Mom Aunt Clara & My Wandering Mind

Author's Note:

Please take note of this story's

category and tags

, in case the subject matter might not be to your liking. Also, please start with

Part 1

of the series otherwise, some of this won't make much sense.

This is a work of fiction. The plot is fictional. The characters are fictional. In other words, it's

not real life

. Any resemblance to person(s) living or dead is purely coincidental. All fictional characters in this fictional story involved in fictional sexual activities are 18+ in their completely fictional lives. If you think you recognize a real-life someone in this story, you lead a more colorful life than the author. :-)

Lastly, and most importantly, I hope you enjoy the story!

-BizMe

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Mom, Aunt Clara & My Wandering Mind: Part 11

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"For the sake of his therapy, he should be naked as much as possible," Aunt Clara insisted.

"For the sake of my

party

, I don't want him naked

at all

," old lady Perkins argued back. "Not yet, anyway. I want him to be

embarrassed

, Clara. Don't you understand? He's just so

adorable

when he's flustered. Him getting used to being naked is exactly what I

don't

want."

"This isn't about you, Miss Perkins," Aunt Clara rebutted. "It's about Andy's therapy. His

desensitization

and immersion therapy? You do know what desensitization means, right?" Aunt Clara's tone was quickly turning catty.

"Oh,

therapy-schmerapy

," old lady Perkins rebutted childishly, dismissive of the very reason she'd ever seen me naked in the first place. "Can't he have a break for

one day

?"

"No!" Aunt Clara snapped sharply. "Desensitization all day, immersion tonight. That's always been the plan and you agreed to it. Besides, you'll get your little show tonight with Patrick. But Andy's therapy needs to stay on track and this

isn't

open for debate!"

They were arguing in front of me, as if I wasn't even there, over whether I should be naked while working in old lady Perkins backyard, preparing it for her Old Ladies Bridge Club party where I and my cousin, Patrick, were to be both the service and the entertainment.

As the two alpha-females exchanged volleys, I continued with my yardwork in my usual running shorts and t-shirt in almost ninety-degree heat and equal humidity. Fortunately, there wasn't all that much left to finish.

I suspected old lady Perkins knew this, too, and recognized the opportunity. If she could keep Aunt Clara preoccupied with their tiff just a little bit longer, she'd get her way simply by outlasting her. I'd finish my work having never been exposed, with neither woman technically winning or losing the argument.

Part of me wanted to strip off my t-shirt and running shorts just to foil old lady Perkins' plans, but that would mean I'd be naked with her

now

and I didn't like the prospect of

that

any more than having to do it later.

I still didn't fully trust her, but she didn't seem to have any elaborate, nefarious plan as I'd first suspected. She was just a horny old woman who'd gotten lucky, so to speak, having discovered the naked world of her young neighbor next door.

I laughed at the expression, 'dirty old man,' realizing my elderly neighbor was proving it isn't always the man. But then I cringed, remembering that naked young neighbor she'd discovered was

me

and, at any moment, I might be ordered by Aunt Clara to strip... outside... in front of old lady Perkins.

About the only work left was to sweep off the patio and set up the canvas tent for Patrick and me to work from. Then I'd be done and since it was getting quite hot, I set out to finish the work as quickly as possible.

Aunt Clara wanted to continue her argument but had to take a pause when her phone rang. A moment later, she grunted in frustration--apparently one of her clinic regulars was waiting patiently at her office for an appointment she'd forgotten about.

Old lady Perkins smirked victoriously as Aunt Clara huffed.

"I'll be there in five," she grumbled into the phone, a defeated grimace on her face as she avoided eye contact with her adversary and left in a hurry.

"Are you doing okay in this heat, Andy?" old lady Perkins called from her perch in the shade once Aunt Clara was out of earshot, unabashedly ogling my body while I worked.

Despite not being naked, I wasn't leaving much to old lady Perkins' imagination and both of us knew it.

My white t-shirt was soaked, leaving it nearly transparent and showing my slim torso bereft of any hair--not because I shaved it (I didn't) but because I just didn't have much. My brown nipples showed through like I wasn't wearing a shirt at all and the way it draped over my pecs and clung tightly to my midsection, made it look like I was ripped, the definition in my abs exaggerated by the soaked, wet t-shirt.

