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Subject: i n c e s t story: "A Boy No Longer" 17277
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Date: Sat, 28 Apr 2007 14:03:52 +0000
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A Boy No Longer
Chapter 1
Marcus was a fine looking young lad of fourteen
when he came to live with me and my husband on our
farm several miles outside of town. He had lost
both his parents in a fire which destroyed their
home above the general store they had owned in
town. The loss was as hard on me as it had been on
Marcus, his mother was my sister.
We were all the family he had left. For that
matter, he was all the family we had left within a
thousand miles or so. The rest of our family still
lived back east. We had moved west five years
earlier to stake a claim on a piece of Mother
Earth and to become farmers. We were doing fairly
well by ourselves but Marcus moving in had been a
great help to my husband, Thomas.
He had been very withdrawn for a long time
afterwards, never having had much to say, always
off by himself. It was obvious he was lonesome and
still grieving over the loss of his family. He
also seemed to miss living in town where he had
had friends. Out here on the farm, there was only
us.
A week before Marcus' sixteenth birthday, we lost
Thomas after a long bout with pneumonia. You would
think that in this modern age of 1890 a doctor
could do more for a person with pneumonia. Poor
old Doc Howard had made the long horseback ride
out to our place several times to treat Thomas.
But there I was, at the ripe old age of
thirty-two, a widow. Marcus hadn't taken this
major life-changing event very well either.
I thank the good Lord that I had Marcus at that
point in my life or I would have probably lost the
farm too. He was a big strapping boy, with the
same muscular build his father had had. I had
always envied my sister for having a husband so
handsome and well built. Not that Thomas wasn't a
handsome and muscular man because he was, but
Marcus' father had muscles that rippled under his
dark skin when he moved. I knew it was wrong to
feel that way, but I couldn't help it.
Now that Marcus was doing most of the physical
work around the farm he was developing an even
larger build. His skin was deeply tanned from many
hours in the sun. When he came inside all sweaty
after a long day of labor, the hard muscles in his
arms and chest resembled large snakes moving under
his skin.
One especially hot evening about six months ago,
Marcus came in just before dark. I had supper
ready for him. After quickly washing up he headed
out of the kitchen toward his room.
"Where you going?" I asked.
"I'm just going to put a clean shirt," he replied.
"You don't need a shirt," I said, thinking to
myself how much I would enjoy eyeing his muscles
all through supper.
"I can't sit down at the table with no shirt on",
he stated.
"Why not? It's very warm in here tonight. Besides,
a hard-working man should be able to eat his
supper in comfort and shouldn't have to wear a
shirt at his own table if he doesn't want to," I
suggested.
"It is awfully hot. You sure you won't mind?" he
asked.
"Of course not," I answered. "Sit down and eat
before your supper gets cold."
We sat through the evening meal talking about how
things were going around the farm and such things
as that. But my mind was far too busy watching him
to pay too much attention to what he was saying.
By the time supper was over, I have to admit that
things had gotten a lot hotter for me and a lot
wetter. I was almost relieved to start cleaning up
from supper and get away from the vision and the
evil thoughts I was having about my young nephew.
While cleaning up the kitchen after supper I
heated water and poured it into the big steel tub
on the back porch for him to bath in. It took a
while to heat and carry enough water. Finally I
had enough water in the tub and pulled the door
shut as he started undressing to bath.
I had been quite horny and a bit sneaky over the
last few months and would turn the lantern in the
kitchen down low and peek out the window, watching
him bath. He had become an incredibly handsome
young man. I loved to watch him lather up and wash
his long blonde hair. With all that soap on his
head, I knew he had to keep his eyes closed
tightly and I didn't have to fear him catching me
gawking at him.
My favorite part of the whole process was after he
finished washing his hair, he would call for me to
bring another bucket of hot water to rinse the
soap out of his hair. He would cover himself with
the wash rag and I would slowly, very slowly, pour
the bucket of water over his head until the lather
was rinsed away. I always wished for the wash rag
to slip out of place; a few times it did, but I
always acted like I hadn't noticed. I spent many
wonderful evenings with my face pressed against
that kitchen window and my hand under my skirts
and inside my undergarments. Every time he would
stand up in the tub and started drying, I would
start getting wetter between my thighs. By the
time he had finished dressing, I was always
sitting in the front room with a book open like I
had been reading the whole time he had been
bathing.
