("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author ฉ 2007. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- My Aunt Lizzie by The Tall Man (tallman034@aol.com) *** A story about a teenage boy in love with his aunt, and how he begins to discover sexual joy with her. It is partly based on actual events. (F/m-teen, ped, 1st, inc, mast) *** Part One – The family picnic Then the heavens opened. The picnic had been really great fun. We'd come out of the smoky, central England district where the family lived, all of forty miles into the country, a jolly convoy of two cars – well, I mean to say: a car and a van – plus a motorbike, on which rode Lizzie and Ken, down to a field by the river Severn, under some trees on a Sunday in summer, 1960. In the days when you could do that, without being fenced off or chased off his holy land by some irate farmer, and without having to pay over-the-top car parking fees and without having to share your few square feet of grass with everybody and his brother and his portable telephone. There was no radio, not even have a car radio to listen to, but we didn't need it anyway – we used to sing along with each other, all the pop songs of the day and yesterday. Buddy Holly, Bobby Darin, Johnny Ray, Frankie Lane, Elvis, Alma Cogan, everybody. There were other people there down by the river, a handful of family groups well spaced out along the river bank, but nobody got too close. Everybody respected everybody's personal zone in those days. Anyway, our family made a lot of noise, especially Aunt Lizzie - adorable, vivacious, sparkling Aunt Lizzie; maybe that's why the other Sunday picnickers kept their distance, so they didn't have to put up with our excesses of fun. The weather was warm but not hot, a little sun was showing now and again through the predominant clouds. A typical British summer Sunday if you like, and without any wind, we were all very comfortable and relaxed. Set to have fun. Grandad and I fished for a while before the grub was ready. The river was clear, slow-flowing, unpolluted. We caught a few tiddlers on maggot, some small roach and dace, nothing really rod-bending. Grandad said we ought to have ground-baited, but he hadn't brought any; he was over 60 and he was already starting to forget things. Then, sitting on blankets or folding wood and canvas deck chairs or standing up, running around, scoffing ham and cheese and onion sandwiches and cakes prepared by Mom and her two sisters. Drinking dandelion and burdock pop, luke warm tea from thermos flasks. Brilliant. I was a growing lad and always ate voraciously. The things I liked most at that age: eating and drinking and fishing. And football. And masturbating, naturally. After the picnic, Grandad went back to fishing and some of us played rounders. All except Mom. Her size 16 didn't help as far as sporting activity was concerned. Credit to her, she did try for a while, even though she was very self-conscious about her body size and weight. But after slipping on the grass and falling over and hurting her elbow, feeling unwell, she abandoned all championship aspirations and went to rest in Uncle Malcolm's Austin Mini, one of the very early models, brand new car. Malcolm had a good job; he was a draughtsman, with a salary. Plus he collected money for a clothes shop which gave credit and hire purchase to its customers. With his car, he would travel around from house to house, collecting a few shillings a week from the poor sods who had to buy things on the never-never. He knew everybody in the district, but wasn't loved by everybody, I suppose because they were often embarrassed about their miserable debts and the fact that someone well known by everybody called every week at the door, his routine presence broadcasting to all the neighbours that they were hard up. So there was Aunt Lizzie and her fianc้ Ken, Uncle Malcolm, Aunt Carol and her husband Uncle Bill and their daughter Jane, all playing rounders. Gran sat quietly on her folding chair; she had a heart condition, wasn't supposed to get over-excited. (Poor Dad had to work the Sunday shift, so he missed all the fun). We all ran around endlessly in ever decreasing circles, running, jumping, standing still, laughing, the girls and women screaming and giggling. Brilliant. Nobody won, nobody lost. We just had fun. I was fifteen, and looking back, I can't remember a happier time from that period of my youth. Then the heavens opened. Suddenly there was pandemonium, everybody was running around gathering up boxes, rugs, deck chairs, carrier bags – you remember the kind: bags made of thick brown paper, and when they got wet the bottom fell out. Most everything was thrown into the back of Grandad's Ford van at great speed, but everybody got soaked to the skin. Except Mom, who dozed away in Uncle Malcolm's Mini. She was momentarily oblivious to the chaos. I heard Aunt Lizzie shouting to Ken that she was not going back on the motorbike in the rain, and there he was pulling on his riding gear, which was already wet, over his sopping sports shirt and trousers. Aunt Lizzie grabbed my hand and dragged me towards the Mini. Her soft hand was cool and wet in mine, and she squeezed it gently which made me feel really nice. I'd come down to the picnic in Grandad's van, but I didn't resist when she said: "Come on, Bobbie, we'll dive into the Mini with your Mom." I looked back as we ran and saw Grandad slipping and sliding up the wet river bank with his fishing rod half-collapsed and his fishing basket slung over his shoulder by its strap, puffing red-faced, panting and cussing out loud. There was barely room for everybody in his van, what with the picnic stuff and his fishing tackle – not to mention his tools. Grandad was a fitter (whatever that meant) and he had to have a van for his job, so he always had tools in the back. I heard baby Jane crying: "I don't WANT to go back in Grandad's van – I want to go in the Mini with Uncle Malcolm." She knew what comfort was like. But no-one seemed to hear her. I was about to take her place, alongside Aunt Lizzie. Nothing suited me better, I thought, than being scrunched up next to my beautiful, favourite fun-loving aunt in the back of a small car. I relished the thought of the journey home. As though trying to dodge impossible-to-avoid raindrops, the biggest it seemed we had ever seen, Lizzie ran to the driver's side of the Mini, wrenched open the door and tilted the driver's seat forward. She pushed me in with her hands on my back, causing me to dive into the back seat, colliding heavily with Mom, who opened her eyes and reacted by saying "Bugger!," shoving an elbow hard in my ribs then pushing me over towards the other side. Mom had been fast asleep, I realised. Even the raindrops on the car roof hadn't woken her, and only now did she perceive, through groggy, half-open eyes, that it was raining hard and everybody was running for cover. Lizzie followed me into the back of the Mini, trying to plop into a space which was far too small, even for her small body. In a Mini, there was just not enough room for three passengers to sit side by side in the back seat, especially if that included an overweight passenger like my Mother. Now very wet and breathing heavily from