Most families have their traditions, and in that regard my family wasn’t any different than most. For us, the tradition used to be to go to my grandmother’s for the feast, but she passed on when I was pretty young.
After that, the affair was held at my house one year, I think when I was 10, but our house was too small for the dozen or so people who showed up every year so I guess it was decided that we would go to my mother’s sister’s house for Thanksgiving.
This I liked a lot because not only was Aunt Kathy’s house a lot bigger with a big yard that I could play around in, but it also meant because it was an over 100 mile trip we would stay overnight.
The other thing that was great about Aunt Kathy’s house was Aunt Kathy, and as I became a teenager and discovered that there were more thrilling people than Fran Tarkenton and more interesting things to do than throwing a ball up onto a roof and catching it when it fell, Aunt Kathy became the focal point of the trip.
Aunt Kathy was gorgeous, and now looking back when I see the pictures of her back then I realize that my vision may have been a bit clouded by love and teenage lust at the time, but nothing could ever change the fact that I thought she was beautiful.
Back in 1974 I guess that she must have been close to 50 since she was my Mom’s older sister, but she didn’t look it. My Mom looked older, and maybe that was because she had kids and my Aunt Kathy hadn’t, and they couldn’t have looked more different physically.
My Mom, bless her, was a short chubby woman who had a pleasant looking face, and while in her youth pictures showed her to be an attractive woman, middle age had not been her friend.
Aunt Kathy, on the other hand, was like a model to my eyes. Like Twiggy, she was tall and lean, almost painfully thin. Considering what a great cook she was, I couldn’t believe she could stay so thin. Then again, maybe her husband grabbed all the food before she could get at it.
Her husband, my Uncle Art – well, they say that if you can’t say anything nice about somebody you shouldn’t say anything at all, but that wouldn’t be fair. Uncle Art was a fat slob whose main talent was an ability to fart very loud, and smoked the raunchiest cigars on the planet.
I couldn’t stand him, and part of it was because he would invariably greet me with a loud, “How the hell are you Kenny me boy?” while rubbing his hand in my hair and messing it up. I hated that when I was 8, and the clown was still doing it when I was 18!
Truth be told, the main reason I didn’t like him was because he was married to my dream girl, and now that I was older that meant I knew he was climbing all over that goddess, snorting and sweating like a pig while grinding his lumpy hairy body into Aunt Kathy.
Then again, maybe he didn’t do it that much because they didn’t have kids. Hell, even my parents did it twice because that was something that my older sister and I can attest to by our very existence.
So as I got older I became more of a gentlemen around Aunt Kathy, even helping her clean up the kitchen long after everybody else had gone into the living room to watch football and listen to Uncle Art fart. I think that probably ticked my Mom off since I wasn’t much help around the kitchen back home, but she also liked not having to do much at Aunt Kathy’s so she kept quiet and let me work.
I had thought that maybe I had become Aunt Kathy’s favorite as well over the years, because as I got older our conversation turned to more adult things. Nothing graphic mind you, but she would ask about whether I had a girlfriend or not, and sometimes I did.
It struck me that when I would tell Aunt Kathy about them, they all had something in common. They all resembled Aunt Kathy. I found myself being attracted to the tall, slender tomboy types right from the start, and as far as breasts were concerned to me anything more that a handful was a waste.
That fit Aunt Kathy to a T, because it was obvious Aunt Kathy had small breasts just by looking at her, and the way she dressed made it seem like she tried to hide what she perceived as shortcomings by never wearing blouses or dresses with low necklines or even sleeveless tops which deprived me of any opportunities to even peek through the arm hole.
That was a shame too because Aunt Kathy had beautiful arms. Pale white and smooth except for a little down on her forearms and so slender that even at her bicep I could circle them with my thumb and index finger,which I did a few times. Aunt Kathy would giggle at that and pretend to make a muscle. She would laugh and I would get hard.
So it was that Thanksgiving Day 1974 found me out in the kitchen with Aunt Kathy, and while everybody else was on the other side of the swinging door yelling at the Lions and Bears or whomever was playing, we were out there staring at mountains of half filled pots and pans and more dishes than 11 people could have possibly used.
Aunt Kathy had seemed a bit off to me this Thanksgiving, although I don’t think anybody else noticed it escort kartal besides me. She wasn’t melancholy or anything, but just seemed a little different when I would look at her when she wasn’t aware of me being there.
