Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
It was the third of February on that night when the police officer came to our house. My tenth birthday had been three days earlier. Even now, decades later, the memories are still vivid in my mind. Some nights I still have nightmares about it.
My parents, George and Diane, had gone out that night to celebrate his parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. My father loved his parents very much, and was excited about marking this milestone with them. He had even named me after his father, Douglas, although everyone called me Doug, or sometimes Dougie. They had driven to my grandparents’ house in Ingleton, about an hour’s drive from Welton, the town where we lived. It had been raining all day, but it got cold that night. I remember hearing the sleet and hail batter the windows. It sounded like the claws of a hungry monster trying to get in to devour me.
I was in the living room, sitting on the couch with my babysitter, Penny, watching “The Six Million Dollar Man”. It was my favourite TV show when I was a kid. When we heard a knock at the door Penny got up to answer it. I kept watching the television, oblivious to the muffled voices in the kitchen. When Penny came back in the room a while later she looked ashen. She was shaking a little and she seemed like she was going to cry, or maybe throw up. She turned the TV off and sat down beside me on the couch. She just looked at me for a minute, hands trembling, before she said anything.
Penny reached out to hold my hand. “Dougie, I have some really bad news to tell you,” she began in a halting voice. That’s when I saw the tears start to run down her cheeks.
Neither Penny nor the rest of my family told me everything they knew about what had happened that night, not for years anyway. They thought I was too young and fragile to deal with hearing it all. They were probably right. It was only when I was a teenager that I was given the rest of the details. But essentially what I was told that night was that my parents had been in a horrific car accident while driving home. The roads had become very icy, and their car had skidded on a bend in the road and was rammed by an eighteen-wheeler in the on-coming lane. Dad was killed instantly. I also later found out that they tried to save my mother at the hospital — that she was still conscious and asking for me — but there was nothing they could do. By the time the sun rose the next morning, I was an orphan.
That night my mother’s parents came and took me to their house, a few miles from where we lived. I stayed with them for almost a month, until other arrangements were made. My grandparents loved me dearly, but they had already raised three children of their own, and at their ages they were not prepared to care for another. What was eventually decided was that I would go live with my Uncle Wayne and Aunt Lisa in Walker Valley. They would be my new parents, my grandmother explained.
I cannot overstate just how tumultuous this period of my life was. Almost literally in the middle of the night I was taken from the only home I knew, then later uprooted from the town I grew up in, had gone to school at, and where all of my friends lived. This, on top of coping with losing both of my parents.
Aunt Lisa was Mom’s younger sister. They also had a brother, Uncle Kenny, who was the youngest of the three siblings. He was single and considered too irresponsible to be a parent at his age, so my Aunt Lisa and Uncle Wayne were the logical choice. They lived in Walker Valley, almost two hundred miles from Welton. Like most everyone there, they had gotten married the day after they graduated from high school, or so it seemed.
Wayne was a carpenter, and a good one apparently, because he got a lot of work. He was almost six feet tall, with short brown hair, broad shoulders, and arms that seemed to me at that young age like small trees. Lots of guys spend hours in a gym or take drugs to build muscles like that, but my uncle had earned his by swinging a hammer and carrying lumber most of his life. If you didn’t know him he might seem imposing at first. But when you heard his laugh and saw his green eyes light up you could tell he was as gentle as a kitten.
Uncle Wayne and Aunt Lisa didn’t have any kids of their own, but they wanted some very much. They had tried, but sadly both attempts had resulted in my aunt having miscarriages. The second one happened a few months after I had come to live with them. After that, my aunt’s doctor cautioned her against getting pregnant again. He offered to tie her tubes, and seeing no other alternative, she reluctantly agreed.
Walker Valley was a small farming community in the middle of Chilton County. It was mostly flat land and had a wide, lazy river meandering through it. Visitors would probably call it quaint or picturesque, and I suppose it was, but compared to Welton it may as well been another planet. You could drive for almost a mile in some places between houses, and it was so quiet that it bursa escort was almost eerie. Welton was a larger town with more stores and a lot more people. I was used to hearing traffic at night, people laughing and talking as they stumbled home from bars, and the occasional wail of the siren of a police car or ambulance in the distance. Lying in bed at night at my new home I didn’t hear a sound. I felt like the only person on Earth.