On several occasions while I was bathing I had
thought I'd caught him out the corner of my eye
peeking at me through the same window. I was never
able to get a good enough look to see if he was or
not. But if he was, I'm sure he got an eyeful, I
made sure of that. I was going on
thirty-five-years old but my body was still in
good shape and us Irish gals are noted for having
beautiful red hair. I mean, it wasn't like he was
sneaking a peek at some old hag, if he really was
peeking at all. But it was a nice fantasy for me
even if he wasn't.
For his eighteenth birthday, I had managed to save
a little money to give him to go to town with. I
figured an eighteen-year-old young man had things
he would like to do in town. I had talked with him
about drinking too much and how the salon girls
would try to come on to him. I didn't want him
going to town and getting taken but the first
floozy who flapped her skirts in his direction.
Early that afternoon I prepared his bath; he
needed to get an early start, it was a two-hour
ride to town. He would stay with one of his
friends and come home the next afternoon.
I took my usual station at the window after he had
gotten into the tub. I was ready with the bucket
of water to rinse his hair when he called for it,
even though I wasn't quite ready to leave my
window yet.
As I slowly poured it over his head he started
trying to talk to me. "Aunt Millie, I really don't
like the idea of leaving you alone out here for
two days and a night," he said.
I tossed a towel over his head and he started
drying his hair. "I appreciate that," I replied,
watching him rub the towel roughly over his head.
"Is that how you dry your hair, boy?" I asked,
taking the towel from his hands. "No wonder your
hair is still wet for so long after a bath. Here,
let me show you how to dry it right."
I worked the towel briskly through his hair,
carefully making sure to work it through of all
his hair. "See, you gotta work the towel through
your hair, not just over it," I said.
"That feels great. I shoulda got you to do that a
long time ago," he smiled up at me. "Maybe you
better show me how to do it one more time, I'm a
slow learner."
Now I took my time and even worked my way down to
dry his ears and neck. I could feel the tension in
his neck muscles. I gently worked my finger over
his large neck. "How's that feel?"
"Great," he answered.
I kept massaging away, slowly working my way over
his powerful shoulders and down his broad back a
little.
"Oh, that feels wonderful," he moaned, leaning
slightly forward so I could go farther down his
back. At least, I was hoping that was why he
leaned forward.
"Does that feel better?" I asked softly.
"That feels good enough to make a fella almost
forget about goin' to town," he replied.
I stepped to the side of the tub, wishing he
really meant that, but I knew he was just trying
to please me. I looked him in the eye. "A young
man needs to go to town now and then to sew a few
wild oats, it's nature's way," I said. "Whew, it's
getting hot out here," I said, fanning the top of
my blouse. "All that steam from your bath is
getting to me I think." I undid the two top
buttons of my blouse. I was curious what effect
this might have on him.
"I know you'll be fine, but still I'm not so sure
I like the idea of leaving you alone for so long,"
he said.
I knelt beside the tub, took his hand, and leaned
forward over the edge of the tub. I could feel his
eyes boring deep into my cleavage. He tried to
avert his eyes so I wouldn't see him staring, but
he couldn't. "I'll be fine while you're away.
Maybe a bit lonely, but I'll be fine. There's
things a man's gotta do, especially on his
eighteenth birthday."
I watched his face turn three shades of red. His
eyes were still trying to sneak a peek down my
blouse. "Well, yeah, but you shouldn't talk about
something like that. It's a little embarrassing
you know," he stammered.
"Why is it embarrassing? It's human nature," I
replied.
"Yeah, but it ain't the sorta of thing a fella
talks to his aunt about," he said shyly.
"You don't have any men around here to talk to, so
you're stuck with me. And I don't mind discussing
these important matters with you," I said, trying
to ease his embarrassment. "There's a lot of
things a young man needs to know about life."
"I know, but gosh, Aunt Millie, I never figured
you'd be the one to explain them to me," he said
sheepishly.
"Well, I guess it's my place to tell you that
stuff now that your father and uncle are gone," I
replied. "And you're eighteen now, how about
dropping the aunt part of my name? You're making
me feel like an old maid aunt."
