Me and Danny

All characters are over 18 when this story takes place.

No inappropriate activity happens with anyone under 18.

****

Finally! A much-needed shower.

One of the wonderful things about being a teacher is summers off. While the rest of the world treks to work year-round, the warm days of my summer were spent in my garden, lounging by my pool, or indulging in my other leisurely hobbies.

Today's heat was sweltering. As I bent down on all fours tending the vegetables in my garden, I had to continually wipe sweat from my brow with my forearm. Even in my cut-off jean-shorts and baggy tank top, I was perspiring like I was working in a coal mine.

But now, I was in heaven.

The tepid water cascaded off my shoulders, down my back, over the curvature of my round derriere, and onto the tiled shower floor before swirling around my pedicured feet and down the drain. Normally, the temperature of my showers could boil a lobster, but today's shower was as much about cooling off as it was about washing myself. I could feel the many little jet-streams of water massaging me, as if trying to wash away the worries of my day.

I squirted some Cherry Blossom body wash onto my loofah and created a nice lather by lifting it up to the shower head and allowing the water to mix with it. Then, I generously soaped my C cup breasts, my arms, my stomach, my legs, and my feet.

After applying yet more body wash, I lifted my leg and pressed the balls of my feet into the wall for balance as I gently washed my exposed vagina. My free hand worked between the crevice of my ass to make sure that I kept all my edible parts clean.

There was movement. I saw it out of the corner of my eye. At least, it seemed like movement. My eyes looked through the glass shower door, searching for evidence that something had changed. The master bath was pretty big, but I could see most of it from here. Nothing was out of place.

Yet, something felt...off. I felt like I wasn't alone.

When my eyes fell to the bathroom door, I noticed it was slightly ajar. That was strange because I could've sworn that I closed it.

Now, I wasn't in the habit of locking my bathroom door because the only two people to use the master bath were me and my husband. In order to even get to it, a person would have to cross our bedroom, which was always considered off limits to anyone but us. There was another full bath out in the hallway, which is the one everyone else uses. So, there was never any need to lock myself in here.

But I still always closed the door.

"Martin? Chris?"

With both feet now on the ground, my ears perked as I listened for my husband or my son to reply. Only silence answered me. I waited for a beat, and then, with a more cautious inflection in my tone, I yelled out, "Danny?"

Still nothing.

Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe I didn't swing the door hard enough to latch it.

I could've taken a quick second to rectify that, but there was no need. I was almost done anyway. Besides, there shouldn't have been anyone here. My husband (Martin) wasn't due back from his business trip until tomorrow, and my son (Chris) was staying the night with his girlfriend. He was home from college for the summer but spent most of his time sleeping at her house. We'd see him when he made a pit stop to wash his clothes or eat our food, but he just did laundry yesterday.

The only person that could've been here was my nephew, Danny. He wasn't outgoing like Chris. He was mostly a homebody who spent time in his room on his computer. Instead of going off to college like Chris, he had a part-time job, which was where he was currently supposed to be. He wasn't due home for another hour or so.

Shaking my head, I continued with my shower. I'd occasionally cast a watchful glance towards the door, but pretty much shrugged off my suspicions.

As I was drying off, I had that same feeling again; like I was being watched. This time, I casually turned my eyes to the mirror. And then...I saw it. A pair of eyes, looking at me through the crack in the door.

Our gazes locked. It was such a sharp surrealness that I let out a blood curdling scream that shook the mirrors. Instinctively, I wrapped my towel tightly around me to preserve my modesty, holding it closed with one hand while pinning it to my sides with my arm pits.

My fight or flight mode had me cowering backwards as far as I could to create space between me and the eyes. When my legs hit the toilet, I fell into a sitting position, crossing them to keep my vagina protected.

I heard a gasp from the other side of the door, and the eyes quickly disappeared.

All I could do was sit there, looking at the door in shocked horror. A million questions ran through my head. The only one I didn't have to ask was who the eyes belonged to. A quick process of elimination did that job for me.

My husband wouldn't have run away. Then again, he wouldn't have been lurking behind the door and creepily watching me. If anything, he would've walked straight in, probably taken a piss, and then stripped and joined me.

