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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

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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.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 54