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From: <talley@cyberspace.org>
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Subject: {ASSM} Rediscovering Aunt Lu {Talley} (MF Oral)
Date: Mon, 15 Sep 2003 20:10:09 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

(Irrelevant Note: This story was submitted for criticism to 
Desdmona's "Fish Tank."  It certainly drew comments, one of which 
was almost as lengthy as the story itself!  The Fish Tank asks 
that its contribution be acknowledged.  Very well.  Its effect was 
nil.  The following is unaltered.) 
 
 
 
Rediscovering Aunt Lu 
by Bayard E. Talley, 2003 
 
 
"Excuse me," he said, slipping to the left in front of her, 
"you're Aunt Lu, aren't you?  May I get you another drink?" 
 
Her blue eyes narrowed on his face.  "No one ever introduces you 
at these family reunions.  You have to be Trace.  Or is that 
possible?" 
 
"Trace Crutchfield, your nephew."  He grinned.  "Whether I'm 
possible is _your_ decision, but your glass is empty." 
 
"_My_ decision?"  She snickered, regarding him speculatively.  "I 
remember you.  Are you still a peeping tom?  You were the last 
time I saw you."  She extended a hand from her shoulder.  "This 
high." 
 
"That was a while back.  About that drink ..." 
 
"Harvey's frozen brandy sours are delicious but notorious.  I'm 
not sure I ought to have another one." 
 
"Aren't you sleeping over?" 
 
"You think I'm from out of town?  Nowadays I live down the road.  
Oh, get us a drink if you wish.  I'm still thirsty." 
 
He pushed through the talkative throng toward the punchbowl, where 
Harvey Crutchfield, the clan's shriveled gray patriarch, carefully 
ladled glasses of slushy yellow liquid from a monstrous tureen. 
 
When Trace held up a fresh glass, the old man noted the half-full 
one in the other hand, saying as he poured, "You excite my 
curiosity, boy.  What's a divorced man want with a glass of punch 
in each hand at a family gathering?  Or are you just dying of 
thirst?" 
 
"Aunt Lu wants another." 
 
The old brown eyes widened.  "Is Lu here?  When did she come in?" 
 
Trace shrugged.  "This family is getting so large we can't even 
remember each others' names." 
 
Harvey cackled.  "I worked hard on that."  He continued with a 
frown, "How're you gonna do your part after a divorce?" 
 
"Divorce didn't stop Dad.  I think the pill is a greater obstacle 
nowadays than divorce, Grandpop." 
 
"You may be right.  I said no good would come of giving women 
control of their wombs.  Lu, eh?  Do I recall correctly that she's 
your aunt?" 
 
"She married my mother's brother." 
 
"Ah yes, Lu!  She was quite a gal in her day." 
 
"She says about the same of your brandy sours." 
 
"Does she!  You tell her _they're_ just as potent as ever -- and 
to be careful with them."  The wrinkled visage produced a leer and 
another cackle.  "I happen to know that three is enough for 
_her_." 
 
Trace threaded his way across the big room, returning greetings 
and avoiding the solicitous stockbroker who had married a cousin.  
Aunt Lu had drifted away.  Peering around among gesticulating 
bodies, he found her standing alone before the glass door to the 
screened porch. 
 
"Here you are," he noted, arriving beside her. 
 
She smiled and blinked as if startled.  "Oh!  You remembered."  
She brought the glass immediately to her lips for a healthy 
draught.  She was a shapely and buxom woman in her forties, as 
Trace concluded after hasty mental arithmetic.  He recalled her 
with a round babyish face in her twenties.  Now the cheek planes 
were more sharply defined, wrinkles had appeared in the corners of 
the eyes and the flesh below the chin was fuller, but the short 
dark hair showed no gray.  She was dressed informally as everyone 
else in a short-sleeved peasant blouse, jeans and sneakers.  Her 
upper chest and arms were freckled but smooth. 
 
"That's not all I remember," he said. 
 
"Isn't it?" 
 
