***

My aunt appeared an eternity later, which, when I looked at the clock turned out to be only a mere half-an-hour. I had the wine waiting for her when she walked into the kitchen and offered me a weak smile.

"Fuck," she sighed as she sat down at the table.

"Aunt Janet," I said, desperate for news, "what's going on? What was that about Simon? I don't understand. This is all bollocks. Tell me, please, what's it all about?"

My aunt reached for the wine. She tilted the bottle so the ruby contents glugged into the glass I'd left alongside. Janet picked up the goblet and took a hefty swig. Then she topped up. Only then did she fix her blue eyes upon me, sigh like she was exhausted, and say, "In 1956 your granddad took us on holiday to Morecambe. I was your age, a year younger perhaps. Your mum wasn't going to come with us originally, but she changed her mind a day or so before we were due to leave. She took some holiday from work on what we assumed was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I later found out why she'd changed her mind. You see, our brother met us there. Simon was on leave from the RAF. He had some time and decided to join us in Morecambe instead of coming home."

Aunt Janet paused and took another hefty gulp of wine. She sucked in a deep breath, grimaced at me, and continued by saying, "Simon was always a selfish bastard. He never did give a fig for anyone else but himself. He was a dirty sod, too. Anything in a skirt with a pulse. And, Mikey, I'm sorry to say, that included your mother."

I gaped at my aunt. Even though I'd had an inkling about Simon's part in the current scenario, I'd hoped it wouldn't be true. I'd hoped it would be some other Simon, any other Simon except my uncle. But, of course, given the fact that I'd been intimate with both my aunt and my mother -- albeit unknowing in the case of the latter -- as soon as I'd heard the name, it was only going to mean one thing.

Aunt Janet winced and nodded when I gasped out, "My mum and her brother?"

"Yes," she said, with a half shrug.

"

Uncle

Simon?"

"Yes, Mikey," Aunt Janet snapped. "Your Uncle-fucking-Simon."

***

"I don't remember what set me off being suspicious," Aunt Janet told me. "I think I tried to tell myself I'd been imagining things, but the nasty, horrible notion just wouldn't shift. I was shocked at first, then angry. But," my aunt added, pausing to suck on her bottom lip for a second, "after a day of thinking about it, I got a bit warm between my legs at the idea of them being together. I've always been highly-sexed, Mikey. A bit too randy for my own good, and even my own sister and brother being intimate together made me all gooey inside."

Agog at the story, I stared at my aunt and asked, "What did you do?"

My aunt grimaced and then gave a small chuckle. Then she brought her attention to my face. "I watched them, closely, and then basically walked in on them while they were in Simon's room at the guesthouse. Your mum and I shared a room, so--"

Aunt Janet shrugged and let me think about it, allowing me to put the pieces into place.

"Your mother went berserk, Mikey," my aunt continued. "Not violent, but almost hysterical. She was crying and begging me not to tell. There she was, bawling and carrying on, and Simon was jumping around like a crazy man. He was shouting and waving his arms." Janet paused again and let out a little giggle. She smirked, blurted a laugh, and said, "His dick was waggling around stiff as a board. He could have had someone's eye out with it," Aunt Janet quipped.

I could see the humour in the scene and, regardless of the fact I'd been listening to a tale about my own mother's incestuous tryst with her brother, it did make for a comedic scene when the image of my uncle leaping around, his cock a hazard, popped into my head.

I asked, "Did anyone come? Did they get found out?"

Aunt Janet shook her head. "No, nobody came along to see what the fuss was about. And it was me who got your mum calmed down."

Another pause lengthened between us. I processed what I'd learned so far, the power of it still sufficient to shock me, although the strength of my surprise was somewhat diluted because I was also guilty of incest. Somehow, having experienced the dark, taboo pleasure of clandestine carnal knowledge of my aunt, it wasn't such a huge leap across the divide to hear about my mother and uncle.

Eventually, after a heavy gulp and a long, slow sigh, I looked at my aunt and asked, "So what happened next?"

To my surprise, my aunt's cheeks flamed scarlet and she pulled a face. "Well, I--" she started, then giggled and added, "God, this is embarrassing."

I could guess what was coming but still prompted my aunt to tell me.

"I went with Simon, too," Janet revealed.

***

"It caused all sorts of ructions between me and your mum. She got jealous and went all funny in a dangerous way. She made veiled remarks in our parents' presence. We were lucky she didn't throw us all to the wolves by telling about everything. But it was an exciting time in some very bad ways."

The thought came to me, insidious and so wrong my voice cracked when I voiced it. "Did you and my mother ... You know ... Together?"

"What, like lesbians?"

My aunt gazed at me while my own cheeks burned. I couldn't help but feel a little frisson of arousal at the idea of my aunt and my mother together.

"Well, yes," I mumbled. Looking away from her face.

Aunt Janet laughed. "No," she said. "We were never close that way. We didn't have sex with Simon in front of each other, either -- if that's your next question."

Despite the new revelations -- or perhaps because of them -- when I looked at my aunt I saw again her physical appeal. In my mind's eye I pictured her as she must have been at 18 or 19, and, as delicious as I thought she was in the full bloom of her thirty-something years, it occurred to me she must have been devastating back in the 50s.

I couldn't help but feel the jealousy for my Uncle Simon for having experienced Janet back then.

Then my body responded. My cock thickened and grew and the desire for Aunt Janet bloomed hot and fierce.