This story takes place towards the end of my high school. I was over eighteen and ripe with energy that I didn’t know where it came from; energy that kept me restless and got me into trouble more than once.

There were five members in our household: my uncle, his wife, my grandmother, my younger aunt, and myself. My younger aunt was the smallest of my mother’s siblings and was still waiting to be married. But this story is not about her; it is about my uncle’s wife.

My uncle’s wife didn’t really like my presence in what would technically be considered her house. I was entrusted into my uncle’s guardianship due to circumstances beyond my control and she had no choice but to accept my presence, but it was very clear from the beginning that she did so reluctantly. Our interaction, most of the time, was as minimal as possible.

My room was a bit isolated from the rest of the house because of its purpose as a guest room. My daily routine was set so that after coming home from school, I would eat my lunch and disappear from the rest of the family until it was dinner time. After that I would disappear until the next. My family members only interacted with me if there was something I needed to help with but usually I kept to myself and they to themselves.

The first incident that brought about a minor change was on a rather hot day when my uncle’s wife —her name is Mehnaz— came to my room and asked me to hook her bra in the back. She was fresh out of bath, probably to stay cool, and I assumed my younger aunt or my grandmother was not around, so she had come to me for help.

It is not uncommon for ladies to ask some male child in the house to do this kind of thing when there are no females available. Only the children are supposed to be a lot younger than I was because of modesty. It is very uncommon to ask a sexually mature boy to do it because of the feelings it can arouse. To top it all, it was the aunt that really didn’t like me, so I had to assume she had no other choice.

She was holding her shirt in front to cover herself and she had moved her wet and dripping hair around her neck to the front as well. Her back was bare for me to see. I had helped my younger aunt many times with the same, so the routine was nothing new to me. I averted my eyes as much as possible and quickly managed to hook her bra. She flicked her hair back onto her back and started to put her shirt on. Once it was on her, she pulled her hair out and straightened them and uttered a quick thank you and left without looking at me.

My uncle’s wife is not as slim as my younger aunt is because of being married and all. She is wider in her back and has a few bulges around where the nala of her shalwar is tied. Her back is also meatier, so when my fingers rubbed on her back, it felt nicer than it had been with my other aunt. When I went back to my books after she had left, her shiny, brown skin stayed as background effect on the pages.

The incident faded from memory soon. It was about a week or so later when she came to my room again and asked me to hook her bra. This time she was not straight out of the bath; instead she was coming from her room where it seemed she was getting ready to go somewhere. She was wearing new, ironed clothes and was smelling of nice perfume, which she usually only does when she and my uncle go visit somebody in another village. It was Sunday, so that made sense because my uncle was home and must have planned a small trip.

I was surprised a bit when I realized that if my uncle was home, then why did she come to me to hook her bra? He could have done it for her. I assumed that my younger aunt and my grandmother were not available yet once again; that’s why she came to me. Probably my uncle had stepped out or something.

This time she wore a bright coloured bra. The reddish colour of the material actually overpowered the brownish colour of her skin and it was the colour of her bra that stayed in my mind, instead of the colour of her skin. My fingers retained the nice warmth of her skin a while longer as well.

Still everything was on the up and up. I didn’t make anything out of it, although I did feel a bit uncomfortable having to do something at my age which usually women ask children much younger than me to do. She was my aunt though and it was perfectly okay for her to come to me, as I was her nephew, which was almost the same as being her son.

One morning, as I was about to leave for school, she asked me to come with her before going out. My uncle had already gone and my younger aunt and my grandmother were busy somewhere around or out of the house. I followed her to her room. As I waited for her to tell me what she wanted me to do, she crossed her hands in front of her, grabbed her shirt from the sides and started to lift it up and off of her. Her back was towards me, so I couldn’t really see anything that I hadn’t seen before. She didn’t have a bra on as I was able to see her entire back without being distracted by the strap.

She bent over a little and picked up a bra from her bed and started to wrap it around her breasts. It was during that bending and extending her hands outward to put her bra on that I saw the sides of her breasts clearly. She held the two straps on her back and asked me to hook her up. I moved close to her quickly and did as I was told. She picked her shirt up, put her hands through the bottom and slid it over her head and onto her body.

