According to Mother, Grandpa and Grandma never quite knew what to do with her sister. Their first daughter, Mother took a position at Anderson’s Fine Apparel, sold my father an expensive cravat, married him and had me. Holly, on the other hand, closer to my age than hers, became a librarian, but never caught a husband.

I figured being a librarian was why she wore glasses and maybe the glasses were why she wasn’t married, but what seemed to me odd was her un-remorse about it. In Mother’s view, anyway, postponing marriage might make sense for a professional woman, but “already heading towards thirty, her sister needed to be going to church socials where there might be a widower.

Instead, Aunt Holly read poetry that didn’t even rhyme. She showed me one about a sunflower that she said was about God. I guess God could be a flower if He wanted to, but why would He do that? Mother said that my aunt was a bookworm.

I didn’t see a problem with her being an old maid, though. Who wouldn’t want an aunt whose birthday gift to you is your favorite because she’d have read up on what boys like. One year she bought me an Erector Set. Another year it was a tweed tam-o’-shanter.

Aunt Holly was also a swell aunt because I’d stop by her place to help with something and she’d have cookies baked. Totally aunt-like, that. Maybe, though, she’d not be entirely dressed. Not aunt-like. We’d sit on the divan and she’d show me what she was reading and sometimes I could see down her top. We’d get joshing around and I’d end up against her, but she didn’t care.

It was my fifteenth and Aunt Holly was over for dinner. Mother insisted she get at least one proper meal per week. “She’s just skin and bones!”

My aunt and I were in the carriage shed looking at my father’s Ford he’d bought to give him a jump in sales, but we knew that Mother wanted him to sport her around.

Aunt Holly and I both wanted to learn to drive, but she said that I was too young and I said that she was a girl, and we swatted each other with our caps.

“Let’s see what it feels like to be behind the wheel,” her thought, seating me on the driver’s seat and plopping herself on my lap.

After we’d discussed the choke, she pulled my hands against the side of her ribs. “If we’re going to drive this thing,” she pointed out, “you need to hold the wheel,” which I did, her arm over mine to reach the gear.

“Cow!” she’d say and I’d steer left while she leaned right.

“Think you hit his tail,” perching herself higher on my lap. “Eyes on the road, Buddy. Elephant!” pretending to break for the supposed pachyderm, her blouse against the backs of my hands.

“Escaped from the circus,” she added. “Don’t move. They can be dangerous when startled. Read it in a zoo-keeping book.”

I did my best not to move before we were out of danger. How many boys get to drive down the road, their aunt’s breasts pressing the backs of their hands at every animal? Not many, I’ll bet.

That was when Mother interrupted our excursion, but I don’t think she saw. She and Father were going to Grandma’s for a visit. Did we want to go, her asking rather than declaring meaning that she knew I’d say no thanks. In that case, Aunt Holly and I could put away the rest of the dishes and keep each other company.

“Our gift to them,” my aunt’s remark as they drove off. As I must have looked puzzled, she added, “Sunday afternoon and they can’t take advantage of it here, so maybe they’ll pull over halfway.” As I must have looked more puzzled, she ended it with, “Never mind.”

The dishes we took care of before we settled down on the divan to read, but it was no time at all before my aunt stretched out to be comfortable, her head on my lap, her “literary pillow.” Fine by me, as my elbow had nowhere to park but against her chest. Actually not just against it, but I tried to keep it light.

“You know, Buddy,” after a few minutes more, my arm more back and forth and her chest higher. “I’m reading a romance novel. Ever read one?”

I hadn’t, but I was reading one about knights.

“My book says you need to give your aunt a kiss.”

We’d pecked hello and goodbye a thousand times, but this one was longer, on the mouth, her tongue flitting against mine, even, her breasts reminding me of the car.

My birthday present from her was “Journey to the Center of the Earth” which I planned to begin that evening. Before she left, though, she signaled me into the kitchen, grinning and hushing her voice. “A special present,” pulling a booklet from her bag.

It was a flipbook, the kind that looks like a moving picture when you thumb the pages. My friend Theodore had one showing a fellow juggle.

“Thanks,”

By the second page, I knew it was a lot more interesting than Theodore’s. In this one, a lady’s facing away, cane at her side, wearing nothing but a sailor’s cap, garters and high heels. Flipping the pages made her first wiggle her fanny, then turn around with a look as if to say, “Oh My,” though I wasn’t looking at her look. She twirled her cane and saluted me goodbye.

Wow! Would Theodore want to see this one!

“As they say over there, oo la la,” my aunt informed me, “Your Father doesn’t need to know,” which seemed rather obvious.

It was the following Sunday that Aunt Holly suggested going to the Oxbow. We could take our books. We might see a pair of otters also out for the afternoon, the difference being that they wouldn’t have brought books.