She opened the sliding door and passed out onto the screened 
porch.  He followed her, closing the door behind them to preserve 
the air conditioning for the others.  The warm May sun shone into 
their faces from just above the newly fledged trees in the west.  
For the moment they were alone. 
 
She said softly, "I know: you remember _peeping_.  What were you 
then, about twelve?" 
 
"Thirteen." 
 
"That was almost twenty years ago, Trace.  You must be 33." 
 
"I'll be 33 in September." 
 
She laid a hand on the furniture before her.  "It could have been 
this same glider!" 
 
"Why not?  Don't gliders outlast people?" 
 
"Their covers don't.  What were you doing behind that potted 
plant?  Elephant Ears, wasn't it? -- long gone now.  You couldn't 
have known we'd come out here.  We didn't know it ourselves." 
 
"I was a dreamy kind of kid, Aunt Lu.  From that corner of the 
porch, the way the trees grew then, you could see the valley 
lights all the way down to Summerdale.  Behind that potted plant 
was my eagle's aerie." 
 
"I see."  She chuckled appreciatively.  "You heard us come out to 
the glider." 
 
"Of course." 
 
"But it was very dark." 
 
"The stars were out and my eyes were adjusted." 
 
"Then you must have recognized us right off.  Why didn't you 
announce yourself?" 
 
"I was going to.  But the first thing you did was step out of your 
shorts." 
 
She chuckled again.  "No sense asking why a thirteen-year-old boy 
would clam up at that sight, is there?"  After a moment she added, 
"I remember light through the den drapes, enough to see shapes.  
When did you step from behind the plant -- or did you?" 
 
"While he was ... eating you out." 
 
"Ah." 
 
Trace added, "I _thought_ he was, but I had to see close up." 
 
"And did you?" 
 
He grinned.  "Not so well as I hoped.  Your thighs were closed on 
his head.  But I understood the sounds he made.  You're a cool 
one, Aunt Lu.  You never even squeaked." 
 
"Huh!  I'm sure my knuckles were in my mouth.  We were crazy to do 
it in the house with his wife upstairs, but we couldn't help 
ourselves.  Can you understand that, Trace?" 
 
"Perhaps." 
 
"What does that mean?" 
 
"In my experience the man can always pull back.  I'll grant that 
sometimes a very passionate woman might not." 
 
"Really?  You've met such women?" 
 
He shrugged.  "What man can be certain of a woman's motives?  I've 
known women who were willing any time and any place -- and the 
opposite too." 
 
She smiled slowly, lowering her eyes.  "What man indeed!  Men have 
great curiosity.  I've heard one or two claim they'd love to try 
it as a woman, but I doubt they could stand it." 
 
"Is it so hard?" 
 
"Sometimes."  She took a deep breath.  "You remember that night 
very well, do you?" 
 
He laughed.  "You'll never know how I dwelled on it.  In some ways 
I recall it better than my own later adventures." 
 
"You must have watched the whole encounter." 
 
"Oh, I did.  When he began to fuck you --" 
 
"Do you have to use that word?" 
 
"Why not?  It's certainly what he was doing!  Anyway, the glider 
rocked and creaked.  I was worried for you, feared someone in the 
house would hear.  But the TV was blaring in the den.  That and 
the concrete porch saved you, I think, because you were both in a 
frenzy by the end of it.  Mel got up, pulled up his pants and left 
you without saying a word.  I was just beside him.  If he had 
turned the wrong way he would have knocked me over.  I thought I'd 
better get out of there but you ... your head was thrown back with 
the biggest grin I ever saw.  Then you opened your eyes." 
 
"That part I remember too," she noted dryly.  "I almost screamed." 
 
"Did you?  Your eyes got wider and wider.  You said, 'I guess I'm 
dead.'" 
 
"Did you understand that?" 
 
"Of course.  You had just fucked your sister's husband and you 
thought I'd tell." 
 
The woman turned slightly to face him, eyes flicking back and 
forth on his.  "You said, 'Not if you kiss me,' which really 
surprised me.  Why did you do that?" 
 
"I was chicken." 
 
"Huh?" 
 
