Twin Aunt

Author's Note: All characters engaging in any sexual activities are 18 years or older. Names of all characters are fictional, and were changed to protect the naughty! Certain details were also changed to conceal the identities of any real persons.

This is only the first chapter, as I could not fit it all into one. If a bit of a slow burn is not what you are looking for, the kind Aunt Cassie gave, you may want to stay tuned for further adventures with Aunt Cassie.

Aunt Cassie was in terrible shape when came to live with us. Uncle Denny died from a protracted illness, and the effects were obvious for all to see the moment she parked her car in our driveway. "All" meaning only my parents and I, because my sisters were away at college. That's right, I'm the baby of the family, a fact my sisters made sure to remind me of as often as possible, and by the time Aunt Cassie moved in with us, during my senior year in high school, I was pretty sick of being reminded of that fact.

Two months had passed since we last saw her at the funeral, and then she looked rough, but when she stepped out of her Mini Cooper, she looked worse. Shockingly worse. To tell the truth, she looked like shit. Strange because, as my Mom's identical twin, they had always looked alike. In fact, she had always been more glamourous than my mother, so her current state worried us.

When they were kids, my grandmother dressed them alike, so in the old family photos they are impossible to identify. Same with their high school class photos. When they went to college together, they finally dressed individually, but in their sorority photos, I never can tell one from the other. Over the years, my Mom began to look a more matronly than her sister. Made sense, because Aunt Cassie never had kids of her own. She moved up north, got married and we didn't see her all that much after that because of the distance, but kept up on Facebook and all.

So, when she stepped out of the car, Aunt Cassie must have seen it on our faces.

Mom greeted her with a big, warm hug. "We are so glad you could come stay with us!"

"I know, I look like shit. Feel pretty much like it, too. Ten hours in the car takes it out of you."

The long drive from Ohio didn't explain how terrible she looked.

My Mom looks pretty normal. She was never the skinny, hot mom of my school, but she took care of herself. Not fat, I guess you could describe her as average, although on the prettier side of average. That's what made Aunt Cassie's appearance such a shock.

Already thin at the funeral, she had lost weight since, and looked so frail. One hundred pounds, tops. And she was pretty tall, about 5' 5", making her weight look unnatural on a woman in her late 40s. Unlike my Mom, her hair was long and unkempt and streaked with gray, which is weird because Mom always brags that red hair does not turn gray, which is why she never needs to color her own.

I doubt if she had jogged all the way from Cincinnati she would have looked more exhausted.

Days passed without seeing her.

Despite the girls being off at college, Mom served a family dinner each night. Pretty soon, Aunt Cassie stopped showing up. The first night she was a no-show, sitting across from an empty chair with plates and utensils laid out, I asked, "Where is Aunt Cassie?"

"I don't think she's feeling well tonight," Mom answered.

My father said, "She doesn't feel good very often, does she?"

"She's having a tough time," Mom said, defending her twin. "Denny's death was so hard on her."

"She needs to get her act together," Dad said. "What are we going to do if we wake up some morning and she's swallowed a handful of pills?"

"Don't say that," Mom said.

When we finished, I asked, "Should I take her food up to her room?"

"I guess so," Mom answered and put her serving on a tray for me to carry up.

When I rapped on the door, a sleepy voice answered, "Go away."

"Aunt Cassie? It's me, Kevin. I brought you some dinner, if you want it.

Silence. Then the door knob turned and she opened the door wearing a robe loosely tied at the waist and hanging open inappropriately low, her long hair a tangled mess. When she saw my eyes drop toward her exposed cleavage, she pulled her hair away from her face and repositioned her robe to cover more of her, glanced down at the tray and took it from me. "Thanks."

Then she smiled weakly at me and shut the door.

On the nights she didn't show up for dinner with us, Mom or I took a plate to her room. Whether she ate it or not is another question. The plates always ended up in the dishwasher by morning, so I assumed maybe she picked at it for hours and brought it down sometime late at night, after the rest of us had gone to sleep.

Despite the fact that she was staying just down the hall from me and we shared the same bathroom my sisters and I spent years fighting over, I almost never ran into her upstairs. Some nights, sounds of her weeping down the hall made it to my room, but I usually just put on some music to drown it out. It was like having a ghost in the house, and she began to really skeeze me out.