Completing the uncomfortable ensemble, the thin nylon tricot of my running shorts with its pathetic sewn-in liner did a better job at

accentuating

my manly bits than supporting them. And since my caregivers had all refused me any relief from my morning wood, I'd been sporting a partial stiffy off and on all morning.

"I'm f-fine, Miss Perkins," I answered, cursing myself for stammering even that little bit in front of her. I turned my tented shorts away from her leer until she could only see my backside.

"This view is every bit as nice," she teased, flaunting the fact that she knew I'd turned aside on purpose but she was enjoying the view of my ass just as much.

"Oh, it's

so

hot out, isn't it?" she shouted melodramatically from across the yard. "Don't you just wish you could strip down to nothing and take a dip in my pool? I know

I

would if I were a sexy young person working as hard as you in this blistering sun. Oh, you must be so hot and uncomfortable in those clothes."

As much as I wanted to do exactly what she was suggesting (and I

did

want to) I knew I couldn't do it--not with her just standing there gawking at me, her lascivious thoughts feeding her devilish grin like coal to a furnace.

Alone with old lady Perkins? Already, not good. Alone with old lady Perkins and naked?!

I shuddered at the possibilities.

"Oh, well," she continued the one-sided conversation. "I'm sure it'll still be just as hot tonight... maybe even

hotter

. You

are

going to be naked tonight, aren't you? In front of me and my friends."

She already knew the answer, turning the screws on my embarrassment and humiliation with constant reminders of what was to come.

"Maybe you'll take a skinny dip in my pool tonight if you're too bashful to do it now. But then, with the pool lights all on, we'll get to admire your beautiful nude body all the more. Maybe we'll all stand on the edge of the pool and watch do laps. Would you like that, Andy? I hope you can do the backstroke. Hmm. I'd love to see that."

I glanced at her over my shoulder but didn't answer. The thought of swimming naked in front of several women energized my penis, despite my brain's objection.

Why does that get me going?

I wondered.

It's not like I like old lady Perkins. I certainly don't think she's sexy or anything.

Maybe it had something to do with growing up in a house with few rules, having no father figure to lead me, and hardly any discipline from Mom. I know that's what Aunt Clara would say. She'd said as much before more than once and it went something like this:

Your ass-hat father, when he was around, wasn't exactly involved. He never wanted to be a dad in the first place and it showed. He never taught you how to play catch or cast a line. Never taught you the right way to treat a woman. If anything, he showed you exactly how not to.

When he did grace us all with his presence, he didn't want to be the 'bad cop' so you rarely got punished for anything. After he left you and Mary--and I say good riddance--what little guidance and sparse corrections you'd ever received went right along with him.

Your mother was too afraid to rock the boat, fearing she'd lose you, too. So, you were left to wander aimlessly, without the guardrails and mentoring you desperately needed to find your way. You figured out sports on your own, but just about every other facet of your life has been a struggle.

Your Mom accepted you as you were. Her unconditional love was commendable and boundless. But while she hoped to see more from you, she didn't demand it. That kind of 'tough love' just wasn't in her DNA.

That was the gist of it, anyway. Enter Aunt Clara whose DNA had in spades what Mom had none of.

So... do I secretly crave being told what to do? To be guided by someone. Disciplined and supervised? Corrected and led?

I suppose it made as much sense as any other theory. If I couldn't make decisions on my own or maintain self-discipline, then maybe it was best to let someone else do it for me. That had to be better than trusting the untethered sail of

Chance

to determine the directions of my life, my destiny unfolding by the whims of the wind.

"You might even have company," old lady Perkins vaunted one last teasing jeer my way and breaking me free from my internal self-evaluation. "Maybe we'll get to see

two

boys skinny dipping in my pool tonight!" she cackled, before humming her way back into her house and disappearing.

While finishing my work, I continued to replay how I'd gotten to this point. Just over a month prior, I'd started my 'therapy' under the direction of my Aunt Clara, a successful psychotherapist who was pioneering research in her 'sexual distraction theory' which, in her words, was "a collection of stimulus desensitization and immersion therapies meant to address both latent and manifest issues stemming from sexual and emotional repression." I don't know if I said all that right, but it was some sort of psychobabble like that.