the run, Lizzie ended up half on my lap and half on the seat, her shoulder against the window. Her chest rose and fell with panting, and I felt her warm breath on my face as she fidgeted a little, before shifting away from the window. She turned to face the other way, settling her weight on one of my thighs and leaning into me to avoid damp contact with her disgruntled elder sister alongside. She was wearing shorts and a kind of tennis shirt; all were sodden, as were my football shirt and shorts. Her arms and legs glistened. Cool and damp against cool and damp. It felt lovely to be this close to my favourite Aunt Lizzie, here in this beautifully cramped space in the rear of a Mini, and my body reacted spontaneously to the closeness, as would the body of any virile teenager in such circumstances. The blood began to flow quickly into my penis, causing it to harden perceptibly. We all gazed out of the window to see what was happening. I enjoyed the moment and the contact with Lizzie. There were mixed odours of new car and wet skin and clothing, and the remnants of Lizzie's scent. Lizzie was an out and out tease when she was a teenager and for many years afterwards. As I grew up and became adolescent, she was constantly calling me her 'big handsome boyfriend' when everybody was around, which made me blush of course, but I loved it. As I grew older, I longed to be her 'big handsome boyfriend' in the fullest sense. She was forever putting her arm around my waist and kissing me on the cheek. I would feel the softness of a breast against my arm or my chest when she did this, and more than once I had felt my erection growing. There was naturally the adolescent embarrassment, but there was also the secret pleasure of this early physical contact with a totally stimulating female body. She was my Mom's youngest sister, not much older than me, but when you're only fifteen, someone of twenty-two seems like a real grown up. She was an incredibly bright and cheerful young woman, always laughing and larking around, to the constant irritation of her elder brother and sisters. She lit up the place when she was around; it was almost like there was an extra 100 watt bulb burning when she came into a room. And I adored her, quite simply; from a very early age; she was my very favourite aunt. She had pale skin and lots of lovely freckles above and around her small nose and pale grey/blue eyes. I used to think how fortunate it was that she inherited Gran's nose and not Grandad's – like my poor Mother had. She always wore her blond hair short, and when she was younger she was considered a bit of a tomboy. No longer; she was smaller me, and slim but with a lovely rounded, very feminine figure. Naturally, I was particularly drawn to her full, round, grown-up breasts, which now, in the humid confines of this Mini, on this summer's day interrupted by a sudden storm, and by what we might call happenstance, were right under my nose, so to speak. These magnificent female appendages, of which all boyhood fantasies are made of, were pushing against her sodden tennis shirt which clung to her form and showed the outline of her nipples, even through her bra. I also had her bare arms and her bare thighs and her bum on my lap to add to the moment. The blood continued to flow down below, I remarked, not helped at all by the friction of her cool damp thighs across mine as she turned to look at the events outside and her weight shifted constantly as she fidgeted. Soon my penis was painfully engorged and yearning to escape from its confines. The rain thundered down and I looked across to Grandad's van, where the chaotic family including Grandad finally got aboard amid squeals of: "I'm soaked," and "Me too," and "Anybody got a towel?" and "My perm's ruined," and so on. Gran was in the front passenger seat of the van, the only extra seat. The rest of the motley crew were behind, apart from Malcolm and Carol. Mom, now fully awake, was giving us a running commentary on everything that was happening, including the misfortune of the other families along the river bank, who had further to walk than we did. They were now sliding frantically on mud. Malcolm, who had been helping to throw stuff into the van, brought some more bags over to the Mini, stuffed them in its tiny boot. He seemed wet through, but made no sort of complaint, and finally got into the driver's seat, started the engine and switched on the wipers. He ran a hand backwards over his hair, which dripped water over his forehead and neck, splashing a few drops behind onto Lizzie's legs. "Careful Malc! You're wetting me!" she cried, but it was of no consequence. We were all wet to one degree or another. Malcolm was not married. He seemed a good sort, and Grandma said he was a fine handsome boy – though not everybody agreed with her. I always liked him though, he talked to me about films all the time; films were his passion. He told me about the great stars of the forties and fifties, and when I was only ten he even took me to the cinema to see films which were supposed to be forbidden to people as young as me – science fiction frighteners. But I was tall, and accompanied, so no-one asked any questions. Malcolm was always patient and considerate, and I liked him. Drowned rat, grumpy Aunt Carol trotted over and installed herself in the passenger seat alongside Malcolm, cussing about her state of wetness, which seemed to her much, much worse than for any of the others, and wiping herself down with wet hands, flicking drops of water over the rubber mats of the car floor. She mopped her hair as best she could with a thin, silky scarf. By this time, Ken, kitted, helmeted, gloved and goggled up, had waved to us all. With a vow to see us later at Gran and Grandad's house, his BSA 350 had skidded noisily across the field towards the main road, throwing up a muddy tail all the way up to the top, out of the field and was now lost to view. I didn't envy him the 40 odd miles he had in front of him under this downpour. I guess Lizzie didn't either; she shouted, "Bye sweetie!" laughing all the time at her poor fianc้'s misfortune. I didn't envy the others in Grandad's van either; I knew what it was like, having been obliged to survive the voyage on the way down earlier with the others, a constant battle with promenading picnic supplies, fishing tackle and work tools, with no seats in the back and nothing to stop us all rolling all around and on top of each other at every bend in the road, no matter how slow Grandad drove. We just had to put up with it, because there was no other way to travel as a family group in those days. Malcolm wiped the mist forming on the front windscreen of the Mini with the back of his hand but with very little success, engaged gear and the tiny, square front wheel drive car edged forward. As it slithered across the bumpy wet grass towards the exit and the main road, big, heavy rain drops bounced off the bonnet and windscreen; the tiny wipers struggled to battle against them. I had one hand behind Lizzie's back, where her tennis shirt was riding up a little, and my other hand was trapped between the side of the car and my thigh. I touched her wet skin accidentally and instinctively drew my hand back. She gazed into my eyes