I imagined her starving herself down the hall. One night, I even dreamed of finding her dried, skeletal body shriveled up in her room. After that, I tried to push her out of my mind, pretending she wasn't there. Aunt Cassie down in that room scared the hell out of me.

It was easy forgetting about her because my life was a mess. Colleges were taking their time responding to my applications for next year. I was a starting winger on the soccer team, and we were in last place in the conference, and losing is no fun at all. But things really went bad about two weeks after Aunt Cassie arrived when Carla, my girlfriend, dumped me for my best friend, Hank. Former best friend Hank. Less than a month before my 18

th

birthday, and my life was a pile of shit swirling around the bowl.

One afternoon at soccer practice, a teammate slid into me and tweaked the hell out of my ankle, and when I got home, the only thing I wanted was to wash the mud off and then let my ankle soak in a bathtub full of hot water until dinnertime. I limped into the bathroom, not thinking of anything else, tugged my practice jersey over my head and tossed it on the floor. Then I dropped onto the closed toilet seat to pull the sock from my swollen ankle. A little splashing sound caught my attention, so I looked up.

There was Aunt Cassie, sitting quietly in the bathtub staring at me with a terrified look in her light blue eyes.

"Oh, damn! Sorry, I didn't know..." I bent down to pick up my shirt and sock and get the hell out of there, and all the while, she didn't make a sound. Try as I did to avert my eyes, there was something so strange about it, I could not stop staring.

She sat with her knees curled up almost to her chest, her arms around them and holding the knees in front of her. Wet hair hung down, darkened by the water and clinging to her back and one arm, long enough to cover most of both boobs, sticking to them like some kind of wet, super sexy bikini top. I really hadn't seen many boobs then, but hers weren't like any I had seen.

I hurried to my room with my foot up, resting on a chair, waiting to hear some sound indicating she was finished and it was my turn to take a bath. Seemed like a half hour passed before a light tap sounded from my door.

"Yeah?"

Aunt Cassie stepped in, robe tied around her, long hair still wet and hanging down. If she had anything on under her robe, I couldn't see it. "I owe you an apology for startling you like that."

"No, it's okay."

"It's been a long time since I shared a bathroom. Last time was when your mother and I were roommates in college. My husband and I had our own bathrooms, so I guess I forgot I was using yours."

"Don't worry about it, Aunt Cassie. Anyway, I should have knocked."

"Guess you forgot, too."

"Yeah. Shared a bathroom with two sisters for 17 years, but as soon as they are gone, I forget all the rules."

"I'll knock, too. It's probably a good idea. We wouldn't want to walk in and catch the other one in an embarrassing situation."

"Well, I am sorry I embarrassed you today," I said.

"Don't worry—you didn't embarrass me." And she closed the door behind her.

* * * * *

We got the call on a rainy afternoon. Mom answered, and I wasn't paying too much attention until she yelled, "Oh my god! Where? I see. Sure, right. I'll be right there."

"What's the matter, Mom?"

"Get ready, you need to drive; I'm too upset."

"Drive where? What's going on?"

"It's Cassie. That was the hospital. She had a wreck. Oh, I am shaking. Can you drive me? I can't drive."

Mom always tends to panic in a situation, and her twin being hospitalized after a car crash certainly qualified as a situation.

We found her in the ER with several small cuts on her cheeks and forehead and 5 stitches closing the gash above one eye. From the looks of it, that eye would be black in a day or 2 and would look like someone punched her.

"Oh, honey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. A few cuts and stitches; doctor says I have a concussion. Nothing serious. Thanks for coming to get me. My car's totaled."

"Let me see your head—ouch! What happened?"

"I don't know, my head hit something. Steering wheel, windshield—not really sure."

In the car, Mom's tone changed, the way sisters do when one of them screws up. "How did it happen?"

"I was going too fast. The road was slippery. Must have hit a puddle or something."

"Did you hit another car? Was anyone else hurt?"

"Only me. A bridge piling."

"A what?"

"I hit the concrete support under a bridge on Twin Neck Road."

"Oh, my God! How fast were you going?"

"I don't know. 60 maybe?"

"Isn't the speed limit on Twin Neck like 35?"

"Probably."

Mom turned back around to stare at the windshield wipers for a mile or so, then spun back toward the back seat. "Cassie, tell me the truth: were you trying to harm yourself?"