My son had inherited his dad's steely blue eyes, but the brown ones that were spying on me did so from behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses. The only person in my household who wore glasses was my nephew, Danny.

But the questions I did have to ask were legion. What was he doing home? Why was he spying on me? How long had he been watching me? Was this the first time? If not, how many times had he done this before?

I sat there until I recovered from my shock. The silence around me was deafening. It screamed,

"You're alone in this house with those eyes."

Cautiously, I exited the bathroom, making sure to peer around the corner as I did so. My room was empty. I was thankful for that. Not sure I could've dealt with Danny waiting on me to come out.

I had no plans of going anywhere, so I'd laid out some shorts and a light shirt with spaghetti straps. However, considering what just happened, that shirt seemed inappropriate for covering my C cups.

I had a full-length mirror in my room on the backside of my closet door. I looked into it, taking stock in the reflection that looked back at me.

People have always told me that I'm attractive. Gentlemen called me beautiful; immature boys in men's bodies called me hot.

However, since marriage, no one but my husband has seen me naked. He alone knows of the stretch marks on the hidden parts of my thighs, or the bit of cottage cheese around my butt. My C cup tits -- which creates cleavage that I'm sure adds to my "hotness" - sags when left unrestrained.

Still, I keep in shape as best as my 39 years will allow. I jog semi-daily and watch what I eat. I also try to make it out to the gym for a real workout at least twice a week. I'm a teacher, so I'm able to up my gym time to four times a week when school is out for the summer.

So yes, I guess I would be considered a "MILF" to most, though all I saw when I looked in the mirror were my flaws. Despite them, I'm not ashamed of my nude form. I rather like my body, warts and all.

Instead of the thin, spaghetti-strapped, cleavage-displaying shirt I'd planned on wearing, I swapped it out with one of Martin's U.S. Marines T-shirts. I had to go talk to Danny, and it seemed a bit ill-advised to do so wearing a shirt that brought attention to my tits when he'd just seen me naked. Since Martin was so much larger than me, his shirt was baggy enough to hide "the girls".

I threw on my clothes, ensured I was modest as to not distract, and ventured out in search of Danny. He wasn't in the living room, the kitchen, or the dining room, so I could only guess that he was in his bedroom hiding out from me.

I gave three quick taps on his door with the crook of my pointy finger. His sheepish voice answered, "Come in." I opened the door and leaned my shoulder against the doorframe, crossing my arms under my breasts.

He was sitting on his bed, his eyes unable to raise from the floor and meet my gaze. I could feel the awkwardness coming from him. He looked nervous. Or rather...guilty.

Now that I'd had time to recover from my initial shock, I found that I wasn't even angry. I didn't want to interrogate him like he was a murder suspect.

"You're home early. How was work?" I asked, purposely trying to not sound accusatory or angry.

Warily, as if he didn't know where this was going, he answered, "It was okay."

I nodded. A few seconds of silence filled the space between us. That must've been too uncomfortable for him, because he quickly blurted out, "Auntie Ronnie, I'm really sor..."

"You hungry?" I interrupted.

"Huh?"

In the split-second he started to nervously apologize, I decided to drop the matter. All the questions I'd planned on asking, the long and meaningful talk I was to have with him; all of it seemed unimportant. He was already sorry about it, and it was probably an accident. Nothing to get all worked up over.

I knew he was expecting me to lash out at him, but I didn't want to do that. So, I nonchalantly said, "I was going to order a pizza. You hungry?"

He finally looked up at me, a hint of confusion on his face. Our eyes met, and a silent agreement was reached.

Today never happened.

I won't say anything if you don't.

"Uhh...yeah, yeah." He said, his smile of relief apparent.

"Sausage and mushrooms okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

I shot a smile at him along with a nod and said, "Okay."

With that, I closed his door and left him.

***

So, it was as if it never happened. My husband returned home from his trip the following day, as did my son from his girlfriend's. Family life resumed. Martin gave me a nice, prolonged kiss when he walked in the door, and a few loving words about how much he missed me. When he hugged me, he grabbed my ass and squeezed it, which was his way of asking if he was going to get lucky tonight.

I bit my bottom lip as I returned his gaze.