She turned around as she was still fixing it and smiled. She thanked me for the help and I took my leave to go to school. All day I kept seeing the sides of her breasts in my mind and kept thinking about the way she had fixed her shirt around her breasts after she thanked me. Even her smile seemed special in the afterglow of her breasts shining from her sides. I had finally seen a glimpse of a small part of a woman’s breasts. It was special.

I did wonder why she didn’t ask any other member of the family to hook her up, specially my uncle because she must have put her shirt on in his presence. Then I thought that may be she just forgot and when she did remember, I was the only one around.

I knew it was a rare occurrence to see that much of her because chances of that happening again were very little. My younger aunt or someone else would normally be around to take care of the situation. It came as a big surprise when a few days later she asked me again to help her before going to school.

As before, she removed her shirt and looked for her bra to put on. It wasn’t on the bed. She looked around to see where it was and found it sitting on her dresser. She had to turn left to go there and that meant that she had to expose her naked front to me. She put her hands on her breasts, sort of cupped them, and went to the dresser. I tried to look down to avoid seeing anything, but not before I got an eyeful. I saw her front; except the parts that were covered by her hands. I was embarrassed by the situation and felt a little flustered, but it was exciting as well. I actually felt a little warm.

She went to the dresser and put the bra on her breasts while my eyes stayed glued to the floor. She called me once she had put it on and held it in position. I moved behind her to do the hooking. Only she was standing in front of a mirror and I could see both sides of her; her back directly and her front through the reflection in the mirror. Tried as I might but I couldn’t help looking into the mirror. She was looking directly at me and our eyes met.

I felt embarrassed by being so “caught” by her, but I had no choice. I saw her cleavage, her belly, her belly button, and the part below her navel. A sudden rush in my blood flow made my vision go blurry but I recovered quickly. I hooked her bra and left without saying anything. I didn’t even give her a chance to say thank you this time. I was feeling ashamed of having seen my aunt so without clothes.

I don’t know what made me stop and look back as I stepped out of the door. She was facing me and was watching me leave. Our eyes met again, this time directly, without the benefit of a reflection. She seemed lost somewhere and gave me a slight smile but didn’t say anything. I rushed out of there as fast as I could.

Her cleavage, her belly, and the area below her navel stayed in my mind all through the day, as did the embarrassment. When I came home that afternoon, I didn’t have the courage to even go eat my lunch. I was afraid of coming face to face with her. I didn’t know if she was upset at my boldness of looking at her directly that morning.

I was very hungry though and I couldn’t even think, let alone do my homework, because my brain needed some nourishment. I was startled when she came to my room with my food. I was grateful for her thoughtfulness and I even managed to come out and eat where we normally eat our food.

She let a few days pass before she asked me to hook her bra up again. This time she didn’t need to go to the dresser so everything was standard. Except when I finished hooking her up, she didn’t put her shirt on. She actually turned around to face me in just her bra. Her shirt stayed on the bed.

She smiled and thanked me and asked me if it was becoming too much for me to do this small thing for her. My eyes were focused on her chest. I tried, but failed, to reciprocate her smile. I was too nervous to speak or to do anything else. I just shook my head and took my leave.

Obviously she was becoming more and more comfortable with me; that’s why she no longer cared about putting her shirt on right away. She felt okay in letting me see her only in her bra. Only that made me very uncomfortable. I didn’t want to see her only in her bra. She looked good that way and I didn’t want to feel about her the way I ended up feeling. I actually enjoyed seeing her that naked. My breathing became uneven. I even felt movement in my lower regions and I knew that wasn’t good, or even allowed.

But there was no way for me to tell her to stop doing that. I couldn’t come out and say to her that she should cover herself up because I was starting to get excited by her. I didn’t know why she didn’t realize for herself that it wasn’t appropriate for her to show that much of herself to me. I just figured that our relationship was secure enough that she didn’t need to worry about me getting excited. I actually felt guilty for having such feelings after seeing her.

It became a routine for me to every morning help her with her bra. She would go to her room. Take her shirt off while facing away from me and towards her bed. The bra was always on her bed, which she would put on her breasts and extend the straps to back where I would reach over and hook it up. Simple and quick, but always significant.

One day she went to her room and took her shirt off as usual. I realized very quickly that something was different when I found myself looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her breasts were completely visible to my eyes, which popped out of their sockets at that incredible sight. It turned out that she had left her bra on her dresser and out of habit she took her shirt off in front of the mirror where I could see her topless.