“It’s not going to get done by itself,” Aunt Kathy announced, and took off her sweater. The blouse she had on was daring for her, since it showed part of her collarbone, and while it had short sleeves they were very short and showed almost all of her lovely shapely arms.
In recent years Aunt Kathy had been letting me have a glass of wine with her while we worked, and this year was no exception. She poured it and we clinked glasses together once again, with Aunt Kathy adding as always that I wasn’t to tell her sister that she was corrupting me.
“I’m 18,” I reminded Aunt Kathy, who seemed to have forgotten.
“Oh gee,” she said, “I thought I was the only one getting old.”
“I’m a man now,” I explained.
“Still my little guy though,” Aunt Kathy said, and as she often did lifted her hand up to the top of my head. “Still got an inch or so on you though.”
It was true that while I was about 5″10″, at almost 6′ she was a bit taller than I was, and while if anybody else did that to me I would have cringed. Aunt Kathy was different and I relished any contact with her, no matter how innocent.
In that brief moment my eyes were on Aunt Kathy’s arm, and as I watched her little sleeve on her blouse ride up a bit, I was treated to about the most unexpected sight imaginable. Hair. Not a lot to be sure, but there right in the middle of that pale deep hollow of her armpit was a little spray of golden hair.
I guess the expression on my face revealed the shock I had felt about discovering that my model-like Aunt was a bit bohemian, but she had no idea why I was standing there with my jaw hanging down until I told her.
“When did you become a hippie, Aunt Kathy?” I asked, and it was then that she realized what had been exposed with her measuring me like that, and she jerked her arm down quickly as her face turned red.
“I’m sorry,” I said when I saw she was embarrassed, even though back in the seventies it wasn’t nearly as uncommon and out of the ordinary as it would be today.
A whole bunch of girls didn’t shave in our school, and even one of my ex-girlfriends didn’t shave her underarms. I didn’t care, even when she would kid her about having more hair under her arms than I did. I thought it looked nice on some girls, and Aunt Kathy was one of those, especially since her hair was so fine and light and there wasn’t much of it that remained very feminine looking.
“Actually, I think it looks sexy,” I told her as I came to her side at the counter, although anything she did would have accomplished that as well. “Not that you weren’t sexy already.”
“Easy on the wine Kenny,” Aunt Kathy said as she scraped the burnt remains of a pan into the garbage, as shocked at hearing that as I was that I had said it. “It’s affecting your vision. Besides, it isn’t my idea.”
“Uncle Art?” I asked, and after Aunt Kathy nodded I made a reluctant admission to his taste in that regard after reassuring her that I thought it indeed looked sexy while saying, “Well, maybe he’s not a complete fool after all.”
I apologized after saying that but Aunt Kathy shrugged it off while commenting, “I knew you weren’t a big fan of his.”
“Is it that obvious?” I asked.
“To me? Sure, but not to him,” Aunt Kathy said, getting a bit emotional all of a sudden as she gestured toward the bellowing buffoon in the other room. “He thinks everybody in the world loves him, not only that waitress down at Benny’s he’s been screwing for the last couple of years.”
“What? Art is cheating on you?”
“Is. Was. Probably always will,” Aunt Kathy said. “Somehow he finds women that think he’s irresistible. I would think they’re pathetic but then look at me. I was them. I loved him once too, long ago.
“You don’t any more, do you?” I opined, taking a stab at minding my aunt’s business.
“Guess both of us better try harder to hide what we feel,” she finally said, looking at me with those big brown eyes that were dewy like Ingrid Bergman’s in Casablanca.
“I don’t like him because he’s got what I want,” I blurted out while keeping an eye on the door. “How could a jerk like him end up with a woman like you? You have no idea how much I want you and fantasize about you. I love you so much it hurts.”
“Is that the wine talking?” she asked, and when I shook my head she added, “You’re about 30 years too late. Too bad because – who knows – I don’t think I could have done much worse.”
“Then why not leave him?” I whispered. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to be with me, but there’s plenty of guys who must think you’re just as beautiful as I do.”
“Because we’re a habit, Art and me.”
“Habits can be broken,” I suggested.
