“Jimmy, you’re not old enough to watch your brothers for the weekend.”
“April watches her sisters,” I said and sulked.
April’s family lived across the street.
“She’s more mature than you are.”
“I’m mature!” I whined.
“Jimbo,” Carl, my stepfather piped in, “Do you really want to watch your brothers?”
He didn’t insert himself into my disputes with my mother often, but when he did, I had learned to listen and think about what he said.
But the two of us were both trying our best to get along, after we’d fought it out hard and dirty for over a year. He had pinched me painfully hard under my upper arms or spanked me with his belt so often that, thick as my skull was, I had learned to listen to him.
I thought about it, and laughed.
“No, Carl. I’m sorry, mom.”
He had taught me to admit when I was wrong and to apologize to my mother.
He had said, “You don’t have to apologize to me unless you break something of mine. But your mother, you damn well better . . .”
“You want the house to yourself,” my mom said, but she was smiling her thanks at my stepfather over my head.
“I guess.”
“Jilly’s will be here,” my mom said.
“I know.” I had known that it was a loosing battle anyway.
Jilly was the fat college girl from our church who had been our babysitter for the last two years.
“Is she in charge of me?”
“How about this,” Carl suggested. “Behave yourself, and you and Jilly can both pretend that she’s not.”
“And the time after next, or the time after that,” my mom said, “you won’t have to pretend, if you show that you can handle it.”
I nodded.
Carl grinned at me. “And then after that, we’ll start fighting about whether you have to watch your brothers when we’re away.”
As much as I hated to admit it even to myself, I was starting to like Carl.

But then Jilly canceled at the last minute.
I overheard my mom tell Carl, “She said that her sister had a relapse.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but Carl had said, “Nobody lies about something like that.”
I guessed that a “relapse” was something bad, something embarrassing.
They made a few phone calls, but they couldn’t find anyone.
“What about aunty Cara?” I suggested.
“You wish,” my stepfather said to me.
“Carl!” my mom said and giggled.
Cara is my real father’s nineteen-year-old sister. She has the most amazing red hair, what my mom calls “strawberry-blond,” and tits to die for. She has blue eyes and creamy skin and round lips.
“You know, Magpie, if she’s gonna be here, I think we should cancel, to provide proper supervision,” my stepfather said and winked at me.
My mom’s name was Maggie. I always felt creeped out when he called her “Magpie” instead.
My mom punched him in the arm, and it looked like a hard punch, too.
But Carl only laughed.
He had told me that any man should be able to take a punch from a woman in good grace. “You can block it if she goes for your face or your nuts, but otherwise, tough it out.”
He’d also said, “Ninety-nine out of ninety-nine times, if a woman hits you, you deserved it.”

Well, I was on my absolute best behavior.
I helped Cara with my brothers, my half-brothers, really.
They’re six and seven years old, so it wasn’t like we fought anyway.
But I even did the dishes without being asked.
After they were in bed, Cara said, “Thank you.”
I started to talk about Carl, about what he’d said, but then I spilled the beans about what my mom had said, too, about how I could be in charge of myself if I starting acting like I could handle it.
“Come on, Jim,” she said, “you can, I can tell.”
I had my doubts, but I didn’t argue with her, of course.
Instead, I said, “Well, I’m trying.”
“You did the dishes, and you read to Carl Jr and Teddy.”
“I like reading to them. It reminded me of when my father used to read to me.”
She looked sad, “He used to read to me, too, when I was little.”
He was in Canada, working on an oil rig.
So we were talking about him, my real father, when we sort of ran out of steam.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No,” I admitted and felt my face get warm.
“You will, don’t worry.”
“I know.”
But I always felt stupid when I talked to girls.
“You can ask me, you know.”
“Ask you what?”
“If I have a boyfriend, silly.”
“Do you?”
“No. Guys don’t like me, not guys my age.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like I’ll be at the mall or at school. A guy will look at me, stare at me, but then they’ll come over and talk to Alice, instead.”
Alice was cute, but if Cara was New York Yankees hot, but Alice was like AA league cute.
“That’s crazy,” I said.
“What do you mean? Don’t tell me that I’m cute. Everybody says that, but I see how guys treat me, well, guys my age. And then older guys bother me, Carl’s age, even older.”
I didn’t understand it.
Instead, I said, “Guys like Alice more than you?”
I just didn’t believe it.
“I went on a date with an older guy. He was funny, or he made me laugh, anyway.”
“An older guy?”
I was picturing someone Carl’s age, an old guy, forty years old, maybe, a guy with son about Cara’s age, like Carl’s son from his first marriage.
She started to cry. “He tried to kiss me, tried to grab my boobs.”
She squeezed my hand when I leaned over and took hers.
“He tore at my blouse and ripped three of the buttons off it.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “I’m so sorry.”
“He got his hand in my bra before I scratched his face.”