In a nutshell, it involved keeping me naked and exposed for prolonged periods of time (the desensitization) intermingled with random, unannounced periods of overstimulation (the immersion).

In both cases, I was expected to follow instructions, maintain self-discipline, and avoid corrections for my unwanted behaviors.

Mom's hope was that I might finally get past issues I'd had as long as I could remember. Absentmindedness was the most obvious one, but I also suffered from an inability to concentrate, a pronounced lack of confidence, and rampant daydreaming, which I naturally did at the worst possible times.

And it seemed, to me anyway, that I had made some pretty kick-ass progress if I say so myself.

I was certainly stammering less and I almost

never

said 'um' anymore since Aunt Clara drilled into my head that confident people don't say that.

Her other pet peeve was my constantly saying 'sorry' when I either didn't mean it or didn't know what I was apologizing for. Now, I was much more intentional, choosing only to say it when I truly understood and meant it.

I also stopped second-guessing myself so much, though Aunt Clara still wasn't satisfied. She expected more. She demanded more. She required of me what Mom couldn't. And what she required was that I reach some 'next level of self-realization' (more psychobabble). Only then would she be sufficiently satisfied with my progress to deem my therapy 'completed.'

As to what it would take for me to reach that next level, I wasn't sure. But it seemed to involve the escalation of embarrassing and humiliating situations I was being put in. It seemed to involve this party and old lady Perkins. And it almost seemed the goal was to press me until I broke through or, perhaps, simply broke.

I continued my yardwork, wondering if I should be grateful or resentful that Aunt Clara had committed me to old lady Perkins' stupid party and whatever humiliation was surely to come of it.

"I'm all done, Miss Perkins," I shouted toward the house after I'd pounded the last tent stake into the ground and put the mallet away in the shed.

"I'll be the judge of that," old lady Perkins shouted back from her kitchen window. "Wait right there and I'll be out in a minute."

"Yes, ma'am," I answered and waited impatiently under a shade tree for her to check my work. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the last tiny bit of my t-shirt that wasn't drenched with sweat and stared at the cool, inviting water of her pool, wishing I had the nerve to jump in and let its swirling liquid fingers massage my naked skin while I refreshed and cooled my body.

"Still thinking of that skinnydip?" old lady Perkins asked naughtily. "I won't tell if you do it." She knew full well I wouldn't.

I was so entranced by the allure of refreshment from the crystal clear water, I hadn't even noticed her approach.

"Huh? Oh!" I said in surprise and immediately wondered if every woman in my life had the ability to read my mind. "I... um, I would, but... well, I need to get home and... take care of something."

"Take care of something?" she purred, hinting at something naughty. "You know... you could take care of it right here if you want to. I could even help... like last time? We have my tent," she looked down toward my shorts. "And you have yours," she teased mercilessly. "No one would see."

"I... um... no, Miss Perkins... I didn't mean...

that

," I protested quickly.

"Hmm. I think that's exactly what you meant," she accused haughtily, making a show of staring down at my crotch as my dick seemed to corroborate all her suspicions.

"Um... I need to go," I said again as a grimace of dissatisfaction waxed across my face. I excused myself, at once hopeful and scared shitless that my ordeal with her would soon be over in just a few hours.

I hurried back to my house before old lady Perkins could contrive some new reason to keep me around and tease me further about being naked in her presence.

"You okay, Andy?" Mom asked as I rushed in the front door, the conditioned air immediately sending a chill over the skin beneath my soggy shirt. "You look peaked."

PEEKID? What does that word even mean

? I wondered as I stripped off my shirt first and then my shorts, my unbridled hard-on slapping obscenely against my belly. It felt good to be naked and out of the wet clothes, even if it was in front of my gawking stepmom with an embarrassingly strong erection pointing up like a flagpole.

"W-why are you looking at me like that?" I asked.

"Like what?" she asked as if she thought something was up and was trying to fish out of me whatever it was.

I suppose I couldn't blame her since I'd just burst through the door like I'd been chased and was sporting an especially angry boner.

