What young male hasn't been fixated by an older woman? Dreamed of being seduced by her maturity? Dreamed of sexual fulfilment ... without inhibitions ... under her tutelage? Well, I'm proud to say I fall into this category ever since the days of my pubescent erections, when I would fantasise about Aunt Sarah, a mature, voluptuous and very sexy woman who epitomised the word eroticism.
Not a member of my family whatsoever - just a friend of my parents, a fact I never learned until I was in my late teens - Aunt Sarah is a modern woman and young at heart, a winning combination that enabled us to communicate easily.
I recall as a youngster that my visits to Aunt Sarah's home were always a pleasure. She would welcome me with a warm embrace and a kiss for the top of my head, and being tall for my age meant my face coming to rest within the softness of her inviting, perfumed bosom; sheer bliss. Then there was the visit that changed everything ... it was to be my sexual epiphany!
On that particular occasion I entered Aunt Sarah's house and called out as usual. Hearing no reply, I went in search of her and encountered Aunt Sarah coming down the stairs. But she wasn't dressed as I would normally expect to see her, in a dress or blouse and skirt for example. No, this time she was wearing something altogether different; a short, green silky garment, which I thought was called a petticoat. She appeared embarrassed to be seen in a state of undress but never tried to cover herself.
Upon receiving my normal embrace and kiss, my cock went from flaccid to rigid in approximately three seconds, pressing itself impatiently between Aunt Sarah's thighs. Thinking about the episode later, I realised that it was Aunt Sarah's semi-naked body and her silky slip that had given me such pleasure and inflicted me with an iron-like erection. The fact that it was pushing against her body was irrelevant to me, all I wanted was to revel in the excitement being generated by her ripe breasts which overhung the tactile silky petticoat.
Time passed and my visits to Aunt Sarah became less frequent. In fact she actively discouraged me from seeing her alone. Eventually I came to understand why our meetings were inappropriate, but still looked upon them as very special; but there was no forgetting the memory of her holding my face against her breasts, and the touch of that silky green petticoat. In fact, it has formed the basis of many masturbation sessions!
I was swallowed up by the education system and spent four years at university before I next set eyes on Aunt Sarah, which was at a family funeral. She still looked gorgeous, even though she'd put on extra weight, which to my lustful thinking made her even more desirable. She dazzled the event in a black silk dress, the soft fabric hugging every curve of her plump body and putting far too much strain on the seams. On her feet, black stiletto heels showed off her shapely legs and firm calves beneath fine black mesh. Eventually we got chatting, well out of earshot of my parents I might add - they never realised I'd paid her so many visits - and Aunt Sarah suggested I call on her sometime.
'It's been a long time since your last visit, Peter, and I appreciate you've grown up and been studying hard, but I have missed you. Why don't you come around sometime soon?' Her voice was barely above a whisper, the inference being she didn't want to be overheard. Well I was certainly up to it and told her so. I said it sounded like a great idea and asked when? 'Anytime, and,' she told me leaning closer, 'drop the aunty! My name is Sarah.'
On impulse I did the math concerning our age difference. Not that it mattered, but I quickly established there was a sixteen-year gap between us, making Sarah 37 years-old; it was impossible to believe. Those sexy come-hither eyes were still there, as well as her even more curvaceous body and both were beginning to disturb me, again.
Her proposal to drop the 'aunt' title was delivered with an intoxicating blast of perfume, which seemed to emanate from within the fabric of her dress, as it creased and plunged forward at the neckline, allowing me a view of her spectacular cleavage and black lace lingerie. The perfume was overpowering and a trifle incongruous considering the solemnness of the occasion, however, I did recognise the fragrance as the same one that had wafted from her that fateful day my erection had pressed between her thighs. Memories of that afternoon and her silky green lingerie were immediately revived, as my mind drifted back to that wonderful time.
That particular afternoon, Aunt Sarah's embrace seemed to last forever. She made no comment about my erection pressing between her legs, but I remember clearly how I felt at that moment, how I pursued those feelings by burying my face in the cleavage of her matronly breasts and probing the deep scented valley between them with my nose.
As I said, Aunt Sarah never demonstrated disapproval of my action. Quite the contrary, she actively encouraged my behaviour by bending her knees to accommodate my naughty exploration. And, as if the discernment of her naked flesh wasn't exciting enough, there was also the silky touch of the green lingerie and its coffee-coloured edging that was tickling my face; both adding hugely to my enjoyment. The experience left me feel strangely exhilarated and I learnt the meaning of the word - frustration!
When Aunt Sarah finally pushed me away, I saw her eyes drop to the bulge in my trousers. She muttered, 'tut-tut' but made no further comment about my impulsiveness and following that incident it was noticeable that all Sarah offered me was a peck on the cheek. But her eyes still clocked the front of my trousers, because there was usually something sticking out! I was returned to the present by Aunt Sarah asking.
'Peter, I intend leaving shortly, will you drive me home please?' Sarah's whispery voice held a meaningful edge. 'I can have a few more of these,' she said raising her glass, 'without the worry of being over the limit. Will you do that for me?'
'Yes, of course.' I replied eagerly. As I'd recently obtained my driving licence any chance to get behind the wheel of a car was OK with me, especially Aunt Sarah's BMW. She searched in her handbag for the key and gave it to me.
We arrived at Sarah's house without incident and I escorted her indoors. Closing the front-door I sensed a kind self-assurance taking over, a daring similar to the time I buried my face in her cleavage all those years ago; but this time I knew the reason for my effrontery.
'Peter, would you like to stay for a while?' Sarah asked.
'I would like that very much, Aunty Sarah.' I replied tongue in cheek. My answer brought a smile to her face and a disapproving wag of her finger in my direction.
'Good, then I'll go and change from this outfit while you pour me another large gin and tonic, please. There's beer in the fridge if you want. I won't be long.' Sarah left the room and I attended to the drinks. A couple of minutes later I heard her voice calling out from the top of the stairs.
'Peter, can you come up here please. I need some assistance. The zip of my dress is jammed and I can't reach behind to sort out the problem.' I bounded up the stairs to assist; my assertiveness in full flow. I knew which bedroom was hers and knocked on the door.
'Don't be silly, Peter, come in.' I pushed the door open and entered the holy of holies, Sarah's boudoir. She was standing before a full length mirror, her fingers fiddling with the zip. I stood just inside the door, hesitant but eager to help; Sarah detected my reticence. 'Come on young man, this is not the time to be shy. See if you can free this thing.' I spotted the problem immediately.
'There's a piece of thread caught in the teeth.' I told her lowering the fastener until I could extract the thread and instinctively raising it again.
'What are you doing?' She said laughing at my reflection in the mirror. 'I want to take it off. Come on, Peter, you must have done this for a girlfriend. Pull it all the way down.' Sarah ordered.
I held the top of the zip, my heart racing in anticipation of what I would see beneath the black silk dress. I ran it a couple of inches and stopped, my heart pounding, my fingers visibly trembling as they touched Sarah's skin. I hesitated before lowering the zip further. It was a truly sensual experience, Sarah's skin felt smooth under my fingertips and when the two halves of the dress parted bringing the black satin straps of her lingerie into view, I paused in fascination.