"You were lying there with your legs spread apart and his stuff 
running out, the sexiest thing I could imagine.  I _wanted_ to 
say, 'Not if you'll fuck me too,' but somehow I couldn't.  You 
_were_ my mother's sister-in-law.  As a kid I thought that meant 
something." 
 
She laughed slightly.  "No kidding!  You wanted me?" 
 
"For years." 
 
"Oh, Trace!" she breathed.  "Is that why you never told on me?" 
 
He shrugged.  "I'm not one to gossip.  But yes, you were special.  
I'll always remember that kiss fondly.  It was my first wet one." 
 
"I was sure of it...  You may have noticed, Trace, that a woman is 
never so ready for sex as when she has just enjoyed it." 
 
"So?" 
 
"So I would have agreed to anything.  I thought of it, in fact, as 
a way to help protect myself." 
 
He shook his head.  "I wasn't ready for that."  He added a sigh.  
"You were gone when I got up the next morning.  Mother was 
surprised." 
 
She chuckled.  "I didn't dare stick around." 
 
He laughed shortly.  "I suppose not.  See those Burmese blinds, 
Aunt Lu?  If you roll them down while I get us more drinks, we can 
be pretty comfortable out here." 
 
Her eyes twinkled.  "And what did you expect us to _do_ out here, 
Trace?  Harvey will serve dinner in less than an hour." 
 
"I'd like to hear about your life, if you don't mind.  This is the 
first time we've met in 20 years.  And I'll tell you about mine, 
what's left of it." 
 
She studied him for a moment.  "We'll soon have company if they 
see us out here." 
 
"Then we could go upstairs." 
 
She smiled slowly.  "You want to discuss personal matters, is that 
it?" 
 
"If you're willing." 
 
"Then go ahead and get us drinks.  I want to ask you a few 
questions too." 
 
 
 
* * * 
 
 
 
"Actually you could do a lot worse, my boy," said Harvey as he 
refilled the two glasses.  "Lu's a widow.  Rumor has it her last 
husband, the one who fell off the penthouse balcony, left her 
plenty of insurance." 
 
"Fell off _what_?" 
 
"You didn't know?  It was a couple years ago, maybe three.  He was 
an executive with Mayfield Securities and a real party hound." 
 
"Fell off a _balcony_?" 
 
"So they say."  Harvey grinned.  "By now she ought to be plenty 
ripe." 
 
"What are you suggesting, Grandpop?  Did you forget we're 
related?" 
 
"Only by law."  The old man cackled.  "I didn't mean you should 
_marry_ her!" 
 
 
 
* * * 
 
 
 
His suggestion had been a tactical mistake.  Lu or someone had 
indeed lowered the blinds, and now half the crowd was on the 
porch, talking and laughing shrilly, with the hunters and sailors 
comparing duck calls to foghorns and flatulent spouses.  Harvey's 
cocktail clearly deserved its reputation.  Listening to the 
cacophony, he looked around vainly for Lu. 
 
"Hey, Trace, sweetie, could that be for me?" 
 
He turned to find a woman hovering nearby with merry eyes in a 
flushed face.  She was a cousin whose name had escaped him.  "It's 
for Aunt Lu.  Have you seen her?" 
 
"You mean Aunt Lu, the widow?  Poor Aunt Lu!  She's my father's 
sister, you know, was married to Uncle Ross." 
 
He chuckled guardedly.  "_My_ mother's sister-in-law.  I 
understand she's been widowed for several years." 
 
"Oh, yes, and it really changed her, you know." 
 
"Did it?" 
 
"Oh, my, yes!  She lived with us, you know, the year after Uncle 
Ross died.  She hardly left the house.  Before that ...  Well, I'm 
sure you know what they said about her." 
 
"Not me.  I've been gone a long time." 
 
The woman grinned smugly.  "I don't want to repeat gossip, you 
know, but they said Aunt Lu loved parties, especially the ones 
with lots of men..."  She paused to study him and her grin 
widened.  "You know, they also said Uncle Ross encouraged her at 
it!" 
 
