Chapter 1
Marcus was a fine looking young lad of fourteen when he came to live with me and my husband on our farm several miles outside of town. He had lost both his parents in a fire which destroyed their home above the general store they had owned in town. The loss was as hard on me as it had been on Marcus, his mother was my sister.
We were all the family he had left. For that matter, he was all the family
we
had left within a thousand miles or so. The rest of our family still lived back east. We had moved west five years earlier to stake a claim on a piece of Mother Earth and to become farmers. We were doing fairly well by ourselves but Marcus moving in had been a great help to my husband, Thomas.
He had been very withdrawn for a long time afterwards, never having had much to say, always off by himself. It was obvious he was lonesome and still grieving over the loss of his family. He also seemed to miss living in town where he had had friends. Out here on the farm, there was only us.
A week before Marcus' sixteenth birthday, we lost Thomas after a long bout with pneumonia. You would think that in this modern age of 1890 a doctor could do more for a person with pneumonia. Poor old Doc Howard had made the long horseback ride out to our place several times to treat Thomas. But there I was, at the ripe old age of thirty-two, a widow. Marcus hadn't taken this major life-changing event very well either.
I thank the good Lord that I had Marcus at that point in my life or I would have probably lost the farm too. He was a big strapping boy, with the same muscular build his father had had. I had always envied my sister for having a husband so handsome and well built. Not that Thomas wasn't a handsome and muscular man because he was, but Marcus' father had muscles that rippled under his dark skin when he moved. I knew it was wrong to feel that way, but I couldn't help it.
Now that Marcus was doing most of the physical work around the farm he was developing an even larger build. His skin was deeply tanned from many hours in the sun. When he came inside all sweaty after a long day of labor, the hard muscles in his arms and chest resembled large snakes moving under his skin.
One especially hot evening about six months ago, Marcus came in just before dark. I had supper ready for him. After quickly washing up he headed out of the kitchen toward his room.
"Where you going?" I asked.
"I'm just going to put a clean shirt," he replied.
"You don't need a shirt," I said, thinking to myself how much I would enjoy eyeing his muscles all through supper.
"I can't sit down at the table with no shirt on," he stated.
"Why not? It's very warm in here tonight. Besides, a hard-working man should be able to eat his supper in comfort and shouldn't have to wear a shirt at his own table if he doesn't want to," I suggested.
"It
is
awfully hot. You sure you won't mind?" he asked.
"Of course not," I answered. "Sit down and eat before your supper gets cold."
We sat through the evening meal talking about how things were going around the farm and such things as that. But my mind was far too busy watching him to pay too much attention to what he was saying.
By the time supper was over, I have to admit that things had gotten a lot hotter for me and a
lot
wetter. I was almost relieved to start cleaning up from supper and get away from the vision and the evil thoughts I was having about my young nephew.
While cleaning up the kitchen after supper I heated water and poured it into the big steel tub on the back porch for him to bath in. It took a while to heat and carry enough water. Finally I had enough water in the tub and pulled the door shut as he started undressing to bath.
I had been quite horny and a bit sneaky over the last few months and would turn the lantern in the kitchen down low and peek out the window, watching him bath. He had become an incredibly handsome young man. I loved to watch him lather up and wash his long blonde hair. With all that soap on his head, I knew he had to keep his eyes closed tightly and I didn't have to fear him catching me gawking at him.
My favorite part of the whole process was after he finished washing his hair, he would call for me to bring another bucket of hot water to rinse the soap out of his hair. He would cover himself with the wash rag and I would slowly,
very slowly
, pour the bucket of water over his head until the lather was rinsed away. I always wished for the wash rag to slip out of place; a few times it did, but I always acted like I hadn't noticed. I spent many wonderful evenings with my face pressed against that kitchen window and my hand under my skirts and inside my undergarments. Every time he would stand up in the tub and started drying, I would start getting wetter between my thighs. By the time he had finished dressing, I was always sitting in the front room with a book open like I had been reading the whole time he had been bathing.
On several occasions while I was bathing I had thought I'd caught him out the corner of my eye peeking at me through the same window. I was never able to get a good enough look to see if he was or not. But if he was, I'm sure he got an eyeful, I made sure of that. I was going on thirty-five-years old but my body was still in good shape and us Irish gals are noted for having beautiful red hair. I mean, it wasn't like he was sneaking a peek at some old hag, if he really was peeking at all. But it was a nice fantasy for me even if he wasn't.
For his eighteenth birthday, I had managed to save a little money to give him to go to town with. I figured an eighteen-year-old young man had things he would like to do in town. I had talked with him about drinking too much and how the salon girls would try to come on to him. I didn't want him going to town and getting taken but the first floozy who flapped her skirts in his direction.
Early that afternoon I prepared his bath; he needed to get an early start, it was a two-hour ride to town. He would stay with one of his friends and come home the next afternoon.
I took my usual station at the window after he had gotten into the tub. I was ready with the bucket of water to rinse his hair when he called for it, even though I wasn't quite ready to leave my window yet.
As I slowly poured it over his head he started trying to talk to me. "Aunt Millie, I really don't like the idea of leaving you alone out here for two days and a night," he said.
I tossed a towel over his head and he started drying his hair. "I appreciate that," I replied, watching him rub the towel roughly over his head. "Is that how you dry your hair, boy?" I asked, taking the towel from his hands. "No wonder your hair is still wet for so long after a bath. Here, let me show you how to dry it right."
I worked the towel briskly through his hair, carefully making sure to work it through of all his hair. "See, you gotta work the towel through your hair, not just
over
it," I said.
"That feels great. I shoulda got you to do that a long time ago," he smiled up at me. "Maybe you better show me how to do it one more time, I'm a
slow
learner."
Now I took my time and even worked my way down to dry his ears and neck. I could feel the tension in his neck muscles. I gently worked my finger over his large neck. "How's that feel?"
"Great," he answered.
I kept massaging away, slowly working my way over his powerful shoulders and down his broad back a little.
"Oh, that feels wonderful," he moaned, leaning slightly forward so I could go farther down his back. At least, I was hoping that was why he leaned forward.
"Does that feel better?" I asked softly.
"That feels good enough to make a fella almost forget about goin' to town," he replied.
I stepped to the side of the tub, wishing he really meant that, but I knew he was just trying to please me. I looked him in the eye. "A young man needs to go to town now and then to sew a few wild oats, it's nature's way," I said. "
Whew