and I felt the weight of Lizzie's wet thighs and bottom jiggle against me. I felt each jolt of the suspension, and my fifteen year old penis seemed doubly engorged, scrunched up in my Y- Fronts under my shorts. I was of course uncomfortable inside my underwear, but I loved the feeling of sexual excitement in my loins. This was a moment to savour forever, I thought. Lizzie's bum, wriggling ceaselessly and brushing against my tumescent organ. We managed to leave the field without incident, apart from Aunt Carol's seeming impatience with Malcolm, who wouldn't edge his car out quickly enough into the slow moving line of traffic on the main road. Everybody else in the country, it seemed, was heading for home under this downpour, and Aunt Carol observed that it looked like the return journey was going to be a slow one. Once onto the main road, moving very slowly, Lizzie suddenly said, bouncing up and down on my lap: "Ooh, isn't this fun? The windows are getting all steamed up, and here I am with my big handsome boyfriend on the back seat of a Mini!." As she said this she giggled and with her arm behind my neck, pulled my head towards her bosom, into her damp softness, holding me there for just a second or two, her two hands now behind my head. She also moved her bum against my damp thighs, brushing my powerful erection, left then right. I didn't struggle. I breathed in her moist scented odour, savouring the moment that I was a prisoner in her cleavage. I felt the outline of her bra against my nose. My tumescent penis twitched violently, like a wild animal in its cage, aching to be released. As Lizzie released my head, she called out, "Malc, got anything to dry us with?" Malcolm, eyes glued to the road ahead, flipped open the glove compartment, fished inside blindly and produced with a magician's flourish a large clean white men's handkerchief. "All I have," and "Don't call me Malc, baby sis!" he grunted mock-crossly offering it over his shoulder. As Lizzie reached forward to take the handkerchief from him, raising her weight off my thighs momentarily, I seized the opportunity to quickly straighten my gloriously engorged penis within its prison, so that it was now pointing upwards towards my belly. It could now expand to its full size and the pressure would be relieved somewhat, I hoped. The over-excited monster settled against my belly and continued to throb furiously, now begging for attention. Had I been at home in the privacy of my bedroom, or lying flat in the warm water of my bath with my flagpole pointing to the ceiling, I would have long ago felt that exquisite explosion and release of semen, I reflected. I held on. Lizzie said "Thanks Malc," and plopped back on my lap, her thighs slapping against mine. I felt her bum against my erection again. Constantly fidgeting, she started to wipe her face, then her arms and legs. It seemed to me that every stroke of her skin and every vibration of her lower body were carried out with a kind of slow sensuality, but I'm sure it was not deliberate; it's just the way Lizzie did it – it was all quite natural. That's the way she was. Then, looking into my eyes again, she said with a grin: "Would you like me to wipe you Bobbie? Shall I wipe your wet face and legs?" Before I could reply, she moved her own legs to one side and started to float the handkerchief, which was already sodden, over one of my thighs. Her touch was electric and my penis seemed to get harder. I think that's when Lizzie noticed my swelling. If she hadn't already felt it prodding her bum, she was totally aware now of my state of excitement. Lizzie was well known in the family and amongst her friends for her constant smiling and laughing, her twinkling eyes and her teasing and mischievous behaviour. That's one of the things which attracted her fianc้, Ken, who was totally in love with her. That, plus she was the very prettiest girl in the whole neighbourhood where we lived. But at that precise moment, Lizzie gave me what I think was probably THE most mischievous, THE wickedest look I have ever seen her give anyone in her entire life. Looking straight into my eyes, she showed me her perfect wide smile, her perfect teeth, her biggest twinkle, she gasped and said: "Ooh, what lovely legs my big handsome boyfriend has! Do you play a lot of football Bobbie? Let me feel those muscles of yours." I think I heard Malcolm say something like: "Stop messing about Lizzie, leave the poor sod alone, don't tease him so much." But if she heard him, she ignored him. Not waiting for my guaranteed authorisation, Lizzie dropped the hanky beside me and ran her flat, soft, now dry hand very lightly over my accessible thigh backwards and forwards, squeezing gently my thigh muscle, then bending and squeezing my calf several times. As she bent, I smelled her damp hair next to my face. For the very first time in this young man's life, a female girl of the opposite sex was touching my body in what could only be described as a sexual way. I was floating somewhere above the ground and my penis was raging hard and hot. Lizzie then turned slightly sideways and raised her weight a little to touch my other thigh. "Ooh aren't your leg muscles HARD Bobbie?" she breathed, and ran her fingers back up on the inside of my thigh towards my crotch and under the leg of my shorts, just stopping short of contact with my excited, swollen organ. She knew I was hard; she had seen the bulge. She looked into my eyes and just smiled broadly, then her mouth forming a large, silent "OOO." "Lovely, lovely hard muscles, Bobbie. I bet you're a big hit with the girls." Of course I wasn't, but that wasn't up for discussion at that precise moment, as I floated in a seeming paradise, savouring the lightest tickle of a caress along one thigh, and the delicate weight of Lizzie's bum bouncing sensuously on my other thigh as the car vibrated. I felt as though I would soon ejaculate, such was the light, unbearable intensity of those amazing caresses and the pressure on my penis. I looked sideways over Lizzie's shoulder towards my mother; her eyes were closed and she snored quietly. I looked at the back of Aunt Carol's head; she was trying to give poor Malcolm the benefit of her considerable driving experience, and instructions on how to handle his gears better in the slow moving traffic. I looked at Malcolm; his eyes were totally concentrated on the road. He blindly reached for a lever to turn on a blower, which had little effect on the steamed up windows all round. He slid open his tiny driver's window an inch or two, to try and circulate some air. Rain came in, and I felt a cool, refreshing draught and a few spots of rain on the side of my face. He looked in the rearview mirror occasionally, but I was sure he saw only our heads with the angle of the mirror. At least that's what I hoped. It seemed a good idea not to talk too much, not to disturb poor Mom, nor to attract attention to this unseen and almost unimaginable thing going on amongst them. I was now genuinely in paradise. Lizzie was looking down at the hard ridge of flesh pushing at the front of my shorts. It was not a monster, but for me, at fifteen, it seemed bigger than I had ever known it. She was now quieter, she looked down at it, then up into