Foreword:    When I wrote "Rubber Dicky, I Love You", I got a
lot of mail about it, mostly positive, and several people, like a
fellow I'll just call Pat, who happens to be in a wheel chair,
asked if I could do a companion piece to this one, where a boy
got to have the fun, instead of a girl.  Pat suggested breasts
might be compared, in some way.  I thought about it for a while,
and wrote this.   Just in case you think I'm going soft, I didn't
write this for Pat because he's in a wheel chair, or because he
lives in Australia, which is where I'd live if I didn't live
where I do.  I wrote it because it was his idea, and it turned
out to be a good one.  At least I think so.  You, of course, will
have to be the judge of that.


============================

Chapter One

I have no idea how this happened to me, and I don't know what to
do.

OK, I know how it happened, on a cerebral level ... I just can't
quite BELIEVE it happened.   I mean, how many
almost-seventeen-year-old guys have seven women ... on tap, so to
speak?   Oh, sure, I know all almost-seventeen-year-old guys
DREAM of getting to feel, and rub, and suck on six women’s tits,
not to mention ...

I'm getting ahead of the story, though.   I'll just tell you what
happened, when I was almost seventeen, and since then.  Then
maybe you'll understand why I'm so wigged out about all this, as
my grandmother would say.  My grandmother has a lot to do with
this story, but then ... well ... you'll see.

I'm Pat, Pat Turner, and I'm a certified Mensa type genius.  It
all started when I got into the gifted program in High School,
and got to go off campus to the local State University, where I
was allowed to take a class.  I did that during the summer,
between my Junior and Senior years.   I had always thought about
being a doctor, so the class I chose to take was Biology, 101.

Well, actually, I suppose it started long before that. 
Technically, I suppose it started when I got caught staring at my
mother's breasts.

My mother is Lonnie Turner.  She and Dad got divorced when I was
about seven.  It was messy, and I don't see a lot of him.  That
has made it hard, because I'm the only male in the family, and
I'm surrounded by women.  There are my two sisters, Randi and
Tabitha, or Tabby, as I like to call her, and then there are my
two aunts, Aunt Vanessa and Aunt Christy.  And, of course, my
Grandmother is around a lot, since she only lives a few blocks
away.  She's Grandma Mona, and her last name is Turner too,
because she got divorced, like my mother.  I never even met my
grandfather.

Divorce seems to be the family curse.  Aunt Vanessa is divorced
too, and my sister, Randi, was going to get married, but she and
her boyfriend broke up a month before the wedding.  She always
said she was the generation to get it right - to kick the bastard
out BEFORE they got hitched.  She laughed, whenever she said
that, but her eyes weren't laughing.  The other big joke was to
call Aunt Christy the "black sheep" of the family, because she
was happily married.  Her last name is Mulligan.  She didn't mind
being the black sheep in the family.  She said they have a lot of
sheep in Ireland.

Anyway, my mom and her sisters are very close, so they're always
around, at least on a lot of evenings, and on quite a few
weekends.  Being the only male among six women is one of those
good news, bad news kinds of deals.  The good news is that, in
this case, I was surrounded by good looking women.  The bad news
was they were all independent, and all of them except Tabby, who
was only fifteen, and Aunt Christy, who was married, had a lot of
mistrust for the males of the species.

I can't tell you how many times I heard "Stop acting like a MAN!"
  That usually happened when I was trying to get my own way about
something.  Of course, the other thing I heard, pretty often, was
"You're almost a man now ... ACT like one!"

You can see how frustrating life can be in this situation.

I said all these women were good looking.  I'll probably get in
trouble if they ever read this.  Actually, I'll have to run for
my life if they ever read this, but I changed the names and all
that stuff, so maybe not.   Anyway, my mom is thirty-seven. 
She's about average height and built like a brick shithouse. 
They all are, really.  Even Tabby, at fifteen, was well on her
way to being curvy.  Most of them, except for Tabby and Aunt
Vanessa, have about the same shade of brown hair, though they all
wear it in different styles.  Tabby and Aunt Vanessa are blond. 
Me too, for that matter.   Aunt Vanessa is thirty-four, and Aunt
Christy is twenty-eight.  Randi is nineteen, and goes to Wickham
State University full time.  Since I'm already in trouble for
telling their ages, at least my mom and aunts, I may as well tell
you Grandma Mona is fifty-four.  She had my mother when she was
really young, like seventeen, but then they did that in those
days, so I suppose it's no big deal.   She says Aunt Christy is
her "marvelous little accident", because she only meant to have
two kids.  I think that had something to do with her divorce, but
I'm not sure.   Anyway, she also says that's why only Aunt
Christy has stayed married.   That didn't make any sense to me,
until I also found out that my grandfather, who I never met,
wasn't Aunt Christy's father.  I wasn't supposed to find that
out.  More on that later.

I know this is sounding a little disjointed, but I have to tell
you lots of things, to help you understand what happened, and I
think of something else I need to say about every twenty seconds,
so be patient.  It'll all make sense in a little while.   The
other problem is that, despite me being a genius and all, there
were all these things I didn't know about.  Things happened
because I didn't know about them, so this narrative will be
sprinkled with that too.   My English Lit teacher says I write
really well, and she's one of the best teachers I have, so at
least take her word for it, and read on for a while.  I promise,
it will all make sense, eventually.

So, my mom, my grandma, Aunt Vanessa, and my older sister all
think men were put on the Earth to make their lives difficult. 
And I'm a man, at least sometimes ... according to them.   You
see how this is going.     Aunt Christy is only a little more
than ten years older than me, and she doesn't hate men.  Tabby,
at fifteen, just thinks I'm stupid, but I don't think that has
anything to do with being male.   I'm just her brother, so I got
awarded natural stupidity.

There's one other person you need to know about.  He's my Uncle
Danny, who is married to Aunt Christy.  He's the same age as her,
and he's Irish, with flaming red hair.   The Irish have a
reputation for their anger and wild emotional side, but he wasn't
like that very often.   Not only that, he's the only man in the
entire world, as far as I can figure, who is immune to the slings
and arrows all the man-haters in my life throw around with great
regularity.  He ignores them, for the most part, but he's also a
really nice guy, who can talk about anything, and do that while
he repairs almost anything.   He spends a lot of time at our
house, fixing this and that.  I'm not allowed to fix things, even
though I'm technically a genius.  I'm more "man" than I am
genius, apparently.

They take out their frustrations on Danny.  I'll give you an
example.

One Friday night, the whole crowd was at our house.  We have a
home theater setup (which Danny installed, of course) and
everybody had brought a DVD over.   Then they sat around and
decided what to watch.  None of the man-haters go out on dates,
and Tabby isn't allowed to date until she's thirty.  That's
according to my mother, who has never smiled once when she said
that.

So, there we all were, gathered in the family room to watch a
movie.  Just because they hate men doesn't mean they all look
butch.  No way.  They love feminine things, including
lounge-wear.

Like most adults, they had things bass ackwards.

When I was younger, and didn't notice women all that much, the
lounge-wear was conservative.  It covered everything.  At least
that's how I remember it.  As I got older, and began to get very
interested in women ... at least women outside my own family ...
who might actually be normal ... they started wearing things
around that can only be described as advertising their sexuality.
 You know the stuff I'm talking about.  Skimpy stuff.  Stuff you
can almost, but not quite, see through.  Stuff that emphasizes
all the female parts.   THAT kind of stuff.

There are some kind of mystical rules about this, that men aren't
allowed to be privy to.   For instance, Tabby was wearing a T
shirt one time that plainly advertised her nipples.  She also had
on a pair of  panties, which was quite usual.  Aunt Christy and
Uncle Danny were coming over, and  Mom made her change panties. 
The reason she had to change her panties, according to our
mother, was that one could see through them.   So Tabby put on
another pair of bikini panties, which you couldn't see through,
but that CLEARLY showed her camel toe.  THAT was fine.   No
see-through underwear allowed, but if you want to show Uncle
Danny the SHAPE of your pussy ... that's just peachy.

Her pussy was kind of peachy, come to think of it.

Never mind.

Anyway, on the night I'm giving you the example of, everybody
except Grandma and Aunt Christy were dressed like that.  Uncle
Danny sat down, reached for a throw pillow, plopped it in his
lap, and said "Christy, why do you keep bringing me over here. 
You know what these women do to me."

There were giggles.

Aunt Christy leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"You're much more fun when you've been around them like this,"
she said, licking his ear.

"I feel like one of Pavlov's dogs," said Uncle Danny.  "I get
here and BAM! - the reaction sets in."

He was like that.  They were obvious about teasing him with their
bodies, and he was obvious about noticing it.  Except that he was
a complete gentleman about it.   He never made it obvious he was
leering at anybody, and he carried on conversations like he
wasn't hard as a rock.  They all knew he was hard as a rock, but
he was special, and it was OK for him to be that way.

"Speaking of reactions," said Aunt Vanessa, "When is it EVER
going to be my turn to borrow Danny?"

All the man-haters asked to borrow him, from time to time, even
Grandma, and everybody always laughed.  Aunt Christy always
promised to set up a schedule for them, or said she was still
working on the schedule she'd started, but that it wasn't ready
yet, so they'd just have to be patient.  The poor guy sat there
with a boner almost every time he came over, but of course, he
knew it was all just fun and games.   He was the only man around,
which meant all the women played this game of claiming a little
bit of him, even if it was only to be noticed, or appreciated as
good looking, or whatever.   It was about as dysfunctional a
situation as you could imagine, but it seemed to work for
everybody.  I don't know.  Maybe Danny just liked to have a boner
all the time.

The problem was, that they didn't pay any attention to me.

It's not that I wanted to lust after them or anything.   But they
WERE good looking, and there WAS a lot of flesh exposed, and it
DID affect me.  Of course I was just "Pat", and nobody expected
me to react like Danny did.   And, of course, I couldn't react to
it in any of the ways Danny could.  I'm telling you, it was
torture.

Which brings me to the day I mentioned earlier, possibly the day
it all started.

It was breakfast, and it was Saturday.  I was sitting at the
kitchen table, minding my own business, eating cereal, when Randi
walked in, in what seemed like the official dress around our
house - T shirt and panties.  My mother was wearing the same
thing, though her T shirt actually went to her hips, instead of
exposing a pierced belly button, like Randi's did.   She was
fixing toast when Tabby came in, also in a T shirt and panties.
None of them were wearing a bra.

So I stared.   Any guy would, right?   I like breasts.  I never
met one I didn't like.   Well, actually, I hadn't ever gotten to
really meet one, but you know what I mean.

I think I might have been daydreaming a little, because my
mother's voice surprised me.

"Pat, don't stare at my breasts," she said.  "It isn't polite."

I realized that was, in fact, where I was staring.   There were
two other women in the room, each with a set of breasts.  My eyes
slid to Randi.