She realized her mistake quickly and covered her breasts with her hands while screaming slightly, “Hai maan!” [oh mother!]

As her eyes looked into my face and found me so flabbergasted, she said, “Turn around quickly, I don’t want you to see me like this.” I mechanically turned while trying to memorize that view and imprint it on my brain. I didn’t want to forget it.

That was my first time seeing a woman’s breasts so completely and so closely. They were even better than I had ever imagined them to be. My aunt’s breasts were big and round and supple and beautiful. Her nipples were big and pointy. Her flesh looked delicious. Try as I might not to, I became erect nonetheless.

When she called me back towards her again, I found her red and flushed. I was flushed myself. When our eyes met through the mirror, we looked away from each other quickly. They met a few times though. She really looked embarrassed, as did I. But nothing was said other than the looks of embarrassment.

As I was leaving, she said, “You won’t tell anyone about what happened, would you?”

Her question caught me by surprise. “Who am I going to tell?”

I looked at her to see if she would say more, but she didn’t and after a brief pause, I just left. My eyes kept seeing those breasts all day long.

She came to my room after lunch. It took her a while before she spoke. She said, “I feel so ashamed for what happened this morning?”

I thought about an answer for a few moments; then replied softly, “There is nothing to be ashamed of. It was an accident.”

“Yes, it was.” She smiled weakly. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

That would be a pity, I thought to myself. I would have liked to see those breasts again. I said nothing though. It seemed like she waited expectedly to hear something from me. When nothing came, she said, “You didn’t feel too uncomfortable, I hope.”

“I did, at first, but when I realized that it was a fluke thing, I got over it.”

“Well, I am sorry about that.”

Again I said nothing and she left after waiting for a while for me to say something. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, so I had stayed quiet.

Things were a bit tense and quiet the next time we performed our routine. I felt bad because I think she felt bad but there was nothing I could say or do to make her feel better. I wanted to make her feel better though because I think she was making a big deal out of an accident. But how, that was the question.

Then it came to me. So far we had done what we were doing, that is hooking her up, in absolute silence. There was never any conversation between us other than thank you from her. I usually followed her and did what I was supposed to do and then left without saying anything. I knew that I had to break the silence or she may stop asking me for help.

The subject came without much searching. Next time I was hooking her up, I made a remark as casually as possible, “Auntie, you seem to prefer red a lot?”

That was the first time I acknowledged the fact that I had paid attention to what I was doing. She replied, “I don’t know why, but I like red. It makes me feel different.”

We actually had a conversation about her underwear. I wanted to know if she had matching panties on, but I didn’t express my thoughts. I think she was relieved at my breaking the silence, so she asked me quickly, fearing that the silence may creep back in, “What colour do you think I should try?”

“I don’t know. I hear a lot of good things about black.”

From silence to saying mouthful, we had made a huge progress. Later on, as I reflected on our conversation, I couldn’t believe I had suggested that my aunt should wear black underwear. It was a bit intimate for us to discuss something as personal as undergarments, panties and bras to be specific, but we had done it. I guess after dealing with her bra for so long, it was only a slight jump to discussing it. In our culture though, that was a big jump.

Next day, sure enough, her bra was black. The fact that she had worn it after my suggestion, when in the past her bras were normally red or white, was a significant thing and I had to say something.

“I see you are wearing black today.” Was all I could come up with.

“Well, you suggested it. So, how does it look?” She asked boldly as she gave me a view of both front and back.

“It looks better than red.” Was all I could come up with, again.

She smiled and I felt that a huge wall had been lifted from between us. A wall that not only consisted of the silence and formality that we usually had, but of something else as well, of another barrier. As I was leaving, she said, “I know I am going to feel very embarrassed and even ashamed later, but look.”

I turned to look and she had pulled her shalwar down a little to expose her panty. It was a matching panty. I just laughed. She laughed with me.

I tell you, I felt hard all day long. There was an erection between my legs that just wouldn’t go away. I kept thinking of my aunt, of her bra, of her panties, even of her naked breasts as I had the privilege of seeing them once, even though accidentally. I felt special because she took my advice and chose a colour that I had suggested. I imagined her thinking of me when she bought those and that made me feel excited. My aunt was thinking of me when she was buying her underwear. Imagine that, my aunt buying underwear because of me, dare I say, for me.