Aunt Emm
I was about ten or ****************. My interests mostly revolved around Spitfires, penknives, the Beano, my bike and space.
Every Saturday my mum took me to my Grandparent’s house a few miles away. Mum and Gran watched Take Your Pick, Thank Your Lucky Stars, Candid Camera, Coronation Street, drank tea and nattered about god knows what. But whatever it was it kept them engrossed.
Granddad was usually out in his shed at the bottom of their garden fiddling with an engine or some plumbing or bits of wood. Whatever it was it kept him engrossed, and safely out of the way from the idle chit chat of his wife and daughter.
I was always told to go and play with my aunt Emm, who was a late surprise addition to the family, most of whom had grown up and flown the coup. She would have been about fifteen going on sixteen at the time.
She was more like a big sister than an aunt. And a bit of a tomboy. Till her teenage hormones went crazy.
She liked to play doctors and nurses. She was always a nurse. I a patient. Before long I’d be immobilised on the bed, with sticky plasters on every finger, at least one arm in a sling, a bandaged head, legs tightly wound in sheets holding hockey stick splints fixed with safety pins, and a drinking straw (thermometer) shoved in my mouth, which, I was under strict nurses orders not to remove. Even if I could. Which I couldn’t.
Every so often she would take my pulse and check my temperature. Hmm. It’s not good. Better undo and reapply the bandages. I went along with it because sometimes she agreed to play pirates or highway men. But not often. She preferred nurses and patients.
One day she asked me if, just for a change, I’d like to be a doctor and she could be the patient. OK. She guided me through the procedure. Check pulse. Take temp. Feel for fractures. Prop her up on a pillow. Undo the buttons on her blouse. Listen to her breathing with the detachable rubber shower thingy.
‘Am I very ill doctor?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Oh dear. I have a terrible pain, right here.’
She pulled open her blouse, took my hand and placed it firmly on her naked left tit.
Crikey! I was a tad flummoxed to say the least. We were no strangers to the touch of each other’s flesh. But that was arms legs or faces. And once she insisted her patient had a boil on his bum which she had to attend to. But it was never sexual. In fact I never even thought of aunty Emm as a girl. But she was. Suddenly. With tits! Nice ones too.
‘It hurts doctor, you need to examine it.’ Gulp. ‘How.’
With my tender palm in hers, she began stroking her tit. ‘Like that.’ ‘OK.’
‘Can you feel the bump?’ (nipple) A nod. ‘That’s the bit that hurts.’ ‘Oh.’
‘They both do.’ ‘Uh huh.’ ‘You have to kiss them better doctor.’ ‘Do I?’
‘Yes.’ So I did.
Now, as a ten / *************** boy, I was only just beginning to discover what an erection was. And that if you fiddled with it, it felt nice. We’d all enjoyed the porn mags that went round at school. Health and Efficiency for instance. Which pretended it wasn’t porn but a harmless celebration of fit young men and women, mostly women, young fit women, enjoying the health giving benefits of romping about starkers, as nature always intended. So I’d seen plenty of tits before. Though never a pussy. The girls in H&E didn’t have them. Just a smooth featureless nothing. In fact I had no idea that such a thing as a vagina even existed. (we had no sex education. in those days.)
So there I was, kissing and licking and sucking, as instructed, on Aunt Emm’s nipples. And it felt incredibly wicked! This was wrong. Boys do not do, whatever it was I was doing, with girls’ private bits and bobs. I knew that much. Not till they were married anyway. That’s why they got married. So they could. Except my elder sister’s boyfriend already had, so they had to get married. Because a baby was expected. Apparently. Not that I was informed of the finer details of any of that. That was grown up things. Things Mum and Gran needed to talk about. ‘Go upstairs and play with your Aunt Emm.’
Oops.
Boys do not do play with girls’ private bits. And definitely not with their Aunt’s!