"And don't stare at your sister's breasts either," scolded my
mother.  "What's wrong with you anyway?"

As I said, according to IQ tests I've taken, I'm a certified
genius.  My response was quite natural, from that perspective.

"Mom," I said calmly.  "I'm a seventeen year old boy."

"No you're not," said Tabby, sounding triumphant somehow.  "You
won't be seventeen for another month."

I stared at HER breasts for a few seconds.   She actually
blushed.

"It's rude, Pat," said my mother.  "No matter how old you are."

I may have been a certified genius, but I was still only sixteen.

"So, how come Uncle Danny gets to stare at everybody's breasts
... and I don't?"

Well, it went downhill from there, but as I think about it, that
may be the spark that started the little glow that burst into
flames, that turned into a conflagration that almost consumed me.

The glow, as it turned out, got going in my Biology 101 class.  
If you've never taken college biology, you may not know that part
of the course of instruction is to track the changes in the human
body over time.  I mean long periods of time here.  For instance,
five hundred years ago, people's average height was five foot,
four inches.  People were lighter, and smaller over all, by
comparison to people of today's world.   The theory is that
lifestyle had to do with that.  Five hundred years ago people
didn't consume twenty-five hundred calories a day.  They also
worked a lot harder, and went everywhere they went on foot,
whether it was their own, or on top of some animal, whose feet
did most of the walking.  Basically, as people's lifestyles
changed, their bodies changed too.  It's part of what's called
evolution.

Anyway, we had to do a term project.   I thought and thought
about what I could do, and I was thinking about it while I was
sitting in traffic one day.  The car in front of me had one of
those magnetic ribbon things stuck to the back.  It was pink, and
it said something about breast cancer on it.   I listened to
public radio, from time to time, because you get a better spread
of news, and that pink ribbon reminded me of a story I'd heard
about the increase in breast cancer all over the world, and how
nobody could agree on why it was happening.   I didn't think I
could do anything in the area of breast cancer itself for my
project, but it got me to thinking about breasts in general.

I was also enrolled in a summer art class at High School, and the
class took a field trip to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  At
one point I found myself in a gallery of paintings, and I noticed
that, in all the paintings of nude women, none of them had huge
knockers.  In fact, most of them had decidedly small ones.

I looked around.  There were women everywhere, and there were all
sizes of breasts on those women, from flat, to huge.  Genetics
might count for some of it, but lifestyle had to be playing a
role too.

Thankfully, my art teacher was a man, Mr. Barducci.    I had a
really good relationship with almost all my teachers.  More than
once a teacher had said "What an INTERESTING question, Pat!" 
Maybe it was that, or my IQ, but, for whatever reason, I was able
to talk to most of them on a level that was much more relaxed
than the average student-teacher relationship.   I went to find
him.

"Hey, Mr. Barducci, can I ask you a question?" I asked.

He smiled and nodded.

"In all the paintings I see around here, the women all have small
breasts.   Did all women back then have small breasts, or did the
painters only paint the ones with small breasts?"

He blinked.  "That's an odd question," he commented.   I think he
was under the impression I was pulling his leg.

"No," I said.  "I mean it.  It just seems odd.   If you look
around, all the women around here have breasts of varying sizes.
But not in the paintings.  I'm taking biology at Wickham State,
and that's what made me think about this."

It took him a few seconds to decide I was actually serious, and
was asking a serious question, instead of just being a boy.

"Well," he said, bringing his hand up to his chin.  "Actually,
back then, a woman was thought to be more beautiful if she was
heavy."  He looked at me to see if I tittered.  I didn't, and he
went on.   "You see, back then, people were so poor that they
were rarely fat, so women who were heavy were those who were
privileged.  They had access to more of the comforts of life, and
didn't work as hard, so they were considered more attractive than
a woman like that would be today."

"That all makes sense," I said.  "But it doesn't answer the
question about the breast size."

"To be honest," he said, "I don't know about that.   I do know
you're right.  Most of the famous paintings of nudes, including
the paintings of imaginary women, like goddesses and such, all
have modest breast sizes.   I don't know why, though.   That is
kind of interesting, now that I think about it."

So now, besides just thinking about breasts in general, I was
thinking about how, if old paintings were anything to go by, that
women's breasts had been getting bigger and bigger as the years
went by.   Well, some women's breasts anyway.

But that's how evolution works.   Some of the natives develop
differently than others, and, if that development gives them an
edge, then their genes get passed on, while the ones that weren't
as successful fade out.

So THEN I got to wondering why, if it was an evolutionary thing,
larger breasts would be preferable to smaller ones.

Now I admit, right up front, that if I was given a choice of
seeing large ones or small ones, I'd ask to see both, but I also
knew that, if it WAS an evolution in breasts,  there had to be
some kind of evolutionary reason that it had happened.  Either
that, or it was just a result of better diet, which allowed
things to grow better than they had in the past.

The next thing I did was talk to my Biology professor.  I called
her Cat, instead of Caitlin, like almost everybody else did.  Her
last name was  Ziersinnskannova, which was Russian.  Her husband
was an immigrant to the United States, and drove a truck.  Nobody
could pronounce her last name, so she just told everybody to call
her Caitlin.   She was really different in other ways too.   She
was very slim, and her haircut was just weird.   Half her hair
was regular, except that it was bright red - I mean lipstick red
- and it came to her jaw.  The other side of her head was either
shaved, or had a quarter inch of hair on it, depending on how she
was feeling.   She was incredibly smart, which may have had
something to do with why the university would hire her, even
though she looked a little freaky.  I had to have her permission
to get into her class, and she interviewed me.

The reason I called her "Cat" was because, besides her last name
being unpronounceable, she called me "my little genius" in class,
which pretty well ensured that I wouldn't make any college-aged
friends.   I didn't really mind though.  I was just there to get
credits and find out whether Biology was my thing or not.  And
she let me get away with calling her Cat.

She was sitting at her desk, going over papers.

"Hey, Cat," I said, announcing myself.

"Well if it isn't my little genius," she said, looking up.  The
front of the Dutch boy cut of her hairy side tended to fall
across her face, so you could only see one of her eyes.  "What
kind of fascinating discussion are we going to have today?" she
asked, smiling.

"I need to ask you something about breasts," I said.

Her expression didn't change.  "Go ahead," she said.

So I told her about the museum, and my conversation with Mr.
Barducci, and my thoughts on whether it was environmental, or
genetic.   I ended with my question.  "So does a larger breast
make more milk?  Or maybe better milk?"

She laid her pen on top of the pile of papers and leaned back. 
Now I could see both eyes.

"There are sometimes issues with production," she said, her voice
in that kind of drone that means a person is speaking from
memorized facts.  "however, none of them have anything to do with
size."   She folded her arms.  "Large breasts may produce more
milk, however, the only situation that would be critical in is if
there were multiple mouths to feed.  The average baby can't
consume what the average breast will produce.  Some almost always
goes to waste."

"Great," I said, ready to leave.

She held up a hand, signaling me to wait.

"In most cases, a woman's breasts adjust production to the rate
at which her baby feeds.  If the baby eats often, her breasts
produce enough to feed often.  If there is longer between a
baby's natural hunger cycle, her breasts will produce more
slowly.  In either case, though, there is usually extra,
regardless of the size of the breasts."

"OK!" I said.  "Thanks!"

"One moment," said Cat.

I must have slumped, or something.  She snapped at me, the first
time she'd ever done anything even remotely like that.  "Don't be
impatient!"

"Sorry," I said.  When you're a kid, and nothing is really at
stake, you always apologize to an adult, even if she's a weird
looking adult.  I stood there and waited.

"Is this related to your term project?" she asked.

I nodded.

"I expect great things from you, Pat," she said.

"I'm only in High School," I reminded her.

"No, you're not," she said firmly.  "You're in my class ... a
college class.  I have great faith that you will do something
interesting and illuminating."

"Do you want me to tell you my plan?" I asked.  "I haven't got it
firmed up in my mind."

"No, I want you to surprise me," she said.   "I just wanted you
to know I have great faith in you, that's all."

"Thanks," I said.  I meant it.  She might look weird, but she was
smart, and I knew that.  Plus she was an adult, and adults didn't
tell you stuff like that all that often.

"You can go now," she said.

================================

So, eventually, I thought up this project, wherein I would try to
design a test to see if big breasts was an evolutionary thing ...
or not.

What I figured was that, if men were attracted to a woman with
larger breasts, then that was the purpose they were serving on
the evolutionary scale - to attract a mate.    On the other hand,
if men were NOT attracted that way, in some identifiable way,
then I would hypothesize that it was just a function of
lifestyle.

Obviously, the way to start, was to get a bunch of men lined up,
and give them choices, and see how that turned out.

Of course, when you're only sixteen, it isn't as easy as that.  
The first thing I thought of was getting pictures.   But where
does a sixteen year old get a couple of hundred pictures of
breasts.   And it had to be pictures of ONLY breasts, and not the
whole woman.   If there were other identifiers, that could skew
the results.

I thought about putting an ad in the paper, saying I needed to
take pictures of a couple of hundred breasts.   I gave that idea
up almost as soon as I thought about it.   Even if a bunch of
women answered the add, they might not be the ones I needed, and
I was sure they'd want to be paid.   I didn't have any money.  
And, even if they agreed to do it for free, that assumed I
wouldn't be attacked by some jealous husband or something, and
that I wouldn't get raided by the cops during the photography
sessions.

It was a good idea.  I just had to figure out a way to pull it
off.  The glow of that idea lay in my mind, and I worried at it,
like I was trying to chew a piece of beef jerky.

Then, on another Friday night, the answer was suddenly presented.

================================

It looked like T shirt and panty night at the Turner house. 
Everybody but Grandma was there, and Aunt Vanessa was staying the
night in Randi's room.    The only woman not dressed in a T shirt
and panties was Aunt Christy, who had on a T shirt and terrycloth
shorts, which was just about the same thing.   There were breasts
everywhere, and I suddenly noticed that they were ... different
sizes.

I got a book, and opened it, sitting back in an arm chair.  I
held it up so I could look over the top of it, and look around.

Tabby was the smallest, and, in my opinion, about the same size
as those women in the paintings.  Of course, she was the youngest
too.   Randi was next biggest, just a little smaller than Aunt
Christy.   My mother and Aunt Vanessa were about the same size,
though my mother's breasts looked heavier.  She was older, of
course, and that might account for that.   I wondered what the
shapes of all those breasts looked like.  I mean I wondered if
they were the same basic shape, only larger and smaller versions.
 That seemed likely, since there was a genetic factor here.   I
thought about Grandma.  I knew she had them, of course, but I
hadn't actually stared at her breasts.

I got excited as I thought about this.   I know what you're
thinking.  You're thinking I got excited about the breasts
themselves.  But that wasn't it.  At least not then.   I had the
full range of breast sizes, right there in my own house.   If I
could get photographs of them, and line them up, my test subjects
would have a full line of breasts to look at, and could then
choose which set was most attractive to them.