“Look, Kenny,” Aunt Kathy said. “I know you see me differently, and I’m surprised no one else has noticed. I could tell a couple maltepe escort years ago that things were different between us and that you were growing up. I’m flattered beyond words to think that somebody would still find me attractive, and to be honest I did not discourage it. Just the opposite.”
“That was why when you noticed my little attempt to make me more desirable to my husband I was embarrassed because I didn’t think you would find it – well – like you do,” Aunt Kathy confessed, referring to me peeking down her sleeve before, and she blushed again before admitting. “Even though I think I’m more like the set of a movie, where you peek behind the facade and discover the truth behind the image, I do always try to look my best when you come around.”
“You don’t have to try. You always look incredible to me,” I told her.
“I believe you,” Aunt Kathy said softly as our work was grinding to a crawl. “Don’t know why but I know it. Don’t you think I’ve seen you looking at me? Don’t you think I’ve seen that bulge in your pants? Do you know how that makes me feel – and don’t say disgusted because you couldn’t be more wrong. When you’re around I feel different. When you look at me I imagine you’re mentally undressing me.”
“I do,” I confessed. “All the time.”
“And when you do I feel like I’m young again. I feel like I’m actually beautiful, instead of the tired flat-chested middle-aged broad I am under the clothes.”
“Don’t say that,” I said, and I was going to kiss her there and then but I heard lumbering footsteps approaching the door and spun away from her.
“Still looks like a mess out here!” bellowed the last person in the world I wanted to see just then, and if he ruffled my hair when he passed by I swear I would have decked him.
“Well eat something,” Aunt Kathy said. “Send everybody out here so we have less to put away.”
“I’ll do that!” Uncle Art said, and I cringed when I saw his paws grab those delicate shoulders so he could slobber on her neck from behind.
It was probably a good thing that people started coming in because the air in that kitchen was crackling. Hearing Aunt Kathy say those things had driven me into a heat that only a teenager with raging testosterone can understand, so the presence of others helped cool my jets for the moment.
But then we were alone again.
“Almost done,” Aunt Kathy declared as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way she was teasing me with her little motions designed to get my attention.
After everybody had gotten leftovers and gone back to The Wizard of Oz or whatever was on, our conversation had cooled but other things hadn’t. As we moved around each other in the kitchen, wrapping things and putting stuff away, we made incidental contact. The incidental contact soon became more personal as we went along and the wine kept flowing, and it wasn’t just me.
“Geez,” Aunt Kathy had gasped after coming up behind me while I was scrubbing a pot, and as her hand reached around and grabbed the bulge that snaked over toward my hip, she said. “Damn – haven’t grabbed one that couldn’t all fit in my hand since I was your age.”
If her hand had slid up and down the bulge a couple more times I would have cum right there, but fortunately she backed away while giggling, saying that she couldn’t believe she had just done that and that she was off the wine for the rest of the night.
For my part I also took advantage of my Aunt Kathy when she was defenseless as well. As she reached up to put a colander up in the pantry I crept up on her and slid my hands under her arms, raking my fingers through the tiny wisps of hair, and when she shivered I asked her if she was ticklish.
“No,” she shuddered. “Just sensitive.”
At that point I let my hands slide over to cup her breasts. Aunt Kathy’s arms came down to block me, too late as it turned out, and I could sense her embarrassment as she said, “Told you. Now you know my little secret.”
“I don’t care,” I said as my hands kneaded what was mostly padding. “I already knew. Checked the clothes hamper many times.”
I had known Aunt Kathy had worn padded bras, back then they called them training bras I think, and I had often examined those quilted bra cups while dreaming about the little morsels that had rested in them.
“And they’re fantastic,” I whispered as I ground my bulge into her backside after finding the treasures lost in the fabric. “Want to see them.”
“Please honey,” Aunt Kathy said before slipping out of my grasp. “Let’s calm down.”
“I want you,” I begged.
“We can’t,” Aunt Kathy said as she looked back and saw me standing there with a big stain on my pants that wasn’t caused by washing dishes but the result of my cock drooling. “I would – the way I’m feeling I swear I would – but we can’t.”
She was right, of course, because with a house full of people staying over there was no place to go. I wouldn’t even be able to jerk off in privacy because I slept downstairs pendik escort bayan in the den that was only partly finished, rooming with some cousins that always stayed over.
