Aunt Tanya
Copyright© 2026 by Reggie70
Chapter 2
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Tanya is 58, divorced. Her husband ran off with some dumb bitch from Edina. Her nephew, Luke, is 20, lost his job and his apartment, so he moves into her spare room. Her best friend, Gail, comes over for wine and the hot tub, and Gail has no filter and no shame. She decides Tanya has been dead long enough. Slow burn at first, then it ain't slow no more.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Age Gap Consensual Fisting Masturbation Oral Sex
He fixed the back step the first morning.
Tanya came out with her coffee and he was already out there in a t-shirt and jeans with her late husband’s toolbox open — Dale’s brother had missed that one box, or hadn’t wanted it — pulling up the rotted board like he’d been doing it all his life. He’d measured twice. He had the new board cut before she was done with her cup. He worked neat. That surprised her. Boys his age usually worked like a tornado and left the mess for somebody else.
“You didn’t have to start today,” she said.
“I owe you rent somehow.” He didn’t look up. “Make me a list. Everything broken. I’ll go down it.”
By the end of the week the list was half crossed off. The dripping faucet in his bathroom. The gate that wouldn’t latch. The porch light. The shelf in the pantry that had leaned for a year. He mowed the four acres in strips and fixed the mower halfway through when it died, sitting in the grass with parts laid out in order on a rag, grease up to his elbows.
She watched him more than she should have.
She told herself she was checking his work. She told herself it was nice having the place looked after. Both were true. Neither was the whole truth and she knew it at 2 a.m. when she couldn’t sleep, which was the only time she was fully honest.
The whole truth was she’d started thinking about what she wore around the house.
Nothing crazy. She wasn’t parading around in her underwear like a fool. But the old tank top she used to clean in got left in the drawer. She wore the blue one instead, the one that fit. Her shorts were the shorter pair. She caught herself in the hallway mirror fixing her braid and stood there disgusted with herself — 58 years old, primping for her sister’s kid like a girl before a dance.
Then she left the braid the way it was and went to set the table.
Karen called Thursday.
“How’s he doing?” her sister said. “He eating? You tell him I said to look for work, not just your work.”
“He’s fine. He’s fixing the place up. Place needed it.”
“You’re a saint, Tanya. I mean it. I don’t know what he’d do without you.”
Tanya said the right things and hung up and sat with the phone in her lap. A saint. She thought about the blue tank top in the laundry basket and laughed once, out loud, alone in the quiet kitchen, and it didn’t sound like a good laugh.
She told Gail about it Friday at work. Not all of it. But more than she’d told anybody.
Gail was 55 and worked the counter at the co-op with her. Two husbands gone, one to a grave and one to a divorce lawyer, and she’d come out of both with the same laugh and no interest in a third. They took their break out back by the propane cage where the boss couldn’t hear, Gail with a cigarette she was always “quitting,” Tanya with a Coke.
“You’re in a mood lately,” Gail said.
“I’m not in a mood.”
“You fixed your hair. Twice this week. And you hummed. I heard you by the seed bags. You don’t hum, Tanya. You barely talk before nine.”
Tanya picked at the Coke tab. “Luke moved in. Karen’s boy. I told you.”
“You told me he’s fixing your steps.”
“He is. He’s fixing everything. List’s half done.” She stopped. The next part sat in her mouth a second. “He’s 20 but he’s not — he doesn’t act like the boys at the plant. And he’s — Gail. He’s grown. That’s the thing nobody warns you. You don’t see them for a few years and they come back a man and your brain doesn’t catch up right.”
Gail blew smoke out slow and looked at her sideways. “And?”
“And nothing. And he looked at me. In his room, first night, I was plugging in a fan and my shirt — he looked. Like a man looks.”
“Well.” Gail tapped ash. “Is he good-looking?”
“Gail.”
“That’s not a no. Karen’s boy. Your sister was pretty before she got tired. Is he?”
“He’s got shoulders,” Tanya said, and hated how fast it came out, and Gail laughed so loud the pigeons went off the roof.
“Oh, he’s got shoulders. Lord.” Gail wiped her eyes. “And how long since anybody looked at you like a man looks?”
“You know how long.”