Chapter 2
Aunt Nicole
It took me a while before I was convinced that Karen meant what she'd said. I kept my word about not spreading the word about what had happened. And I leaned on Matt and Andy, and as far as I could tell, they zipped their lips too.
But almost every night I lay in bed and pictured Karen's mouth around my sizzling hard-on, and I found myself jerking off.
After the baseball season ended my masturbation was no longer confined to bedtime, but during daylight hours in the bathroom, causing other family members, my mother and even my two-year-old sister, to pound on the door demanding that I finish and let them relieve their bladders.
When not in the bathroom, I used my bedroom and the stall in the boy's room at school; and of course, I returned to that spot in the woods, hoping that Karen would show up, and when she didn't, I whipped it out and unabashedly masturbated under the leafy elm trees.
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As I entered the fourth month of my eighteenth year, I found myself whacking off seven or eight times a day; at first, with the one face in mind. But as time passed other faces found their way into my sordid imagination as I jerked off.
During this period only school, dance class, and baseball, in that order sufficed to divert my mind and dick from sex. In school I had to concentrate... well, pay attention to some extent in order to attain a passing grade. I was terrified of flunking and having to spend another year in high school.
Karen's disinterest helped as much as it hindered, or so it seems today. But Irene Philipuk's swan-like neck gave me a boner on a daily basis. And on dropping my pencil, I was rewarded with a fleeting glimpse up Barbara Becker's skirt where her pussy lips were fully exposed to my view. That was my record setting day; I found that I had jerked off twelve times in one day.
It wasn't long, of course, until my mother took note of the sticky sheets and other seminal residue I left like spoor tracks wherever I dallied; and God knows why, but she consulted her sister about the matter. I can only guess that she was unable to bring herself to talk to me about it, and since my father had been killed overseas, that eliminated the "man" of the house.
My Aunt Nicole was three years older than my mother, and twice married ... and divorced. My guess is my mother felt that Nicole knew more about men than she did; and so I was shipped off to spend a week at my aunt's.
I was utterly distraught over being "shipped off" as it were, but this would undoubtedly prove to be the most exhilarating learning experience of my life.
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Looking back at my mother and her slightly older sister, it was hard to imagine that they were actually related. My aunt, recently divorced from her second, work-addicted husband, was exceptionally youthful, in both looks and actions. In fact she was only thirty-three years old, an eternity to a, eighteen year old, but actually it was a perfect age difference for what was about to occur.
I had had no idea whatsoever just how nasty the divorce had been. Years later Aunt Nicole confided in me, and I learned that her ex had screwed twenty-two different women in their home; half of them with her present. But she was incapable of taking any action for he had secured her wrists to the bedposts with handcuffs, and forced her to watch, hoping that she would be aroused enough to join in to the sex taking place on her own bed.
Aunt Nicole was undergoing analysis for this treatment but, again, I knew nothing of it. What her shrink had advised her to do, among other things, was to have a relationship with someone that she was certain would not be a dominating partner. And, strangely enough, that's where I came into the picture.
My aunt and I had always been friendly, in an aunt/nephew sort of way. I mean, think of the fifteen year age difference, and I'm sure you'll agree that's all it could have been. But I had no inkling at the time of the reasons behind her divorce. That, of course, changed a lot of things.
Shortly after my arrival at Aunt Nicole's in Cincinnati -- about 150 miles from home — I found I couldn't take my eyes off the slope of her breasts in the white sweater she wore, or the swing of her hips as they coiled and uncoiled with the climbing rhythm of her long, sleek legs as she led me into her home. Of course I had a roaring hardon; I think anyone in my position would have had one.
Later that afternoon, Aunt Nicole prepared a picnic lunch and hustled me off to a nearby lake. On arriving, I ran into the cold water, pretended it was fine, and stayed in.
We had the place to ourselves, and some minutes later, to my surprise, Aunt Nicole removed the top of her two-piece bathing suit, pushing it down over her full, pointy breasts and left it draped over her waist.
"Aren't you cold, Aubrey?" I recall her asking a few minutes later.
"No," I called out, but seeing her nipples exposed from a distance made me want to come out of the water for a better view, and after a minute or so, I did just that, trotting through the hot sand to stand over her, trying to cover my unmistakable erection. (I had not had an opportunity to jerk off that day, and the urge to do so could not have been stronger than the moment I was standing over her, staring at her twin peaks.)
Aunt Nicole was looking at me too, although I was too engrossed in her tits to notice. Her next words jarred me back to reality.
"Aubrey, do you know the reason you're here, visiting me?"
"Um, no, not exactly; is it because you need some company after the ... err, divorce?"
"Aubrey, I'm going to be blunt with you. I won't lie to you, about anything. If you ask me a question, I'll do my utmost to give you an honest answer. I expect the same from you, is that understood?"
"Yes, Aunt Nicole."
"Good. Now the reason you're here with me instead of home with your mother and sister is that...." she paused having realized that I was staring incomprehensively at her breasts.
"Do you like them?" she asked, wanting to get my attention back on track, but understanding that she was the cause of my inattentiveness.
"Err, yes, yes, I do, Aunt Nicole."
"That's nice to hear. You may keep looking at them, but I want you to listen to me and what I have to say to you."
"Yes, Aunt Nicole."
"Why are you here with me, Aubrey?"
"I don't know, really," I said, still intent on looking at the first pair of tits I'd ever seen outside of a magazine. Karen's came to mind, of course, but she had yet to develop, and hers were no bigger than my own and therefore not a matter of curiosity.
"You have been playing with your 'Willy,' Aubrey. Not that playing with one's 'Willy' is all that bad, but you have been playing with it incessantly."
"Who told you?" I asked, not having the foggiest idea that anyone was aware of my masturbating proclivities.
"Your mother told me. She despairs for you, Aubrey. I tried to reason with her over the phone. I told her that all boys do it. For that matter, so do almost all girls as well, your mother being an exception to the norm. And that's why she cannot understand why you do it."
"Oh," I said, and must have turned crimson with embarrassment, for Aunt Nicole was quick to follow up with: "What I can't fathom, and please understand, I'm not even close to being well versed on the subject, but how could you manage to do it so often? I mean, I'm told you were doing it seven or eight times a day. And that's at home. God knows what you did at school or elsewhere during your free time."
"That's all it was," I admitted lamely.
"Every day?"
"Mostly, yes," I said and began to fidget, for the subject had caused my cock to swell, and in the swimming trucks it was most evident.