He cocked an eyebrow speculatively. 
 
"Oops!"  Her grin expressed satisfaction.  "You hadn't heard that, 
had you!  Not that anyone cared, you know.  If Uncle Ross didn't 
mind, you know, why should anyone else?" 
 
He shook his head.  "That doesn't sound like a woman who'd just 
hang around the house when newly widowed." 
 
The reluctant gossiper's eyes narrowed.  "Well, she did!  I was 
there, you know.  Watching your husband fall off a balcony, you 
know, could change anyone." 
 
"She _watched_ him?" 
 
"They say he stumbled, you know." 
 
"So she lived with your branch of the family for a year, then 
moved back home?" 
 
The woman nodded.  "Not exactly.  She lived here after she got 
married, you know, the first time.  Now she's got an apartment 
here, you know, somewhere." 
 
He smiled coldly.  "Thanks for recognizing my omniscience." 
 
"Huh?" 
 
He looked around.  A momentary break in the clumping of animated 
bodies disclosed Aunt Lu in conversation with two couples and a 
third man whose hand lay possessively on her shoulder.  Someone 
had already furnished her another drink. 
 
"What did you mean by that?" demanded the cousin suspiciously. 
 
He proffered the extra tumbler.  "That you were right.  This _is_ 
for you." 
 
Her face brightened.  "You know, that's very sweet." 
 
"Yes, I do know." 
 
 
 
* * * 
 
 
 
After the potluck dinner he found Aunt Lu alone at last, studying 
the spines on the bookcase wall, back turned to the crowd, drink 
in hand. 
 
"See anything interesting?" he asked, standing behind her almost 
close enough for their bodies to touch. 
 
She answered without turning, "Lots.  I like mysteries and so does 
Harvey.  Look up there.  He has every one of the Perry Mason 
cases.  Some of them are getting hard to find." 
 
"Have you read them?" 
 
"All." 
 
"Really?  When did you have time?" 
 
"I lived in this house off and on for --  What're you implying, 
Trace?" 
 
He took a breath.  "I've thought about it -- about you -- a great 
deal, Aunt Lu, not just for that night on the porch." 
 
She looked over her shoulder with a wry grin.  "What have you 
thought?" 
 
He answered obliquely, "Harvey used to run the corporation out of 
this house.  I recall huge gatherings.  Do you remember the long 
table that used to sit in this den?  They called it the boardroom 
then." 
 
"I remember." 
 
"You were always here for the meetings.  I saw you in men's laps 
with their hands under your clothes, kissing them, going from one 
bedroom to another in your peignoir.  I was only twelve but I 
began to guess what you were doing.  In the summer I often sneaked 
out in the dark.  You liked to sneak out too, I discovered.  The 
first time I saw your tits was by moonlight in the grape arbor 
when a pair of visitors undressed you." 
 
"My god, you _were_ a peeping tom!" 
 
"Peeping on _you_, especially after the tits.  You were what, 22 
or 23?  What were you doing, Aunt Lu?" 
 
She studied his face.  "Just how much did you see?" 
 
"A lot, all with strangers until the night on the porch." 
 
"Did you see ..."  She hesitated.  Her chin came up.  "What was 
the worst?" 
 
"The worst?"  He grinned.  "The most intense scene -- I jacked off 
for hours afterwards -- was the eleven guys with you in the 
greenhouse while Grandpop was in the hospital for his first heart 
attack." 
 
Her hand went to her mouth.  "My god!  Are you sure it was 
eleven?" 
 
"I counted them." 
 
She laughed.  "I _couldn't_." 
 
"I've never seen the like of what they did to you in that 
greenhouse, Aunt Lu, except in sex flicks -- and we know what 
drives _those_ girls!  But you didn't need money.  What was _your_ 
motive?" 
 
"Oh, didn't I?"  She sighed and gestured beyond them.  "We 
shouldn't discuss this here." 
 
"Then let's go upstairs." 
 
"All right.  I have to powder anyway." 
 
"Do you remember Grandma's suite?  Harvey has kept it up.  We can 
talk there." 
 