my eyes. I felt her breath on my face and smelt in my nostrils the dampness of her tennis shirt. Her silky fingers ran down to my knee, then up my thigh again and then suddenly the back of her hand brushed against my bulge. My penis lurched violently, and I came closer yet to ejaculating. She felt the jerk, and kept her knuckles there, pressing lightly against the swelling, which throbbed several times against the back of her hand. Her eyes switched from mine to my bulge, back and forth. She never stopped smiling. I looked at the others again. Nobody was aware of anything going on, I was sure. Lizzie shifted her weight slightly, turning her front more towards me and just in case, blocking the view of what she was doing, slipping her arm behind my back, pulling my face against her breasts. My nose sank into her tennis shirt covered cleavage for the second time. This time I was bolder; my flat hand behind Lizzie's back moved around, to touch again her woman's flesh just above her waist, underneath her tennis shirt and I pressed my face forward, breathing in the tantalising odour of what remained of her scent mixed with damp wool. I longed, and imagined how it might be to feel my face against the bare flesh of her lovely breasts, even see and touch and suckle her nipples, as I squeezed her waist and rejoiced in the pleasure of the back of her open hand pressing against my hard organ, sliding up to the head and down again, lightly along its length, up and down, up and down. The frictional sensation of this gentle pressure were almost too much to bear. I pressed back against the car seat, clenching my urge to ejaculate. Then Lizzie started a chain of events that I couldn't ever have dreamed would happen in my young life. She reached for the top button of my shorts and tugged at it delicately several times, as though to tease me, smiling gleefully, eyes bright. She could have opened the button herself, but it was as though she wanted an acceptance from me. I didn't need asking twice, although I hesitated for a few seconds. With my free hand I undid the top button, then when Lizzie nodded excitedly, I continued to open each of the other buttons, until my bulge could be seen clearly against my Y-Fronts underneath. I was bursting with excitement and the throbbing of my engorged member was now totally out of control. I knew if this carried on much longer I would explode. I was mesmerised by the look in Lizzie's eyes; they sparkled like diamonds under a spotlight. She looked around quickly at the others in the car; seeing no reaction and no interest in what we were doing in the back of the car, she slowly and delicately tweaked the top of my Y-Fronts, just like she had tweaked at my button. This time there was no hesitation; I slipped the thumb of my free hand inside the top of my underpants and pulled it out and then down. My glistening wet-ended penis sprung free, slapped against my football shirt, rigid and in its full glory. I looked at Lizzie's face and that wicked smile was still there, and her lips pursed again to form a long, unheard "OOOOOO." She said nothing, but her eyes sparkled even brighter it seemed to me, and I just knew she was having a devilish good time. Nor did she hesitate. She turned her palm against my throbbing organ, thumb and fingers pointing down. She rubbed her hand up and down a few times, then enclosed it with her fingers, pulling it away from my stomach. She switched her grip, wrapped her whole hand around my stalk with her thumb on the wet head, squeezed a few times, then started to rub her closed fist up and down slowly with a firm but gentle, and oh-so-delicate grip. The back of her hand brushed lightly up and down my stomach, raising my football shirt and was soon touching the flesh underneath, only adding to the excitement I was experiencing. Unconsciously, my other hand behind Lizzie's back slipped up and around, to caress her flesh. It took only a few rubs of my penis before I was convulsing into the most intense and powerful ejaculation I would surely ever have in my entire life. My hand clasped the flesh of Lizzie's back. My knees twitched and squeezed together, the whole of my lower body seemed to quake; the power and pleasure of the release was exquisite and overpowering, the ultimate liquid eruption. My head went back, my eyes closed, my hips raised up, I can't remember if I gasped or made another sound. My chest was beating harder than I had ever felt, even after a football game. I'm convinced that nothing could be as exciting and as totally draining as this first time that I was masturbated to climax by a woman's hand. A cool, soft, silky woman's hand. My favourite Aunt Lizzie's hand. I was no stranger to masturbation, but this was the very best I could have imagined at this tender age. The thick, creamy seminal fluid spurted hard and fast and copiously, mostly up and under my shirt, and some over Lizzie's hand. My member jerked violently in her fist, but she held it firmly as it throbbed, pointing it back against my belly. I lost count of how many spurts occurred. Then, as my movements began to slow down, my eyelids came open again and I looked into Lizzie's eyes to commit to memory forever the intense sparkle that was in them. She stared at my slowly shrinking penis in her hand, and continued to squeeze gently and, I fancied, lovingly, until the throbbing had almost stopped. Her breathing was quicker now, and she seemed fascinated by what had just happened, though I had no doubt she had done it before. I tried to brush aside the jealous thoughts which were creeping into my head, of Lizzie doing this to Ken. A last squeeze of my penis made me jerk my knees, before removing her hand, covered in my semen. She picked up the white gents' handkerchief that she had earlier used to mop up the rainwater from our damp skin. I saw her concentrate as she began to clean the slippery stuff from her hand and her fingers, carefully folding it strategically, so that soon every drop had disappeared into the handkerchief. Then she used the same handkerchief to wipe the residue on my shirt, after I had pulled up the top of my Y-Fronts once again to cover my receding member and buttoned up my shorts, trying to make as little movement and rustling noise as possible, not to attract anyone's attention. I was now decent again. I think I heard Lizzie tut a little, surely worrying about my mother finding a stain later, but with the attention she was giving me with the handkerchief, it looked as though my pants would be just damp for a while and would probably not look too suspicious in the wash-pile. My heart was still pumping hard, and took several minutes to slow down to normal. Meanwhile, Lizzie snuggled a little closer, her arm now returned behind my back, up on my shoulder, her soft breast pressing against my chest. I felt her breathing, she was flushed and I fancied that she too was a little over-excited. I basked in the afterglow. No-one in the car spoke for a while, except Aunt Carol, to remark again about the heavy rain and the crowded roads. Lizzie and I feigned normality. Every now and then, Lizzie would slide her thighs silkily against mine, let her hand fall onto my leg, and once even pressing her bum deliberately against