July the Fourth rolled around, and it was time for the annual family outing at Aunt Ruth's and Uncle Trey's place.
Yeah, it brings to mind a modest picnic on the farm, right? Wrong. Our family name was a pretty respected, or at least a well-known, name in the business and real estate world. My second great grandfather had made his fortune in New York real estate, and quite a fortune it was. Unfortunately for me, he had a falling out with my great grandfather and our branch of the family was cut out of the wealth. It all went to Bartholomew, Bartholomew the Second, and then down to Bartholomew the Third, Uncle Trey ("Dahling, it's Bartholomew, please.") He was an okay guy, I guess, but his wife came from money, too, and she was a stuck-up bitch. That's harsh, I know, but she was. I hated the way she treated my Mother, Marianna, who had grown up on a dairy farm.
So, every Fourth, the family would gather at their estate - yes, an estate - for the family outing. It was palatial. Their swimming pool was bigger than the municipal pool in our town, and the pool house was at least as big, and probably bigger, than the house I grew up in. Ruth loved to be the matriarch of the family when she ever deigned to notice us at all, and seemed to delight in showing how much money they had compared to how little we had. Hell, the diamond on her finger and the pearls on her neck were probably worth more than Mom and Dad, both high school teachers, made in a year, combined.
One aspect of her bitchiness really bothered me. Dad had the family name and when I was born, Mom wanted to name me Bartholomew. Aunt Ruth wouldn't hear of it. Her son, eventually, would be Bartholomew IV, and there was no way she was going to allow me to share that name. So, I was Ben, instead.
Was I bitter? I tried not to be, but I couldn't help it sometimes. Ruth and Trey had three kids, Ruthie (who names a daughter after herself?), Quad (yep, he was B the Fourth), and Steven (never Steve). My sisters, Joanie and Heather, and I were all smarter than them, we thought. We went to the state university on scholarships, while Ruthie, Quad, and Steven went to Ivy Leagues.
When we were kids, though, none of that mattered. We were kids. Sure, we knew they had more than us, but we played together and, in a family sort of way, loved each other. Oh, there were little spats and fights, but we always made up and we always counted on each other. We were the Gang of Six whenever we would get together - always on the Fourth, and occasionally when Uncle Trey would drive them down to our farm. Aunt Ruth never came. I guess she was always too busy with her ostentatious charity work.
There were some heated times, too. We were matched in ages, more or less, with Ruthie and I, Quad and Joanie, and Heather and Steven within years of each other. And what are cousins for when you're a hormone-driven adolescent? Yep. Experimenting. Ruthie, ever the tomboy, was the first French kiss I ever got and the first bare breast I ever saw (except for those delicious glances when Mom or Joanie were dressing and didn't know I was watching). Ruthie's was the first breast I ever touched. If Aunt Ruth had known, I would have been singing castrato, for sure, but she never knew. We were the Gang of Six, and had a formal pinky-swearing oath of silence.
All us kids were in college, with me having just graduated and ready for graduate school. We had gathered at home for the annual get-together trip, and I was looking forward to seeing Ruthie. Last year she was a damned beauty. She had the typical pretty, preppy look that I've always been a sucker for; she was no longer a tomboy in looks, but she maintained the wholesome attitude. We were going to leave early on Friday morning, spend the night with them, have all day on the Fourth to have fun, then return home to the middle class on the fifth. Lest there be any doubt of their wealth, we loved going there because they had so many bedrooms that each of us got a guest room of our own. You didn't even have to make your own bed. The maid did it for you.
"Ben," Mom yelled from inside the kitchen. "Make sure the cooler lid is tight. I don't want the pork to thaw." Mom always took them packaged meat and eggs from our little hobby farm, thinking that they probably never ate real farm-raised products from animals that were treated with respect. I'm sure Ruth probably threw it out, but Mom liked doing it.