"I'm sorry, Aunt Millie, I mean Millie, I didn't
mean to make you feel old. You're still a
beautiful woman," he apologized.
"Why thank you, kind Sir, I appreciate the
compliment. A woman my age needs that once in a
while, just like a young man needs certain things
once in a while," I said with a coy grin.
"Honest, you are a beautiful lady. I wasn't just
trying to make you feel good," he said looking a
bit embarrassed again. "Any man would you be proud
to be seen with you and pleased to be with you."
"Marcus, now you're beginning to embarrass me," I
grinned. "And just what do you mean by, 'pleased
to be with me'? Be with me how?"
"I'm sorry, Aunt Millie, I didn't mean it that
way," he tried to retract his statement. "I mean
you're a nice lady to be with." He kept getting
himself in deeper and I wasn't about to let up on
him now.
"I know what you meant. And I'm honored that a
handsome young fella like yourself would feel that
way about me," I smiled. "I noticed you looking
down my blouse a while ago."
He face turned crimson. "I didn't mean to, but I
couldn't help it. Please forgive my rudeness," he
begged.
"I didn't mind. It even excited me a little. It's
been a long time since a man looked at my breasts
that way," I said, undoing another button for his
benefit. "You've probably never seen a woman's
breasts before have you?"
"Ah no, Ma'am, I ah, haven't," he stumbled, his
eyes widened as he stared farther down my blouse.
"Have you ever wanted to?" I asked in a soft,
gentle, yet teasing voice.
He couldn't answer; he just sat there, stared with
his mouth open as I undid another button, than
another. I thought his jaw was going to drop into
the water when I pulled my blouse back over my
shoulders, slipped it off my arms, and let it
tumble to the porch. I noticed the wash rag over
his lap was sticking up into the air a bit now
too.
"Looks like you have a pretty big problem there,"
I smiled, leaning forward to give him a better
view of my cleavage.
He tried to conceal his growing member from my
sight. I pulled his hands away. "That's all right,
that's what's supposed to happen when you see a
lady undressing for you," I said.
"I know, but I've never, I mean, I've… Oh God, I
don't know what I mean," he apologized again.
"Well, I know what you mean even if you don't," I
smiled into his bright-blue eyes as I slowly
lifted the wash rag from his lap revealing his
swollen manhood. He gasped as I gently wrapped my
hand around it. "How does that feel?" I purred.
"Oh my God!" was all he said as I felt him growing
harder.
"Does this feel good?" I whispered, slowly
stroking his now throbbing shaft. I could sense
his embarrassment, but I could also sense he
didn't want me to stop.
His head leaned back, his eyes closed, and groan
came from deep within him. I squeezed his shaft
tight and stroked faster. It didn't take long for
his body to go completely rigid, and a deep
guttural growl to escape his lungs.
"Oh God!" he groaned, his body quivered and shook.
Then it happened, he erupted in my hand.
His juice shot high up over his chest and stomach.
I kept stroking him and it kept coming, some
landed on my chest and slowly trickled down
between my excited breasts. Some of it shot into
my face, landing on my lips, which I quickly
licked clean and wished for more. As I felt the
pulsing of his still hard shaft slowly subside, I
slowed but continued to gently stroke him. I
didn't stop until I had felt the very last tiny
pulsation.
I knelt there for a while still gently rubbing him
as he slowly began to shrink in my hand. I watched
the last thick droplets of his delicious cum
lightly spurt from him and glide down over the
glistening swollen head of his penis and onto my
fingers that were still wrapped around him.
When I felt his body start to relax I leaned over
him and licked the remaining cum from his spent
member. It was delicious. I sucked him deep into
my mouth and gently milked him for every last drop
of the precious fluid I could coax from him.
I finally released him as his body wilted into the
tub. He lookup up into my eyes with a warm glow I
had never seen in him before. A sweet smile
covered his face as he watched me lick the last of
his cum from my fingers.
I slowly stood up, smiling down at him. "You
better hurry if you're going to make it to town
before dark."
"I don't think I'll be goin' anywhere tonight," he
mumbled, a huge smile crossed his handsome face,
"except maybe to bed."
"And just whose bed are you going to be sleeping
in tonight?" I cooed, leaving the porch before he
could come up with an answer.
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