But that didn’t help any. I had thought that I wanted Aunt Kathy before, but that was when she was the unattainable object of my fantasies. Now, after sharing our thoughts and playing around like we were both teenagers, it actually seemed possible. So close yet so far.
Then it happened.
Eventually we all ended up in the living room watching the boob tube, and at some point my cousin’s family started to get their stuff together.
“Helen couldn’t get tomorrow off,” a cousin explained, and although Uncle Art knew about this he had never bothered to tell his wife, and that was obvious by the expression on her face upon learning there would be fewer relatives staying overnight.
11 had become 7. Uncle Art and my dream girl in their bedroom, my mother and father in another bedroom, and Uncle Art’s brother and his wife in the guest room. Number 7 was me, and instead of being stuck with four others downstairs on a cot, I was going to be all alone.
That look on Aunt Kathy’s face – what was it? Was it dread? Had she just been playing around with me? Knowing that the unthinkable was impossible, had she just been flirting and teasing? Did she think that I was kidding around too?
The cousins left, and then we all watched television for a while. We would all wander out to the kitchen from time to time, grabbing a handful of peanuts or a drink, and one time I went back after Aunt Kathy had been out there for a while.
After I pushed the door and entered the kitchen I saw Aunt Kathy staring at a little cross that had been on the wall forever but I had never really noticed until now, with none of us being all that religious. Aunt Kathy’s lips were moving as I approached, and when she saw me she walked past me, but not before she said four of the sweetest words I had ever heard.
“I’m coming downstairs later.”
For the next hour I tried to find out whether I had telepathic powers because I just sat there and tried to will everybody to get sleepy like they seemed to do when turkey was involved. Finally, Uncle Art lifted a cheek and with that blast of methane unofficially declared the night over.
“You can sleep on the couch if you want, Kenny me boy,” Uncle Art suggested. “No sense going down in the family room all by yourself – and I swear I’ll have that room finished up down there by next Thanksgiving.”
I passed on that suggestion by explaining that my stuff was already down there, and after exchanging glances with Aunt Kathy said my good nights and headed downstairs to wait. And wait. And wait.
I had the mood lighting on downstairs, which meant I had thrown my shirt over the lamp in the corner, and having stripped down to my underwear, looked at the bulge in my briefs and rearranged it before I sat on the edge of my cot.
The army cot that was my bed was not going to be used. Instead, the mattress that my cousins used would have to do. I guess it was a mattress that used to be on a bed upstairs and was dragged out of the garage once a year and put on the floor to serve as emergency bedding.
It was musty but was made up, obviously dragged out of the garage by my poor Aunt Kathy who hadn’t been informed of the cousins change in plans. I would be happy to put it away tomorrow before we went back home, but I hoped that it would be after getting used.
From upstairs I heard the squeaking of floorboards, which meant that there was a 1 in 6 chance that it was Aunt Kathy. Unlike the loud plodding that I had heard about 20 minutes earlier these footsteps were quieter, almost like a cat walking across the floor, but Art and Kathy had no pets.
A slight squeaking of a door, and then the stairs light went on, followed by the sounds of slippers on steps and my cock threatened to tear through my briefs while I stood up from the cot.
And there she was. I wanted to cry because she was the most beautiful sight imaginable. The stairs light behind her made her blonde hair shine like a model, and then when she saw me we stood there staring at each other for a moment before she clicked the stairs light off and stepped out of her slippers.
The bathrobe she was wearing fell off her shoulders, revealing a plain white sleeveless nightie underneath that was plain and utilitarian, but on Aunt Kathy it looked amazing. I could almost see right through it; her nipples pushing on the front and the shadow of a golden triangle down below, but only for a second because as she stood there biting her lower lip she shrugged first one shoulder strap off and then the other.
The nightie slid right down her rail thin body, and then she was naked. She looked so scared and insecure but was also so brave, baring herself completely even though she had such a negative self-image. I had quite a different opinion, and that was only strengthened by seeing Aunt Kathy naked.
Androgynous might be a way to describe her, because that sleek torso had few curves. Her breasts were but mere swells on her chest, consisting mostly of aureole and nipple, and when she saw me staring at them she brought her hands up slowly, as if to shield those gorgeous buds from my view.