I had just made love to my sensational Aunty Pat, but she then looked at me rather critically, almost as if I had offended her, although I was pretty sure I hadn't.
"Now, Tony," she said, "we have to do something about your hair."
My hair? All right, so it may be unfashionably long, but it's jet black and women - older women, especially - often comment on it. "What's wrong with my hair, aunty?" I asked, "I like it long like this."
The former lingerie and adult magazine model laughed. "Not that hair, silly, this hair." And she stroked my cock. "Now, come with me into the en suite."
Aunty, now naked after removing the sexy PVC playsuit she had worn for our first session of love-making, stepped into the large bathroom beside the bedroom, where she ran hot water in a hand basin. Taking a safety razor, she wetted my cock and balls with a cloth, then bent down.
Her handling of me down there had the effect of stiffening my penis, and by the time she had started shaving the hair from my shaft, I was fully aroused again. She then removed all my pubic hair from my scrotum and gave my pubic hair at the base of my cock a severe crew cut, leaving only a wisp of black there, like a small moustache.
"There," she said, admiring her handiwork, "much nicer. Look in the mirror."
I did so and had to admit my seven-inch erection looked superb! "It must be an optical illusion, but my cock looks longer, aunty," I said, looking with interest at my now nearly hairless crotch.
"Exactly, that's why I did it, darling," she smiled, stroking my now smooth prick. "Now to your abdomen."
Aunty then proceeded to shave off all the dark hair over my abdomen, before removing all traces of hair from around my nipples - my chest is pretty hairless, anyway.
"Next your thighs, darling," she said, soaping my left thigh with the cloth. "I sometimes like to rub myself to orgasm on my lover's thigh, and I prefer it if he's shaved there as well."
She then removed all traces of hair from that thigh, before doing the same to my right. Aunty Pat looked at my legs and frowned: "That looks stupid, I'm afraid. We'll have to take all the hair off your calves to balance it up." And she did just that.
The final depilation was to remove the slight traces of fuzzy hair from my shoulders, then the small of my back.
Aunty then inspected my body as I stood, naked and stiff-pricked before her.
"Much better, darling, have a look," and with that she turned me to face the full-length mirror set on one wall of the bathroom.
The effect of the hair removal served to make the hair on my head looked even longer!
"I love it, aunty, I think I look smashing," I said, stepping into her arms and kissing her full on the mouth.
"You look good enough to eat, Tony," she laughed, "but now we've got to work on your sun tan. I'll eat you later!"
And we went hand-in-hand downstairs and out to the large secluded swimming pool in the rear of the large property aunty owns on the outskirts of Valencia.
We arranged recliners side by side and aunty rubbed lotion all over my back, buttocks and legs. "Now lie on your tummy for half an hour, then we'll work on the other side," said aunty, applying lotion to her front, a task I quickly offered to perform.
Aunty Pay lay back on her recliner and I rubbed the lotion into her shoulders, arms, breasts, chest and belly, then over her thighs and calves. She was already tanned a deep, golden brown, and her gleaming body looked oh-so-fuckable.
As a final touch, I could not resist running a forefinger along her sex trench. She slapped my hand away with a chuckle: "Later, Tony, later!"
After we were both relaxed, soaking up the warm Spanish sunshine, I asked aunty how long she had been a lingerie model.
"I started at the age of 30," she told me. "I was 'talent spotted' in Esher High St, of all places, by a lovely man who was a photographer for what we used to call 'skin' magazines.
"He told me he was sure he could sell a spread of pictures featuring me to a very well known magazine and I was 30, married to your Uncle Roger and bored out of my skull.
"Tony take my advice and never marry a stockbroker - not that you're ever likely to. They are total bores, both at the dinner table and in the bedroom.
"Anyway, I appeared in one of those magazines under a spread titled something dreadful, I think it was 'Grab a look at these handfuls', or something equally disgusting.
"But from then on the work simply flowed in. I was appearing in lingerie catalogues from all over - I even flew to Germany to do a spread for a pussy magazine, which specialised in ladies in PVC and carrying whips."
"What was Uncle Roger's reaction," I said, feeling my cock stirring at aunty's story about her modelling days.
"When he finally found out - one of my spreads was seen by some idiot at his office, who brought it to his attention - he was absolutely livid," said Aunty Pat.
"How dare I drag his name through the mud. Crap like that. But I was earning good money. When he thought I was playing golf at Royal Berkshire, or off with my girl friends for lunches at The Savoy, I was secretly being photographed in raunchy shoots for sexy magazines.
"I was becoming famous and I think that's what peeved him most of all. He was simply Roger the stockbroker, just another name in the City, and here I was, making good money and having men all over the place masturbating to my pictures!"
"And that led to the divorce?" I asked, feeling beneath myself to arrange my stiffy more comfortably on the towel.
"Not quite," said Aunty Pat, rubbing her hands over her lovely 40-inch breasts, making them glow even more in the strong sun.
"The lesbian movies were the straw that broke the camel's back," she told me. "I never appeared in porn movies with men, but I did about 20 videos with some lovely young - oh, I guess you'd call them Page 3 girls.
"It was all very tame stuff, but they had some really crude titles. There was 'Licking Lesbos', and another was called 'My Mistress's Muff', from memory.
"The least salacious title was 'Pat Takes It Lying Down', in which a Page 3 doll ties me down on the bed and has her wonderfully wicked way with me. And after all that, Roger sued for divorce, which suited me just fine."
"How was that, aunty?" I asked, stretching languidly in the warm sun.
"Well, we went through the divorce courts and the judge was a lovely old man. He agreed that there was an irretrievable breakdown in the marriage, but I often caught him looking at me with a rather knowing smile. I think he might have seen some of my videos, or the magazines. Who knows?
"But the upshot was that he found I had contributed in a large way to Roger's success in the City, being the dutiful wife, preparing lavish parties for him at home when he wanted to impress clients, all the crap that goes with being a stockbroker's wife.
