Chapter 3

Two days passed routinely with nothing more than a regular smile and an occasional peck on the cheek from Aunt Jane. At times I began to wonder if any of the images that filled my mind so frequently had really happened at all. Then Thursday afternoon rolled around.

My class ended a little late, so my usual leisurely stroll home took on a little more urgency, stimulated by my hunger. I entered the townhouse noisily by the front door, but there was no reply to my cheerful "Hi!" I walked into the kitchen and immediately noticed a large yellow "sticky note" on the refrigerator door. Aunt Jane's familiar script read, "Lunch is in the frig. Bring it up to the deck, and let's eat."

I opened the refrigerator door, and sure enough, a tray was laden with sandwiches, chips and soda cans. I dropped my knapsack to the floor and slid the tray from the refrigerator. Closing the door with my heel, I turned toward the stairs. Taking the stairs one at a time, I was careful not to spill or drop anything from the tray. I entered my bedroom to obtain access to the deck.

Aunt Jane was fully reclined on one of the chaise lounges on the deck. I stopped quietly at the sliding glass door to take stock. She was wearing one of the tiniest bikini's I had ever seen. It was crocheted, and the "cups" of the bra did little more than cover the areolas and nipples on each of her firm, round breasts. The bikini bottom formed a small triangle at her crotch, covering only the absolute minimum and leaving little to the imagination. Aunt Jane was wearing a large pair of sunglasses and was reading a magazine. I bit my lip as I surveyed her firm, tanned figure and wondered how I could appear "casual" as I walked out the door.

When she heard the door slide open, Aunt Jane looked up with her usual great smile and chirped, "Hi, I was wondering when you would show up. I'm starved!"

"Class ran long," I replied, "and my stomach is eating a hole in my backbone."

"Let's eat!" she said, raising the back of her lounge to a near vertical position as I approached with tray in hands. She motioned to the small table between the two chaise lounges, and I sat the tray down. I sat on the edge of the lounge opposite her.

Aunt Jane went about removing the plastic wrap from the tray, showing no signs of self-consciousness over her appearance. She handed me half a sandwich with a smile, taking another for herself and biting off a corner of it with enthusiasm. "Yummmm," she almost moaned, "this probably wouldn't taste so good if I weren't so hungry."

I alternated among bites of my sandwich, handfuls of chips, and gulps from a can of Coke, all the while discretely drinking in her body. A light gold chain around her neck and two clips in her hair were all that she wore besides the few square inches of bikini. She had a uniform tan that obviously covered her entire body, and a few beads of sweat glistened on her forehead and breastbone. The sound of the waves and the scent of the sea breeze made positive contributions to the near idyllic scene.

After finishing two sandwich halves, Aunt Jane pulled the dark glasses halfway down the bridge of her nose with a single finger. She stared at me over the tops of the sunglasses and asked in an almost menacing tone, "Are you staring at me, Barry?"

My gulp was almost audible, and I lied unconvincingly. "No. No!"

"Don't you fib to me," she hissed. "I could see you staring at me." She paused long enough for my embarrassment to become patently obvious, then added, "Don't be embarrassed, honey, I don't mind. In fact, I kind of like it." She grinned with the last remark, pushed her sunglasses back up, and reclined the back of her lounge about 45 degrees. "You haven't asked me for any help lately, honey. Are you o.k.?"

Her question threw me off balance again. I cleared my throat and said, "Yeah, I'm o.k., I guess."

"Would you like some help right now?" I barely paused before nodding my head in the affirmative, and she responded by gracefully turning knees and ankles together, putting her feet to the deck and standing. She reached for my hand, pulled me upright, then led me toward the house. She slid the screened door to my bedroom open, leading me inside and closing the screen behind us. She walked straight to the side of my bed and sat down midway between the headboard and the foot of the bed. She pulled me, still standing, to a position directly in front of her.

"Well, these have to come down," she said, pulling my shorts and briefs down together, letting them drop around my ankles. My cock was already fully rigid, and she made a low whistle as it bounced into view. She looked up at me and smiled as she wrapped the fingers of her right hand around it, squeezing it softly. "Oh, baby, you do need help," she said very quietly, but not in a whisper. The fingertips of her left hand slipped beneath my balls, touching them lightly, as her right hand began sliding up and down the length of my shaft.

Her hand moved very slowly up and down the length of my iron-hard cock. Her touch was both delicate and firm, stimulating chills or bolts of energy that cascaded up and down my arms, legs and backbone. My hips began rocking back forth involuntarily, moving in time to the strokes of her hand on my cock. "Feels good, doesn't it honey?" she stated more than asked. I answered with only a low moan that was a clear affirmative. "You have such a beautiful cock, baby. It feels so good in my hand." She tightened the grip of her fingers each time they approached the swollen head of my cock, generating a soft moan from me with each circuit.