By The Pool With Aunt Barbara

Foreword

A quick mature aunt/nephew piece from me. I had other stuff to get on with and only had time to push this out before the deadline expired, so apologies for the errors remaining.

Adam’s Aunt Barbara has come to stay in his big house during a personal crisis. They’ve always been flirty, but then it gets worse…

I hope you get some pleasure out of this meagre offering. Feedback would be good if you have time/inclination.

Thank you for reading.

GA – Oxford, England – 6th of September 2015.

*

She’s doing it again – the flirting. It makes me uncomfortable, but also gives me that sweet thrill of the taboo. Part of me doesn’t want her to stop, especially my cock, which has thickened and grown and is now pressed in down there in such a way I can’t focus on much else.

It’s the look on her face and the tone of her voice.

The atmosphere crackles between us.

We’re on the Kettler furniture out on the patio, with the afternoon sun beginning to tame. She’s showered and changed into a light cotton dress, which is a relief for me because I couldn’t stop looking at her body when she was in the bikini.

She’s up in her mid-fifties, but claims to be forty, which is believable. Her pampered lifestyle is so far removed from her humble beginnings she’s got the time and the money to look after herself. My aunt is one of those extremely attractive mature ladies who only seem to get sexier as they get older. If she’s had any work done, then it’s money well spent, because I can’t spot any signs of nips and tucks – and I’ve had plenty of opportunity to examine my aunt’s ripe, voluptuous figure for a goodly part of the day.

The corner of her mouth twitches when Barbara eyes me over the rim of the glass. I get the sense she’s messing me with, just having some fun in her own twisted way, and I want to confront her head-on, but I daren’t. I might be three beers in but don’t have enough of the brave-juice inside me to actually say what it is I want to say.

“God,” she breathes, stretching her legs while admiring her colour. “What a beautiful day. My tan’s coming on nicely. Thanks for letting me stay.”

I’m trying not to gawp at her thighs as the hem draws up higher. The pressure inside my shorts is already approaching painful levels, and looking at her legs will only make everything worse. So I gulp at my beer and awkwardly climb to my feet, doing my best to mask my predicament as I go.

I’m already turning away as I say, “More wine, Aunt Barbara?” But the look on her face tells me she’s noticed

My aunt drawls out a distracted, “Mmm? What? Wine? Oh, yes please, Adam,” and my cheeks warm as I scurry away.

In the kitchen I take stock, wondering why I invited her to stay in the first place. She’s loaded, she could have found somewhere else to hide during this latest divorce.

I take my time uncorking the bottle and pouring a fresh glass. I need a little time to allow the hard-on to deflate and my burning cheeks to cool down. Finally, after leaving it for at least five full minutes, I take a deep breath, pick up her wine and my beer, and dare to venture outside.

She’s on the single-seat chair with her feet tucked beneath her when I make a reluctant appearance. “Thanks, Adam,” she purrs, leaning to take the glass out of my hand, and whether by design or by accident her dress gapes at the neck, the deep crease of her cleavage drawing my eyes.

My aunt sips and then says outright, “Do I make you uncomfortable, Adam?”

Which is my opportunity. I could suck it up and be brave. I could be a man and confront the issues face-on, but, after myriad thoughts have tumbled about in my head, I opt for a decidedly weak, “No, not exactly.” Then I shrug and add, “Maybe sometimes … Just a bit.”

I can’t look her in the eye when she uncurls from the mermaid pose and places the glass on the low table. And suddenly I’m not perving at her tits any more. I know she’s caught me looking and I feel my face burning again.

“Oh, come on, Adam,” she sighs.

I hear the exasperation, like she can’t be bothered playing games any more while I avoid her eyes by frowning at the swimming pool. I can feel her stare lasering into me, then see the movement from the corner of my eye, and when I swivel my face towards her I see Aunt Barbara shaking her head, a moue pursing her lips before she says, “We’re both adults here. You and I both know what’s been passing between us.”

She lets me dangle while gazing intently into my face, the silence stretching along with my nerves. It’s been almost a week in getting to this point, and I’ve had just about all I can stand, but, as I stand here and try to figure out an appropriate response I’ve also got this little voice in my head whispering about how I sort of hoped things would come to a head during her visit.

Deep down I want this to happen.

“And,” I hear my aunt saying, her voice sounding like it’s coming at me down a very long tunnel, “while I understand you might be reluctant to put a voice on it, I’m quite enjoying the way things are between us.”