“You scratched his face!”
I laughed, while she giggled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
I grabbed some tissues from under the coffee table. I didn’t even have to let her hand go.
“I saw him, about a week later. He had these two claw marks on his cheek!”
She was laughing triumphantly.
“You did it?”
“Damn straight,” she said and grinned.
“Way to go, girl!” I said and laughed too.
“He told me that he only wanted to see my boobs.”
“He’s a liar.”
“I know, but I probably would’ve shown him, if he’d asked nicely, but just not on the first date.”
“Just to show him?”
“I’m not shy about my boobs, not any more, anyway. My family, we went to France, the South of France, three times.”
“So?”
“Well, you’d love the beaches. All the girls, just in their bottoms, with their boobs flopping around in the salty wind.”
“Even you?”
“I thought that I wouldn’t – I was your age the very first time – but then everyone else was doing it, even my mom.”
“Grandma?”
Her mother was my grandmother, of course.
“Yup. I mean, my dad, saw me that way, too, even!”
She was giggling.
“Grandpa?”
“We go to the beach practically every day for two weeks, too, when we go.”
“And he saw your boobs everyday?”
“Yup, whole bunch of guys did, too. So I’m not shy about them any more.”
“Really?” I said and kind of gawked her tits.
“I didn’t mean you.”
“But guys my age saw them?”
“Yup, little boys, too. Everybody’s on the beach, of course.”
“Please, can I see?”
“I’m not supposed to do that.”
“I know. I won’t tell.”
“Well, my dad saw.”
“My grandad.”
“That’s right.”
“Please?
“Just my boobs?”
“What did you wear?”
“Just my bikini bottoms.”
“Please?”
“Just my undies?”
“Please?”
“Well, you were so good today.”
“Really? Thank you.”
“No, thank you. I guess it’s okay, right?”
“Yes, of course, obviously,” I said, trying my best to sound serious and mature, but then I spoiled it by laughing when she giggled.
“No touching, right?”
“Of course.”
“Just my undies?”
“Please.”
“I’m not too fat?”
“No, of course not.”
She was perfect, really.
“And no touching?” she asked again.
“I promise.”
“You can’t jack off, not while I’m there.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“Okay.”
She giggled. “Go in the hall, your room, and wait a minute.”
“Carl Jr. gets up sometimes.”
“You just want me get me in your room.”
“No, really, he gets up.”
“I’m not taking my undies off anyway.”
“I know.”
She followed me to my room and I let her in.
I’d cleaned it as soon as I found out she was coming over, although it hadn’t been that messy.
My stepdad had a “ratings system,” and he checked my room as often as he wanted. I got to stay up late if I did my homework, my chores and kept my room “shipshape.”
“You too, just your shorts,” she said. “I’ll feel stupid being the only one in my undies.”
I stripped down in the hall.
“Ready?” I asked through the closed door.
“I guess,” she said and giggled nervously.
She had my pillow over herself, her undies and her boobs.
I put my pants and tee-shirt on my bureau.
“You’ve got wood!” she said and pointed at the tent in my shorts.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. Now I know that you really think I’m cute.”
“You are. You’re the prettiest girl I know.”
“Oh, come on!”
“No, it’s true.”
It was true, too.
“When I was at the beach, you know, in France, a thousand guys must’ve seen my boobs, even my dad, but now I feel nervous.”
She let me grab the pillow and giggled when she let me pull it away from her.
But then she covered her boobs with her hands.
“Please?” I said.
“What if I want to see yours?”
“My cock?”
“Yup.”
“Both at the same time?”
“Can I keep my undies on?”
“I guess, but you already said that you’d show me your boobs.”
“Maybe I’ll show you that next time.”
Next time? I thought. We were gonna do this again? Wow!
“Okay, that’s fair.”
“I’m not promising, and besides, I like get it waxed, you know, no hair.”
“Why, if you don’t have a boyfriend?”
“It’s nicer, cleaner.”
“And you’re smooth?”
“Yup, really smooth.”
“And you like that better?”
“Yup. Alice and I, we go together.”
I fiddled with the waistband of my shorts.
“At the same time?” I asked again.
“Well, I did say that I’d show you.”
She let her hands drop from her boobs without me pushing my shorts down.
I think that she was about a c-cup back then.
Her nipples were pinkish brown and they stuck straight out.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see? You don’t have to, but I never ever saw.”
I pushed my shorts down.
She giggled when the Monster sort of jumped out.
“Wow. Did you measure it?”
“Seven inches.”
“And you’re only thirteen?”
“Yup.”
“Alice said that the average guy is six inches, and that’s a man, I bet.”
“So I’m already bigger than other guys?”
“It’s like math, or something, like how tall you are verses other guys your age, older, I guess, too. They add them all up and divide by the number of guys, a sample size, how many guys they measure. Some guys are huge, I guess, like almost fourteen inches.”