When Chris finally breezed in, I was preparing dinner. He gave me a kiss on my forehead before disappearing to his room. He returned a few moments later, impatiently inquiring about when the food was going to be ready.

About an hour later, my boys -- or my men, rather -- sat around me at the table. We all laughed and talked, just as we always did. Even Danny, who is normally so reserved, opened up and joined in.

I am a lucky woman indeed.

I thought to myself as I looked around me. Martin, my handsome husband, still turned me on after all this time. Even at age 45, he was a knockout. His body was still fit. His salt and pepper hair was always in a close-crop cut, and he was always clean shaven except for his trimmed mustache and beard. Honestly, I'd fuck him in the middle of Time Square with my mother watching.

Then there was Chris, looking like a 20-year-old version of his father. Handsome, ambitious, charming, and respectful. It's no wonder he was so popular. Girls had always fallen over themselves over him. His current girlfriend was just as beautiful as he was. No doubt they'd make pretty babies if he wound up marrying her.

My eyes fell to Danny. He looked up at me, and I gave him a smile. He returned it. I did notice there was something...I don't know...

knowing

in his smile. If I didn't know that he'd seen me naked, I would've missed it.

At 19 years old, he wasn't as classically handsome as his cousin or uncle, but he was attractive in his own right. Granted, girls wouldn't fall over themselves like they did with Chris, but there was something about him that was engaging; something mysterious. His face was unreadable, and his reserved personality made him a bit of a mystery. You can never tell what's going on inside his head.

The circumstances that led Danny to becoming a part of our family were dire. Cynthia, Martin's sister, died in a car crash nearly 8 years ago. Danny was in the car with her when it happened. He was only 11 at the time, just a year younger than Chris. He was considered the lucky one because he survived with no permanent injuries, but try telling a kid who just lost his mom that.

Danny's father wasn't an option as a suitable parent, even if he wanted to be. Which he didn't. The "man" could barely take care of himself. When Martin came to me with the question I knew he was going to ask, it was an automatic yes before he even finished his sentence.

I don't think Danny said a word to anyone for the first year he lived with us. We all assumed the accident left him unable to speak. It wasn't until he was 12 that he spoke his first words, and they were to me.

I used to cut my son's hair. No, I never went to beauty school, but I was quite good at it. I'd even cut Martin's hair a few times when we were low on money and he needed it.

However, Chris had started outgrowing the experience. He was 13 at this time, so he was too cool for his mom to still be giving him haircuts. Besides, I'd started teaching at this time, so it just wasn't feasible.

I missed those moments when they were gone. It felt kind of intimate in a motherly sort of way. Chris was always closer with his father than he was with me, so this was one of the few ways I had to bond with him. Just the act of running my fingers through his hair made me feel closer.

One day, I noticed that Danny's hair was constantly in his eyes. Martin was at work and Chris was away at camp. Danny was supposed to be with him, but we could tell he didn't want to go. So, I convinced Martin to just let him stay home. I believe Martin was looking forward to a couple of weeks of empty nest pussy, so he was understandably against Danny not going. He eventually relented, though I believe he passive-aggressively punished me by working late that entire time.

Anyway, it was just me and Danny in the house. Looking at his unkempt hair hit me with a fit of nostalgia, so I asked him if he wanted me to give him a haircut. Without even asking if I knew how to cut hair, he immediately nodded.

Of course, I was pleasantly surprised by this. I grabbed his hand and practically skipped as I led him to the patio. It was a lovely day out, and I thought it was a good idea to get him some sunlight while I snipped his hair.

After sitting him in the chair, I went to get the scissors and stuff I used to cut Chris' hair with. When I returned, the two of us sat out there in silence, with me snipping away.

It was nice. He just sat there and let me do it, his trusting eyes looking up at me occasionally. When I was done, I gave him a hand mirror to assess my work.

He inspected his reflection, turning his head this way and that. Finally, he looked up at me, a smile on his face. I smiled back, taking this as a sign that he was happy with it.

I didn't expect any more of a reward than that, but I got one. He opened his mouth, and a soft voice came from him saying, "Thank you."

I nearly fell out in shock. I was so flattered that I kissed him on the cheek and hugged him.