I got so excited about it I talked to my mother.

Well, I started to talk to her.  Then it kind of fell apart.

"Mom?" I said the next morning.  It was Saturday, and there were
just the two of us in the kitchen, so far.

"Hmmm?" she responded, from the stove.

"You know that class I'm taking at college?"

"Yes," she said, not turning around.

"We have to do a term project," I said.

"Yes," she said, still stirring scrambled eggs.

"I thought of one, but it's kind of weird.   I really think it
could be cool ... but it's weird."

There was a radio on, on the counter, playing oldies.  Something
came on and she started swaying her hips, in time with the music.
 She was wearing her short robe and panties again, which wasn't
at all unusual.  I watched her butt move, and felt myself respond
to that.

I looked away.  This wasn't at all what I was trying to do.

She turned around, an eyebrow raised.

"And?" she asked.

Her robe had a tie on it, but it gaped a bit where the closure
went between her breasts.  I realized I was staring at them, and
averted my eyes.

"Maybe I could talk to you about it later," I said, chickening
out.

"What's wrong with now?" she asked.

"Tabby might come in," I said.  It was a lame excuse.

"And why couldn't Tabby hear about this project of yours?" she
asked.

"It's ... kind of adult," I said, digging myself in deeper.

"Adult?"  She sounded surprised.  Why did everyone in this family
think of me as a little boy?  "What kind of adult?"

So I haltingly launched into an explanation of how we talked in
class about how bodies change, and why, and how I went to the
museum, and how I noticed that all the models in the pictures had
small breasts, and how breasts seemed to have gotten much larger
since then, and how that had to mean something.

I didn't give her a chance to break in.  I think I was babbling a
little.   Anyway, at one point, she just moved the pan to a
burner that wasn't lit, and sat down across from me, staring at
me like I'd grown a third eye.

I rambled on, telling her my idea of taking pictures of breasts,
to show men, so they could choose which kind appealed to them
more, so I could tell if it was evolutionary or not, and about
then, Randi walked into the kitchen.

"Shit!" I thought.   Why couldn't I have been more organized
about this, so I could explain it more quickly?

Of course Randi had no idea what I'd been talking about.  She
ignored the two of us at the table.  My mother's mouth was
hanging open.

"Like I said," I muttered, darting a look at Randi,  "maybe we
should talk about this later."

"We'll talk about this right this INSTANT!" my mother gasped. 
"If you think I'm going to let you go off and take a bunch of
pictures of naked women, then you have another think coming,
mister!"

Randi turned around, a box of cereal in one hand, and a very
interested look on her face.

I flushed.  I tried not to, but I couldn't help it.

"That's not it at all," I said hastily.  Too hastily.  I was,
after all, suggesting that I needed pictures of breasts.   My
mother's reaction to that didn't bode well for the rest of my
"plan".

I stumbled on, in a panic.  I should have just shut up, but I
didn't.

"It's not like I was going to go out and ask strangers to let me
take pictures of their ... to take pictures of them," I whined.


"Well, then," asked my mother archly.  "Just who, exactly, did
you plan on taking pictures of?"

"Couldn't we talk about this ... privately?" I begged.

"Young man!" she barked.  "You have just informed me of your
intent to take pictures of naked women!   We'll talk about this
right now!" she insisted.  She was agitated.

"Not naked women," I complained.  "Just their breasts!"

Randi started laughing.   "I knew men were perverts," she howled,
"But I had no idea my own BROTHER was one of them."

I put my head in my hands, my elbows on the table.

"Just their breasts," my mother repeated.   "And whose ...
breasts ... did you plan on taking pictures of?  As you MAY have
just heard me say, I'll not have my son out soliciting strangers
to get a peek of their breasts, and TAKE PICTURES OF THEM!" she
thundered.

"Not strangers!" I wailed, lifting my no doubt blotchy face.  I
was in full panic mode now.  "YOURS!"

That wasn't at all how I wanted to broach this tender subject.  I
dropped my face down into my hands and moaned.

There was a moment of silence, so long, that I began to wonder if
I had magically gone deaf.

"Mine!"  Her voice rose to that range you hear at operas ... you
know ... the one that can break glass?  Her horror at the idea
was SO obvious that I had to mitigate it somehow.  Again, I
opened my stupid mouth.

"And the others," I squeaked.

"What others?" asked Randi.  She was obviously loving this.

"Yours," I gasped,  "and Aunt Vanessa and Aunt Christy and Tabby.
Grandma's too."  I almost passed out as the words left my lips. 
"They're all different sizes!" I gasped, sealing my doom.

I knew my life was over.  If I was only grounded until I was
thirty, I'd be the luckiest guy on earth.  I got up to flee.  
Who needed breakfast now?  It was probably better that I hadn't
eaten anything.  If I had, I'm quite sure I'd have thrown it up.

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!" screeched my mother.  "YOU GET RIGHT BACK
HERE THIS INSTANT!"

All that did was make me run faster.  I tripped on the stairs,
and fell, banging my shin painfully.  I almost welcomed the pain,
as I crawled up to my room.

Chapter Two

I found out later that my mother intended on dragging me, kicking
and screaming back to the table.  Randi stopped her.   While I
was hiding under my covers, upstairs in my bedroom, Randi told
Mom to calm down, and dragged everything out of her that I'd
said.

This was one of those times in your life that people talk about
when they're twenty years down the road ... the ones where you
laugh like crazy about it then - twenty years down the road - but
it was just mortifying when it actually happened.   Maybe Randi
recognized that.  For that, or some other reason, she told me
later that she went to the fridge and got my mother a beer.  At
seven-thirty in the morning.  And she said my mother slammed the
whole thing too!   All the noise had awakened Tabby too.  She
shuffled past my door right about the time I was climbing into
bed and pulling the covers over my head.  I think her showing up
in the kitchen, wanting to know what all the shouting was about
might have helped calm my mother down a little bit too.

Anyway, not at all like the man I was trying to be, I cried like
a baby under the covers.   I was still sniffling, and thinking
about ways to kill myself that wouldn't hurt too much, when there
was a knock on my door, and I heard it open.

You can't stop the sniffles just because you want to.  I tried
hard.  I rubbed my nose practically off, under the covers, but it
didn't work.

I felt somebody sit on the edge of the bed.  I hoped whoever it
was didn't have a meat cleaver.  I had my back to her, and if the
first blow cut my spinal cord it might just leave me paralyzed.

"Boy, you sure know how to liven up a lazy morning," said Randi.

"Go away," I mumbled, sniffing some more, despite my best
efforts.

"Guys don't cry," she said, swatting me on my hip.  I was lying
in a fetal position.

"NEWS FLASH!" I yelled.  I didn't have the energy to keep
yelling. "They do when they do something THAT stupid," I moaned.

I felt her hand on my hip again, but she just lay it there.   "I
wouldn't call it stupid, exactly," she said.   "Ill advised,
maybe, or not well thought out.  Ridiculous comes to mind, but
not stupid."

"Mom thought it was stupid," I mumbled.

"You're not stupid," she said calmly.  "You're the only genius in
the family."

"Most famous geniuses go crazy," I moaned.  "I know how they
feel, now."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself.  Come out from under there and
talk to me."  Randi's words sounded harsh, but not her voice.

She didn't give me the chance.  She pulled at the covers.  I
wasn't expecting it, and when I grabbed for them, I missed.  I
had to settle for covering my head with my arms.

"Stop it, Pat!" Randi barked.  Then she goosed me.

I ended up on the floor, looking up at her accusingly.  She had a
grin on her face.  It did nothing, whatsoever for my ego.

"OK," I finally said.  "Make fun of me and then get out!"

"I didn't come in here to make fun of you," she said.  The smile
vanished off her face, like smoke in the wind.

"You didn't?"

"No, Pat," she said soothingly.

"Why are you here, then?" I asked.

"I'm here because you ARE the only genius in this family," she
said.  "Mom told me what you said ... about the project ... and I
know you're too smart to just try to pull something.  That means
you really WERE thinking about a project."

I might be the family genius, but Randi was no dummy.

"I was," I moaned.  "I really was!"

"I know that," she said smoothly.   "Mom will eventually figure
that out too."

I blinked.   She was right.  Mom was no dummy either.

"You want to talk about it?" asked Randi.   "Maybe we can fine
tune this goofy idea of yours, and salvage things."

"If it's so goofy, why do you care?" I asked.

Randi sighed.   "I'm in college, you dufus," she said.  "I know
how hard that is, and how unlikely it is to distinguish yourself
from the thousands of other people just like you."    She reached
out her hand and helped me stand up.   "And I know I'm never
going to be special, like you are."

"I'm not special," I muttered.

"Yes you are, and you know that," she said firmly.   "I've known
for years that you're going someplace ... someplace important. 
You're going to BE important some day.  Can you blame a girl for
wanting to have a little piece of that? ... for wanting to be
involved with something that helps her genius brother explore his
potential?"

"Really?"  I was astonished.  Randi had never said "Boo" to me
about things like this before.  I thought she spent most of her
time ignoring me, and the rest of it not thinking about me.

"Mom is resting," she said.  "Why don't you explain your idea to
me, and we can talk about it, and maybe come up with something
that won't shock the pants off her so much."

She patted the bed, beside where I was standing.

"I can't promise anything," she said.  "It may BE a stupid idea
... but I doubt it.   You don't come up with all that many stupid
ideas.  You never have."

Randi was a Chemistry major, and I respected her for that.  I
knew she worked hard, and carried a killer load of classes.  She
didn't have time for anything else, except the confabs we had on
Friday nights.  That was about the only time she took for
herself.    She didn't date, but then, after what happened with
her almost-marriage, and the academic load she was carrying, that
wasn't so strange.

Which is how I ended up telling my older sister all about all the
things I'd thought about, and my theory that bigger breasts had
to have something to do with either evolution, or lifestyle.

She listened patiently, and asked a few questions.  When I got to
the part where I explained how impossible it would be for a
sixteen year old boy to amass a quantity of the right kind of
pictures, and how I had noticed that, within my own genetic pool,
there existed a wide variety of breast sizes, she smiled, but it
wasn't a mean smile.

"So you've been checking us out," she said.

"Only for scientific purposes," I blushed.

"Yeah ... right," she said, still smiling.

"Mostly," I whined.

"At least you're honest about it," she said.  The smile faded a
bit.

"I didn't explain it very well to Mom, I guess," I said.

"I don't know how you could, when she's going ballistic," said my
older sister.

"So it really IS a stupid idea," I suggested, to save her from
having to do it.

"I don't know," she said, tilting her head a little.  "Actually,
I find the whole question very interesting.  I don't know if this
is a valid way to answer it or not, but it IS intriguing.   I do
know that, despite what men say, breast size IS important.   I
used to just be mad about that, but the way you put it makes me
think I might have been a little hasty."