She’s like so smart, I guess.
“Fourteen inches?” I asked and laughed.
I was picturing a cock twice as long as mine, and really thick, too.
“That’s what it says online, thirteen-and-a-half inches.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Does it hurt, your erection? I mean, I guess that you can jack off, if you need to.”
“Do you want to watch?”
She giggled and shook her head YES.
“I just want to see it spurt, see how much, too.”
“Will you touch it, just for a minute?”
“I kinda want to.”
“You do?”
“I never touched one.”
I nodded.
“But you can’t touch mine, okay?” she asked.
“I know.”
“I guess that you can touch my boobs, too.”
“I can? Thanks!”
I stepped closer, so that my thighs were almost touching the bed.
“You stay off the bed.” She giggled. “I know that you’re a wrestler!”
I was on the junior varsity team at my high school, even though I was only a freshman.
“I wouldn’t rape you.”
“I know, I was just teasing.”
She let me touch her boobs, let me squeeze them.
“Not too hard. Alice says guys are always too rough.”
I took her hand and guided it to my cock, guided her to wrap her hand around it, too.
My dad, my real dad, had told me that you have to do that with girls.
“Just for a little while, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, but then I guided her to stroke it.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she whispered.
“Thank you.”
“You’re a bad boy.” She grinned at me. “I bet you did this before, lots of girls. You got me naked almost, and now this . . .”
“No, I never, really.”
“Really?”
“I wish that you teach me to finger you.”
She giggled. “Finger me?”
“Please?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Thanks.”
“Inside my undies?”
“If you want.”
“But then you’ll need to practice on me, like all the time . . .”
“Please?”
“You’re just saying that so that I’ll let you. I bet that you already know how, bet that you did it to a million girls.”
I could tell that she was teasing me.
“Oh, yeah, a million, right here in River City.”
“But I’d like have to show you my vajayjay, you know, one time, so you’ll know what’s down there?”
“Please.”
“Well, I get to see yours.”
She let go of my cock and whispered, “No, that’s not a good idea, I can’t, I shouldn’t . . .”
But then she let me tug her undies down and even lifted up so that I could do it.
“Just to me knees, please?”
“Down here, okay?” I asked and pulled them down to her ankles.
She let me push her knees open.
She giggled when I pulled her undies off the rest of the way.
It really was hairless and smooth, like she said, and creamy but with pinkish lips.
I touched it and rubbed it.
“Easy, easy, not rough, please.”
“I’m sorry.”
I went to push my finger inside the hole.
She was really warm and wet inside.
I started to finger her.
“Easy, please,” she asked me, but then she touched my cock again and stroked it.
“You won’t stick it in me?”
“Not if you don’t want.”
“Mom mom says the first time hurts.”
“It does?”
She grinned at me. “For a girl.”
“I’m sorry.”
“But you’d do that, go all the way with me?”
“Sure. I wish we could.”
“But I’m your aunt.”
“I know.”
“This is so sick,” she said, but she grinned at me again.
“What if you let me practice sucking it? You can practice fingerbanging me, and I can practice sucking you and jacking you off.”
“Every day, after school?”
She lived with my grandparents, but close enough to ride my bike to their house.
My grandparents worked until after seven, too.
“Every day?” she asked and giggled.
I started to finger her in and out.
“Easy, not rough, please.”
I tried my best.
“What if you have to lick it?”
“Like eat you?”
“If I’m gonna suck you from now on, it’s only fair.”
“I want to.”
“Just to learn?”
“No, of all the girls, I’d want to do it with you.”
“But I’m you aunt.”
“But you’re so beautiful, the prettiest girl I know.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“No, it’s true.”
“It’s so sick. I bet that we’ll start going all the way, too.”
“I hope so.”
“Well, I can’t get pregnant. Your mom took me for birth control.”
“My mom?”
She was my dad’s sister, and my dad had been away in Canada for a long time, but my mom was still close with my Grammy.
“I think my mom wanted someone to take me, back when I turned fifteen, but she didn’t want to do it.”
“So my mom took you, for Grammy?”
“I still love your mom.”
I nodded.
“But we can wait?” she asked.
“Wait?”
“To go all the way? You’re a wrestler, I bet that I couldn’t stop you . . .”
She grinned at me and I knew that she wanted me to pretend to force her, to pretend to rape her.
It only took me a second to pin her down, with me on top of her.
“Beast!” she said, giggling.
And then I was between her legs.
“Go slow, go slow.”
I had to reach down and guide my cock to the spot. I tried to go slow.
I only pushed it in part of the way, like an inch, before I shot inside her.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“No, we can do it again. I’ll let you.”
“From now on?”
“I guess.”
But we were grinning at each other, with me still on top of her, our faces inches apart.
I kissed her lips, just for a second, and then we started laughing.