My aunt and uncle owned a spacious four bedroom house that his grandfather had built, located on six acres of land. It had a verandah facing west where the road ran by, and a patio in back where my uncle would barbeque steaks and chicken on weekends and some evenings as the sun set when the weather was nice.
One thing that pleased me as soon as I moved there was discovering that I would have a bedroom that was much larger than my old one in Welton. It was next to the bathroom and down the hall from my uncle’s and aunt’s room. When he showed it to me for the first time my uncle told me that it was all mine, and I could put posters on the walls and store my toys and comic books wherever I wanted. If I wanted another book shelf or stand for my model airplanes, he would build me one, he told me. He even offered to paint the walls a different colour if I wanted. None of that was necessary though. My new room was perfect as it was.
Although I was their nephew and not their biological son, Uncle Wayne and Aunt Lisa never once made me feel like a surrogate, or acted like they were doing me a favour or that they resented having parenthood thrust upon them. They doted on me, and showered me with as much love as I imagined they would have any child that they had brought into this world. In fact, it sometimes seemed as though all the love they would have bestowed on the children they would never have was lavished on me.
About six months after I arrived, and had begun to grow accustomed to my new life and surroundings, my uncle got me a puppy — a black Lab that I named Steve, after Steve Austin. Having a companion helped me to feel less lonely, and I suppose that was how my aunt and uncle had hoped I would feel.
Something I learned when I was a few years older was that a judge had ordered that my parents’ house be sold, and all their assets be placed in a trust for me, which was to be handled by my grandmother. Once I turned twenty-one the money would be mine to do as I pleased, presumably for college. Until then, my grandmother could mete it out as she saw fit. This she did, giving some to my aunt and uncle occasionally to help with necessities like clothes, school supplies and gifts for me at Christmas and birthdays. One of the first things they bought me was a brand new red bike with a bell on the handlebars. This proved to be quite useful, since houses were so far apart and the nearest corner store that sold candy and pop was two miles down the road.
I guess I was more resilient than I realized because it wasn’t long before I adjusted to my new surroundings. Walker Valley became my home, and Uncle Wayne and Aunt Lisa, my parents. The ache I felt over the loss of my parents never fully went away though — even to this day. When I look at my children now sometimes I can see their grandparents’ faces in theirs and I find it bittersweet.
Exploring our house, especially the attic and basement, always fascinated me for some reason. I suppose I was naturally curious, and my uncle’s and aunt’s house seemed expansive to me compared to the small two-bedroom home I had spent my first ten years in. One day, years later, while searching through the basement, I chanced upon a Playboy magazine that my uncle must have hidden. It was tucked in a pile of old newspapers on a shelf beside the chest freezer. As I flipped through those glossy pages of naked women my whole world seemed to tilt a little and expand. I felt a little dizzy and my cock was as hard as an oak tree.
I quickly unzipped my jeans and slid my hand inside to rub my shaft. I wanted to run up to my bedroom with the magazine, but decided it was best that it remain where my uncle had put it. If he saw that it was missing, or my aunt discovered it under my mattress when she was cleaning my room, I would be in a lot of trouble.
For the longest time that copy of Playboy was my best friend. Every Friday night or Saturday my aunt and uncle would drive to Ashton, a town about ten miles way, to buy groceries, and some evenings they would go out to visit friends for a few hours.
As soon as my uncle’s blue Dodge truck had left the yard I would race down to the basement and take out that copy of Playboy. I must have shot a gallon of cum for all the times I stared at Miss July with that magazine spread out on top of the freezer. I was always careful to put it back in the approximate place amongst the stack of newspapers where I had first discovered it, but sometimes when I went for it I found it higher or lower in the pile than where I had left it. bursa escort bayan I would smile to myself, thinking that my uncle must have snuck down there for a discreet rendezvous with Miss July, like I routinely did.
