Aunt Ann on Display

I have no idea how long I slept, but when I woke it was one of those gradual awakenings. I was aware I was no longer sleeping and then started to be aware of where I was and how I felt.

I was at home, next to my nephew.

And I felt GREAT!

I opened my eyes and he was right there.

He kissed me.

I tried to not respond, to make him do the work.

HA!

My self-control lasted about two seconds and I had my arms around his neck.

I never imagined a man like him. He seemed to know all of my spots. He understood where to caress and where to pinch and where to tickle and where to squeeze and JUST HOW HARD OR GENTLE OR SOFT OR LIGHT to do it.

He had me wet....

No, that is SUCH an understatement.

He had me slick, running, panting in about 30 seconds, and cumming in another 30.

But the thing is, he didn't just take me up to that peak and then it was finished.

He kept me there. Not "multiple orgasms." This was one orgasm that went on and on.

I couldn't breathe. I LITERALLY could not draw a breath. The edges of my vision were starting to go black when he suddenly released me.

I drew one of those breaths we all have done at the swimming pool when we were underwater longer than we should have been.

And then he had me back at that peak. I could feel myself sort of flowing, feel my natural lubricants running down the crack of my ass, and once again I just couldn't draw a breath.

He did that three more times and then suddenly rolled out of bed.

He leaned down, patted me on the cheek, and said, "I'll be back in a while."

I watched him open my purse, take out my wallet, extract my Discover card, wave, and leave.

And I laid there, hugging myself, wondering what the fuck had happened to me.

Eventually, I gathered the energy to shower, damn near cumming again when I washed between my legs I was SO sensitive, make something to eat, and then sit in the front room, nursing a cup of coffee, not listening to Fox News as it played in the background, and thinking.

Actually, I was having a conversation with myself.

If I had been saying it out loud, and honestly, thinking back, I might have been I suppose, it would have gone something like this - -

"Jesus," I asked myself, "are you really going to let this happen?"

I laughed at that.

"Ummmmmmm, it's already happened," I told myself.

"No, dumbass," I said to myself, "are you going to let it go on?"

"Why shouldn't I?" I asked myself.

"He's your sister's fucking SON is why," I told myself.

"So what?" I asked myself.

Well, you get the picture. And after that extended argument, my conclusion was that, yes, I was going to let this happen. Hell, I was going to wallow in it.

Decision made, I could relax.

I realized, as I sipped my coffee, hot and black of course, that I was naked and laughed softly.

Then I realized, staring at the television but not really seeing or hearing, that I felt more feminine and more perfectly female than I ever had.

"Okay, Sluterella," and this time I did say it aloud, "let's get moving."

I rinsed my coffee cup in the sink and then went up to the bedroom.

"What," I asked myself, "exactly does he see in you," as I swung the bedroom door shut and looked in the full-length mirror on the back of it.

I started at my hair, thick and a light brunette brown, cut to a short cap over my head, no grey showing, the result of my weekly trip to visit Race, my hairdresser who was so gay you expected him to burst into flame at any instant. I thought it looked pretty good.

My face is oval, and thin, with a high forehead, straight thin nose, wide-set brown eyes, a generous mouth with ivory teeth since I didn't do the bleach thing, and good cheekbones. I've been told, by those whose judgment I trust, that I'm attractive rather than "pretty" or "cute." In the mirror, though, I saw a school ma'arm that might have stepped off the set of an old western. My ears are actually vaguely pointed giving me a sort of elfin look that I tried to enhance when I was going out.

My shoulders are broad. I was an athlete in high school and college, first in gymnastics and later swimming and diving. College had been paid for with an athletic scholarship. My arms are still toned and there's a little nodule on my collar bone, a souvenir of a fall that had cracked it when I was practicing a dismount from the high bar on the uneven parallel bars.

My breasts sagged but I thought still held their shape nicely. I was a late bloomer. I trained so hard, as a gymnast, that puberty was actually delayed. I didn't have my first period until I was 15 and had traded gymnastics for the less demanding swimming and running. Then it was like a blew through a cup size a month until by the time I got my driver's license my bras were 36D. Since then I've put on a few pounds (no, nosy, I'm not going to tell you exactly how many) and inches and for years now I have worn a 38DD.

But I thought they were still shapely. My areolas are slightly oversized. I know. I spent a LOT of time in locker rooms and have seen a lot of my contemporaries naked. About the size of a teacup. My nipples are in scale, a pale tan thumb sticking out. And I failed the pencil test many years ago. I was never pregnant, but gravity always wins in the end.

I still have a waist and my hips flare nicely.

Numbers? Okay. 38-30-40.

My pubic hair is coarse and thick and it's showing the first hints of grey. I suppose Race could take care of that but, well, I'm not THAT vain. My labia are full and, even though I never had children, sort of, well, "dangle" is the word I think. Not a bad-looking pussy, I thought, laying my palms flat on the tops of my thighs and spreading them slightly, that I looked pretty good.

My legs, though, are my worst feature.

I have saddlebags at the tops of my thighs. Not big or grotesque as I've seen in some locker rooms, but they're there. My knees are kind of knobby, a gift from my days as a middle-distance runner, and my calves are downright skinny. They are not good legs.

My feet are long and thin with long toes. I kind of like them.

The inventory complete, I dropped the oversize T-shirt that I wear as sort of a housedress over my head and went back to the living room.

I thought back and, literally could not remember ever waiting for a man to come home before.

But I waited.

And I realized my areolas had tightened into firm cones and my nipples were hard little pebbles.

I smiled.