"Why would you be mad about it?" I asked.

She snorted.  "To some men, all I AM is a pair of breasts.   And
men make judgments about women based on their breasts.  That
isn't fair.  A woman can't do anything about what her breasts
look like, and that makes it very unfair to judge her based on
that."

"You're wrong," I said.

She arched an eyebrow at me.

"What I mean is that it happens for a REASON.  There HAS to be a
reason why some men think small breasts are better, and some men
think big ones are better.   And, whatever that reason is,
wouldn't you want to know?  I mean that could make a huge
difference in how you interact with men ... couldn't it?"

"I don't see how," she said.  "They either like my breasts, or
they don't.  They either see my breasts, or they see me.  I,
personally, would prefer that they see ME, and not my breasts."

"But that's not realistic," I said.  "Men DO pay attention to
breasts."

For some reason I looked at hers.   I kind of liked hers.

"Yes ... they do ... don't they," she said, her voice wry.  I
looked up to find I had just been caught staring at her breasts.
"Why do I feel so naked all of a sudden?" she asked.

"Maybe because you're not wearing a bra?" I suggested.  "And
because all you have on is a T shirt and panties?"

She actually blushed.  "I suppose we are a little ... relaxed ...
around you."

"And Danny too," I reminded her.

"That's different," she said.  "Danny is safe."

"I'm not?" I asked.

"Not when you look at me like you just were," she said.

"What's THAT supposed to mean?" I asked.

"It means you looked at me like a MAN ... and not my little
brother," she said.

"Well, you ARE a woman," I said, defending myself.  "and not just
my big sister."

She looked at me, her gaze level.  She was still a little pink
around her neck.

"I can't help but think that part of your ... plan ... is to get
to see my breasts ... our breasts ... naked," she said.

"Well of course!" I said, frustrated.  "How ELSE can I get
photographs for the project?"

"I meant you wanted to see them as a MAN, and not as a ...
researcher."   Her face looked a little pinched.

I thought about that.  She had given me a break.  She had
listened to my idea, and hadn't laughed outright at it.  She was
actually willing to discuss it on a scholastic basis.   I at
least owed her the truth.

"OK," I said softly.  "I admit it.  You're all babes, even Mom. 
Any guy would love to see you naked.  There!  Does that make you
happy?"

She blushed again.   "It shouldn't," she said softly.  She looked
me up and down.  No woman had ever looked me up and down quite
like that.  I felt like I was being examined and evaluated to
determine whether or not I was fit to be called a man.   "But, in
an odd, kinky kind of way ... it does."

I know I must have looked like I was having a heart attack,
because she laughed.  Then she fanned her face with one hand.

"I'm going to have to keep an eye on you, little brother," she
said, giggling.  "When you get to college full time, you're going
to be dangerous!"

She got up and left then.  I watched her buttocks rise and fall
as she walked to the door.  She looked over her shoulder, to
catch me again, and paused.

"Why on Earth it makes me feel so good when my own little brother
looks at me like that is beyond me," she sighed.  "Don't you do
that to Tabby.  You'll scare her spitless."

Then she was gone, and I was left wondering what, exactly, had
just happened.   My attention was suddenly drawn to a part of my
body that, an hour earlier, I was afraid might be removed by my
mother, perhaps with a rusty knife.  I stared at my own
underwear.

I may have forgotten to tell you.  While my sisters, mother and
aunts all ran around in panties, it wasn't unusual for me to run
around in my jockey shorts too.  It was all a part of the
cultural sub-set that was our little family.   We were relaxed
around each other, and had been for as long as I could remember.

I looked down at my jockeys.  The bulge was unmistakable.  My
dick was hard as a rock.  I had no idea how long it had been like
that, but I  had been standing in front of Randi for at least ten
minutes, while she sat on the bed.  It HAD to have been there
when she turned around, just before she left, and warned me about
scaring Tabby.

I'd gotten a hardon for my own sister ... and she knew it.

================================

I slipped out of the house a little later, and didn't go back
until suppertime.  My Mom was at the stove again.  This time she
had on slacks and a blouse.   Tabby was already seated at the
table, which was already set.   Randi was in the den, studying,
as usual.

Tabby looked up and grinned.

"You are in SO much trouble!" she yipped happily.

My mother turned around.

"WHERE have you been all day?!" she almost yelled.

"Um ... just ... out, I guess," I said.

"You're supposed to TELL me where you're going, so I won't worry
about you when I can't find you!" said my mother angrily.

"I'm sorry," I said.  "I didn't think you'd want me around."

She looked stricken, like I'd said she was ugly.

"Why not?" asked Tabby, very interested now.  Obviously nobody
had told her about my ... presentation ... that morning.

My mother handed Tabby the big spoon she was holding.

"Stir the beans," she ordered.

She took my elbow and marched me into the living room.  Once
there, she suddenly hugged me tightly.

"I love you, darling," she said to the back of my head.  "I'll
always love you.  You could never, ever do anything to make me
stop loving you."

She pushed me back.  Her eyes were shining, like she was about
ready to cry.

"I was worried about you.   I didn't know where you were, or if
something had happened to you."

"I'm sorry," I said, meaning it this time.  "I just ... was
embarrassed, I guess.  All I did was hang around the video arcade
and walk through the mall."  I didn't tell her that I'd taken
another informal survey of breasts.  I hadn't learned anything,
but I got to see a lot of breasts.

She wrapped me up in her arms again, and this time I hugged her
back.   She had on a bra, which I noticed, for some reason.  I
felt her breasts crushed against my chest, and cursed at myself
for feeling them.

My mother pushed me back enough to kiss my forehead.

"Just as long as you know I'll always love you," she said.  "No
matter what cockamamie idea you come up with."

================================

That was it.  She didn't yell at me any more.  Tabby asked if I
was grounded for going off without telling anyone where I was,
and Mom barked at HER for poking her nose into my business. 
Tabby sulked for a while, but got over it.  Randi came to supper
and acted just as normal as the day is long.  Nothing about my
project idea was discussed.   I thought the whole thing had been
forgotten.

I thought that for the whole next week.   I kept thinking about
it myself, of course, but from the perspective of how it would be
done, and whether or not the results could actually be analyzed
in any meaningful way.   But it was mostly just a mental
exercise.  I didn't talk to my biology professor about it.  I
figured that, like a lot of ideas, it would never get off the
ground.  I wondered if just working up the idea for a study would
be enough to count as a whole project.

The next Friday night, everybody gathered for the Friday night
confab, just like usual, except for the fact that Grandma was
there too.  She didn't usually watch the movies with us, because
she didn't like violence, and action adventure movies were big
with the rest of the Turner women, for some reason.  I once
thought it had to do with seeing men getting shot, or knifed, or
whatever, but then realized that was really jaded.

The only ones not there yet were Aunt Christy and Uncle Danny,
and when they arrived, I knew something was up, because my mother
told Danny to take me out for ice cream, and spend some quality
time with me.

"Stay gone for at least an hour," she said, as if she had the
perfect right to order him around.  Aunt Christy just looked
interested, and kissed him goodbye.

When we were in the car, Danny asked me:  "What's going on?"

"You got me," I said.

"You in some kind of trouble?" he asked.

"I was, but not any more," I said.  "At least I don't think so."

"What kind of quality time are we supposed to spend?" he asked.

"Beats me," I said.

"What was this trouble you were in?" he asked.  "Maybe I'm
supposed to talk to you about that.  You know ... give you some
fatherly advice or something?"

"It's embarrassing," I said.  "You don't want to hear about
that."

"Try me," he said, easing around a corner toward Baskin Robbins.

I thought about the risk I would be taking if I told him, but
then I thought about how maybe a man's perspective might actually
help, so I went through the whole thing again, explaining the
project, what it was supposed to do, and finally, who I had
chosen for the photographs.  We had been sitting in the Baskin
Robbins parking lot long enough, by the time I got done, that the
security guard was taking an interest in us.

Danny didn't say a word through the whole thing.  When I was
done, all he said was "You're shitting me, right?"

"Nope," I said sadly.  "I screwed up, huh?"

"Something's wrong here," he said.

The security guard tapped on the window, and Danny rolled it
down.

"Anything wrong here?" asked the man, trying to sound official,
and ominous.

"Yes," said Danny, "but it doesn't involve you."

"You can't just sit here," said the guard importantly.  His hand
caressed the mace at his belt.  I felt really glad they didn't
give this guy a gun.

"We're just talking," said Danny.  "We're going to get some ice
cream, but there are other things more important than that right
this instant."

He rolled the window back up.

"Like I said," said Danny, ignoring the security guard, who was
tapping on the window again.  Danny's fingers drifted to the
button and the door locks engaged.  "Something's wrong here.  
Your mother sent you out with me to get ice cream."

"So?" I asked.

"So, why aren't you grounded, or hung from your heels from the
ceiling or something like that?  Why are you being rewarded with
ice cream?"

"I think they forgot all about it," I said.  "Randi came in
afterwards, and talked to me for a while.  She wanted to know the
whole story."

"And you told her?"

"Yes," I said.  "Was that OK?"  I didn't tell him I'd gotten a
boner for her.  Some things you can't talk about, even during
quality time.

The security guard started banging on the window with his fist. 
He was yelling at us.   Danny pulled out his cell phone and
dialed a number.  I saw him punch a nine and then the 'one'
button twice.

"Yes," he said into the phone.  "I'm a customer at Baskin
Robbins, and there's this crazy guy, dressed up like a security
guard, and he's threatening us.   I think he has a weapon, but
I'm not sure."  He listened for a minute.   "Roger Cranston. 
We're in a blue Chevy Malibu.  Yeah, the guy is foaming at the
mouth and beating on our car right now.  We can't even go in to
get any ice cream.   Can you send somebody over here?  I'm really
scared this guy is going to do something crazy!"  He listened
again.  "Yes, Baskin Robbins, on third street.   Can't you hear
him?"  He held the phone up to the window.  The security guard
went ballistic and started thumping on the top of the car.  Danny
put the phone back up to his ear. "See what I mean?  This guy's
dangerous.   Oh SHIT!" he yelled suddenly.  "I don't believe he's
..."  He punched the off button in the middle of his sentence.

Danny smiled and waved at the security guard.  We heard sirens. 
The security guard looked up, and then smiled widely.

"You're gonna pay now, mother fucker!" he screamed as three squad
cars screamed into the parking lot.  The guard started running
toward the nearest car, pointing back at us.  Suddenly he pulled
up and stood very still.   A cop  had gotten out of his car and
had his pistol trained on the guard.

Danny rolled the windows down again and we heard the guard
pleading, trying to tell them we were the bad guys.  The cops
kept yelling at him to get on the ground, and show them his
hands, and freeze, all at the same time.  Finally one of them
came running in from the guard's blind side and tackled the guy.
He was immediately swarmed by five more cops.  I saw at least
three sets of handcuffs flashing in the sun.

