“My sister always has over-sold me.”
—
Mark was showering next morning when he heard Miranda ask could she join him. His mind went blank and his mouth said, “Um.”
She joined him.
“You haven’t any clothes on,” he charged.
She asked who he knew who wore clothes in the shower.
“No-one.”
“You’re well hung?”
“Oh God, Manda.”
She asked could she touch it. He yelled “No!” but she went ahead and grabbed it and soon had it growing in her hand.
“Do you like my boobs?”
“Yes,” he said, face beetroot red, eyes closed tightly.
“Suck them, see how soft they are.”
Mark’s voice went up an octave and he said he was leaving.
“Attempt to move from here and I’ll whack you, Mark. The girls at university think you must be gay, leaving poor Jasmine untouched.”
“She told you that?”
“Well, not quite but I could see it in her eyes. University people who are having it off left, right and centre can be so cruel. Now that we have managed to get you stiff, may I suck it?”
“Oh God. I suppose if I say no you’ll whack me?”
“Yes, I’m almost lethal with a head butt to the jaw.”
“But it’s incest. According to the law…”
“Don’t you ever quote law to a woman when you are in the middle of sex with her Mark.”
“I cannot believe this; as they say in theatre, this is my worst nightmare.”
“I don’t wish to take you by force, Mark. Are you offering your dick to me?”
“Oh, this is one of the worst moments of my life. Yes, suck it but go easy with your teeth. I’ve heard that some women when they suck have the idea that it’s done like paring cheese.”
Shamed and feeling he was a loser in not repelling his stroppy aunt, Mark leaned against the shower wall. Gradually a feeling of serenity, warmth and absolute nerve-tingling bliss came up – from his toes it seemed – enveloping him like a fog until she brought him into a mighty ejaculation.
“God, that’s far better than when I do it,” he groaned unthinkingly.
“I daresay it is.” Miranda said, sounding very British and slightly peeved as if her administration had been under-appreciated until she sped into her finale.
Mark opened his eyes to see her standing, grinning at him; his cum was dripping off her tits. She wouldn’t dare…
“Lick me clean, Mark.”
He fled.
—
Mark hid in his room until his mother called for the fourth time, “Breakfast Mark” with a rising edge to his voice. He walked shame-faced into the dining room thinking his mother would be looking at him, her eyes a mixture of sympathy and hurt; Miranda would be gloating and his father looking angry ready to kick his son in the butt. But amazingly the three of them were in animated conversations and barely acknowledged his arrival.
Mark ate silently wondering why he’d been pushed to the side in the jet stream of the rush of his contemporaries to leap into adulthood – emotionally strong and accelerating their sexual experiences and ability of dealing with the opposite sex. He felt extremely sorry for Jasmine joining him in the wayside, being soft and endearing but missing out on high sexual gratification each week, or perhaps daily. Hourly? Not Jasmine, not hourly.