It felt wicked, yeah. But also, it felt nice!!! And the act that what we were doing was very very naughty made it even nicer. The words taboo and frisson hadn’t entered my vocabulary at that stage. But I knew the feeling, if not the words. It felt very fucking nice indeed. And it was the same for Aunt Emm, who was making strange little panting sounds. I could get into this.
Suddenly there was a creak on the stairs. Aunt Emm pushed me away and buttoned her blouse in panic. ‘You two all right up there? Want anything? Drink? Crisps?’ ‘No it’s OK mum, we’ve got some pop. Thanks.’ ‘Sure?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Well give us a shout if you want anything, tea won’t be for an hour or two yet.’
‘We’re OK mum. Thanks.’
‘Alright then.’ A second creak. Then silence.
Aunt Emm and I looked at each other. Blimey. That was close! Thank goodness Granddad hadn’t gotten around to fixing the creaking tread on he stairs yet. Aunt Emm got off the bed and straightened herself up. She gave me a naughty smile. ‘Enjoy that did you?’ I nodded. ‘Dirty little sod.’
Yeah, like it was my fault.
She unscrewed the bottle of pop, R. White’s Soda Cream, our favourite, and poured some into our glasses. I must have been thirsty because I downed mine in one, resulting in a loud burp. I grinned at Aunt Emm ‘More tea vicar?’
‘Pig!’ But she laughed. ‘Do you know what dad keeps in the shed?’
‘Yeah, every old nut bolt nail screw hinge and rusty god knows what in the world.’ She opened a draw in her dresser, rummaged under some stuff, and handed me a moth-eaten A5 sized magazine. ‘These.’
On the cover was a photo of a lady in stockings and high heels, and massive tits, squeezed into a corset. ‘He’s got hundreds of them. All stacked up at the back under a tarp.’ ‘Blimey.’ It was called something like Glamour Fanfare. But probably wasn’t. I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there holding it. Embarrassed. ‘Well go on then, have a look. Don’t pretend you don’t want to.’ I sat on the bed and opened it up. Aunt Emm came and sat next to me.
It was the first time I saw female pubic hair. And to be honest it came as a bit of a shock. I thought was some sort of fluffy bikini bottom, and said so.
‘Don’t be daft. That’s her cunt.’ ‘What?’ ‘Her cunt, fanny, minge.’
‘Blimey!’
I’d never heard Aunt Emm use words like that. But they were common insults in the playground. You were a stupid cunt, a hopeless minge or a fucking fanny faced bum burglar. But mostly a mong. None of us knew they were names for ladies’ front bottoms. Or indeed, as I said, that they even had a bottom at the front.
‘You’ve never seen one have you?’ She had me there. ‘Want to see mine?’
I shrugged. ‘Well don’t look so bloody keen!’ She stood up. Undid her jeans and stepped out of them. Her knickers were pink. And quite big. And not at all sexy. She took them down. And there it was. My first real life in the flesh fanny. I looked up at Aunt Emm. She smiled. ‘Do you want to touch it?’
I wasn’t sure. It was all a bit…. I don’t know. New? I was embarrassed. This was a level up from doctors and nurses. ‘I’d like it if you touched it.’
‘Would you?’. ‘Yeah.’ So I did.
Over the next few months my Aunty Emm taught me the different ways I could finger her, to lick her clitoris, how to fuck her with he handle of a darning mushroom (you don’t see many of those now) and how to make her cum. Every time it was something new. Something exciting. Something deliciously wicked, naughty, forbidden, but oh so pleasurable.
The only thing she never did was return the compliment. One time I dropped my trousers and stuck my small erection right in her face, ‘Do it to me too!’ I demanded, from the standpoint of the right to equality of the sexes. She just looked at it. Smirked and said. ‘Nah. That’s not a cock. That’s just a little shrimp. Maybe when you grow up a bit.’ The selfish bitch.
But ever since dear Aunt Emm first seduced me on that Saturday afternoon all those years ago, and introduced me to the pleasures of sex, I have always had a thing for older women.