She held out her empty flute.  "Get us some more champagne.  I'll 
be there in five minutes." 
 
 
 
* * * 
 
 
 
He found her standing reflectively beside the huge four-poster 
bed.  She took a sip from the proffered bubbly and gestured with 
the flute.  "Maybellene called this her workbench." 
 
"Who?  Oh, you mean Grandma?" 
 
She nodded.  "Harvey's wife.  She was his fourth.  She was nearly 
my present age when she married him, after which she tacked two 
more children onto his previous eight." 
 
"One of those was Bingham, my father." 
 
"Who married my first husband's sister, which is how I came to 
belong -- if that's the word -- to this family." 
 
"Let's sit down and talk about it." 
 
When they had taken seats across the small table, he caught her 
smiling at him.  "What?" he asked. 
 
"Maybellene called that four-poster her 'workbench?'  Are you 
interested in why?  Or do you already know?" 
 
He shook his head.  "I didn't know her well.  That truck hit her 
when I was eleven." 
 
"Freeing Harvey for wife number five, which was a shame.  
Maybellene was the one best suited to him." 
 
"She had some special qualification?" 
 
The woman studied him.  "What do you know about her youth, Trace?" 
 
"Very little, except she was a beautiful woman."  He gestured at 
the portrait hanging over the dresser.  "I've been told she worked 
in St. Louis, where Grandpop met her.  I understand she was an 
orphan.  What can you tell me?" 
 
Aunt Lu sighed.  "You may accuse me of slandering your 
ancestress." 
 
"Not if you believe it's true." 
 
"Oh, I know it's true -- the last part, anyway.  At eighteen I 
married a man 20 years my senior and came here to live because 
Harvey had influenced my husband.  Maybellene saw what I was and 
immediately took me under her wing.  I became her confidante.  In 
time she even let me read her diaries." 
 
"She kept diaries?  Wonderful!" 
 
"You might not think so, Trace, if you saw them." 
 
"Why not?" 
 
"They were mostly sexual records: descriptions of her lovers, how 
they performed on each occasion, their personal habits charming or 
annoying, the size of their cocks, their effect upon her, lists of 
their gifts, how they smelled ... everything she could think of." 
 
"You mean she was some kind of ... prostitute?" 
 
She chuckled.  "You ask that with a smile.  It doesn't dismay 
you?" 
 
"Why should it?  I like women who indulge men." 
 
"Do you!"  The chuckle became an appreciative laugh. 
 
"Didn't my kiss tell you that 20 years ago?" 
 
"Meaning your opinion hasn't changed?" 
 
"Only to become stronger." 
 
Her eyes twinkled.  "Most men insist on chaste foremothers.  But 
Maybellene was not what is ordinarily called a prostitute.  Seven 
different men supported her concurrently in St. Louis: rent, 
clothing, expenses, medical attention including an abortion or 
two.  She was most fertile!  Occasionally they brought friends, 
which is how she met Harvey, who made himself the enemy of all 
seven by marrying her away a year later." 
 
"Are you saying they fell in love?" 
 
"I think Harvey loved her uninhibited indulgence, as you put it.  
For him she allowed herself to bear two children, the second in 
her late forties, so yes, she must have felt some regard for him."  
She cocked an eyebrow and grinned cynically.  "Although you 
shouldn't be surprised that neither child resembled Harvey." 
 
"I don't think he gives much of a damn about that.  And neither do 
I." 
 
The woman chuckled.  "That has to do with why she called this her 
'workbench.'" 
 
"What do you mean?" 
 
"He insisted that she continue to accept guests as lovers." 
 
"He what?"  Trace barked a laugh.  "Don't tell me we have an 
Eskimo in our family tree!" 
 
She smiled.  "Money has been in your family for several 
generations.  It may have the same effect." 
 
He mused, "You're saying that ...  Hmm.  If I wanted to determine 
my genetic heritage, how many potential grandfathers should I 
investigate?" 
 
"I could narrow it down from her diaries if you truly wanted to 
know." 
 
"You have them, do you?" 
 
