My name is James Marshall. I grew up in Chicago on the south side. A pretty rough part of town full of gangs and violence. To keep me out of all that, my mom insisted I work hard through school. It worked since now at 18 I had been accepted into a special college in San Francisco, the SFC school for gifted writers. I was excited and so was my mom. She said she only knew one person out there. Her name was MS Carlson, the white lady mom used to house clean for.
The two women had kept in touch, Christmas cards and such ever since MS Carlson moved out west. The two were very close when mom worked for her. As a kid, MS Carlson always insisted I called her Aunt Marsha and I did. She must be around 38 or so now. Mom called her and Aunt Marsha said she'd be delighted to house me during my schooling. Things were set, and that week I was on my first plane ride.
The SF airport had people of all sorts walking around. I hardly remembered what Aunt Marsha looked like. Then, a tall, tanned, long dark haired woman who looked like she just stepped off a movie shoot smiled at me, waved and said, "You must be little Jimmy, welcome." I hadn't been called little Jimmy for years and knew at once that this fine woman was MS Carlson, my dear sweet, long lost Aunt Marsha.
We hugged and I felt like a child in her arms. She'd always brought out her nurturing warmth towards me. Things hadn't changed one bit. She began asking me about my mom and revisiting old time between them as we got my luggage. Outside we took a taxi to the hills where she lived.
Her home sat alone on a private street. The nearest house was nearly two blocks away. All the land between them was hers. I never knew what she did for money but from the outside of this mansion, she was good at it. Inside there was a large foyer loaded with pricey adornments and art work. Some of these things I'd seen in a required art class I'd taken. Some stuff was, I learned latter, made just for her.
She took me upstairs and led me to my room. It was larger than my mom's apartment. She left me to unpack and said to meet her later on the patio. After a shower I put on a clean T-shirt and shorts. I was in CA, so I threw on some shades.
Aunt Marsha was sitting on a chase lounge talking on the phone. She had changed herself, now wearing a white midriff shirt which strained to hold back her 40DD breasts. She also wore a thong which revealed her firm sexy legs. For a woman who stood only about 5'5", she sure filled out that lounge.
She smiled as I approached and pointed to a chair near her feet. That was just fine by me as the one thing I was a fool for was a sexy pair of feet. Aunt Marsha sure filled the bill. She had on a pair of high heeled strapless sandals. Her bright shiny red toe nails reflected the afternoon sun. She had her feet hanging over the end of the lounge and was slapping one shoe against her sexy sole again and again as she talked.