Every Saturday my mum took me to my Grandparent’s house a few miles away. Mum and Gran watched Take Your Pick, Thank Your Lucky Stars, Candid Camera, Coronation Street, drank tea and nattered about god knows what. But whatever it was it kept them engrossed.
Granddad was usually out in his shed at the bottom of their garden fiddling with an engine or some plumbing or bits of wood. Whatever it was it kept him engrossed, and safely out of the way from the idle chit chat of his wife and daughter.
I was always told to go and play with my aunt Emm, who was a late surprise addition to the family, most of whom had grown up and flown the coup. She would have been about fifteen going on sixteen at the time.
She was more like a big sister than an aunt. And a bit of a tomboy. Till her teenage hormones went crazy.
She liked to play doctors and nurses. She was always a nurse. I a patient. Before long I’d be immobilised on the bed, with sticky plasters on every finger, at least one arm in a sling, a bandaged head, legs tightly wound in sheets holding hockey stick splints fixed with safety pins, and a drinking straw (thermometer) shoved in my mouth, which, I was under strict nurses orders not to remove. Even if I could. Which I couldn’t.
Every so often she would take my pulse and check my temperature. Hmm. It’s not good. Better undo and reapply the bandages. I went along with it because sometimes she agreed to play pirates or highway men. But not often. She preferred nurses and patients.
One day she asked me if, just for a change, I’d like to be a doctor and she could be the patient. OK. She guided me through the procedure. Check pulse. Take temp. Feel for fractures. Prop her up on a pillow. Undo the buttons on her blouse. Listen to her breathing with the detachable rubber shower thingy.
‘Am I very ill doctor?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Oh dear. I have a terrible pain, right here.’
She pulled open her blouse, took my hand and placed it firmly on her naked left tit.
Crikey! I was a tad flummoxed to say the least. We were no strangers to the touch of each other’s flesh. But that was arms legs or faces. And once she insisted her patient had a boil on his bum which she had to attend to. But it was never sexual. In fact I never even thought of aunty Emm as a girl. But she was. Suddenly. With tits! Nice ones too.
‘It hurts doctor, you need to examine it.’ Gulp. ‘How.’
With my tender palm in hers, she began stroking her tit. ‘Like that.’ ‘OK.’
‘Can you feel the bump?’ (nipple) A nod. ‘That’s the bit that hurts.’ ‘Oh.’
‘They both do.’ ‘Uh huh.’ ‘You have to kiss them better doctor.’ ‘Do I?’
‘Yes.’ So I did.
Now, as a ten / *************** boy, I was only just beginning to discover what an erection was. And that if you fiddled with it, it felt nice. We’d all enjoyed the porn mags that went round at school. Health and Efficiency for instance. Which pretended it wasn’t porn but a harmless celebration of fit young men and women, mostly women, young fit women, enjoying the health giving benefits of romping about starkers, as nature always intended. So I’d seen plenty of tits before. Though never a pussy. The girls in H&E didn’t have them. Just a smooth featureless nothing. In fact I had no idea that such a thing as a vagina even existed. (we had no sex education. in those days.)
So there I was, kissing and licking and sucking, as instructed, on Aunt Emm’s nipples. And it felt incredibly wicked! This was wrong. Boys do not do, whatever it was I was doing, with girls’ private bits and bobs. I knew that much. Not till they were married anyway. That’s why they got married. So they could. Except my elder sister’s boyfriend already had, so they had to get married. Because a baby was expected. Apparently. Not that I was informed of the finer details of any of that. That was grown up things. Things Mum and Gran needed to talk about. ‘Go upstairs and play with your Aunt Emm.’
Oops.
Boys do not do play with girls’ private bits. And definitely not with their Aunt’s!