I have to gulp down on what feels like a beach ball lodged in my throat while simultaneously experiencing a sneaky slide of the illicit deep in my core. The delicious shiver ripples along in that vague, indefinable place where dark urges come from, the sexual arousal I feel for my aunt a hot burst of desire which drags at my insides.

“Aunt Barbara,” I croak, her name coming out clotted with need. “I don’t … You shouldn’t…”

But I want her to. I want my aunt to say it all out loud. Just like I also want to get her out of that dress and bury my face between her considerable breasts. Having her cavorting around the periphery of the pool in her bikini for most of the afternoon has wired my libido. I’m so worked up I’m going to have to crank at my cock ‘til it spits very soon. It’s masturbate wildly or I’m going to lunge for my mother’s sister. I’m getting close to the point where, in my mind’s eye, I can see myself shoving my shorts to my knees and cranking my dick right in front of my aunt.

And the thing is, I get the impression she might just sit there and smile while I do it. Which is a completely insane notion, but it seems to me we’ve been heading to this showdown for a few years. Even before the band hit it big and I became a household name – as far as a certain demographic is concerned – my aunt has been slightly over the top in the things she says and the way she says them to me.

I’m more than a little confused and aroused while Barbara holds me captive with her eyes and her smirk.

“What shouldn’t I do?” asks my aunt as she stands and sips from her glass. She looks at me, apparently waiting for some kind of response, head tilted to one side, eyes going wide.

There’s nothing from me except for a gulp, the seconds stretching while my cock reminds me it’s there, the erection resurrected because of the things I can see us doing together but which I’m too afraid to initiate.

What if I’ve got it all wrong? What if it’s only my hyped up sexual need trying to convince me my aunt would be up for a tumble? There are made-up stories about me in the newspapers often enough as it is; if it ever got out I made some kind of move on my own aunt…?

Just thinking about the aftermath of such a huge error of judgement sends me cold, and while it might be a hot afternoon, I actually shiver in terror.

Then it seems like I’ve stretched my aunt’s patience to the limit because Barbara tuts and rolls her eyes before saying, “I’m disappointed, Adam. Don’t you trust me?” She gulps the rest of her wine in three or four swallows, looks towards me again, and then pulls a face. “You think about it,” says Barbara, leaving me out on the patio.

My first inclination is to follow my aunt into the house. And I take two or three steps towards the open French doors before realising I don’t have a clue what I’d say. So I stand for a few seconds while it all bounces around in my head. It takes a little time, but I eventually decide I’ll be better off sitting down and really thinking things through instead of rushing in to confront her.

So I do. I settle down on the two-seater sofa to sip at the beer while attempting to make sense of this thing with my aunt.

*

When I do eventually go inside it’s one of those balmy summer evenings just made for a pub beer garden. I can imagine people sitting outdoors enjoying themselves without a care in the world, and I’m envious that they can do so. What a reward after a day spent at work: sunshine and laughter and a cold drink or two, with the promise of a sunny weekend ahead. Not that I’d know much about the nine-to-five gig, my hours are much more haphazard. Tours, studio-time and PR meetings are more my forte, with dodging the paparazzi in there as well. And there’s no way I could enjoy a quiet pint under a sunshade in the back garden of a pub by a river. It would be mayhem in under a minute.

I pass through the kitchen, placing the empty bottle on the counter with the others before considering another out of the fridge. I’ve got the buzz and think one more won’t hurt. So I pop the top off a bottle and go in search of my aunt.

Barbara’s face turns towards me as I enter the living room, which is probably my favourite room in the house: contemporary minimalist, yet warm and inviting. I’ve spent a lot of money putting the house together, blown a fortune on designers and shoppers who have made their suggestions and then been set loose with my approval and money. My aunt doesn’t say a word when I enter, just looks at me, her inscrutable demeanour making me gulp. I pause, hesitant and unsure about what to do and what to say. There’s so much which needs to be said, but, again, I’m afraid to start anything in case it’s all one huge misreading of signals.

It seems to go for quite some time, this me gawking at my Aunt Barbara while she just sits there with a face carved out of stone.

But it’s me who breaks first when the silence grows deafening.

I eventually blurt, “Aunt Barbara, what’s going on?” and she lets me suffer some more, prolonging my agony by staying perfectly still, her lips together, eyes fixed on my face.

