I felt the heat in my face as soon as she said it. Humiliation twisted inside. Embarrassment uncoiled. The fire in my cheeks and the way I couldn’t look at her face-on were all the confirmation she needed. Despite my mumbled “No,” it must have been obvious I was lying.

“Let’s get something straight,” she said. “Right now.”

I gulped and glanced at her face while a quick, impetuous thought about escape popped into my head. It was a brief look at her eyes, which were fixed upon me like blue lasers of death, her expression serious. When I saw that look, panic swelled. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to have the conversation I knew was coming. The urge to get away was strong, compelling, and near irresistible.

But I was trapped.

I was on my bed with my aunt perched on the edge between me and the door. To get away meant scooting along on my arse to the foot of the bed or barging her out of the way. Simple enough I suppose. But what happened then? I could get away but couldn’t avoid her for long. My Aunt Janet was staying at our house. Even if I ran, what would happen after?

I looked away from her, towards the television, the little portable showing Starsky and Hutch. The programme was popular, an instant hit in 1976. I loved it, identifying more with the character of Hutch because we were both tall and fair. I liked the leather-sleeved latter jacket he wore; and I thought his shooter was cooler than Starsky’s. Aunt Janet had interrupted my viewing by knocking at the bedroom door, walking in, and then sitting on the edge of my bed.

“I realise you’re embarrassed, Mikey,” my aunt continued. “I am, too. But I have to say something.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, wishing she’d stop. Couldn’t she see I wanted to watch my programme?

Aunt Janet sighed, an exasperated sound. Then she said, “Don’t, Mikey. Don’t lie. Just let me talk. You don’t know how difficult it is for me to be here like this.” She paused and sighed again before adding, “One thing I want to get straight, this is between me and you. I want … I need you to know I won’t be talking about this to anyone. Nobody else needs to know.”

I was confused. I’d thought she was there to tell me off, to chastise me, to put me well and truly in my place so, baffled, I stammered, “I … I duh-don’t understand.”

I’d risked another glance at her face as I said it. Saw her roll her eyes and grimace. “Bloody hell,” my aunt muttered to herself. She showed signs of a temper when she continued. “Look. All right, let’s stop the nonsense, Mikey. Let’s just be honest. I promise this is solely between us. I mean it. You can be truthful. I won’t be angry.”

When I didn’t say anything, my Aunt Janet murmured, “Bloody hell. How many times…? All right, I’ll say it again. Mikey, I know you’ve been looking at me.”

The denial rose in my throat while my overheated cheeks flared even hotter. I opened my mouth to voice it, and Janet held up a hand.

“No,” she said, cutting me short. “Don’t say anything if it’s a lie. I know you have, Mikey. You’ve been quite obvious about it. I’ve noticed it a few times now. Let’s just say you’re not very subtle.”

My aunt said the last with a twist to her lips. A sly smirk that made me gulp down on the chagrin. I’d been caught. She knew I’d been gawking at her.

“Sorry,” I said through a croak.

“That’s just it,” my aunt said. “This is why we need to be honest, why I said I won’t be talking to anyone at all about this, Mikey. You don’t have to be sorry.”

Then something dark and primal tugged at me way down deep. I didn’t understand the meaning of her next sentence in any coherent, logical sense. All I got was the loose meaning on an instinctive level. A hint of something illicit and thrilling when Janet finished with a near whisper: “I don’t mind you looking. I actually like it.”

***

I boggled, mind unable to cope. I understood what Aunt Janet had said, but couldn’t reconcile her apparent meaning with my concept of reality. So I stared, the weight of my hanging jaw unrealised until my aunt blurted a laugh and said, “Your face, Mikey; God, that’s a picture.” I closed my mouth as my aunt moved in close against me, her arm pressed against mine, the heat of her body and the clean, smooth scent coming off her making my cock thicken and grow. As we sat there, side-by-side, squeezed in together like commuters on a rush-hour train, my dick was way ahead of my brain. My cock knew what was going on, abruptly stiff, pumped up with blood and interest.

Before I could stop myself, I mumbled, “What are you doing?”

“Well, Mikey,” my aunt replied. To be honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’ve seen you looking and it got me thinking. And I know I shouldn’t be here this way and talking to you, but I can’t help it.” She shrugged and my eyes were drawn to the crease of her cleavage. “Maybe it’s the divorce,” she said in a low murmur. “Maybe I’m puddled.” Aunt Janet sighed, a long, slow exhalation as she snuggled in even tighter and put her palm on my thigh. “Whatever it is,” she breathed, “I like the way you’ve been eyeing me up. That’s the truth, Mikey, I like it a lot more than is good for me. Which is why I’m here. I want to know what you’re actually thinking.”

