Aunt Ethel
This story starts out when having kids out of wedlock wasn't common, when there was no Internet, GPS, or iPhones, when sex education was not taught in school, when abortion was normally back-alley, when being "queer" was never talked about except with hush-hush "well you know" comments, when birth control was – except for using condoms and diaphragms – not easy, when if a woman wasn't married by the time that she was twenty five she was either an old maid, whore, or queer (a lesbian), and when if someone was a "career woman" that wasn't a good thing. Times have changed for the better on all of those fronts; what has not changed, however is animal lust – sexual attraction that overcomes all obstacles regardless of whether it's thoughtful, rash, smart, or ignorant.
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I, Chad Warton, started dating Michelle Britton when we had just turned eighteen, as seniors in High School. We were both from middle class close families with several siblings, stay-at-home moms, and fathers who worked with their hands. I thought that Michelle was a pretty girl, and intelligence or a fun personality was not as important to me when going through a macho stage at eighteen as were looks. We seemed to like each other, we seemed to want to experiment, and we seemed to think that we were more mature than we were, so we got frisky in the back seat of my 1950 Ford on many occasions.
Neither Michelle nor I really knew what we were doing. Believe it or not I wasn't really sure when the best time to put a condom on, and Michelle was even more naïve. After a half dozen full-condom fucks, Michelle apparently heard from some "reliable" source that it was more fun to do it bareback for a while, and then interrupt things and put the condom on. I went along with it.
We found out that it really was more fun to do it bareback.
We found out that it was so much fun that neither of us wanted to stop to put on the condom.
Michelle was told that by douching afterward she could avoid pregnancy.
We fucked up a storm for four months before Michelle started throwing up in the morning.
When the "rabbit died" (the nomenclature at the time for "you're pregnant") there was only one thing to do.
Michelle and I got married in a small ceremony before the school year was out; fortunately she didn't really start to show until after graduation and so she wasn't kicked out of school. The parents and other Britton and Warton relatives did their best to hide their disappointment in us and to secrete and/or ignore the fact that Michelle was pregnant, and the reception was a fairly decent time. There was one unusual happening – the arrival of Aunt Ethel Turner.
Aunt Ethel was Michele's mother's youngest sibling. She was probably only twenty six or twenty seven at the time, but she seemed much older and more sophisticated – well maybe "sophisticated" isn't the right word, maybe just more "worldly" or "savoir faire." Also, she was bar far the most well-to-do member of the family. She was the first person in either of our families to go to – let alone graduate from – college, and owned at least two businesses that she would talk about.
Aunt Ethel looked a lot different than her sisters or than Michelle; while all the women on Michelle's mother's, the Turner, side of the family were "pretty" Ethel was much more than that – she was "exotic." While the rest of the Turner/Britton women had nice bodies, Ethel's was "sybaritic." She had the biggest tits for an otherwise normal sized woman that I had ever seen. She wasn't married, and the "hush, hush" talk around the family was that she was both a "career woman" and "queer," otherwise someone who looked like her would have to have been married, and she was never seen in the company of a male date although she sometimes did show up at family gatherings with a female friend.
Having heard what I did about Aunt Ethel I was surprised when she wanted to dance with me when the first-time disc jockey (in those days they really did play "discs") that Michelle's parents had hired played a slow song, and then a second right after it. Aunt Ethel had an effervescent personality – much bubblier than any other woman that I had been exposed to before in my life – and she was obviously very smart and didn't try to hide her intelligence like many women of the time did. However, it was more than slightly disconcerting when occasionally she would push those enormous honkers of hers hard into my chest. It was beyond disconcerting when near the end of the second slow song she moved her right thigh into contact with my crotch and I got an immediate hard-on. It was impossible that she didn't feel it, and she got a diabolical smile on her face and seemed to really enjoy the perspiration flowing from my forehead when she made it impossible to move my cock away from her.
When Michelle and I went to a motel on a lake about twenty miles from home for our two day "honeymoon" starting right after the reception, it was not a good sign when despite my best efforts to the contrary I was fucking Aunt Ethel in my mind while pounding Michelle as hard as I could considering her condition.
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Michelle and I started out our life together in her parents' basement since neither of us had any money. I got a decent job loading trucks in a warehouse since I was six three, two hundred thirty pounds and even strong for my size, and made what was about four times minimum wage at the time. Michelle got a part time job in a store. Living with Michelle's parents wasn't easy, however, since she never wanted to fuck unless she was sure that everyone else was asleep – and by then I usually was too – and her family was just too intrusive and clingy. Once she got to the seventh month of her pregnancy all sex was verboten – Michelle had no interest whatsoever.