Danny started the car.

"Let's try Dairy Queen, what do you say?  I feel like a Peanut
Buster Parfait."

I giggled for a block, looking back at the scene of the crime,
whatever the crime was.

Danny started talking about my situation again.

"They're up to something," he said.  "Like I said, any boy who
asked to take pictures of his mothers, sisters AND aunt's tits
would be drawn and quartered in any other family."  He frowned. 
"Shit!" he said.  "Mona's over there too!"

"Grandma?" I was confused.  "So what?"

"Don't you get it, sport?  They're TALKING about all this. 
That's why they kicked us out.  They are, as we speak, discussing
what to do about you."

"No way," I gasped.

"I bet they are," he said, pulling into Dairy Queen.

We got out and went in right away.  You can only call 911 so many
times before they begin to remember you, and get surly.  He got
his Peanut Buster Parfait, and I got a Blizzard, and we sat at a
table, back in one corner.

"Why would they talk about it?" I asked.

"If it were any other family, I'd say it was to educate everybody
on how dangerous and unstable you are, so they can take steps to
stay away from you.  But I married into your family, and I've
spent every fricking Friday night over there for the last year
and a half.  Your family isn't like that."

"OK," I said.  I agreed with him, after all.  "So what are they
doing?"

He looked thoughtful.   "I bet they're kicking it around to see
if they want to do it."

"No way!" I gasped, choking on a very small piece of Oreo cookie
in my Blizzard.  "Mom almost exploded.  And Tabby was there when
we left.  Grandma too!"

He shook his head.  "You poor boy.  You've lived with them a lot
longer than I have, but you've been blinded by the trees.  You
can't see the forest."  He took a big bite.  "Your family is made
up of the most avid teasers and exhibitionists I've ever met in
my life, who weren't certifiable lunatics.   The thought of
flashing their precious titties at strange men, even if it's in
anonymous photographs, would appeal to them all, INCLUDING
Tabby."  He grinned.  "In fact, I suspect that Mona wouldn't mind
shaking the world up like that either.   She's a little more
conservative, but some of the hello and goodbye hugs she gives me
are downright pornographic."

"So you're not ticked off that I wanted to take pictures of Aunt
Christy's boobs?" I asked.

He had an odd look on his face.  He chuckled, but it sounded
forced.  "You have no idea.  The woman is a hussy.  If I didn't
know better, I'd swear she uses ice cubes on her nipples before
she goes out in public.   She just likes to show off.  They all
do.  I know she doesn't fool around.  She just does it to get
excited or something.  I swear the others do it too."

"They sure do around you," I agreed.

He grinned.  "I get a great show every Friday night.  All I have
to do is mind my manners, and it will go on for years.   And,
when I get home, Christy is so turned on that she's frantic to
get me in bed.   It's a great life, if you can get it."

"So ..." I said uncertainly, "what do we do now?"

He looked at his watch.   "We wait thirty more minutes, and show
up with ice cream for everybody.  You play your cards right,
little buddy, and you just might get an eyeful."

"You think so?" I asked, astounded.

"I'll bet you the cost of the ice cream," he said confidently.

I didn't take the bet.

Chapter Three

Just act normal.   That's what Danny had told me to do as we
pulled up to my house.  We carried in two big cardboard things
with all kinds of ice cream stuck in them.  The women were all
watching a movie.  Even Grandma.

They made all the appropriate sounds of pleasure about the ice
cream, but then ignored us, and went back to watching the movie,
which was about halfway over.  Danny sat down by Aunt Christy,
who kissed his cheek and snuggled up to him.  My mother patted
the couch, between her and Aunt Vanessa, but didn't say anything.
 I sat down.

You know that saying about a nervous cat in a room full of
rocking chairs?  That's how I felt.  I noticed Tabby kept looking
over her shoulder at me.  She was lying on the carpet, right in
front of the TV.  Her fifteen year old butt was showing, encased
in a pair of pink panties that clung to her like a second skin. 
She had a look on her face that I recognized.   It was her "I
know something that you don't know ... and I'm not telling!"
look.  I began to think Danny was right.  They HAD talked about
... me ... the newest problem ... and what to do about it.

What I had no clue as to, was what they had decided to do about
me.

================================

I got a clue when the movie was over, and Aunt Christy got up and
told Danny it was time to go home.  That was unusual, since they
usually stayed until early in the morning.   He didn't ask any
questions, though, merely shooting me a look with a grin
attached, as if to say "Buck up, little buddy, I know I'm right."

All the other women sat there.  When I started to get up, my
mother put a hand on my thigh, keeping me there.

"We want to talk to you," she said, as Aunt Christy and Danny
closed the front door.

"Me?" I asked, trying to play dumb.

"Yes, you, mister researcher," she said, her voice flat.

"Oh ... that," I said, still trying to play dumb.

Tabby sat up and swung around, sitting Indian style on the
carpet.  Her panties clung to her camel toe, and she paid that no
attention whatsoever.

Grandma took the floor, verbally.

"Randi explained your project to us all," she said.   "It seems
quite unusual."

"I guess so," I admitted.

"Let's say that, just for the sake of argument, you got to do
your project.  What would the photographs actually show?"

I was feeling lots better.  Danny had been right so far - they
HAD discussed it.  I still didn't know if they would sign on, but
nobody had yelled at me any more, so I tried to think like a
researcher.

"Well, I'd have to crop the photographs so that the only part of
the trunk that showed was from the navel to the collar bones. 
There would be a background, of some kind, the same in each
photograph.   I don't know if color, or black and white film
would be better.  That might take some experimentation."

"So, there would be no chance that the ... models ... could be
identified?" asked my grandmother.

"Only if someone had already seen them," I said.  "In real life,
I mean."  I looked around.  "It's possible that somebody like
that might recognize them."

"Who, exactly, would see these photographs?" she went on.

I didn't have firm numbers, so I winged it.  "I don't know how
many men I'd have to use to get a viable test bed," I said.  "I
also don't know where I'd get them, yet, but they'd have to be a
group that included men of various ages.  For the sake of
argument, I'd have ten teenagers, ten twenty-somethings, ten
thirty-somethings and ten forty-somethings."

"None older than that?" she asked.

That seemed like a strange question.  But I had an answer.

"Well, the idea is to see what attracts a male of breeding age. 
I don't think men older than fifty or so are still in that
category ... are they?"

My grandmother stared at me.  "Breeding age," she repeated, as if
that were interesting.  "I suppose you're right, but men stay
interested in sex almost all their lives."

"Yes," I agreed, "but that doesn't have anything to do with
evolution.  Men above viable breeding age don't affect the
population any more."

"How old would the women be, then?" she asked, leaning forward a
little.

"That's different," I said.  "Age doesn't matter with women, in
the sense that, if a woman beyond breeding age attracts a male,
she actually pulls him OUT of the gene pool.   She CAN have an
effect on evolution.   Imagine, for the sake of argument, that
suddenly, the only attractive women were all in their sixties. 
All the men would be drawn to them, and the women of
child-bearing age wouldn't have any children.  That would have a
tremendous effect on that society."

My grandmother stared some more.   I was looking at her so much,
I had no idea what the other women were thinking.  They were all
quiet as mice, though, so maybe that was good.

"You really have thought this through, quite a bit, haven't you?"
asked my grandmother.

"Yes," I said.  "It isn't a joke."

"I believe you," she said.   "Now, why don't you go get ready for
bed.  We women have some more talking to do."

I slept in my jockeys, which meant that "getting ready for bed"
meant taking the rest of my clothes off, which would take what,
maybe two minutes?   But it was obvious they didn't want me
around while they decided, as Danny had predicted, whether to be
my models or not.   I wasn't surprised my grandmother was there.
She was the matriarch of the family, and still wielded a lot of
power.   What DID surprise me was that Tabby was there.  At only
fifteen, I was amazed they'd even consider letting her take part.

I went to my room, stripped to my shorts, and lay down to read a
comic book.  Nobody came, either to tell me what they'd decided,
or to put an ice pick quietly through my temple.

Eventually, I fell asleep.

================================

The next day was Saturday, so I slept late.   I didn't get up
until nine, when my stomach drove me to the kitchen.  It seemed
awfully quiet, which is probably one reason I was able to sleep
so late.   When I went looking for people, Mom was sitting,
curled up in an easy chair, in the living room, reading a book. 
She was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt.

"Where's everybody else?" I asked.

"They decided to give us some privacy," said my mother, looking
up at me.

"Privacy?  What for?" I asked.

"I'm going to be your first model for your project," said my
mother.   She didn't seem to have any emotion about it at all. 
It was like , as if she were announcing that the light bulb I
needed to replace a burnt out one with, was in the cabinet.

"Wow!" I said.

"You sound surprised," said my mother.

"I am surprised," I admitted.

"You think we wouldn't support you in your studies?"  Now some
emotion crept into her voice.
 "It's not that," I said hastily.  "It's just that it was such an
unusual thing to request ..."  I shifted from foot to foot.  "I
guess I just thought nobody would go for it."

"So," she said, standing up.  "Where are we going to do this?"

Now, if they'd have warned me that they were actually going to go
along with my crazy idea, I'd have thought it out a little
better.   I had a camera, and I knew I had some film around
somewhere, left over from last year's vacation to Colorado.   I
didn't have a tripod, but when I was dreaming all this up, I
figured I could get one of those pretty cheap at Wal-Mart or
somewhere.   I guess what I'm saying is that I had sort of half
ass planned this, but the women had whole ass agreed to it. 
That's a weird way of saying it, I know ... but ... well, you'll
see.

"I don't know," I said, unthinkingly, while my brain tried to
speed up.

"What do you mean you don't know?" she asked, in mother tones. 
"I thought you had this all planned out."

I thought about backgrounds.  My mind picture had cloth as a
background.  Don't ask me why.  The only place in the house that
had lots of cloth was my mother's bedroom.  She had drapes in her
room, instead of curtains, like all the other bedrooms.  There
was a bay window in her bedroom, six feet wide and five feet
tall, with a bench you could sit on, if the drapes were open.

"Your bedroom," I said, voicing my thoughts.

"My ... bedroom," she repeated.

I explained about the drapes.

"Oh," she said.  "OK, then."

Imagine yourself as an  almost seventeen year old kid, who has
just been told that, in a few minutes, you're going to be taking
pictures of your mother's naked breasts.  Kind of puts a
different perspective on it, huh?

My legs unfroze, and I went to get my camera.   I tried to think
of where I'd left that extra film, and got a little panicky,
until I got lucky and found it in my junk drawer.  That was the
top right drawer of my chest of drawers, where I stashed stuff I
couldn't figure out where else to put.  It had all kinds of stuff
in it ... a screwdriver ... a medal I won at a cross country meet
... five or six foreign coins I'd gotten here and there ... an
extra cable for the VCR ... stuff like that.   And two rolls of
film.