"What?"

"I know that bridge—it's the only one on Twin Neck. The only way to hit it is if you are trying to hit it."

"What are you saying?"

"Cassie, you need help. I don't know how to reach you."

"I don't need your help."

"You need somebody to help you."

"Can we not talk about this now."

I was watching her in the rear-view mirror, and suddenly she seemed to notice and glared back at me through the mirror. Embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping like this—although it wasn't quite eavesdropping because the three of us were sitting in the car together—I turned my attention back to the road before I ran into a bridge piling or something.

* * * * *

The mail came one day when Mom was out shopping somewhere. I went up to Aunt Cassie's room and knocked. "There's a letter for you from the insurance company."

She ripped it open while I stood there. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit!"

"What's the matter," I asked.

"The insurance company denied my claim. They say my policy expired in May. My husband was sick then, and I probably forgot to pay the bill. God damn it! What am I going to do now?"

Wishing I'd slid the notification under her door and gone away quietly, I stood there not knowing what to do. The letter dropped to the floor and she took me by the shoulders, pulled me toward her and put her head on my shoulder. Her whole body shook, and hot tears dripped onto my neck. My arms hanging by my side felt uncomfortable, and this was one of those times when I knew more was required of me, so I hugged her.

Man, did she hug me back! She hung on tight as if, were she to let go, she would fly off the face of the earth. Don't ask why—probably breasts smashed against a hormony teenage kid whose girlfriend just dumped him—but I started getting wood. Aunt Cassie was sobbing violently against my neck, spit starting to drool down my chest, her entire body shaking and her hips mashed up against mine, and I sprouted a stiffy.

Once again, I wanted to run away and hide somewhere, but she hung on for dear life. She had to feel it, pressed together like we were, but my mind rationalized she was so upset over her life sucking so much she probably didn't notice a hard-on growing against her stomach.

Makes sense, right?

"Look, Aunt Cassie, if you need a ride anywhere, just let me know. Soccer season is over next week, so I will be home most afternoons."

"Thank you, Kevin. That is kind of you." Her lips rubbed against my neck with each word. Jesus Christ, why is my dick doing this? Her arm moved, and I thought she was letting go, but she merely moved it to a new position where she could hold me tighter. My penis has a real sense of humor, doesn't it? Perhaps one of the more gullible girls at school might not notice, someone in 9

th

or 10

th

grade, but a 40-something year old woman like her knows exactly what a hard-on feels like.

Maybe she's just clueless. She must have held on to me like that for 5 minutes, so I finally said, "Listen, I need to go, but I'm serious—let me know if you need a ride or anything, okay?"

What a fucking idiot

, I thought in my room down the hall.

If you need a ride or anything

? I didn't mean it like it sounded, but saying it while pressing your stiffy into the person you offered

a ride

to must sound bad.

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

* * * * *

I sat in the waiting room while the doctor removed the stitches from Aunt Cassie's face. When she came out, she asked, "How does it look?"

"Not bad. There's a little scar, but you really can't see it much. It will fade—they always do." Not nearly as bad as the shiner on her eye, but I left that alone.

"How big is it? It's hard to see in the mirror. When you are my age, you will understand what it is to be farsighted."

"From about here to here," I said, tracing the bright pink line along its inch-length with my finger so she could feel her scar. Funny, I thought, looking at her scar closely for the first time, but it is the same color as her nipple. Why did that though pop into my head?

"The doctor said exercises will help my back. He suggested a stationary bike. Do you know of a gym nearby that has stationary bikes?"

"There's one down by the fire station that does. It's a couple of miles away."

"Close enough to walk?"

"Maybe," I answered, then reconsidered. "Probably not."

"Do you think you can give me a lift?"

"Sure. My last practice is tomorrow. Final game is Saturday. After that, my afternoons will be free. Hey, why don't you come?"

With a puzzled expression, she asked, "Huh?"

"Come watch my last game. My team sucks, but since I probably won't play in college, this might be my final game."

"Sure. Sounds great. When is it?"

"Saturday night at 8."

"I'll think about it. It's been a while since I went out on a Saturday night. Might be fun."

* * * * *

After practice, I got a text the next day from Aunt Cassie.

At the gym. Can I bum a ride?