The only good thing about living with Michelle's parents was a bi-weekly visit from Aunt Ethel. She always gave me a big hug, pressing those marvels of nature on her chest into mine, and a kiss on the cheek, and occasionally an inadvertent stroke of her hand over my crotch – maybe just to confirm that she had in fact raised my flagpole. I quickly learned all sorts of tricks for hiding the tenting of my pants.
Although I earned my living by moving things around, my passion was dogs. Actually, I was a minor savant when it came to handling dogs, and many other animals. For some reason all dogs – even difficult ones like the German Shepard three houses down from where I grew up who tried to bite anyone who went to touch it, but rolled over on its back for me to rub its belly – loved me.
Aunt Ethel was quite intrigued when she was on her normal bi-weekly Sunday visit while I was playing with Michelle's family's two golden retrievers in the back yard when a wayward snarling Rottweiler came bounding into the area. The goldens beat a hasty retreat behind me and I approached the intruder talking to it in a firm but non-threatening voice. It growled at me for a few seconds, and then looked me in the eye as I approached with my hand out. It let me pet it and inspect its collar to find out if the owner's contact information was on it. It was.
I yelled into the house for someone to call the number that I read out, and to bring me a leash. The Rottweiler growled and made a few aggressive moves when Michelle's little brother brought a leash out, but I calmed the dog down and put the leash on it, rubbed it under its chin, and then walked it out to the front yard to wait for its owner.
A very curious Aunt Ethel came out of the house into the front yard, where I was alternatively sitting and wrestling with Samson, the name I had gotten from the Rottweiler's dog tags. When Aunt Ethel first approached Samson growled – but I settled him down to the point where he let Aunt Ethel gently pat the top of his head – although there was still a low mummer in his throat when she did that.
"Have you always had a special relationship with dogs?" she asked, really quite amazed.
"Sure," I replied. "We always had a couple, and I took care of and walked dogs for money when I was in my early teens – I always seemed to have a rapport with them," I replied.
"Every thought of going into business handling them?" she asked.
"I don't know how?" I responded, shrugging my shoulders. "I don't know what I'd do with them that could make money."
"Let me look into it," she said with a big smile.
We chatted some more – while all of the other members of the household – including the two goldens – stared out the front window – until the owner pulled up in an old pickup truck a few minutes later. He was a grizzled old guy with tattoos covering his arms and dirty coveralls on. He has an absolutely shocked look on his face when he approached.
"Is Samson your dog?" I asked as I stood up.
"Sure is," he replied with a country accent. "I'm Jake Riley. Boy, I never saw him behave for anyone but me before – he didn't bite you none?"
"No, he and I are buddies," I replied with a laugh as I rubbed Samson's muzzle.
"I'll be damned," Jake marveled as he shook my hand and I said "I'm Chad Warton."
"So he's never taken to anyone else before?" Aunt Ethel chimed in.
"No ma'am," Jake responded with a tip of his worn baseball cap. "I just never seen nothing like it. I had some family he's been around for years that he don't cotton to – I's almost had to get ridda him several times."
Aunt Ethel pumped Jake for more information for a few more minutes, but it looked like Jake was anxious to get out of there – he seemed uncomfortable talking to such an exotic smart woman. I knelt down to undo Samson's leash and he licked my face. The look on Jake's face when he did that said it all – no words were necessary, although Jake did mumble "Well I'll be..."
The Rottweiler incident caused quite a stir in the Britton household. I was treated like a hero, especially by Michelle's dad and little brother. It looked like Aunt Ethel's wheels were turning in her head – she left before dinner, unusual for her, saying that she had "Some investigating to do."
The adoration of the other members of the Britton-Turner clan wore off in the next couple of weeks, but in the meantime Aunt Ethel was not letting any grass grow under her feet. Instead of her bi-weekly visit on a Sunday, she called up and asked to see me on Saturday. I drove my 1950 Ford over to her house – the nicest one that I had ever seen. It wasn't that large, but boy was it fancy. Although at the time I still looked at Aunt Ethel as older than she really was (and not because of her looks) I was still amazed that she could have such nice stuff.
After her traditional member-inflating big hug and kiss on my cheek she got right to the point. "Chad, you're probably a little confused as to why I asked you over. Let me propound a few questions first – I hope that you don't think that I'm prying, but I need to get as much information as I can."
"Shoot," I replied.
"How much money do you make now?"
"$4.50 an hour, time and a half if I work more than forty hours a week."
"What type of benefits do you get?"
"I get some health insurance – I don't really know exactly what it covers, I don't get sick much or go to the doctor, but it does help some with Michelle's pregnancy visits to the doctor."
"What would you say to a guarantee of $6.00 an hour and a chance to make ten times that, with a similar medical plan?"