my crotch. If she had continued, I'm sure I would have been erect again in very quick time, but soon we left the main road to enter the housing estate and arrived in the neighbourhood where we all lived. Malcolm sighed, said: "Here we are." The heavy rain was easing just slightly. We were beginning to dry off. I was flushed and grinning internally. I felt that today, the picnic with the family, the fishing with Grandad, the rounders, and especially this most erotic hour, that I had spent in the car with Lizzie returning from the picnic, were the sum total of the happiest day of my short life. I didn't imagine there could be anything better to happen to me, young as I was, for the rest of my days. Malcolm finally parked the Mini alongside the pavement outside Gran and Grandad's house and he and Aunt Carol got out, tilting their seats for us to exit from the back. As we all extracted ourselves from the car and unfolded our bodies, Mom, realising that the car was no longer moving, finally woke up fully again and gave one of her regular big sighs. I asked how was her injured elbow; she replied: "I'll live" and, without really smiling, gave my arm a squeeze, so I knew she was alright. Ken's soaked and muddy motorbike was parked against the wall of the house. Lizzie kissed me on the cheek, said "Bye sweetie" and ran up the pathway, trying to dodge the light drizzle which the storm had now become. Just then, Ken opened the front door and she ducked inside. I looked at the others, well shaken up, struggling out of Grandad's van into the damp air, a little miserable at the end of what I knew had been for them a sorry ending to our Sunday picnic, and a very disagreeable return journey. Their misfortune had become my youthful joy and part of my sexual awakening, all in the space of an hour. As they all dispersed to go their own ways, Mom and I started the short walk up the road to our own house, no longer worrying about getting wet. I looked back to Gran and Grandad's house, to see Lizzie on the inside, at the front bay window, grinning as ever from ear to ear, her adorable pale blue/grey eyes sparkling. She raised her hand to shoulder level and waved her fingers briefly. Either she blew me a kiss, or she was breathing in the odour of my seminal fluids on her fingers; it seemed that she held her hand to her lips for a long few seconds. I think that's what I saw, anyway. Part Two – Lizzie's new house The following Spring, Lizzie and Ken were to get married. They had been childhood sweethearts since school, and everybody knew they would wed, but they had been obliged to wait a year or two. During his National Service, Ken had learned the trade of Patternmaker. When he came out of the army, he worked for a couple of Patternmaking firms, but found that he had very little future with any of them, so he decided, rather bravely, to set up his own business, using money loaned by his mother, a widow who was financially at ease. Ken needed to get the business up and running properly before he and Lizzie could think about getting married. So they waited. After all, as Lizzie commented, they had the rest of their lives together. Lizzie didn't seem to be in a hurry, though when the early preparations started, she became more and more excited by the prospect of actually becoming the wife of a self-employed man. I had always adored my Aunt Lizzie. But after the incident at the Sunday picnic, when I ejaculated for the first time under the ministrations of a female hand, the soft, cool, firm and gentle hand of my favourite aunt, it was as though my whole adolescent world turned around her. Now, I was obsessed with her. Totally in love, as you might say. I masturbated constantly with the image of that day in my head, and fell into the habit of inventing in my fertile imagination other scenarios to be shared with Lizzie. In these, we would be alone in a bed instead of in a crowded Mini, and all Lizzie's intimate charms would be revealed to me. I had to imagine what her bare breasts and pubic hair looked like, but her body in all its naked glory would be mine to see and touch and taste and devour. Lizzie would be the one to whom I would dedicate my virginity. These thoughts and very little actual friction of my penis would be enough to cause extremely rapid ejaculations into my cotton handkerchief. My mother never said a word about my cream stained, stiff handkerchiefs, and many years later I wondered what on earth she thought at the time. Lizzie was the only one still living at home with Gran and Grandad, and during this period leading up to the marriage, I took every opportunity to go to their house and see Lizzie. I was in my last year at school, preparing for 'A' Levels and hoping to get to university. Lizzie worked in the offices of a nearby manufacturing firm, so I made sure my visits fell late afternoon or early evening. Weekends she was with Ken most of the time, so it was best to drop by after my midweek football practice. My other obsession, other than Lizzie, was football, and I imagined I was a second Billy Wright in the making, especially after that great football player came to school once to give a talk to the assembled pupils. A real England captain before our very eyes! Over recent months, I had grown quite quickly, and was stronger and bigger than ever. I was now shaving, my muscles were filling out nicely and I was over six feet tall. I imagined too, that my penis was getting bigger, as a result of constant pulling and stretching during my daily masturbation sessions. After sports sessions, in the school showers, I observed that, compared to others of my age group, I was gifted with a bigger- than-normal sex organ for a boy of my age. So, I would turn up each week at Gran and Grandad's house to find Lizzie usually sitting on the sofa in the kitchen, if she wasn't out with Ken. The kitchen was much more than a kitchen; it was a whole home, and almost everything that happened in the house took place there. It was kitchen, scullery, sitting room all rolled into one. There was Grandad's armchair, which was never used by anyone but him whilst he was home. As well as a sofa which I shared with Lizzie whilst I was there, there was a bare wood table, which had been scrubbed so many times that the surface was almost white, and its worn, non-matching chairs. There was another armchair and the room had cupboards all around. Everything was in those cupboards except the Sunday best crockery and cutlery, which was kept safely in the 'front room' - which would be called a parlour in any other home. That room was only used, and that crockery and cutlery were only brought out, when there was 'company'. Sandwiched between the obsolete gas stove under the kitchen window and the fireplace, which now sported a small two-bar electric fire, there was a large and deep, extremely fissured 'white' crock sink. It had been there since the house was built in the early 1900's. Everything to do with 'cleaning' was carried out in that sink. Mom or Gran over the years would stand us kids or grandkids alike in the sink and wash our grubby legs after playing outside. Later on they had a bath installed in the smallest of the bedrooms, but that was generally only used for taking baths. Grandad