Mother thought the idea was great and supplied us with a flask of lemonade and a blanket “in case you feel like a little nap.”

Walking through the field, Aunt Holly took my arm as if I was some sort of Dapper Dan. “Kind sir, would you help this old auntie cross this busy street?”

I agreed to do it. “I’ll save you from any runaway corn wagons, ma’am,” and with that, she took my arm, her breast against my elbow and onward we went.

“Here’s a joke for you, Buddy. You’re old enough,” as I helped her up what I said was a high curb, her ascent causing her to cross my arm with the whole of half her front.

If I wasn’t, I’d not admit it.

“So there’s this girl who sells cigarettes on the Empire Express,” she went on, our curb negotiation the same a few yards further. “She’s got a beau at every station, but the train only stops for ten minutes. What does she wire ahead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mate me at the station.”

I laughed and laughed, not because the joke was so swell (but maybe it was), but delighted at her considering me grown up. After that, we walked on as if there were lots of curbs for me to help this old auntie over.

Just gassing around, the two of us.

We spread our blanket on the bank and watched the ripples. I’d my book about airplanes, and she, a book involving a butler. She read me a few lines, but I missed why she thought it amusing.

The afternoon was far too pleasant to while away reading, but I hardly expected she’d suggest taking a dip.

“Didn’t bring our suits,” thinking it rather obvious.

“In our underthings, silly. The otters won’t care.”

I guess I was too surprised to respond, as before I could come up with an excuse, she was in her brassiere and underpants, and I’d really no choice but to strip to my skivvies and in we waded.

“We’re on a whaling ship,” her idea, “and I’m Ishmael up in the crows-nest,” setting me down where it was still shallow and hopping on my lap as in the car. “There she blows!” pulling my hands around her to prevent her from falling.

After we’d harpooned Moby, I ventured my hand back to where she’d put it, and her narration changed into one about a damsel tied to the railroad tracks. “Oh please, sir, you must unbind me. I will repay you in whatever manner you desire,” but then she started to giggle.

Her on my lap, me in my skivvies, how much of me could she feel?

Back on the bank, she solved our wet underwear problem by deciding we’d not put them back on, heading behind the poplars to change, and leaving me to do it where I stood.

Making our way back to the house, her again on my arm, but now without her brassiere, I could feel the difference. I said I was watching for runaway corn wagons, but maybe she caught that I was watching her blouse.

When Mother asked how was the Oxbow, Aunt Holly — nipples obvious without her brassiere --said great. As Mother’s were the same, a four-for-one in my book.

“Bingo,” Aunt Holly’s comment when we were by ourselves, but not about what. As I said earlier, one reason I liked her was because she knew what boys my age liked.

What I didn’t think of until afterward was what happened to our wet underwear, but as they were on the line, next day, my only explanation was that my aunt passed them to my mother who hung them up.

“Ever seen a naked woman before?” not the type of question I would have expected as we arrived at the Oxbow the week following. Handing us the blanket, Mother had said we needn’t hurry back.

“Maybe in that book where you flip the pages,” I managed.

“Me neither – a fellow, I mean – except pictures,” she confided, making us equals.

For some reason, this made me feel even more grown up. “Well, maybe I’ve seen Mother,” I thought to add.

“Maybe when her door’s open a crack and your father’s away?”

“Maybe,” wondering how she knew.

“Maybe her helping you learn about us,” her comment.

That one took some thought. My mother let me spy so I’d know a little? It didn’t seem like Mother, but then again, maybe she thought it better than leaving it to me on my own.

Aunt Holly moved to the present. “We won’t end up with anything wet except ourselves. You close your eyes and I’ll go behind the trees,” as if we’d decided.

“Water’s fine,” at which I opened my eyes, though I’d not entirely shut them and had now seen my second naked woman, if briefly.

As she was facing away, I popped off my trousers and was into the water as fast as possible. As long as we weren’t close, I’d be safe. Plus she’d left her glasses on the bank.

After a minute, though, she paddled closer. “Take that, landlubber!” with a splash.

I returned the volley. “We don’t put up with pirates in these here parts.”

When she rose to deliver a two-hander, I saw her nipples up close, and as our battle moved closer in, I even touched them at times, our splashing making them poke out like marbles...

After we’d each claimed victory, we paddled apart to regain our breath. At least I thought apart, but when I turned, there she was, following.

“Maybe I swashbuckled a little too much,” not like an apology, “but it’s just us.”

It’s one thing, seeing her breasts while swashbuckling, but now I could see even her goosebumps. Did she even mind? Not that I could tell.

As the water got shallower, she didn’t say to cover my eyes. Same for her seeing me, but I needed to act like it was natural.