Even years later, I always called her Mom, even at the end of her time when she didn't recognize her name. Her sister was Aunt Mary. Both women were close in age; I was a college student at home for spring break. My Dad, whose name was Dan, had died in one of our forgotten wars, and the government stipend was trivial. My merit scholarship was a godsend, either college or Uncle Ken's plumbing business. I'd assisted him several dirty summers in high school, and I didn't want to spend my life in the sewer. He had hoped I'd take over his business, "Get used to the smell and the filth, you'll wallow in it the rest of your life, but like Walter Reuther said, 'Everyone respects a plumber, especially when they get the bill.'"
Maybe he was right; I'd be rich if I'd followed my nose, but there I was. At the same time, Uncle Ken was at the Moose Lodge meeting hall listening to patriotic speeches or watching black and white stag films with his buddies in the Lodge basement. Mom and I were sitting in Aunt Mary's kitchen, eating her homemade lasagna and a double helping of her famous apple strudel.
Maybe the women had planned the evening, perhaps it was by happenstance, but after an afternoon of the sisters cleaning the house, we were sitting on the bedspread of Aunt Mary's king-sized bed drinking Apricot Schnapps out of the bottle, passing the orange glass pint back and forth until the cold winter night felt warm and dreamy. The ladies wore thin dresses, but you could easily see their large pendulous breasts and count their nipples through the fabric. They might as well have been nude.
"Take off your britches and relax, " said Aunt Mary, "Jesus, it's cool in here. "Go marry a fucking plumber, and the bedroom radiator never seems to work."
She stood up and shooed us off the bedspread, "Here, get under the covers," lifting a bright red woolen blanket. As the ladies pushed me to the middle of the bed and climbed in on each side, their thin house dresses slipped up, and I could see their hairy bushes. Mary was the younger sister, the wild one, Mom used to say. I once overheard a conversation between them while they were washing dishes, and from the bits and pieces I gathered, they had shared one of Mary's dates when they were young, before Mary had chosen "a good earner" to settle down with.
It was a long-haired motorcycle guy with a sidecar, and the two sisters went down to the lakeside one night and lay on a blanket over the sharp rushes that grew along the shore. I couldn't hear every detail, but it sounded like the girls got drunk on a Ball jar of moonshine. Before the jar was empty, the cyclist had slipped his good-sized dick into each of them. They thought the story was hilarious, from their giggles as they dried the dishes. I feigned disinterest. I was watching the game show and hadn't heard a word.
Why were we all together in Aunt Mary's bed that night? Easy answer: the television in the living room was missing a tube, and Uncle Ken had yet to retrieve a good one from the Radio Shack store with a tube tester and replacements. Why didn't they throw the old set out? I don't know, except that he had a record collection of old jazz groups, and the old TV had a friendly brown enameled record player and prominent speakers built into the cabinet.
The TV in the bedroom was a modern Sylvania with a remote 'clicker' that meant you didn't have to leave the bed to change the channel or raise the volume. We were watching the Rockford File, a story of an erstwhile detective played by Jim Garner who always gets into trouble. The real-life actor who also played Maverick. While in stop-and-go traffic on the Pacific Coast freeway, he was robbed of a heavy gold chain he wore. A guy just walked up to his fancy car and ripped the chain off his neck. Jim probably left his six-shooter on the cinema stage.
About the time the credits began to roll, someone's hand infiltrated my underwear and grabbed my dick in a death grip. "Hey, go easy on that," I shouted in surprise.
You're right, it's the same dick as that motorcycle guy. Well, your hubby was away fighting and our cunts needed a workout. Little did I know nine months later, My nephew's head would pop out from between my sister's legs.
They both laughed. Aunt Mary, addressing me, said, "You know we weren't sure who your Dad was."
"You're kidding me,"
"Okay, whatever you prefer," said Aunt Mary.
The hand gripping my penis had worked it into a full erection.
"Look at this," said Aunt Mary, throwing back the covers; "He's got himself a man-sized wifebeater."
"Hold this for a second," said Mary as she passed my dick off to Mom. I certainly wasn't used to this arrangement.
"Let me find that tube of lube," said my Aunt. "That monster cock will need some buffering before it gets inside me."
"Wow, ladies, what's going on here? I have no intention of fucking either one of you."
"Why, got a sweetheart."
"No, it's just that the Bible says, don't fuck your mother."