"Don't tell Harvey." 
 
"How could he object if he encouraged her adultery?" 
 
"Maybellene wouldn't let him read them." 
 
He struck palm with fist.  "But this is fascinating!  She was 
Grandpop's wife during the period of his greatest activity in 
business and politics, which might explain his generosity with her 
body.  I'm curious.  Did he maybe ask her to pump her lovers for 
juicy information -- or did the diaries record such things?" 
 
"She certainly pumped them for juice!  But you're right: 
industrial and political espionage was indeed the purpose behind 
it.  Or one of the purposes.  She would make an entry the next 
day, often with detailed conversation.  I recall an amusing case: 
a competitor's executive whom Harvey entertained because of 
political affiliation.  The man was addicted to anal sex so 
strongly that no other view of a woman could fetch him.  He 
claimed to get satisfaction only from Maybellene.  For five years 
she took in 'product plans by ear and jism by rear' -- her phrase.  
Harvey sent her to Paris for a month in appreciation whenever the 
competitor began tooling up.  After the second vacation she 
declined, saying French lovers were too selfish and demanding." 
 
"You think his preference of my grandmother was strange?" 
 
"What was strange was that he couldn't find another woman for it." 
 
"Are they so common?" 
 
She blinked and asked with apparently genuine surprise, "Isn't 
that your experience?" 
 
He smiled misleadingly and said, "Didn't her lovers ever catch 
on?" 
 
"All with any sense, of course.  One deliberately gave her -- that 
is, gave Harvey -- false information.  He was not invited back." 
 
"I suppose not.  Do the diaries say how she felt about being used 
for that?" 
 
"Oh, yes." 
 
He said dryly, "I guess she claimed to like it." 
 
Aunt Lu grinned.  "Many woman have fantasies of someone bringing 
them a lot of men." 
 
He studied her.  "You too?" 
 
"Not just fantasies.  Maybellene and I lived them, Trace." 
 
"You worked for Grandpop?" 
 
"My husband did." 
 
"How did _you_ like it?" 
 
"It had its ups and downs."  She laughed.  "No pun necessarily 
intended.  Sometimes it was awful.  I suppose that's true of any 
vocation.  Other times ... it gave me the most powerful thrills of 
my life." 
 
"When you were entertaining eleven guys at once in the grape 
arbor?" 
 
"The greenhouse.  Yes, I remember that night.  My bottom was sore 
for days, which you only get with the best and the worst." 
 
He said dryly, "A woman has an advantage there." 
 
"I know what you mean."  Her eyes twinkled.  "I've heard men 
complain of sore cocks after two or three pops." 
 
"So you and Grandma did it for the money -- I mean, to continue 
Harvey's support." 
 
"Well, partly, of course.  A woman generally tries to please the 
man who pays her bills.  It's only common sense.  But no one has 
sex week after week, sometimes hour after hour, just for money." 
 
"No man, certainly!" 
 
"No woman either, even though physically she could, I suppose.  
The fact is, we like it too, Trace." 
 
"Sometimes," he agreed half-heartedly. 
 
She smiled.  "Always, at one level or another.  Where can you find 
easier work?" 
 
"Is it really so easy?" 
 
She smirked.  "Only a man must have it hard.  Was your little cock 
hard when you peeped on me 20 years ago?" 
 
"You know it!" 
 
"And your fist going like mad, eh?" 
 
"Oh, yes!" 
 
"Wish I had known."  She frowned in determination.  "I've answered 
your questions.  Now answer one for me." 
 
"Shoot." 
 
"Think about this carefully.  What you saw me do when you were -- 
twelve, was it?  And thirteen?  How did it affect you in the long 
run?  In any sense were you corrupted, Trace?  Were your relations 
with women, your life afterwards, changed in any way because of 
it?" 
 
He studied her earnest face.  "I don't blame you for anything, 
Aunt Lu.  Except for that time on the porch you knew nothing about 
me." 
 
"Oh, I have no guilt towards you.  That's not what I'm after.  
What did _you_ feel -- besides a hard cock?  Somebody said you're 
divorced.  Did whatever you learned from my lurid display have any 
affect at all on your marriage?" 
 