I got them out and looked at them.  400 ASA black and white.  Not
the best thing to take portraits of anything with.  Great for
taking quick shots on vacation, as the car sped along, but for
boobs?    It was all I had, and I couldn't see me going back to
my Mom and telling her we needed to run down to Wal-Mart before
she showed me her boobs.   By this time, I don't think I was
actually thinking about this quite like a research project.   In
that room down the hall were some naked breasts, and I was going
to get to look at them.   If I didn't actually DO that, quickly,
it would all disappear in a puff of smoke.  I would have known
better, if I'd have stopped to think about all this, but my
hormones wanted nothing to do with stopping and thinking.

I grabbed my camera and hustled down to my mother's bedroom.  I
don't know what I expected, but it wasn't to see her just sitting
on the edge of her bed, waiting for me.  She had this funny sort
of look on her face, like she was a little confused, or
something.

"I have to load the camera," I said, stupidly.  She just looked
at me.

Two minutes later I was standing there, waiting.  She was sitting
there, waiting too.  There was a powerful lot of waiting going on
in that room.

"What do I do?" she finally asked.  She sounded nervous.  Why
that surprised me would make a nice philosophical discussion, but
the fact was that I was surprised.

"Well, I guess you have to take off your shirt," I said, wisely.

"Yes," she nodded.  "I suppose so."

Her fingers went to the buttons, and I felt eyestrain already as
my eyes tried to climb out of my head, watching skin come into
view as each button was undone.  Her bra kind of ruined the
anticipation, but then I had stared at pictures of women in bras
for hours, in the catalogues around the house, so that wasn't too
bad either.   She had on a sturdy, plain white bra.   Her hand
went behind her and the bra lost it's tenseness.   It didn't look
all that different.  I mean it looked like a bra full of breasts,
but it was more relaxed or something.   I swear it caused me to
relax a little bit too.   My knees quit shaking, anyway.

She did some kind of shoulder shrug, and the bra fell forward ...
and ...

There they were.

Just like magic.

Now I know that you women out there think that tits are tits. 
You wouldn't put it that way, and I probably shouldn't have
either, but that's what some of you think.  You think every woman
has them, and they're no big deal.  They're there.  You either
like yours, or you don't, for whatever reason.

But the fact is, that each pair of breasts is as different as
fingerprints.   Fingerprints all look pretty much the same,
unless you pay attention to all the little lines and stuff. 
Fingerprint experts are fascinated with all those lines, and
whorls and ridges and stuff.   I was no expert, but, looking at
my mother's breasts, I suddenly knew that I could become a breast
expert, whatever they are called, and I'd never tire of examining
a pair.

Hers were round and full.  Imagine putting a cantaloupe in one
leg of a pair of panty hose.  It would drop to the bottom, and
stretch the leg material tight.  Her breasts stretched her skin
like that.  That skin sloped down to two cantaloupe sized orbs
that hung there on her chest.   Other breasts push the skin away
from the chest, but this wasn't like that.    They didn't sag,
exactly.  That's not the right word for it.  But you could hold
both of them in your hands, and make them wobble up and down, or
back and forth.  You could make them bang into each other, and
lift them up.  If you did that, and just let them go, they'd
fall, bounce, and hang there.

I heard later about what women call "the pencil test", where they
put a pencil under their lifted breast, and let the breast drop.
If the breast keeps the pencil there, they have "saggy breasts".
 That's about stupid.  My mother's breasts would have held a
Cuban cigar, easily, but there wasn't anything saggy about them.
They were just big, beautiful, full breasts.  They looked perfect
on her.

I noticed the nipples, which were a muddy kind of brown color,
set on larger circles the same color.   I knew about nipples, of
course, but, like most people, I thought they all looked pretty
much the same, like women think breasts look pretty much the
same.  Nipples are very unique too, though, most of the time.  My
mother's had fed three babies.  I don't know what they looked
like before she did that, but now, they were very sturdy looking
things, just a little smaller in diameter than my own little
finger, and maybe as long as the fingernail on the same finger
... about a third of an inch, I suppose.  There was nothing
delicate about these breasts.  They were eminently functional. 
Everything about them screamed for a hungry baby to be present in
the room.

My stomach growled.  My mother blinked, and I could feel a blush
on my face, even though a growling stomach is quite common.

"Where do you want me?" asked my mother.  She was a little pink
herself.

I suddenly realized I wanted her pressed to my face, and felt a
hysterical giggle building inside.  I clamped down on it and
concentrated on trying to act professional.  That  only brought
the giggle closer to birth.

I turned away, fiddling with the camera.

"Over by the window," I said.  I had to clear my throat.  Somehow
every bit of saliva had been sucked out of my mouth into the
surrounding air.

She got up and I watched as she walked to the window.   I had
seen her walk from this place to that at least ten thousand
times, but it had never been like this.  Those breasts swayed and
bounced.

I suddenly realized that I was in my usual sleep attire ... my
jockeys.  I looked down and, in horror, saw that it looked like I
had taken a wooden dowel and jammed it in my underwear, with one
end against my body, and the other against the fabric of the
shorts.   Of all the superheroes in the world, I had always
wanted to be Superman, until now.  Now I wanted to be the
invisible man.

I looked up to see my mother calmly looking at me.  She didn't
say a word.   I don't think I ever loved her more, in those few
seconds, than I had ever loved her in my whole life.  She didn't
even smile.

"Do I just stand here?" she asked, quietly.

"Uh ... yes ..."  I croaked.

I pulled the camera up and looked through the viewfinder.  Her
whole body was visible.  It was a through-the-lens camera, which
isn't so common any more, but I knew I had to get closer if all I
was going to get were the breasts.  I stepped closer and closer
until they filled the view.  I had my other eye closed, and
wasn't aware that I had stepped to within two feet of her.   I
had a variable length lens on the camera, 28 to 70 millimeters,
and it was adjusted to wide angle.  If I'd have been paying
attention, I could have stood six feet away and zoomed in on
them.  But I wasn't paying that kind of attention.  Not then.

I pressed the button and the breasts went white  as the flash
went off, a split second before the view went black, and then
returned to normal.  I let the camera go down a couple of inches
and looked over it.  That's when I realized how close I had
gotten.  I knew there would be nothing on the film but a blob of
light, that close to reflective skin, and backed up.

"Is that it?" she asked, moving.

"No!" I yelped.  "I ... ah ... need to take them from different
viewpoints," I managed.

I backed up and started paying attention to the camera.  I ended
up taking ten or twelve shots, to get what I wanted.   What I
wanted were two from the front,  one each from an offset position
to each side, and one each from off her shoulder, beside her.  I
forgot to have her move around, so that the drapes were always in
the background, which is why I had to expose a dozen shots to get
six pictures.

I realized I was done, about the same time I realized I wasn't
sticking out in my underwear so much, and then realized I didn't
want to be done yet.  It was a little confusing.

"Let me think for a minute," I said, lowering the camera and just
looking at her.  She looked calmly back at me.  I saw her eyes
lower to my groin, and then wander back up my torso.   I thought
about having her get on her hands and knees, to let them hang
down.   A man wouldn't normally see them like that, so it wasn't
really a valid part of the project ... but I sure wanted to see
what that looked like.

"I guess we're done," I said reluctantly.  I didn't know it until
later, but my voice sounded sad.

It was about then that I realized the whole project had one huge
flaw in it.    Men might look at these pictures, to decide if
these were the breasts that made them want to keep the species
going, but they'd never see her like this for real.  I mean it
was possible that one of them might EVENTUALLY see her like this,
but at the point where a man is choosing his mate ... she has
clothes on.   Even if he chooses his mate at the swimming pool,
she has at least a bikini on.   Men don't get to SEE the breasts,
until they've already chosen the woman, and gotten her to the
point where she'll actually show them to him!    This was a
stupid idea!

I wanted to pound my head against the wall.  What was I supposed
to do now?  I had just taken pictures of my mother's breasts. 
She had been patient while I displayed a boner, which was
obviously for her.   I was, apparently, scheduled to take
pictures of all the rest, which I thought was a wonderful idea
... except that it would all be for nothing.  Professor Cat would
never buy off on this project.  She'd see the flaw in it right
away!

"It's not that bad, sweetie," said my mother, walking to her bed.
 She ignored the bra and picked up her blouse and shrugged into
it.  Her breasts did the most gorgeous wobbling and shaking as
that happened.   Her eyes raked down me again, and I looked to
see the dowel back.  "Even though it's totally inappropriate for
you to react that way," she said, "you make me feel very good."
She buttoned the blouse, and walked over to me.  She kissed me on
the forehead.  "If you get an A on your project, I might even let
you look at them again."  She giggled, turned me around, and
pushed.   "Now, go do whatever it is that boys do these days, and
get rid of that thing, before Tabitha and Randi get back.  
You're going to have to wear something to control that when you
take their pictures too, by the way.  I know you're just a
normal, growing boy, but it might be disturbing to them."

"Yes Mommy."

I actually said that.  Can you believe it?  I can't believe I
said that.

================================

Randi was next.   I was in my room when I heard the door slam and
she and Tabby came in.  There was the murmur of voices, and I
wondered what Mom was telling them.   A minute later Tabby opened
my door without knocking and stood there, looking at me.   I had,
in fact, masturbated after I got to my room, but that had only
taken maybe thirty seconds.  Just remembering those breasts was
enough to get me off in record time.

At the moment, I was reading an old Mack Bolan paperback.  I'd
found a box of them in the garage, back amongst the stuff my dad
had left behind when he took off ... or was kicked out.  I didn't
know much about him.  Neither Mom or Randi would talk about him.
 But he'd left this box with books in the Executioner series, and
quite a few of the Destroyer series too, along with a bunch of
westerns, by Louis L'Amor.  I liked them all.   Beating off had
given me my sex for the day, and now I was getting my ration of
violence.

"What!" I said, looking at Tabby.

"Nothing," she said, sticking her chin out.

"You want to close the door?" I asked acidly.

"No."

She left, leaving the door open.   I was thinking about getting
up to close it when Randi walked in.

"Well, you actually did it, huh?" she said.

I looked at her.  She was wearing a T shirt, and her nipples were
popping through.

"Yeah," I said.

"I didn't think you'd actually have the courage to do it," she
said.

"I didn't believe Mom would actually let me," I said back.

"I'm next, you know," she said, putting one hand on her hip.

"No, I didn't know that," I said.  "I didn't know there was a
list."

"Oh yes, we made a list," she said.

"Who has this list?" I asked.

"We didn't write it down," she said, like I was a simpleton.  "We
just all know the order we're going in."   She came into the room
farther.  "Mom went first, of course, just to see what you'd do.
 She'll talk to the rest, and let them know it's for real, and
it's on."

