Baker Family Fun
Copyright© 2025 by OmegaPet-58
Chapter 7: Room and Bared
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 7: Room and Bared - Siblings Emma and Mike Baker, high school students, live in a tiny city apartment with their two parents. Surprise! After three years of exile there, they're returning to their suburban house, and reconnecting with their next-door neighbors and friends, Dora and Paul Lincoln. All four are similar ages, but puberty has changed them. A lot. Their four parents are reconnecting too. The Lincolns have added a pool, and some pineapple-themed decor. Hmm.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Sharing Aunt Nephew Group Sex Swinging Anal Sex Double Penetration First Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Sex Toys Voyeurism Nudism Slow
Last night, Aunt Dorothy fed me and sent me to bed early, eight o’clock or so. Tired from last night’s overnight hike, I stripped naked and was quickly unconscious. Apparently, she washed my clothes so I’d have something to wear today. She knocked on the door.
“Mike, it’s time to get up. Take a quick shower, and be downstairs in the kitchen for breakfast in twenty minutes. Do you drink coffee?”
“Yes, ma’am, with milk and sugar please.”
“OK. I gave you a bath towel, just wear that to go to and from the bathroom.”
When I emerged from the bathroom, I could smell bacon from the kitchen downstairs. I dressed quickly in my (laundered) old yellow tracksuit and rushed down the stairs.
“Mike,” she said crossly, “don’t stampede in my house; you sound like a herd of cattle.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“Sit, eat, and listen. While I’m thinking about it, for almost seventy years I’ve been Dot, not Dorothy. Call me Auntie or ma’am, but not Dorothy. Now, I’ve asked your father to drive up here with your clothes. You’re going to have a brief reunion, while I supervise so things don’t get out of hand.”
“Out of hand?”
“Mike, he’s furious. He doesn’t understand what’s going on with you. All he knows is you disappeared without telling anybody why, and you made his wife and daughter cry.”
“He’s going to kill me,” I moaned, and put my face in my hands.
“Stop. Mike, that’s why I’m going to keep you here. Please, calm down, drink your coffee and eat your breakfast. He won’t be here until 9:00—it’s 7:30 now. That reminds me, I’m going to find my late husband’s wristwatch later. You should know the time of day. Also, I want you to leave your phone off. You don’t have a charger for it, anyway, right?”
I nodded.
“If you turned it on, it would be full of angry messages you don’t need to see right now. Moving on ... Didn’t I tell you to eat your breakfast? Moving on, this afternoon I’m going to take you to see Dr. Vern Bassett. He’s semi-retired but still sees patients like me who are old friends.”
“Auntie, I’m not injured and I’m not sick.”
“Let’s leave that judgment to him, Mike. And I’m not interested in ... Mike, I’m the boss, don’t give me any ... spit.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Better. After you finish eating, I expect you to wash the dishes, pots, and pans, and clean the kitchen. Up until now, I haven’t asked you about the details of why you walked here. Except for when your father is here, I want you to spend the rest of this morning over at the desk writing down your story. What happened? Why did you leave home so abruptly? Put down a bare explanation of your choices.”
“Who’s going to read this?”
“Probably, no one will. But writing things down will help you organize your thoughts, for when you speak with the doctor. I don’t want you to sit there with him like a lump shrugging your shoulders and grunting, ‘I dunno.’ Understand?”
Again, she didn’t wait for my answer. She looked down at my plate and then back directly into my face, indicating I needed to finish eating and then start cleaning up.
Aunt Dot stood up and headed for the stairs, but then reversed her steps and bent down to kiss me on the forehead.
“I’ll take care of you, Mike,” she whispered.
I tried to relax, losing myself in the routine of cleaning up after breakfast. When I put away the last clean dish, I heard the horn of my father’s car.
My host walked me out and down her front stairs to the concrete walk, with her hand on my shoulder, reassuring me (a little). I watched my father walk stiff-legged around the front of his car, carrying a small case.
He set the case down. Obvious tension in his face and shoulders added to my worry, and then he spoke in a cool and severe tone.
“Aunt Dorothy,” he said. (She was his aunt, and my great aunt.) He then turned to me. “Your mother packed some of your clothes. Can I tell her you’re OK?”
“Yes, father.”
He shifted back to Dot.