Then she blinks two or three times, face softening as she pats the seat next to her with the flat of one palm. “Sit down,” Barbara invites with a smile. “Let’s talk.”

I take a tentative seat on a sofa the size of a barge. We’re three feet apart, with her in one corner while I’m wedged up against the opposite arm, a no-mans-land of chocolate-brown leather between us.

“What is it you want?” I ask on a whine. I can’t take much more, just being close to her has brought my cock to a raging tumescence.

“Well, Adam, I think you could have figured it out for yourself by now.”

I’m in turmoil. I’m sure I know what she’s talking about, but can’t bring myself to say it out loud. How can I? She’s my mother’s sister, for crying out loud.

I swallow the beach ball again, lust dragging at my vitals as I croak a faltering, “I … I-uh-think so.”

Barbara’s eyes go wide as she leans in towards me and murmurs, “And how do you feel?”

And isn’t that just

the

question to ask!

One I’ll have difficulty answering, too.

I blink and gawp at my aunt, then suck in a huge draught of air while shrugging and saying, “Oh God, Aunt Barbara, I don’t know what to say.”

“You could put it into a song,” quips my aunt with a grin. But then she turns serious again and continues by asking, “Are you shocked, Adam? Are you disgusted?”

Her last question goes some way to convincing me I’m wrong in reading the signs, and while I’m still wholly sure, I say, “No, Aunt Barbara, I’m not disgusted.”

To which she replies, “Then what is it you feel?”

“I don’t know, really. It’s awkward talking this way. I mean, come on, you’re my aunt. If we … If you…” I’m floundering, out of my depth, going under, but my aunt throws me a life-line.

“Oh, I know that,” she says, chuckling. Barbara offers me a rueful grin and goes on with, “You think I haven’t analysed this to death this past week? I understand how massive this is … And I’m also aware of the dangers. You’re so well known, Adam. If anything went on between us and word got out it would cause ructions. I can’t imagine the scale of the scandal … And the family…?” She pauses and studies my face, then goes on to say, “Not that I’m trying to say we shouldn’t do anything. If you’re feeling anything like I am you’ll know something has … developed between us. We can either submit to it or keep well away from each other. In my mind it’s as simple as that.

“The question I have for you now, Adam – given those choices – is what do you want to do?”

My snarling libido takes over. “I-uh-I don’t want to have to keep away from you, Aunt Barbara,” I stammer.

She nods slowly, then sighs. “Me neither,” my aunt whispers.

I realise she’s somehow shifted across the divide because her hand goes onto my leg, to the bare skin of my thigh, way up high, her touch sending a jolt through me.

My heart leaps around in the cage of my ribs; it’s difficult to breathe and suddenly very hot in the room. I feel the wave of reckless need wash over me as I look down at her fingers, across to her precipitous cleavage, and then up into her face.

Barbara’s voice is low and narcotic when she asks, “You know what we’re going to do, don’t you? You know what it’s called?”

I swallow the beach ball again, nodding while gazing into her eyes. “I know,” I manage to say, my voice nothing more than a hoarse rasp.

“It’s incest,” she tells me, putting the word out there and making it real. “And I know I must be mad for wanting to go so far with you, I mean, it’s about as bad as a person can be – don’t you think? But I’ve been over it so many times in my head I can’t think anymore. It’s simple really,” she shrugs, “it’s just sex with someone I love. Okay, yes, you’re my sister’s son, my nephew, my family, and the world would condemn us. But nobody has to find out. Nobody ever has to know.”

Her hand has gone higher as she’s said it. My aunt’s fingers are on the soft flesh of my inner thigh. Another inch or so and she’ll be right inside the leg of my shorts and on top of my cock.

“Are you willing to go that far with me, Adam?” she murmurs. “Are you capable of committing the sin?”

*

It’s peaceful out on the patio. Water tinkles as the pool pumps do whatever it is that they do, their mechanical regurgitations as soothing as any wind-chime. It’s just past the gloaming and the mood-lights have come on, their sensor set to notice the fading light as the day draws to a close.

Not that I’m in much of a mind to notice the sounds or soak up the mood. I’m too anxious and edgy to focus on much of anything for long. The waiting is agony, a razor-edge of anticipation keener than anything I’ve ever experienced. Stage fright is nothing compared to the anguish I’m suffering.

