Chapter 1

I would like to inform you right up front that this is, what one would consider in crude terms, a story with erotic content. Readers under eighteen years of age should not be reading this sex-laden tale of depravity and kinky pursuits. Since I still retain a certain level of normal non-erotic thoughts, I have tried to be circumspect in presenting the facts without embellishment or any form of exaggeration to make my participation less shameful.

Let me hasten to assure you that I am a perfectly normal male with good breeding and a good education and my mother often complements on my excellent hygiene. I take good care of my body even having the advantage of a personal trainer at an early part of my life when I was first beginning to experiment with the opposite sex. My trainer was a mature woman with fiery red hair and she took every effort to insure I was full acquainted with all aspects of entering and sustaining productive congress with all future female openings from various angles and with a tempo and rhythm that would put a smile on any female's face by the end of my up close and personal attentions.

The first time I met my Aunt Maggie was shortly after the motorcar race on the other side of the Channel on some Godforsaken track that failed to keep the chickens behind the fence. I almost lost that race because the car in front of me hit some poor little creature splattering my windshield with numerous blood tinged feathers that stuck like glue to the glass with severe impact on my visibility. I refused to modify my speed because of my obsession with winning and managed to make it to the finish line without further incident. Strangely, I was off any chicken dishes for the duration of the tour.

I did my utmost to avoid the French women of that country that appeared to take great pleasure in throwing their sometimes vibrant nubile bodies in my path mainly because I was greatly in fear of contracting some dread disease associated by most experts with the residents of France. It was a foolish impulse on my part because that stereotype obviously applied to the "ladies of the night" who inhabited the cabarets and the tourist traps preying on unsuspecting proper gentlemen with deprived libidos. I had succumbed to such dalliances in some similar depraved clubs in London from time to time but it was only to humor my male companions who seemed to consider such tomfoolery part of normal masculine behavior. One of problems was that I was socially inept enough to not easily tell the difference between decent well-behaved females and the beautiful creatures that hid their kinky desires behind a web of deceit. I was all too easily fooled by a pretty face and often regretted my choice of nocturnal partners when I was exposed to their weakness of the flesh. Of course, I seldom objected at the time since I was having my own share of "tingles" and happy endings but I knew without a doubt these pretty wenches were severely lacking in adequate moral character and other qualities needed for spousal duties.

Right in the middle of this confusing mess of sexual excess and unsatisfying relationships, I met my Aunt Maggie for the first time. She was bent over the edge of a billiard table with one leg up and one leg down giving both I and several others a fine view of British womanhood from a rear angled position.

I was immediately protective of my Aunt Maggie because I could not escape the fact she was my relation and my mother's youngest sister as well with no husband or father or brother to defend her honor. I removed my jacket and covered up the wide angle viewing of her delectable privates by the drooling band of horny males, like any self-respecting nephew would do under similar circumstances.

Maggie, being Maggie, simply fixed me with her serious look and told me,

"Best not be blocking the view, young lad, nothing makes me sharper with my shot than the thought that a horde of horny lechers are zooming in on my female bits. Besides this is a money shot and I hate to lose.

I backed out of the area of ogling pleasure and watched her flimsy knickers quiver with excitement as she lined up the final shot. It was perfect and she celebrated by jumping up and landing on her wide platform high heels like some paratrooper storming the Citadel of Europe.

After she collected her loot and brought a round for the house, she approached me and told me that I reminded her of her silly sister Rose.

I admitted that Rose was indeed my mother and she gave me a sloppy wet kiss right on my lips that was more suited to lovers on their wedding night than a kindly aunt pecking her distant and never seen before nephew's inexperienced lips. Of course, my pecker took the opportunity to spring into action. It was a performance that I could ascertain Aunt Maggie picked up on like a homing pigeon circling the nest.

We sat down in a booth in the corner and she rubbed her nylon encased legs all over my thighs like I was a paying customer at a lap-dance club. I really don't want to make it sound like I am complaining because quite the opposite is true. I retained my terrible erection the entire time that Aunt Maggie was practically sitting in my lap and I knew she was fully aware of my terrible behavior below the belt. I had absolutely no control over my raging passion because in all honesty my Aunt Maggie was truly a hot number. I did my best to contain my urge to show my aunt the skills my dedicated redheaded personal trainer had passed on to me with enthusiasm in multiple lessons on the gym mats and in the back of my four door motorcar.

"So you are Rose's son. If memory serves me correctly, you were baptized Ronald. Ronald seems such a silly name that I will call you "Nephew". That will remind me of our family connection and put a damper on my terrible itch that constantly plagues me night and day like some sickness with a happy ending."