“You will tell us when he’s ready to return?”
“I will,” she answered.
With that, he turned on his heel, walked to his car, and drove away without looking back.
“Oh, my,” she whispered. Then, she quickly grabbed my other shoulder because I was weaving. I took in a deep, shuddering breath. I needed to contain my feelings and get control of myself.
“I’m OK, Auntie. Let’s go inside.” I took the case and walked up the steps. She followed me while shaking her head. I turned toward the stairs to put the case in my bedroom, but she stopped me.
“Sorry, Mike, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did what happened out there surprise you?”
“No, because I overheard my father shouting when you called him yesterday. He hates me for upsetting my mom and my sister.”
She did something strange—she started to say, “He doesn’t...” but suddenly stopped. Softly, “Mike, please drop the case upstairs and come right back down. I’ll show you the desk where you can do your writing.”
For a few minutes, I just stared at the blank page. And then I started just taking down facts, going back to moving away from Ash Street to the apartment. I wrote slowly using block letters (not cursive), because screens and keyboards were what I used mostly.
I figured it must be lunchtime, because Dot appeared and handed me a large heavy watch marked “Bulova” with an expanding metal wristband.
“I’m surprised the battery still works,” I told her, and she laughed.
“Honey, this is an entirely mechanical watch with gears and springs. You have to wind it every morning. Don’t overdo it—be gentle. It’s probably three times as old as you are.”
“Uh, Mike, would you go upstairs and check? I put away your clothes, and I want you to confirm what you have up there are your regular things. Let me know if there’s something missing or that you still need.”
I didn’t understand, but I shrugged my shoulders and went upstairs. I opened the case and sighed, finding my usual ragged old clothing.
Back downstairs, I said, “Auntie, they’re my regular clothes.” I pointed to my old tracksuit. “Lots of stuff like this.”
She looked away as if she was studying a corner of the ceiling. When she turned back to look at me, her eyes were wet. Did my clothes cause her allergies?
“Michael, come sit in the kitchen with me for a minute. I need more coffee. You want some?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Her back was to me while she fiddled with the coffee maker.
“You know how to make coffee with this machine?”
“Sure.”
“Those clothes aren’t in good condition, Mike. Do they buy you clothes, like for the start of school every year?”
“No, my father says he and Mom get new clothes because they need them for work, and Em gets new clothes because girls are expected to look nice. Since I’m a boy, it doesn’t matter what I wear.”
“Besides your boots, do you have any light shoes, like sneakers, running shoes, or basketball shoes?”
“I used to have some we got for $13 but they fell apart last year and they haven’t been replaced. I go around barefoot a lot of the time. It’s what I’m used to. Is there something wrong?”
“No, Mike, I was being curious. But we’re going into the city this afternoon to see my friend the doctor. Would it be OK if I bought you some lightweight clothing and shoes?”
“Really? I’d like that, but I don’t have any money to pay you back,” I admitted.
“Don’t worry, it’s a gift. Say, have you been doing your writing?”
“I have. Two pages.”
She stammered, “Excuse m-me, Mike. I’ll b-be back in t-ten minutes-s.” Her voice was suddenly very shaky, and she rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom level.
I felt bad because she was upset. It must have been something I said. One more time, I’d hurt somebody’s feelings without knowing why.
My writing work this morning reminded me how often I felt this way. It didn’t make sense. My teachers seemed satisfied with my performance, sometimes even very positive. With math, science, and English, I did well at school. Graded on social things, though, I got “F” grades all the time.
I stood up and went looking through the cupboards for canned soup. I liked chicken noodle and tomato, and I knew how to make them. Aha! I found the familiar red and white can and put it out on the counter to see if Dot would like me to make it for lunch.
She walked back into the kitchen with her face washed and clear-eyed.
“Auntie, I’m so sorry I upset you. I keep being stupid and offensive but I don’t mean to hurt people. It just happens...”
“Michael Baker!” Exasperated, angry, she pointed her finger at my chair. “Sit your ass down and shut up.”
I sat. Dot took a long moment to calm herself while staring at the ceiling.
“You were being honest and truthful?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Nothing you told me, then, was wrong or a mistake. Think for a minute. Isn’t it possible that what upset me was not your words, but something else? Do you trust me?”
“Yes, I do. Yes, ma’am.”
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