It felt wicked, yeah. But also, it felt nice!!! And the act that what we were doing was very very naughty made it even nicer. The words taboo and frisson hadn’t entered my vocabulary at that stage. But I knew the feeling, if not the words. It felt very fucking nice indeed. And it was the same for Aunt Emm, who was making strange little panting sounds. I could get into this.
Suddenly there was a creak on the stairs. Aunt Emm pushed me away and buttoned her blouse in panic. ‘You two all right up there? Want anything? Drink? Crisps?’ ‘No it’s OK mum, we’ve got some pop. Thanks.’ ‘Sure?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Well give us a shout if you want anything, tea won’t be for an hour or two yet.’
‘We’re OK mum. Thanks.’
‘Alright then.’ A second creak. Then silence.
Aunt Emm and I looked at each other. Blimey. That was close! Thank goodness Granddad hadn’t gotten around to fixing the creaking tread on he stairs yet. Aunt Emm got off the bed and straightened herself up. She gave me a naughty smile. ‘Enjoy that did you?’ I nodded. ‘Dirty little sod.’
Yeah, like it was my fault.
She unscrewed the bottle of pop, R. White’s Soda Cream, our favourite, and poured some into our glasses. I must have been thirsty because I downed mine in one, resulting in a loud burp. I grinned at Aunt Emm ‘More tea vicar?’
‘Pig!’ But she laughed. ‘Do you know what dad keeps in the shed?’
‘Yeah, every old nut bolt nail screw hinge and rusty god knows what in the world.’ She opened a draw in her dresser, rummaged under some stuff, and handed me a moth-eaten A5 sized magazine. ‘These.’
On the cover was a photo of a lady in stockings and high heels, and massive tits, squeezed into a corset. ‘He’s got hundreds of them. All stacked up at the back under a tarp.’ ‘Blimey.’ It was called something like Glamour Fanfare. But probably wasn’t. I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there holding it. Embarrassed. ‘Well go on then, have a look. Don’t pretend you don’t want to.’ I sat on the bed and opened it up. Aunt Emm came and sat next to me.
It was the first time I saw female pubic hair. And to be honest it came as a bit of a shock. I thought was some sort of fluffy bikini bottom, and said so.
‘Don’t be daft. That’s her cunt.’ ‘What?’ ‘Her cunt, fanny, minge.’
‘Blimey!’
I’d never heard Aunt Emm use words like that. But they were common insults in the playground. You were a stupid cunt, a hopeless minge or a fucking fanny faced bum burglar. But mostly a mong. None of us knew they were names for ladies’ front bottoms. Or indeed, as I said, that they even had a bottom at the front.
‘You’ve never seen one have you?’ She had me there. ‘Want to see mine?’
I shrugged. ‘Well don’t look so bloody keen!’ She stood up. Undid her jeans and stepped out of them. Her knickers were pink. And quite big. And not at all sexy. She took them down. And there it was. My first real life in the flesh fanny. I looked up at Aunt Emm. She smiled. ‘Do you want to touch it?’
I wasn’t sure. It was all a bit…. I don’t know. New? I was embarrassed. This was a level up from doctors and nurses. ‘I’d like it if you touched it.’
‘Would you?’. ‘Yeah.’ So I did.
Over the next few months my Aunty Emm taught me the different ways I could finger her, to lick her clitoris, how to fuck her with he handle of a darning mushroom (you don’t see many of those now) and how to make her cum. Every time it was something new. Something exciting. Something deliciously wicked, naughty, forbidden, but oh so pleasurable.
The only thing she never did was return the compliment. One time I dropped my trousers and stuck my small erection right in her face, ‘Do it to me too!’ I demanded, from the standpoint of the right to equality of the sexes. She just looked at it. Smirked and said. ‘Nah. That’s not a cock. That’s just a little shrimp. Maybe when you grow up a bit.’ The selfish bitch.
But ever since dear Aunt Emm first seduced me on that Saturday afternoon all those years ago, and introduced me to the pleasures of sex, I have always had a thing for older women.
12年前