He chuckled slightly.  "I don't think so.  I never expected my 
wife to entertain my boss's business associates." 
 
"Did you know that's what I was doing?" 
 
"I figured it out eventually.  I didn't know _why_, unless 
Grandpop had some kind of hold on you, which apparently he did 
through your husband and your own urges.  Another way to put the 
question is: would my life have been much different if I hadn't 
witnessed your sluttishness?  My answer is: not much.  As a 
teenager I might have jacked off about half as often without the 
memory of your splattered face and your mouth drooling in the 
moonlight.  One of them said to you, 'What do you think of _that_ 
taste, Lu?'  You answered -- I can still hear the conviction -- 'I 
do love man juice!'" 
 
She chuckled.  "I'm sure I said that.  It's true enough, once 
you've turned me on.  But we're talking about you.  Did you demand 
blowjobs?" 
 
"Demand?  From what I hear, cocksucking is pretty much part of 
every modern girl's repertory." 
 
"As it should be.  Nothing feels better in the mouth than a cock." 
 
"There!  Do you really mean that?" 
 
"Of course."  She grinned mockingly.  "What's the matter: never 
tasted one?" 
 
"No."  He chuckled.  "Couldn't reach my own." 
 
"Every boy tries, I bet.  Get yourself a realistic dildo.  That'll 
give you the idea." 
 
"Huh!" 
 
"Although I never saw one with a proper foreskin.  That's the 
best.  But don't be so incredulous about how it feels until you at 
least try a dildo." 
 
He drew a breath.  "I'll take your word for it." 
 
She shook her head.  "What was the cause of your divorce, Trace?" 
 
He sighed.  "Work, I guess." 
 
"Too much of it?" 
 
"Yes, a clich.  Her boss paid her a lot more attention than I did 
and she asked me for a divorce." 
 
"Kids?" 
 
"No." 
 
"Me neither." 
 
He chuckled.  "Grandpop's objectives have changed.  We both 
disappoint him now." 
 
"Yes," she agreed dryly.  "He has already chided me more than 
once.  Actually it's all rather interesting.  He, the rich man, 
likes to scatter his seed as our ancestral nobility once did.  I 
had to remind him that this is possible only to _men_." 
 
He chuckled.  "I'm not sure why that's funny." 
 
"What's funny is his avowed purpose.  He says that giving women 
the pill means the pigmented races are bound to overtake us.  He's 
worried that in a couple of centuries Caucasians will be the 
minority even in Europe.  I answered that the remedy is to give 
brown women the pill too." 
 
"What did he say then?" 
 
"That brown men are smarter than white.  They won't let their 
women take it." 
 
Both laughed.  He grunted.  "Women eventually get their way, even 
brown ones." 
 
She studied him with a twinkle.  "Is that how it seems to you?" 
 
"Well, don't they?  Haven't _you_?" 
 
"It's still a man's world, Trace.  But this is interesting.  You 
know how people shield children from sex.  Do you mean to say that 
my only effect on you at that very impressionable age was more 
frequent jerk-offs?" 
 
"Well, I don't know how I'd've been without your example, do I?" 
 
"But it didn't turn you into a sex fiend, did it?" 
 
He grinned.  "Not any more than my friends.  Maybe I was a touch 
confident with the girls." 
 
"Did you score often, Trace?" 
 
"Never often enough."  He shook his head.  "I never found one that 
loved it like you."  He laughed.  "I decided you must have been 
faking." 
 
She studied him, eyes twinkling.  "Because your girlfriends lacked 
enthusiasm?" 
 
"You could say that, except for clit-licking." 
 
"Were they a bit selfish, Trace?" 
 
"Isn't everyone?  Except you, perhaps." 
 
She sniffed.  "Why except me?" 
 
"You were the most generous person I ever saw.  Whatever they 
wanted, you wanted it too." 
 
She grinned wryly.  "Trace, just how many of my adventures did you 
witness?" 
 