would wash and shave there in the kitchen with his cut throat razor, after fine honing it on his well worn leather strap and mixing thick, creamy shaving soap in his shaving mug. He constantly threatened to take the same leather strap to us kids if we dared move or distract him whilst he shaved. Awful fear of feeling the strap, or worse: seeing blood spurting from Grandad's jugular vein ensured that we stayed still and quiet throughout this operation. Despite his threats, Grandad never laid a finger on me, though I believe his own kids, my aunts and uncles must have felt the power of his strap at some time or another in years gone by. The sink also served for preparation of food. Gran used to peel vegetables in it and slice up and gut the fish that Grandad caught to supplement the family budget. Legend has it that one day, pregnant with her fourth or fifth child, Gran was preparing fish and turned away from the sink for a moment. One of her kids, maybe Malcolm, who was very young at the time, got hold of a fish head or similar, crept up behind Gran and when she turned back towards the sink, he thrust the fish head up into her face and made a ghostly noise to scare her. Gran screamed, frightened out of her wits; she clutched her hand to her mouth in horror, before she had time to realise what was going on. Malcolm received a thrashing. Some months later, Gran gave birth to a child whose face was deformed; it had somewhat the appearance of a fish, legend has it, and with a cleft palate. The poor child was unable to feed properly, and died after a few weeks. It was considered by everybody to be a blessing, in the days when medical help was not available for such handicaps. So this was the kitchen, where I would see Gran and Lizzie, and sometimes Grandad if he had finished work. After my football practice, still in my kit, sometimes muddy, since there were no washing facilities at the field where we played. Each time I approached the back door where I entered the house, I would tremble with excitement and usually have an erection, in anticipation of seeing, and maybe touching in some small way my favourite aunt. Often the swelling would start before the football was even finished, such was the intensity of my imagination, focusing on the next hour or so to come. As I came into the room, Lizzie's face would light up with her indestructible smile, and it seemed like the whole room was brighter. She was usually on the sofa and would tug my arm, pulling me, her 'big handsome boyfriend' down beside her and snuggling up beside me, to ask me if I had been a good boy at school and other teasing things. I would feel her soft, full breast against my arm and the swelling of my penis was now complete. I was halfway to heaven again. Grandad, would often be there in his armchair and Gran, wearing her flowered, immaculately ironed pinny dress, sitting sideways at the table in her traditional position, from which all domestic activities were directed. When I was small, as soon as I entered her range of vision, Gran would grab me first and hug me to her bosom, until I almost suffocated. But now, I was taller than her, and I think she realised her big grandson was not into hugging like that anymore. Wise Gran. On arriving from my football and before I could settle down alongside Lizzie, the first thing Gran would say: "Come on Bobbie, get upstairs and wash those dirty hands and legs." I'd obey, and return to the haven of Lizzie's cuddle, my erection no smaller for having been away from her for ten minutes. Thank goodness for Y- Fronts, or the crotch of my football shorts would have defied gravity, such was the intensity of my erection. Each and every time. I'm certain that Lizzie knew the effect she was having on me. She would squeeze my arm tightly and her hand would occasionally fall onto my bare thigh below my football shorts. It was enough for her to tickle the inside of my thigh occasionally to keep my member at full alert, waiting, hoping that in one of those absent moments, when no-one was looking, she would touch my aching penis with her delicate fingers. Just once. But, as long as Gran and Grandad were there in front of us, it never happened. I wallowed in the pleasure of being with Lizzie, but my youthful sexual frustration was incredibly intense, and I was left wanting each time, until I could get home and rub my cock to climax in the privacy of my bedroom, each time calling out Lizzie's name – quietly, so that my parents wouldn't hear. Lizzie always having been a very affectionate girl, it must have seemed perfectly natural to Gran and Grandad that she cuddled up to me the way she did, and they could see that I was her favourite. They gave no sign that they might have thought what happened there on the sofa was anything other than playful, between their youngest, vivacious daughter and her favourite nephew. There were no sideways glances of disapproval or suspicion; they must have accepted it all as entirely innocent. It was just Lizzie's way, and after all: she was to marry Ken soon. There was no television at Gran and Grandad's house in those days, so if we didn't listen to the radio, it would be the small cream coloured Regentone record player, which could only deal with one 78 record at a time. 45's hadn't been developed yet, but were to arrive soon after. The player had been a 21st birthday present for Lizzie, and she would take great pride in bringing it out of the cupboard, putting it on the kitchen table near to the only electrical socket, plugging in this magnificent state-of-the-art machine. We had to wait for it to warm up, then Lizzie would place a heavy plastic record manually on the turntable and lower the arm onto the record. We would all sing along, except Grandad – he was a little detached from the popular music of the day. More often than not, he'd nod off to sleep very quickly after his evening meal. Sometimes Lizzie would kick his leg to stop his snoring drowning out the music. After listening to the 'A' side, Lizzie would turn each record over and play the second side. There was not a huge collection of records, but she had some popular songs that were on sale and that we'd heard on the radio at the time, plus a few old ones. Lizzie would be jumping up and down to change the record or change sides, and the sofa would bounce each time, adding extra friction to the end of my turgid member. As she leaned over the table, her bottom stuck out delightfully, and wiggled in rhythm as she hummed each song. My wide eyes were glued to her rear end and what I could see of her stockinged legs below her dress or skirt. I imagined I could see the outline of her suspenders underneath her skirt. I loved it! Gran would always offer me a huge brick of a sandwich. Thick bread stuffed with jam or marmalade and a mug of strong hot, over-sweet tea. Lizzie would have to disentangle herself from me for a few minutes, whilst I scoffed the sandwich and drank my tea, then she would lean back into me and cuddle up again until it was time for me to go. When I realised that Mum would be cross if I didn't get home soon, I would reluctantly get up from the sofa and make my way to the back door to leave. No-one saw me out. There was a simple "Tara" from Gran and