"You're welcome, Danny. My pleasure."

We never told anyone that his first words were to me. My husband assumed that victory was his when Danny spoke to him two days later. I didn't have the heart to break it to him.

Since then, Danny and I have had a special kind of bond. It was different than it was with my son. Chris was definitely his father's son. Martin was a man's man. He played sports in high school. He was in the Marines for 8 years before he got injured and was sent home. He enjoyed working on cars. He watched football, went fishing, and often took weeklong hunting trips. More testosterone pumped through his veins than actual blood.

Chris took after his dad. The two of them had a great relationship, one that I envied. But with Danny, it was like he was mine. He was more of a homebody than Chris, especially in the summer times when I was off from work, so he and I spent a lot of time together over the years.

That was why I was able to convince myself that what happened today was being blown out of proportion in my head. He was a nephew who grew up as my son. There was no way he'd be "checking me out" so blatantly. Obviously, he'd wandered into my bathroom accidently, and was so stunned by finding me there that the surprise froze him in place.

Obviously, that's what happened. Obviously.

I rested assured in that fact and soon forgot all about it. Life went on.

Over the next couple of weeks though, I noticed Danny's eyes lingering on me when he thought it would escape notice. He was careful about it, making sure Martin or Chris were out of the room. I'd catch him out of the corner of my eyes when my back was turned. Or I'd look at him and find him quickly divert his gaze.

I ignored all this, allowing my thin reasoning to win over. But all that fell apart one day.

I'd just come back from a jog. I was wearing my skintight lycra leggings and matching sports bra. When you are "blessed" with large tits, an investment in a variety of sports bras is necessary if you want to do any type of exercising. This is especially true when your years start creeping into the mid late 30's. I was fortunate enough to not have developed "pancake tits", but the gravity defiant torpedoes that once stood out in front of me now needed support from my rather expensive lingerie.

However, not to brag, but I still looked good. Around school, I was known as "the hot teacher". Whenever I am introduced to a new colleague of my husband, and my profession is revealed, it is always the same joke.

Where were you when I was in school?

Most of the time its flattering. I just laugh bashfully and wave it off. There are worse things to be known as.

Anyway, it was another day like before. Martin was at work, and Chris was off doing what he does. I passed Danny as I came in. As usual, his eyes were on me, but I didn't give it a second thought. I just grabbed a bottled water from the refrigerator and went to my room to prepare for my shower.

Halfway through, I got the same feeling I had a couple of weeks ago. I looked to the bathroom door and found it once again ajar. From where I was, I couldn't see the pair of eyes looking back at me, but I knew they were there.

This was no accident. This wasn't a mistimed mistake. Danny was purposely spying on me in the shower.

Subconsciously, I always saw this moment coming again. Deep down, I didn't believe this was an accident, no matter how much I told myself it was.

So then, why didn't I lock the door? Or even my bedroom door for that matter?

And why wasn't I screaming? Or yelling at him? My privacy was being invaded, and here I was debating with myself about it. I should be outraged. I should yell at Danny, tell him how wrong it is to do this.

Yet I didn't. I just kept washing myself. No, I didn't put anything extra into it, like I was putting on a special show for him. I just pretended he wasn't there.

After my shower, I got out and started drying myself. Stealthily, I threw a glance at the mirror, and found that my suspicion was correct. His eyes scoured my body as I toweled the water off.

I averted my eyes and continued, making sure to get between my legs. By the time I was ready to leave the bathroom, he was gone.

I can't explain what was going through my head. There was no anger, no shame. I honestly didn't care that he saw me fully nude. If he wanted to look at a naked woman, and I happened to be that woman, then so be it.

And just like before, I went to his room when I was dressed. Once again, we spoke like nothing had happened. I noticed the sparkle in his eye though, a knowing look. I'm not sure if he saw in me that I knew what happened, but I could tell one thing. What happened today would happen again when the opportunity arose.

***

As the sweltering summer days passed, this became our dynamic. Whenever it was just us two in the house, and I took a shower, the same pattern repeated itself. Now, I expected it. If I came home and saw that Danny was the only one there, it was automatic that he'd be spying on me if I took a shower.