Sure. 10 minutes?

OK

I could not believe my eyes.

There she stood on the sidewalk out front, gym bag slung over her shoulder, wearing black yoga pants and a bright blue sports bra, hair pulled back in a ponytail. I almost didn't recognize her. Her tail in those pants looked amazing!

When I stopped in front of her, she walked up to the passenger side window and bent over. "Should I throw my bag in the back?"

"Yeah, sure," I answered, staring at her cleavage hanging beautifully in that bra. Her boobs, chest and shoulders were covered with thousands of freckles, which I should have expected because of her freckle-face, but then again, I didn't remember it from the bathtub incident. Heck, all I could remember is her wet hair covering one breast and the pink, pointy nipple on the other.

She slammed the trunk and lowered herself slowly into the seat. "How's your back?"

"Better. Stiffening up now after that workout." She was not the only one stiffening up. "I guess we will see tomorrow, right?"

"Right." My eyes lingered a bit too long before pulling away from the curb. "You look great," I said, instantly regretting it.

"Oh, thanks. You're sweet. I feel like one of those middle-aged women trying to act like a 30-year-old. I ordered this online and didn't expect it to be so..." Her hand waved in front of her, leading my eyes up and down from her shoulders to thighs again.

"You don't look that way. As I was driving up, I thought you were somebody else. Maybe 30."

"I almost didn't wear this in public. Thank god it's a women's gym. I can ask you: I don't have that—what do they call it? Camel foot?"

"I didn't notice," I lied. I did notice, but sadly, she did not.

She started wiggling, looking down checking her crotch, or maybe silently asking me to check, so I did, and still no camel toe. "No, I mean, it looks good. No camel foot."

When we got home, I followed her inside because I really needed to see if her butt looked as good from the back as it did from the side when I drove up, and sure enough, it did. There is no way that tail belongs to a woman the exact same age as my Mom. "Thanks for the ride. Hey, about your game: sounds fun. I think I'll ride down with your parents."

"They can't make it. My Dad has that awards dinner thing."

"Really? They aren't going to your last game."

"Nope."

"Then I'll definitely be there to cheer you on. Do you mind driving me?"

No, I did not mind that at all.

* * * * *

Aunt Cassie was in the kitchen making dinner when I got home the next day. The sight of her standing there wearing my mother's apron caused me to do a double-take.

"Oh, hey, Aunt Cassie. For a second there, I thought you were my Mom." A younger, skinnier version, but I left that out. Strange, but since her car wreck, she looked to be aging in reverse.

"Hi, Dear. Your mother has a book club meeting today, so I volunteered to cook dinner. I hope you don't mind. I'm making a pot of chili."

"Chili's my favorite."

"I hope you like it hot."

"I love it hot." As I dropped my backpack on the table, her hands dropped to her hips and she began swiveling around strangely. "Are you okay?"

"It's my back. Will you be a sweetheart and help me chop some of these vegetables? This is giving me spasms."

"Sure thing. From the car wreck?"

"Either that or the workout. I'm not in very good shape."

"You look like you're in great shape." Damn it! Why do I keep saying things like that? You aren't supposed to tell your aunt she looks good, yet I kept doing it like a moron! She's going to think I'm flirting with her.

"Coming from a finely tuned athlete like you, I will take that as a compliment. But, if true, then looks are deceiving. Getting older is hard enough as it is without crashing my car."

As I diced a pepper, I asked, "Where does it hurt?"

Turned around with her back to show me, waving her hand just above her butt. Imagine my disappointment in the shapeless sweat pants she was wearing. "Right through here. Lumbar? I think that's what the doctor called it. And here," she bent her arm up high as it would go and twinkled her fingers in the middle of the back, "that started bothering me when I began chopping."

"Then let me handle the chopping. You can supervise." While I chopped, she leaned against the counter and we chatted about school, the weather and other breezy subjects. From time to time, she twisted again, trying to get comfortable.

"You don't have one of those massage pads, do you?"

"Sorry. Around here, we use our fingers. Mom taught me as a kid how to give a massage. You know she has back trouble, too?"

"Scoliosis. We have the same back. It will be fine for years, but the moment you do something to annoy it, you pay the price." Another twisting stretch. "Would it be asking too much for you to give me a little massage once the pot is going?"