Grandad, followed by a "Bye sweetie" from Lizzie. Darling Lizzie. Then one evening, Lizzie got up to walk to the back door with me. She told Gran and Grandad she was going to see her best friend Beryl, who lived a little way up the street and was to be chief bridesmaid at Lizzie's wedding. I said bye and Lizzie followed me out. As I opened the back door and stepped onto the tiny grey brick terrace, she grabbed my hand and pulled me back a step. This time she was only half smiling; her face had a serious look for once. All she said was: "Bye sweetie, see you next week." Then in almost a whisper: "Don't expect too much, Bobbie, will you? I'm getting married remember." I had no reply. I was just lost for words, my total inexperience, embarrassment, I don't know what. I blushed, looked away from her sparkling eyes down at my feet. She tugged my hand again, causing me to look up into her face. Now she smiled; she gave me her customary kiss on the cheek and ran off along the path to the street and turned in the direction of her friend's house. I didn't know what to make of her remark, but feared that she meant there was to be no more intimacy with my dear Aunt Lizzie of the kind I imagined and longed for. That I might never realise those masturbatory fantasies which obsessed my head all the time. My adolescent heart would be broken, I just knew it. I carried my disappointment and my deflating erection all the way home with me. But that didn't stop me reliving the rainy day post-picnic moment again and again, and masturbating to that powerful souvenir later in the evening, and most evenings. The day of the April wedding grew nearer, and I continued my visits to Gran and Grandad's house to see them and Lizzie, all through the winter and into Spring. If the weather was too bad, I sometimes had to skip football practice, but if I went more than a week without seeing my darling Lizzie it was too much, so I called at the house anyway. In those days, couples often went for a marriage end of March or early April to beat the tax year deadline of 5 April, and Ken and Lizzie were no exceptions; that timing meant a tax rebate for them. They found a house for sale in the neighbourhood, and felt sufficiently confident about Ken's business to take on a mortgage. It was an old house, so Ken had a lot of work to do before they could install themselves. The good news was that, after the honeymoon, they would have to live at Gran and Grandad's house for a month or two. Which meant I could go on with my regular weekly visits, always hoping, wishing..... A few weeks before the wedding day, I arrived at Gran and Grandad's house for my weekly visit. It was Spring weather, and there had been no football practice, so I was wearing a shirt, jumper and trousers. And I was clean for a change. Instead of pulling me down onto the sofa as usual, Lizzie jumped up and asked me if I wanted to go to see the house they had bought. She was really excited, and bubbling over with enthusiasm for me to see it. Though not overly interested in the house itself, I agreed to go willingly, if only to spend some time alone with Lizzie. My penis was swollen, itching and throbbing as ever, and I felt that it was becoming even longer and stiffer, thinking about what might happen, the blood- flow to my cock inspired by my fiery imagination running away with itself. Lizzie threw on a coat over her skirt and buttoned-up cardigan, and we set off straight away to walked the short distance to the old, rundown semi-detached house that Ken and Lizzie would one day call their home. It needed painting outside, and was musty inside and in a state of disorder, but I could see where Ken had started to replace windows and floorboards. Lizzie took my hand, our first physical contact today, and showed me that the tiny kitchen and a sitting room were taking shape, but the plumbing and the electrical installation everywhere needed attention. Then Lizzie dropped her coat on the floor and almost dragged me upstairs to show me the bedroom. What a surprise I had. Compared it with what I had just seen downstairs, the bedroom was wonderful; it had been entirely transformed, that was obvious. Decoration was total, wallpaper and paint and curtains and a large walnut wardrobe with a full size mirror and dressing table. It seemed that everything was ready for the wedding night. There was a large new bed, fully made up, pillows and all, with a bedside table and lamp. I was open-mouthed, and my first thought was a longing to plunge into the softness of that bed with Lizzie, to surrender my virginity to her right there and then, to relieve this terrible aching in my gut. It was as though Lizzie read my mind. She spun around, grinning, arms spread out wide. "Do you like it?" she asked in a state of obvious total happiness. I nodded. Then she skipped over and threw herself onto the bed, face down, arms still reaching out. Her skirt rode up, giving me a generous glimpse of her stockinged calves and thighs, her suspenders and her white knickers. The mattress threw her back up an inch or two, then she flipped over onto her back, legs together and said, "Come on Bobbie, try it out with me." I walked hesitantly towards her; then, as I approached, she grabbed my arm in her usual playful way and tugged it, causing me to tumble half on top of her. My arm to one side of her body took most of my weight, my face went beside her shoulder and my throbbing penis dug hard into her hip. The pleasure was immense, if a little painful. The mattress bounced again. I wondered whether I was on my way to genuine paradise at last. Whatever happened now, I vowed to make the most of it. She grinned as ever: "Isn't it lovely? Do you like it, Bobbie?" she asked, and bounced her backside up and down, causing the whole bed to tremble, pushing her one breast harder against my chest and adding delightful friction to my erection against her hip bone. I felt I was almost beyond the point of no return. I just knew Lizzie felt this hard, jerking lump against her body. How could she not? She put both her arms around my shoulders, pulling me closer. She shuffled her body a bit, causing her skirt to ride up even more, slid sideways, bringing her lower body more square with mine, finally lodging my cock against the tops of her slightly open thighs, the itchy tip pressing against her pubes. Her soft mons veneris was separated from my pulsating, yearning manhood by the cloth of my trousers and my Y- Fronts and by her white knickers, but I felt as though this was the moment I was finally meant to penetrate the inviolate sex of my darling Aunt Lizzie. Her amazing young woman's breasts were separated from my chest by my shirt, my jumper and her cardigan and bra. Our thighs were rubbing, trousers against nylon stockings, and I felt the sharpness of her suspenders. It was not flesh against flesh, but I was in heaven. My face was against hers, our bodies were lightly pressed together and my arms were alongside her head, taking my weight on my elbows. We were both panting a little and giggling from the exertion of bouncing on the mattress. And in my case, from the joy of being body-to-body with my favourite Aunt Lizzie. She stopped bouncing for a moment, and breathed into my ear. "Isn't