Right at that moment I wasn’t doing a lot of thinking. My mind was busy trying to sort through all the impressions and sensations swirling around. The sight of Aunt Janet’s substantial boobs squished together disturbed me. I was unsettled, conflicted by the urge to bury my head between her tits and the real possibility of a slap to the face for doing it. It was a vague and distant sense, yet the insistent feeling I had, other than surging lust and desire, was that the whole situation was most definitely wrong. The tiny voice was a long way away at the back of my mind. Muted and easy to ignore, what it told me was this was wrong in a moral sense. Wrong in a way that my mother would not be pleased to know about.

“Come on,” Aunt Janet purred, hand moving to cover the ridge of my cock. “Tell me what’s inside your head, Mikey. Do you think rude things when you’re looking? Or have I made a real fool of myself?”

Lust surged and rose to the boil. I gulped and looked down at the unbelievable sight of her hand covering the bulge in my jeans. Oh, I knew it was her hand, saw the wedding ring. Despite the recent and very emotional split from her husband, Janet hadn’t taken it off. What I had trouble getting past was the fact that she was my aunt, my mother’s sister, and that was her palm I could feel pressing my dick.

“You do like me, don’t you, Mikey?”

I could hear the first strains of doubt in her tone, caught the sound in her voice. There was a flicker of it behind her eyes when I looked at her face.

“Aunt Janet,” I said on a groan, “I think you’re lovely.”

***

The groan and those words galvanised my aunt. I still wasn’t working at full speed where logical thought was concerned, that train was still slowly pulling out of the station, and before I fully caught on to the reality of the situation, she had my jeans at my knees and my dick in her fist. How she came to loosen the belt, unfasten the button, and unzip my flies – let alone get the jeans down past my rump – I have no real recollection. But, the truth of it was my aunt was working my cock with her hand. She squeezed the shaft and rubbed the ball of her thumb over the dome, mumbling what sounded like nonsense while she squirmed her rump against my bed.

“Oh, fuck,” I grunted, already starting to work my hips.

“You like it, dirty boy?”

I looked at my aunt’s face and saw her expression all avid and hungry, sort of feral as she eyed my dick and her fist jacking my length. I wondered, through the shock and the sweetness, at how much she seemed to enjoy what she was doing. After all, what pleasure was she getting from this? But she was certainly getting something out of it. The catch at the back of her throat when she spoke and the wild look in her eye told me my aunt was getting a definite thrill from wanking my dick.

“Naughty, dirty boy,” she crooned. “I saw you looking. I saw you, Mikey. What were you thinking? Were you thinking about my tits? Were you thinking about fucking your aunt?”

The way she said dirty had an effect. I was simultaneously and paradoxically humiliated and aroused. Horny beyond my experience. My own mother’s sister knew about my sexual desire, feelings so dark and clandestine I should have been mortified over her knowledge. And, under different conditions I would have been mortified, but the actuality was she was cranking my cock. Unbelievable and unlikely as the act was, my aunt was working her fist up and down the length, sighing and speaking of depravity in the crudest of terms. To hear her say “fucking” brought forth a moan from my balls to my throat.

The nastiness caused the rush. By then I was fucking her hand. Instinct had taken over, all confusion swept away by the tide of lust as my cock spat jism in such a huge and vehement surge some of the hot stuff splashed against Janet’s cheek.

She yelped when it hit her. My aunt flinched back away from me, more of the goo arcing up from the eye in my dick. Spunk spattered down in an indiscriminate rain. Dollops of it pooled on my aunt’s skirt while more of the stuff was smeared over her arm. Even as the pleasure took me and I groaned and sobbed my delight, I noticed a snotty rope of cum in her hair and dark, wet stains on her blouse.

“Oh, God, Mikey!” Aunt Janet squeaked. “You’re coming! Oh, God, just look at you come!”

Lost in the throes, I juddered and shook. I moaned and gasped and felt the last spasms of that wonderful climax as the rush tapered off to dribble and ooze.

“You filthy, dirty, lovely boy,” my aunt muttered as she stood up and leaned at the waist to loom over me. Then she grinned and ducked in to plant a kiss on my mouth.

A moment later, she was gone. I saw my aunt’s backside sway side-to-side as she left my room, my cock seeping cum, spunk staining my bed.

***

The sound of squealing tyres and gunfire brought me back to reality. I can’t say how long I’d been laid there, but the cum was cold and Starsky and Hutch were involved in the inevitable shoot-out.

Focussed on reality again, I threw a glance at the television, then gazed at my cock for half-a-minute or so. Did that really happen? Had my aunt actually wanked me off? It didn’t seem real, but the evidence was there in blobs of spunk.

The images came to mind: Janet’s expression while she muttered the profanity; her eyes, the hungry stare; the dirty words she muttered and gasped while milking my semen.

That’s when the excitement ballooned again. Reckless desire swelled, and it was a sudden imperative that I find my Aunt Janet because I wanted more of the same. I wanted her body, all that ripe magnificence in my hands, her nipples in my mouth and my cock working inside her.

I almost fell off the bed in my haste. Then only just saved myself from a headlong dive after trying to run with my jeans down at my shins. I hauled up the recalcitrant leggings and bolted from my room, desperate to find her.

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