I don't know how to explain how or why I first started loving my Aunt Lapine, but I have every since that rainy day in the chill of early April of my awakening year, and probably always will.
She was there when Father was killed in the war in November and again for good the following April when Mother disappeared. The authorities dumped me on her door one rainy night, a skinny bedraggled boy of 18, shivering in the threadbare clothes I'd run away in and a cardboard suitcase holding everything I owned.
She, like an angel with raven hair, took me in. I staggered into her front hall and sat down on the hardwood of the huge stair in the stupor of fatigue whilst she spoke to the policeman who had dropped me off. I heard the heavy door close and rain outside her parlor windows showing the world clean. I heard the click of her heels on the hardwood floor then felt a towel go around my shoulders and her hand on my arm. "Come on Honey; let's get some hot food in you."
She led me to the kitchen to sit at the long wooden table. I huddled, wrapped up in the towel, smelling the clean terrycloth as I clutched it around my neck and then a steaming bowl of hearty Brunswick stew and home made bread clattered on the table in front of me. I shoveled it down. Cold exposure to the natural world makes a body primitive and I didn't stop until the bowl was empty. After I was so tired I just could not keep my eyes open. I barely heard her, in my sleepy stupor, say 'You'll need a bath before you get into bed.' And she led me up to her bathroom, ran a steaming hot tub and turned to me.
I was so tired I could not speak and hardly knew what she was doing as she removed my clothes. My shoes had come off at the door, so it was first socks, then trousers, then shirt, then she stripped my underwear from me. "Mmmm." She took my hand. 'Come on, Honey, get in.'
She led me over to the claw-footed tub and I stepped in and eased myself down in the hot sandalwood soapy water. I'd never felt a sea-sponge on my skin before, but in her hands it was something special. She soaped it up, ran it over my shoulders, chest and back, then down under the water to my bottom. The last felt especially good, for some reason, feeling her scrub me there felt so loving, so warm and I must have moaned just a little.
"You like that, do you?" She laughed, low and musical, and rolled up the arms of her blouse.
She always dressed in the same kind of clothing, loose simple blouses with long sleeves, loose calf length skirts that swirled when she walked and low simple shoes. I asked her once why she didn't wear high heels and she said she liked to keep her balance and her ankles intact, thank you very much. Her clothes were not 'revealing' but her healthy bosom and small waist made that simple skirt and blouse look like she belonged in line with the Rockettes.
After she rolled up her sleeves to above her elbows, she soaped up the sponge again and started work on my legs and worked her way up, slowly. I was so tired that when the sponge slowly rubbed and scrubbed my cock and balls, all I was aware of was how relaxing it was and how wonderful her hands were, how much love they contained.
She drew me up, rinsed me off with the hand shower and dried me, then wrapped me up in a towel. She slid her arm around my waist, guided me out of the tub and into her bedroom.
"Come, nephew, come to bed."
She sat me on the bed, then took the towel from me, grasped my feet and slid me around under the covers. I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I awakened the next morning, to soft light and the sound of rain, and my body felt warmer than it ever had in the morning. Usually I awakened cold, shivering even under thick comforters. Then I felt arms around me and soft skin against my back.
"Awake, are we?"