"You want to know the exact number?  I first saw you and one of 
Grandpop's guests humping away on the trunk of a convertible."  He 
chuckled reminiscently.  "I realized he was fucking you and it 
sounded like you were loving the hell out of it.  You weren't loud 
but you kept repeating, 'Oh, god, that's good!' over and over.  
Something clicked and my little dick got hard as a rock.  I took 
it out and played with it while I watched and listened.  That was 
the summer I was twelve.  I don't suppose you recall banging on a 
convertible trunk.  It was a Buick." 
 
She shook her head.  "Cars are perfect for ten-minute stands, 
Trace, as everybody knows.  This place was loaded with 
convertibles then." 
 
"I understand.  It couldn't mean the same to you.  But an hour 
later I saw you slip into an Olds with a different guy.  The moon 
was full.  I watched you suck him off through the window.  After 
that I started paying attention to you, following you around as 
much as I could." 
 
"You say you were thirteen when you caught Mel and me?  Then you 
must have played voyeur for a year." 
 
"Just about.  You were gone for a month at Christmas.  They said 
you went to Acapulco." 
 
"Yeah.  More action for Harvey."  She smiled.  "I recall thinking 
you were always under foot.  So!"  She smiled broadly.  "I had a 
secret admirer." 
 
"Yes, you did.  You still have." 
 
"Really, Trace?  Who is he?  Not you!" 
 
"Why not?" 
 
"I'm hardly the same young thing you remember." 
 
"Neither am I."  He stood up.  "I'm going to close the door." 
 
"There are a lot of people in this house tonight." 
 
"So what?  No one saw me come in here.  I checked." 
 
She licked her lips.  "I meant that you'd better lock it." 
 
His face brightened and he adopted her suggestion.  When he turned 
back to the card table, she had also risen.  He studied her with 
his fingertips resting on the tabletop. 
 
"Take your clothes off, Aunt Lu." 
 
Her eyes fell.  "I'm not as ready to do that as I used to be." 
 
"Do it, Lu.  Take them off." 
 
She sighed and pulled the blouse from under her jeans.  It went 
over the fluffy dark hair without disturbance.  Her hands tucked 
behind her to release the matching brassiere.  Large round breasts 
spilled out, small nipples puckered.  Throwing the garments aside, 
she drew her shoulders back and paused, apparently to await his 
reaction. 
 
"You had largish tits even then." 
 
"They didn't droop like these." 
 
"You should practice making them spin in opposite directions." 
 
With a sniff she jerked her shoulders in a curious syncopation.  
"This way?" 
 
The flesh rippled like jelly.  Her right nipple revolved clockwise 
as he viewed it, the left counter-clockwise.  The breasts slapped 
together audibly on each revolution. 
 
His mouth fell open.  "Good god!" 
 
She laughed briefly but ceased to wiggle.  "Next you'll want to 
see me suck them." 
 
"Next I want you to take off your jeans and everything else." 
 
"How about you?" 
 
"I'm not the generous one, Lu." 
 
"I want to see what the boy has become." 
 
In a moment both were naked and staring.  After a good look she 
sank to her knees before him.  Working her head side to side, she 
enclosed more and more of his substantial erection, until her nose 
sank in the pubic tuft.  But she immediately released him and 
looked up, shaking her head in wonder. 
 
"Trace, you're the image of your dad, even here." 
 
"Huh!  Of course you've had him too." 
 
"Quite recently in fact."  Her eyes twinkled.  "We're engaged to 
be married." 
 
"Wh-what?"  Eyes wide, he stepped back. 
 
She sprang to her feet, arms encircling his shoulders.  "Don't let 
that stop you."  She laughed.  "You and I keep it in the family, 
after all." 
 
"The family!" 
 
"A very rich family to which the regular rules don't apply.  Come 
on, Trace.  Let's finally end that evening on the porch so long 
ago."  She giggled.  "Only with an added fillip: I'll make a pre-
stepmother-fucker of you." 
 
With a hoarse cry he pushed her back onto the high bed. 
 
 
END
talley@cyberspace.org

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