We finally got on the road, a six-hour drive ahead of us, with me and the brats packed tightly in the back seat of Dad's Four-Runner. It was tight, but you know, I didn't mind at all. Remember I alluded to the fact that my hormones were running when I was an adolescent, and they hadn't slowed down. I was always horny. Since there were only two years between Joanie and me, and four years between Heather and me, I never suffered from a lack of butts and tits for my hands to roam. We were an affectionate pack of kids, you could say. The first nipple I ever sucked was Joanie's and, by her heated reaction that night, I always wondered if I could have fucked her then. We were high schoolers, though, so I didn't know how far to go or anything. But that's another story.
"Mooom," Heather complained in an exaggerated whine. "Ben's touching me." She was kidding, of course. I was in the middle and before we were out of the driveway my hands were on each of my sister's smooth, bare legs.
"You kids behave," Dad shouted. "Don't make me have to stop this car." We all had a good laugh, reliving our times in the car when we were children.
I pinched the inside of Heather's thigh, and she yelped. "That'll teach you," I whispered. She folded her arms and turned away, so I concentrated on Joanie. I took her hand and tried to put it on my dick, and she wouldn't have it.
"Stop it, you animal," she whispered closely in my ear. "Mom might see."
"OK, then later," I whispered back, and she rolled her eyes, folded her arms, and turned the other way.
"I'm just a rose between two thorns," I said out loud, and everyone laughed.
When we got there, I was disappointed to learn that Ruthie was in Europe on a tour, so I was odd man out. I didn't want to hang with the adults, and Joanie and Quad, and Heather and Steven, had paired up. We hung out at the pool, having fun and drinking beers, but I knew I was the extra. Every so often one of the pairs would go into the pool house "to use the bathroom," and I could tell there was some serious petting going on by the flush on their cheeks when they came out. Dammit, I missed Ruthie. This might have been my lucky year.
On the Fourth, Uncle Trey barbecued steaks and the caterers brought the sides. Uncle Trey, who was cooler than you would think, had a couple of kegs of artisanal beer and we were having a good time. Mom had on a one-piece swimming suit which I thought showed off her beautiful tits and ass, but she was self-conscious and kept a wrap on when she wasn't in the pool. More than once I noticed Uncle Trey looking at her. Why not? She was a little plump, maybe, but I thought she was beautiful. Her red hair set off her creamy freckled skin perfectly. Uncle Trey didn't know what I knew - the red hair was kept red courtesy of the Clairol Corporation, but neither he nor I cared. Mom was a pretty woman. Maybe to anyone else she was just that - a pretty, cute woman - but to me, she was beautiful.
I was laying on a lounge chair, nursing my umpteenth beer, and watching her out of the corner of my eye. I was thinking the same thought I had been thinking since I knew what it was: "I wish I could have one chance with that." Mom was at the grill with Uncle Trey, and I noticed her stiffen as she looked at the walk from the house to the pool area. I followed her gaze and saw the reason. Aunt Ruth was walking from the house, and she had on what I thought was a pretty daring two-piece for a woman her age. Mom must have thought it was pretty daring, too. I thought it was pretty hot, though. I had to admit, all the money Aunt Ruth spent on personal trainers at the country club was worth it. She was pretty tight.
I glanced over at Mom, and saw her looking at Dad, who was sitting at the table. His jaw was hanging open and if his eyes were any more popped, they'd fall out on the deck. "Charles," Mom said. "You want to come over here and help Trey with the steaks?" She called him "Charles" instead of "Charlie" so I knew she was steamed, and so did Dad. He jumped right up and scooted over to the grill, smartly turning his back to Aunt Ruth.
Frankly, I wouldn't trade ten of Aunt Ruth for one of Mom. Mom had it in looks, in my book, and she had something Aunt Ruth could never have - personality and love. But again, I have to admit, Aunt Ruth was looking pretty hot for a 50-something gal. "I'd give it a spin," I thought, and then laughed to myself. I guessed she would be something of an iceberg in the rack, afraid you might mess her hair or her perfect makeup. Mom, on the other hand? That would be a momentous fuck, I just knew. All this thinking had made my dick hard, and I reached over for a towel to put on my lap.