Why Uncle Wayne would need or even want to look at the women in that magazine bewildered me. My Aunt Lisa was the prettiest, sexiest woman in all of Chilton County. I’m not just saying this because she’s my aunt and I love her (although I do). Nor do I mean to sound unkind to the other women in the area. But to me it was just a simple fact, like the sun rising and setting daily. I know I shouldn’t even say that about my aunt at all, or think about her in that way. But I did. A lot. My heart had experienced a renaissance because of Aunt Lisa. I felt no guilt about it then, and I still don’t.
It has always baffled me how a couple can make several children and have them all turn out so differently — both in appearance and personality. Genetics really must be like a roll of the dice. My Aunt Lisa was nothing like my mother, although she was her younger sister. Mom was rather tall, for a woman anyway, standing at close to five foot nine. She had curly sandy-blond hair and brown eyes (two features that I inherited from her). My aunt was more slender than her sister was and about five inches shorter. She had jet black hair, which she always kept at a length that brushed her shoulder blades. She also had brilliant blue eyes that sparkled brighter than any gem, especially when she laughed, or her mood grew playful and mischievous. Her eyes reminded me of those mood rings that everyone was wearing back then. Their intensity varied depending on how she felt, although she always seemed good-natured and happy.
Aunt Lisa was not tall and willowy like Miss July, and her breasts were not enhanced so they were the size of ripe pumpkins. But in my eyes she was perfect. Actually, I preferred her natural beauty to the bottle-blonds and silicone sirens featured in that copy of Playboy, whose pages I had thumbed through countless times. My aunt’s legs were slender and shapely from lots of walking and working in the yard, and her breasts were of a generous enough size for my taste. She could get out of bed in the morning and just run her hands through her hair and look lovely. She didn’t need to spend time primping to look pretty. She already was, and more.
Spring and summer were always my favourite months — not only because I had a reprieve from school, but mainly because my aunt got out her warm-weather clothes once again. That meant an end to her concealing her wonderful body beneath jeans and the loose, bulky pullovers that she wore during fall and winter. It also meant that I was in an almost constant state of arousal from being around her. I was always impatient for bedtime so I could jerk off in the privacy of my room.
It became second nature for me to steal sideways leers at my aunt’s nice ass and tanned legs as she bent over, working in her flower or vegetable garden. Often I would slyly peer down the front of whatever top or dress she was wearing too, so I could snatch a glance at her breasts. I would become almost mesmerized as I saw them quiver or sway a bit as she leaned over, digging at the soil or tugging at weeds. On a few very memorable occasions I was even fortunate enough to see a hard nipple standing out from her breathtaking mounds. They were thick, and lighter than her tanned skin. Those few seconds I was afforded to see them was always far too short for my prurient desire though. I hungered to see her naked, but had long convinced myself that yearning would forever be relegated to mere fantasy.
With my uncle working daily, sometimes almost until sunset during the summer, I spent almost all of my time with my aunt. I had friends that I had made at school, and I would pedal my bike the mile or two to their houses after school and on weekend afternoons, but the bulk of my time was spent at home. Looking back, I think my aunt and I filled voids in each others lives. She became the mother I needed, and I was the son she wanted.
Once I reached the age of eighteen I think I became the young man she turned to when my uncle was working all day, and she became my ideal of femininity. It was a different kind of void that we each had by that time, and a much different bond that we shared, but just as strong. That was what caused us to grow closer in a way that few would suspect, and even fewer would condone, during my eighteenth summer.
Uncle Wayne was always an early riser. Even on weekends he didn’t sleep in. He was a hard worker, ambitious, and always up before the sun. I really admire him for it. It wasn’t long before I grew to ignore the sound of the shower most mornings soon after my uncle woke up. But on that Tuesday morning during the second week of July when the sound of the streaming water woke me for some reason I remained awake. Steve was sleeping at the foot of the bed, curled up like escort bursa an ouroboros. I kind of envied him.
I grew eager to begin the day and spend as much of it as possible with my Aunt Lisa. But that was nothing new for me. Shortly after I heard Uncle Wayne leave the bathroom I heard the door close again, then the shower started up again. Probably my aunt, I thought. Knowing she was completely naked with just that wall separating us was vexing. My kingdom for x-ray vision!