A sound from the kitchen brings my head up. I hear the tap-tap-tap of high heels pecking at the tiles a few seconds before I hear my aunt’s voice. “Can you turn those lights down?” she calls out.

My throat is tight, constricted with the surge of emotion and anxiety, so my reply comes out as not much more than a rusty, “There’s a dimmer switch just by the doors.”

The overheads fade to nothing and leave the pool and decking now suffused with the soft rosy glow from the uplighters set around the periphery of the patio, and the gentle ambience is apparently to my aunt’s satisfaction because, at last, she chooses to make her appearance.

“I don’t want to rush this,” she’d said once our incestuous intent was out in the open. “This is too big a deal for us to just get right down to it here.” My aunt had pulled her hand from my leg and then risen to her feet. “Give me half-an-hour,” she’d said, more than an hour ago.

The peck of her heels continues when my aunt steps onto the patio. “Will I do?” she asks me, pausing while framed in the French doors.

It’s the first sign I’ve seen she’s as nervous as I am. So far Aunt Barbara has been confident and cool, composed as she laid it on heavy with the flirting, but she’s looking at me with this expression on her face like she’s scared about something.

I think she looks absolutely fantastic. My aunt is gorgeous, stunning in fact, but I can’t get the words past my teeth and I’m boggling at her while trying to believe it’s all really going on. She’s wearing this satiny kimono dressing gown affair, which, although covers her from throat to the soles of her shoes, still manages to hint at the very feminine shape of her body beneath. Barbara has arranged her ash-blonde hair in a seemingly careless arrangement on top of her head, the wispy tendrils at her temples framing her subtly made-up face while Pearl drop earrings dangle from each of her lobes, the jewellery trembling like strands of jizm hanging from a porn star’s chin whenever my aunt moves.

My aunt must interpret my continuing silence as a potential rejection, because she chews on her lower lip for a moment before saying, “Adam, say something, please.”

Of course it isn’t any such thing. I’m not considering a rejection at all. I want to say something to reassure Barbara, to let her know I’m still aching for intimacy with her. But it’s difficult to bring the words up from within while I’m still trying to process the reality.

Finally I manage a croaky, “You’re beautiful.”

“Do you honestly mean it?” she breathes, her voice so quiet I can only just make out the words over the gurgling of the pool water. “You must know some extraordinarily lovely young women. I’m almost thirty years older than you.” Barbara’s expression shifts towards the anxious as she voices these self-doubts. “Oh God,” she mutters, “what the hell am I thinking…?”

I’m up on my feet when it dawns my aunt might be on the verge of bolting indoors. “I mean it, Aunt Barbara,” I say. “You’re lovely.”

And it’s like coaxing a stray dog. My aunt looks at me with a degree of suspicion, as though examining me for any signs of a lie. “Honestly?” she asks. “You’re not just saying it?”

I’m confused by her attitude. She was happy enough to strut around in her bikini and tease me with her tits, but here she is decently covered up and she’s suddenly all weird.

“I mean it,” I say in reply, then add a concerned, “What’s wrong Aunt Barbara?”

Still framed by the doorway, my aunt replies with, “Like I said, Adam, I’m so much older than you. I’m not as … firm as I once was. You know,” she says, pulling a face. “And I’ve read things about you in those gossip magazines. They say you’ve been seen with some stunning young girls. I’m sorry,” she shrugs, “I’m not as confident as I was when it wasn’t so serious between us. It was a laugh before, but now we’re here … Like this…”

Barbara pauses while blinking and chewing her lip, then finishes with, “I’m scared all of a sudden.”

“You don’t need to be scared.”

She looks at me, time stretching before she starts moving towards me. Excitement surges when, after sucking in a lungful of air, my aunt’s heels tap at the patio. I gaze at her as she approaches, the moment surreal. I think,

Is this

really

my mother’s sister? Are we actually considering a sexual liaison?

Aunt Barbara arrives, her eyes level with mine because of the shoes. “I’ve also read you leave the girls happy,” she breathes. “They say you’re quite a swordsman…” her eyes flick to the front of my shorts “…and that you’ve got a big cock.” When her attention come back up to my face, Barbara smirks. “I saw the bulge down there earlier on. I don’t think they were lying.”

I gasp and swallow heavily when her palm presses against the hard ridge I’m sporting inside my shorts now she’s so close.

“Will you show me?” my aunt asks, head canted sideways.