"I thought you believed me," I said, injured that there was all
this cloak and dagger stuff going on, with secret meetings, and
plans, and contingency plans.

"I knew you were for real," she said.  "I told them that.  But
what I didn't know was if you'd chicken out or not when it came
right down to it."

"Hey," I said, sitting up.  I really was injured now.  "I'm not
some little boy who gets all scared and stuff!"

"Funny you should mention that," she said, grinning at me.  "Mom
said something about that."

"What did she say?" I asked, beginning to blush.

"She just said you were very adult about it," she said, still
grinning.  "VERY adult."

"She didn't say that in front of Tabby ... did she?" I croaked.

"No.  When Tabby was there, she just said it went fine.  Tabby is
last, you know."

"No, I didn't know!" I said, getting agitated.  "Nobody's told me
anything!"

"I'm telling you now," she said.  It was her turn to try to sound
injured.

I realized a couple of things, at that moment in time.   First of
all, I realized it was all real.  I was actually going to get to
take pictures of all the women in my family.  I'd see their
breasts ... all of them.   I also realized that Randi wasn't the
least bit uncomfortable about all this.   That kind of amazed me.
  Then I realized that, despite the fact that I'd gotten a boner
for my own mother, she was OK with me taking the pictures of my
little sister too.  I had thought my boner was the end of the
world, but she had apparently meant what she'd said.  She just
thought of me as a normal, growing boy.   Something else occurred
to me.

"Grandma?" I asked.

Randi looked straight at me.  "She's after me."  She had a tiny
little smile on her face.  "Then your aunts, and after them,
Tabitha."

I felt like Leonardo De Caprio, standing at the bow of the
Titanic, yelling that he was the king of the world.  It made me
feel all adult, or something.

"When do you want to do it?" I asked my big sister.

"We were all just going to go in a row, next Friday night," said
Randi.  Disappointment must have shown on my face, because she
giggled.  "But I think I want to go before that.  How about
tonight?"

"Tonight is good," I said, probably too eagerly.  "Just let me
know."

================================

Most nights, when the rest of the man haters weren't there, were
just a scaled down version of Friday nights.  What I mean is that
my mother, Randi and Tabby lounged around in skimpy things every
night, and I usually wore my jockeys.  That Saturday night was no
different.  After supper, people who took showers at night,
meaning Tabby and me, took our showers before doing anything
else.  That was primarily because neither of us were morning
people, and we didn't want to put it off until we got too tired.
If your shower was out of the way, you could watch TV, or read,
or whatever, until you got sleepy, and then just go to bed.  If
you waited too long to take a shower, you got involved in other
things, and then, when you were tired, you didn't feel like
taking a shower any more, and went to bed stinky.  At least
that's how Tabby and I thought about it.   My mom and Randy were
morning people.  They usually took showers in the morning, and
then put on makeup and all that stuff that women do.  They often
got up at five thirty, just to be ready to go to school or work
at seven thirty.  Tabby and I both thought they were insane.

At any rate, when I came back to my room from my shower, Randi
was sitting on my bed,  waiting for me.  She'd already changed
into her normal evening wear, namely a long T shirt and panties.
She had my camera in her hands, and was examining it.  She looked
up when I walked in.

"Hi," she said.  "You ready?"

"I guess so," I said.  I had planned on wearing shorts ... my
tightest jeans shorts, when I took pictures of her breasts.  I
had a feeling my penis would stand up an notice her too.   But,
there I was in my jockeys, and she was ready.  It would look
pretty odd if I stopped to put on shorts.  I didn't know if that
"adult" thing Randi had said meant my mom told her about my boner
or not.  She had said Randi and Tabby wouldn't like that, but I
wasn't for sure what Randi had meant.

"Let's hurry then," Said Randi, standing up.  "Tabby's in the
shower.  She asked to watch, but I think that would make me feel
funny, so let's get it done before she gets out."

She walked past me, with my camera still in her hands, and went
to Mom's room.  She knew that much, anyway.   When I got there,
she handed me my camera, turned around to face away from me, and
pulled her T shirt over her head.  When she tossed it on Mom's
bed, that left her in powder blue panties, that had lace around
the waist and leg openings.  They weren't very big, either.  Her
back looked so smooth, narrow at the waist, and swelling wider as
it reached her shoulder blades.  I held my breath as she walked
to the drapes and turned around to face me.

The dowel rod was back, and, if anything, it was even longer. 
She was gorgeous.  Randi had auburn hair, that came just past her
shoulders.  She was slim, but genetically, had my mother's
breasts.  They were only slightly smaller than Mom's, and had the
same nipples and areolas, but in a smaller version.  Randi's
nipples were only the size of a pencil, and only half as long as
Mom's.  At least then.  I was to find out later that nipples can
change size.  I didn't know that then.  Anyway, they were the
same brown, but the areolas around them were much smaller than
Mom's, only going maybe a quarter inch beyond the nipples.

Of course, since she was only in panties, I looked at those too.
They must have been thinner than she thought they were, because
the first thing I noticed was that there was a zigzag dark shape
showing through them, and skin, where I expected hair to be.

"Up here, little brother," she chided me, catching me looking at
her panties.  My eyes rose to find her fingers pointing at her
breasts.  How often does that happen?  I mean how often does a
woman say "stop looking at that and look at my breasts!"

"Uh ... yeah," I said, sounding stupid.

"How should I stand?" she asked.

I cleared my throat.  "Just put your hands at your sides.  You're
very beautiful."

I realized I'd said that last part out loud, and cringed."

"Thank you," she said, smiling.  I was amazed.

I got down to business, and took six shots of her, to match the
six I'd taken of Mom.  I tried to get them from the same angles.
I was taking the last one when Tabby showed up in the open
doorway, a towel wrapped around her body, with another one
wrapped around her head.  I didn't realize she was there until
after I had taken the last one, which was from Randi's left side,
showing her left breast standing out.  No pencil would be held by
that breast, I realized, as I snapped the shot.  Her breasts
didn't sag an inch.

What I didn't realize was that, from Tabby's point of view, with
me standing sideways to her, while I was looking at Randi's
breast standing proudly out from her chest, Tabby was looking at
my prick, trying to poke a hole in my jockey shorts.

I let the camera down, and told Randi I was done, and then turned
toward the door, where I then saw Tabby.   I had been intent on
leaving the room, and going to my room, to do the same thing I
had done after I saw Mom's breasts, so I took two steps toward
Tabby before I realized she was there, and reacted to that.

"Don't you touch me, you pervert!" she squealed, her eyes pinned
on the front of my shorts.

"I'm not going to touch you!" I said, defensively.

"Go on to your room, Sis," said Randi, from behind me.  I looked
over my shoulder.  She was still shirtless, and those breasts
were almost touching me.

"I have to stay here, in case he tries to attack you," said
Tabitha.  She was serious too.

"Go on to your room, Tabitha!" said Randi, in that no-nonsense
older sister voice she used when she was impersonating our
mother.  "He's not going to attack anybody.  I'll come talk to
you later.  Now go on!"

Randi had to bark at her again, but finally she left, walking out
of the room backwards.  I'd have laughed if she'd have tripped
and fallen on her ass.  I was pretty mad at her by then.

"We were afraid that might happen," said Randi, from right behind
me.

"What?" I asked.  I didn't turn around.  I wanted to,
desperately, but it was easier to talk to her with her behind me.
 She must have felt the same way.  She put her hands on my
shoulders, like she didn't want me to turn around and face her.

"Mom told me about your ... reaction ... earlier today.  She and
I understand, but Tabby's a little young."

"I know," I said.  "I was amazed that you guys would even think
of letting her take part in this."

"You need her," said Randi.  "For your pictures to be correct,
you have to have a young girl in them.  We all agreed on that."

"Well, I doubt she'll be interested any more."  I was quite sure
of that.

"I'll go talk to her and explain."

"How the heck are you going to explain that?" I asked.  It was
easier talking to Randi than it would have been to any of the
others.  I don't know why, but I just felt comfortable around
her.  Especially since I wasn't staring at her breasts or
panties.

"I'm going to tell her it's a compliment, of course," said Randi.
 "That's how I feel about it.  Mom too, by the way.  You just
made her day when that happened this morning."

"I did?  I was afraid I'd end up grounded."

"Oh no, sport.  You made your mother feel like a real woman.  She
was giddy when she talked to me about it."

"Wow," I said.

"And I know how she feels.  You may be my brother, but I have to
tell you, you made me feel pretty good too."

I blushed.  "Well ... you really are beautiful.  Mom too."  I
suddenly wanted to turn around and look at her again.   I didn't
get the chance.

Her arms went around me, and I felt her hot breasts on my back. 
Her lips kissed my cheek.

"You're sweet," she said.  "If I thought you were playing games,
I'd make you very, very sorry, but I don't think you are.   Tell
me the truth ... before you took these pictures, had you ever
seen a girl's breasts?"

"No," I whispered.  I was too intent on keeping her right where
she was, with those hot breasts burning holes in my back."

"And no woman has touched you like this, either ... right?"

"Of course not," I said softly.

"Mmmmm" she said into my ear.  She kissed me on my cheek again. 
"You're a dangerous young man, did you know that?"

"I don't feel very dangerous," I gasped, as she rubbed her
breasts on my back.

"You're extremely dangerous," said my sister.  "You made me feel
too good.  Go on.  Get out of here, before something happens that
both of us will regret."

She gave me a little push, and I stumbled to the door.  I looked
back, to see her picking up her shirt.  One of her hands was
squeezing one of her nipples.   Then my forward momentum carried
me past the door, and I kept going.  I was about to shoot in my
shorts, and I didn't want to do that.

================================

I lay there on my bed, thinking about what Randi had said. 
Something that both of us would regret.  My overactive
imagination went crazy, thinking about that.  I thought about her
coming to my room, and climbing into bed with me.  She'd be just
in those panties, of course.   Man!  How cool would that be?!  My
door was closed, so I started stroking.   It didn't take any
longer than when I'd thought about my mom.

Chapter Four

Nobody said a word about my project for the rest of the next
week, until Friday morning, when Mom sat down across the
breakfast table from me.

"You can take the rest of your pictures tonight.  They'll all be
here."  She took a sip of coffee and looked at me.

"OK," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"You should wear some shorts or something," she said.

I felt my face get hot.  "OK," I said again.

"Do you have a jock strap?" she asked.

"Somewhere," I said.  It had been required for gym class, but you
only had to take Gym in your Freshman and Sophomore years, so I
hadn't seen it for a couple of years.

"I don't want you to feel bad about what happened," said my
mother.

Great.  She wanted to have a mother-son discussion about my
erections.

"OK," I tried.

That wasn't enough, for her.

"I know you're embarrassed about it," she said.  "I just want you
to know that it happens to all boys."