"First, you say I'm 'peekid'--whatever the hell that means--then you look at me like you want to... well... you know," I didn't want to say it out loud.

"First of all,

peaked

just means look sickly. You're a little pale. Are you sure you're feeling okay?" She quickly pressed the back of her hand to my forehead.

"I feel fine, Mom. Perfectly fine," I responded, shirking myself away from her motherly doting. "I've just been out in the heat all day working in old lady Perkins' yard and dealing with her non-stop teasing."

"Oh... her teasing," she took a step back and eyeballed my ill-tempered prick with a libertine thirst in her eyes that made me uncomfortable. "Well, that explains it, at least," she croaked before forcing her gaze off of my manhood with what seemed like Herculean effort. "Now... aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, and it wasn't lost on me that that's how

all of this

got started.

"I want my kiss, young man, or at least a nice hug?" She was looking at me with that gleam in her eyes that she'd been getting more frequently lately--that unchaste, salacious gaze a mother should never have toward her son.

"I didn't forget, you know," I defended, knowing that she always expected a kiss on the cheek whenever I came into or left the house. I stepped into her arms and she wrapped me in an affectionate embrace.

"You know, Andy," she said quietly, still holding my naked body close to her. "I

am

still a caregiver and you haven't

thanked

me in a while." Her use of code phrases did nothing to disguise what she wanted. And what she wanted wasn't our customary hug or kiss that started when I was a child. She wanted me to pleasure her, which had only started recently, coinciding with my 'therapy.' The only real question was

How?

.

She held me in her intimate clutch as her hands drifted down from my shoulders to my back, continuing still lower until she'd reached my bare bottom. She squeezed my pale globes possessively, pulling me even closer against her, my penis reacting with a violent twitch as it engorged further with sensual heat and pulsed with sexual energy.

"Mmm," Mom purred. "I've been needing to feel this for days," referring to my rock-hard dick mashing staunchly against her. "And then, yesterday?

Oh, damn

. Watching you and Nadia fucking for the first time? Losing your virginity to each other? Oh my God, Andy. Did you know your aunt and I came back here afterward and..." Her voice drifted off to some memory that I thought she was about to share with me.

The heat between us intensified, creeping dangerously close to a point of no return if we didn't head it off. We had to quench the incestuous embers of lust before they fanned into flame and threatened to consume us.

"Um, Mom?" I interrupted her silent reverie, hoping to intervene if I wasn't already too late. "I stink. Like

real bad

. I've been working all day in this heat." It was a reach since I didn't really smell all that bad.

Mom pulled away from our embrace just enough to lower her face to my chest where she inhaled deeply. "Oh, Gawd, Andy," Mom simultaneously groaned and shivered with lust, the limits of her self-control stretching thin as a vapor. "You smell like a

man

, Andy." She groaned uncontrollably. "I

love

the smell of a hard-working man. The taste of salt on his skin." She mumbled as she planted a kiss on my temple. "It's not like you haven't showered in a week. You know, I always think you smell good. But the musky smell of a man who's been working?

GRAWR

!" she growled.

Well, that backfired, you fucking idiot

, I chastised myself.

"But... I guess I see your point," Mom mused softly, her tone changing so quickly it was shocking.

Oh! Maybe it did work

, I prematurely started congratulating myself.

"Why... my filthy, stinky,

dirty

son needs a bath,

doesn't

he?" her lascivious tone sounded more like she was role-playing a mother, than actually being one.

"W-what?" I asked, again scolding myself silently for yet one more of my brilliant plans going completely off the rails. "Mom, I don't take baths anymore. I'm not a little kid." It was a vain attempt to exit the situation but Mom seemed committed.

"No... you're not little at all, anymore, are you?" She groaned pulling her hands around to my front and quickly teasing her fingers along both sides of my still growing shaft. "You'll always be my boy, though, Andy. Just not my 'little' boy, I suppose." She grinned with a most inappropriate curling of her lips at the edges. "And

fine

," she said impertinently. "So, we won't take a

bath

."

We?

I noticed her using what should have been the wrong pronoun.

You should have said 'you,' Mom

. I wanted to correct her, but I suspected she knew exactly what she was saying.

"We'll take a

shower

, instead," she grinned mischievously.