After I heard the rumble of Uncle Wayne’s truck later as he left the yard I got up. I showered quickly, then got dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. I tried to appear relaxed as I joined my aunt in the kitchen so she wouldn’t realize how excited I felt, although she probably saw through my veneer years ago I admitted to myself. I was actually a little relieved when I saw that she was wearing navy shorts and a tan tank top — nothing especially revealing to torment me all day. But her tank top had a scooped neck, so if she bent over the view would be riveting.
I think my aunt had put on a little weight during the winter because she was a noticeably more buxom than the previous summer. Her thighs seemed a little more cushiony too. I liked the result, a lot. No way would my hands ever accommodate her firm breasts now, I thought to myself the times that I stole glances at them.
“Morning,” Aunt Lisa said. She looked up from her bowl of oatmeal with a warm smile as I entered the kitchen.
“Morning,” I replied. I made my way to the cupboard for some Rice Crispies. I filled a bowl with some, along with milk, then poured myself a glass of apple juice. I sat down at the opposite end of the table from her and sprinkled sugar over my cereal.
When she got up to bring her empty bowl and the pot on the stove to soak in the sink I followed her from the corner of my eye. She walked behind me to the fridge and refilled her glass of juice.
“Want some more?” she asked, holding up the juice container.
“Yes, please,” I said.
Aunt Lisa stood beside me, refilling my glass. When I felt her hip brush my arm I almost flinched. I could feel my cock react, rising inside my shorts. Once she sat back down I relaxed some and finished my cereal. I put my bowl in the sink and found her watching me when I turned around.
“Want to go out on the patio and finish our juice?” she asked. “It’s going to be a beautiful day.”
“Yeah. That sounds good,” I said.
On the patio were several wooden chairs and two tables that Uncle Wayne had built. There was also a bench that was his creation too. I sat down on it, so the morning sun would be at my back. My aunt joined me, sitting down to my left. She crossed her legs and took a sip of her juice. My eyes shifted, locking on her silky, tanned thighs.
“I love sitting out here in the mornings. It’s my favourite time of day,” she said.
“Yeah, it’s really nice out here,” I agreed.
“Oh… I’m going to do some laundry later,” she said. “Do you have anything that needs to be washed?”
“Yeah,” I said. “A few pairs of jeans and t-shirts.”
“Well, go gather them up in a while, and I’ll throw them in with the rest of the stuff,” she told me.
“Thanks.” I looked at her and smiled. She looked lovely, and her hair gleamed like polished obisidian with the morning sun shining on it. I didn’t realize how long I’d been admiring her until she turned her head towards me. Her eyes shone like sapphires as she gave me a curious smile.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said, noticing that I sounded defensive.
“I learned long ago that it’s never nothing when a young man looks at me like that,” she sardonically said.
I laughed, trying to lessen the tension I felt, then concluded that telling her the truth, or at least part of it, wasn’t so bad after all. “I was just looking at your hair,” I said. “And noticing how shiny it was.”
Aunt Lisa smiled, seeming pleased by my comment. “Thanks, I’ve been using a different conditioner lately, so maybe that’s it,” she said, then paused as a peculiar smile formed on her face. “But you’re the first guy in ages who’s noticed my hair. Lately when I go out they look at my tits.”
Before I could restrain myself, I let out a sharp burst of laughter at my aunt’s comment. Then I quickly clamped my mouth shut, giving her a rueful look. “Sorry,” I spat out. “You kind of shocked me with that comment.”
My aunt was now laughing at my reaction. Once she had caught her breath she smiled at me and shrugged. “Well, it’s true,” she said. “I never thought I’d still have teenagers looking at me when I was in my thirties. Especially after the weight I gained last winter.” Once she finished her eyes left mine and she frowned.
I watched as Aunt Lisa’s expression turned gloomy, and I struggled to find something to say to make her feel better. A lot of things came to mind — mostly that she was very pretty and looked even better with a few more pounds on her — but I worried that she would either dismiss what I said as insincere flattery, or consider it inappropriate for a nephew to say to his aunt. Before I could gather any words she interrupted my thoughts.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32