this nice, Bobbie? Do you like being this close to me, on top of your Aunt Lizzie? I think it's sexy." I gasped "Oh yes, Lizzie, it's brilliant." She moved her bum again against the mattress, pressed her hot, soft, slightly open mouth gently against my cheek and began raising her crotch slowly but rhythmically against mine, against this uncontrollable swelling inside my trousers. As she continued to do this, I relaxed my arms so that they no longer supported my weight, forced my hands underneath Lizzie's shoulders and pressed down against her. I wanted to pull her as close as possible, maximise the body contact during these intense moments of lust and desire. I felt my climax begin to rise up rapidly. My balls tingled, my lower body rutted harder against Lizzie's thighs in a spontaneous fucking motion, cock- tip against mons veneris. Lizzie's lips on my face pressed harder too, and I felt her accelerated breathing on my cheek. In what seemed like only a few seconds, I lost control completely, gasped loudly. I blurted Lizzie's name. A severe trembling of my body began, as a hot gush of semen erupted from my cock in forceful, long spurts – five, ten, I lost count. The orgasm seemed more intense than ever, the head of my cock jerking violently as the semen squirted into my Y-Fronts. I pulled Lizzie's shoulders towards me, crushing her breasts against my chest. In a totally natural way, I carried on moving my lower body against my darling Lizzie's thighs, breathing hard, milking the moment for all it was worth, pushing my penis into her crotch, until there was no more semen left to milk. My chest thumped. My Y-Fronts were hot-wet. Lizzie continued to raise and lower her crotch gently against my slowly wilting penis for a while, gradually decelerating, until we finally lay there holding each other close, without moving at all. There was only our panting – mine rapid but slowing, hers shallow and quiet, her lips still against my face. Then Lizzie began to plant small kisses all over my cheek, my neck, my ear, holding me as hard as her girl's arms could. I did the same, almost crushing her small body. I wanted to feel her mouth on mine, but her cheek stayed alongside mine; our lips never met. My adolescent inexperience, once again prevented me from taking the initiative and forcing our mouths and lips together, tasting her tongue against mine. I was not yet ready to overcome such shyness and learn to take such liberties. So I just pressed my cheek back against hers and enjoyed the moment. I risked a kiss against her neck, tasted her scent on my lips. We lay together like that for a while, hardly moving. Just holding each other and breathing, saying nothing. Our breathing slowed to normal, but I felt my heart beat still thumping in my chest. After a few minutes, I felt Lizzie wriggle a little, and thinking the weight of my body was too heavy for her, I lifted myself up onto my knees and sat back, looking down at my sweet, darling, adorable, favourite Aunt Lizzie. I'm sure she saw the love in my eyes. Her legs were now separated by mine, and she timidly pulled down her skirt to cover her knickers. I wondered whether they were damp, whether any of my seminal fluid had leaked through onto her knickers. I was smiling, hesitantly. Looking directly into my eyes, she had a really serious expression on her face, as though pensive, almost worried. I stopped smiling, but said nothing; my youthful timidity once again let me down. I was feeling euphoric beyond all reason, but I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do except go back down and put my arms around her again and press her body tight against mine. Before I could do anything, though, her face lit up with a huge smile again, her eyes sparkled as ever, it seemed that someone had switched on an extra light. I knew it was alright, what we had just done. Looking back now, it seems to me that the first words Lizzie uttered after my quasi-copulative eruption against her thighs seem a little less than romantic. But I realise now that she was probably trying to lighten the atmosphere in her own way. What we had done was wrong in most societies, and she knew it. I was too young to know about 'incest' and its implications, but Lizzie was fully aware of the seriousness of sexual contact of any kind within the family. She also knew - we both knew - that there was no turning back now. What was done was done. Smiling, she said: "I think you've made a mess in your underwear, Bobbie." A pure ice-breaker. I smiled, looked down, embarrassed again, then at her. "I don't care, Lizzie" I said. "I loved every second of it. I never imagined that would happen. I think it's probably the best thing that ever happened to me in my life." I wanted to say, "I love you, Lizzie." There was a danger that I would garble and say too much, but Lizzie stopped me, by saying, "It was nice, Bobbie, and I'm glad we did it like that. It felt nice for me too, feeling your... you know... against me there." It seems strange now, looking back, that she had been able to do that with me, but couldn't utter a proper word to identify my penis. "But I can't do it for real you know – I have to wait 'til my wedding day. That's the way it is. I have to be a virgin." Then: "C'mon, we must get going. You have to get home, and I've got things to do as well." With that, giggling, she pushed me hard in the chest, so that I fell backwards onto the bed, legs folded underneath like a limbo dancer. With a flash of white knickers, suspenders and thighs, almost back to normal, Lizzie flung her legs over the edge of the bed, bounced up onto her feet and began brushing down her skirt, roning out with her hands the creases which had appeared during our romp. I got up off the bed too, and she began fussing over the bed cover, straightening out all the creases and making it look as good as it did before we started. Finally, she inspected herself in the large wardrobe mirror, teasing her short blond hair into some state of tidiness. I organised my shirt, jumper and trousers as best I could, but now began to feel the cold dampness of my seminal discharge in my Y-Fronts. I began to start thinking of how to get them into the wash boiler without Mom seeing them, started worrying about being discovered in something shameful. But at the same time, my euphoria continued. And, as Lizzie squeezed my hand and kissed me on the cheek for the last time, as she locked the front door of this old semi-detached that was soon to be the home of my fabulous, adorable, my very favourite Aunt Lizzie and her new husband, my head was full of possibilities – new fantasies which would fuel my masturbation sessions for a long time to come. I had a few moments ago almost become her lover, almost surrendered to her my virginity. I had spurted my semen against her crotch, separated only by our underwear. My love for Lizzie knew no bounds. I wanted her to be mine forever. END All comments on my writing are welcome, drop me a line at: tallman034@aol.com *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* The author does not condone child abuse, this story is meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their local prison. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 54