"I know that, Mom," I said.  There was an edge to my voice that I
hadn't intended to put there.  "I just hope Grandma sees it that
way."

"You hope your grandmother sees your erection?"  My mom looked
shocked.

"No!" I yelped.  "I mean I hope she understands ... that's all."

"You think you'll get ... hard ... when you take my mother's
pictures?" suggested my mother.

"I don't know!" I gasped.  "Do we have to talk about this?"

"I think we should, dear," said my very pragmatic mother.  "I'm
just worried that you'll start acting like a man."

"What else am I supposed to act like?"  I was getting really
frustrated by now.  "You want me to start wearing a dress?"

"Of course not, darling," she said, reaching out to touch my
hand.  I jerked mine away.

"You don't have to worry about me jumping Grandma's bones!" I
said, my voice sulky.

She laughed, and then saw the look on my face.   Her face got
serious.

"Don't be mad at me, Pat," she said, somewhat stiffly.  "I'm not
used to having a man around the house."

I rolled my eyes.  "Danny's over here every other day," I
reminded her.

"Danny's different," she said, immediately.  "Danny wouldn't do
anything with any of us even if we asked him to."

I don't know why I did it.  Maybe I just wanted to needle her,
like I thought she was needling me.  She wasn't needling me, but
I felt like she was.  Anyway, I said it.

"Don't be too sure about that," I said.  "He thinks you're all
hotties.  He even said so, the other night."

The shock on her face made me wish I hadn't said it, but, like
most things you say in the heat of passion, it couldn't be taken
back.   I was about to try, though, when Randi came into the
kitchen.

"Morning, Mom," she said.  "Hi, Sport."   She stopped, looking at
the expression on our mother's face.  "What's wrong?" she asked.

My mother looked nervous and sat back.  "Nothing," she said.

Randi looked at me and I shrugged.   My mom got up and started
fiddling around, cleaning up the kitchen, doing busy work.

I wasn't about to get into the same discussion with Randi, so I
gulped down the rest of my cereal and got up and left.  I looked
around, in my room, for my jock strap, but never found it.  I did
find a pair of last year's jeans shorts, which I knew were really
tight on me, and laid them aside, for later that night.

================================

My plan to wear tight shorts didn't quite work out.  That's
because habit kicked in, and I didn't think about it.  I thought
about the pictures and all that, but not specifically how to plan
for them.

What happened was that, after supper, I took my shower, like
usual, and put on jockey's, like usual.  I wasn't aware that
Grandma had arrived early, while I was in the shower.  She was
waiting for me, like Randi had been, in my room, when I got back
there.

"You ready?" she asked, her voice perky.  She didn't have to tell
me what she was talking about.  She had put on makeup and
everything.

Grandma Mona was fifty-four.  She was seventeen when she had my
mother.  She married the man, and had Aunt Vanessa three years
later.  Then, when her marriage started falling apart, her
husband, who was technically my grandfather, but whom I had never
met, apparently started spending a lot of time away from home.  I
got the impression all that time away from home was in the same
town they lived in, but I never got any details.  Anyway, that
led to her divorce.

Aunt Christy was mixed up in that story somewhere.  She was six
years younger than Aunt Vanessa, and nine years younger than my
mother, and the divorce from my grandfather happened about the
same time she was born.  Nobody really talked about it much, but
a curious genius finds ways to get threads of information, that
can be woven into a tapestry, that will eventually give at least
a partial picture of things.

My grandmother didn't look fifty-four.  I remembered her arriving
at the house, when I was little, in sweat stained running
clothes, wearing a sweat band around her head and stuff like
that.  She didn't run any more, but she walked a lot, and
attended exercise classes at the gym, along with a bunch of her
friends.   She was in pretty good shape.  She was also the most
masculine of all of the man-haters.   She was the one who tossed
a baseball with me, and threw footballs more or less at me, when
I was ten or eleven, and she was trying to make up for the father
I didn't have.  She knew her way around a tool box too, having
been independent for twenty some odd years, without a man around
the house.   Danny still went over to her house, when something
needed fixing, but they usually worked on whatever it was
together.   Of them all, my grandmother was the closest to being
my buddy.  She never yelled at me.  She always supported me, and
reminded the others how smart I was.  My sisters were ... well
... my sisters.  I loved my mother, but it was possible that I
loved my grandmother even more.   That's not fair to Mom.  Maybe
I loved her in a different way.  I love Mom more than anyone else
on the planet.

I'd never seen my grandmother in anything other than street
clothes, for the most part, and most boys don't think of their
grandmother as a "woman" in the first place, so I had no idea
what to expect. She was wearing jeans, and a flowered silk
blouse.  She looked like those women in the Oil of Olay
commercials, who are supposed to be in their forties and fifties,
but look more like they're in their thirties.  To say I was
surprised, is like saying eating raw Jalapeno peppers will make
your mouth warm.

She also knew that the pictures would be taken in my mother's
bedroom.  She seemed to be in a hurry, so my jeans shorts were
left lying on the dresser, where I'd set them aside, and I
followed her to Mom's room.  Without any fanfare at all, she
unbuttoned the blouse and shrugged it off, to reveal a white,
functional bra, just like my mother's.   She didn't undo it
herself, though.

Instead, she turned her back to me and said "Unhook me, sweetie?"

Like I knew how to unhook a bra.

I fumbled with it for ten or fifteen seconds.

"You've never done this before," she commented.

"Uh ... no," I said, using the same voice some people use when
they say "Well Duh!"

"Good," she said.  "You're too young to be fooling around with
bras."

Then she gave me a primer on how to unhook a bra, telling me it
had to be pulled, to loosen the catch, which could then be
unhooked.  It worked, but as soon as it was undone, the ends
snapped out of my fingers and disappeared under her armpits.

"Sorry," I said.

She turned around, and I just naturally looked at her cleavage. 
There was a lot of cleavage there, with that bra sagging in the
front.

There was a frown on her face, when I made my eyes drift upwards.

"You may not want to include me in your project," she said.  "I'm
old and saggy."

She did the same thing my mother had, giving her shoulders a
little shrug, and the bra straps slid off her shoulders.  She
caught the bra in her hands, and pulled it away from her breasts.
 My eyes flitted between what she had uncovered, and her face,
which was looking nervous.

My grandmother's breasts didn't look fifty-four either.  Of
course I had never seen any fifty-four year old breasts before,
but they didn't look like I expected them to, after what she
said.  I'd expected them to look like the breasts on those women
in the old National Geographic magazines, out in the garage ...
empty, sagging bags, that lay flat on the chest, drooping down
around the belly button area.

They didn't look like that at all.   The first thing I noticed
was that she had freckles all over her chest, tons of them.   Her
breasts did hang down, but I wouldn't have called it "sagging".
 To put it in the same basic description as my mother's, the
fruits that were in the panty hose of her breast skin were more
the size of soft balls, but they stretched the skin just as
tightly.   Her nipples weren't on the ends, though.   It was like
the skin under them had been stretched by those soft balls,
making the nipples look like they were higher.  They sat on top,
pointing up, at about a forty-five degree angle.   They were
pointier too, somehow.   The effect was like a miniature ski
slope, with a ski jump at the end.   Her nipples weren't brown,
either.  They were more maroon, except it was a lighter color
than that.  Other than that, they were carbon copies of my
mothers, with thick, long nipples.

My mouth wasn't dry, this time.  There was so much saliva in it
that I had to swallow.

"Are they all right?"  My grandmother's voice trembled a little.

"They're great," I said, staring at them.  "I definitely want
them in the project."

Her whole body sagged, just a little, and she smiled.

"Well aren't you the charmer," she said.  I swear she stuck her
chest out at me ... just a little.   Her hands came up and lifted
her breasts.  The nipples slid down, to the ends, where they
"should" have been, and she looked down at them.  "They aren't
much, but I've had them for a long time.  I've kind of gotten
attached to them."

I watched, astonished, as she squeezed both of those fat nipples
between a thumb and forefinger.   She looked up at me, and
blushed as she saw my mouth hanging open.

"What in the world am I thinking?" she said, half gasping.  She
turned around and walked to the drapes.  She also knew about
them.  Then she turned to face me again, and her face was
straight.  She dropped her arms.  "How's this?"

"Fine," I gasped.

I took the pictures, forgetting all about the fact I was in
jockeys.

My grandmother didn't.   When I had taken the last one, she was
staring at the lump being caused by that dowel rod.  I  announced
we were done, blushing furiously.

"Pat?" she said.

"Yes?" I responded.

"Would you be kind enough to pull your underwear down for me?"

"What?" I choked.

"You got to see me," she said, her voice nervous again.  "It's
just been so long since I've seen a ..."  Her eyes came up to my
face.  "A man, Pat.  I'd just like to see what a man looks like
again."

"You want to see my ... my ... "  I couldn't say it.  "You want
to see it?" I said, instead.

"Yes, please?" she asked, like it was the most normal thing in
the world.  "I won't tell anybody you showed me."

I would hope not!

What would you do?   I didn't know what to do.   I wasn't scared
or anything ... it was just ... weird, you know?

"Please, Pat?" she said.  She sounded even more nervous now.  The
camera felt like it weighted fifty pounds in my hands, and I
looked around for someplace to put it, before I dropped it on the
floor.

She moved, and her hands came to cover her breasts.

"I'm sorry, Pat," she said, her voice sounding like it hurt.  "I
shouldn't have done that.  I don't know what came over me. 
Please forgive me."

"No!" I almost shouted.  Of all the people in the world, the one
I wanted to hurt the least was my grandmother.  OK, maybe my
mother, but it was close.  I loved them both, and I didn't want
either of them unhappy because of me.   "It's OK!  Honest!"

She stopped.  When she looked at me I could see her eyes were
wet.

"Don't cry, Grandma," I moaned.  "It's OK, really.  I was just
surprised ... that's all."

"Of course you were." She smiled, tentatively.  "You really don't
mind?"

"Well, it's weird," I admitted.  "But I don't mind ... not for
you."

She looked happy again, and I felt great, all of a sudden.  I was
going to make my grandmother happy, and all I had to do was show
her my boner.

See what these women did to me?  As I look back on it all, it
just blows me away.

I didn't delay.  I pulled my underwear out, and then down,
letting the waistband snap against my thighs, just below my
balls.   I could hear my grandmother's gasping intake of air,
clear across the room.

How do you stand, when you're trying to show off your boner to
your fifty-four year old grandmother?   I had a sudden insight as
to how the women felt, as they stepped up to stand next to the
drapes, showing their breasts to their sixteen year old
son/brother/nephew/grandson.   Up to that point, it had all been
some kind of hazy dream, that I was watching, but not actually
in.   Doing this changed everything.   I realized how hard it
must have been for my mother and sister to do what they had done,
and how much courage my grandmother had.  They'd done that for
me!

My prick got harder, if anything, and my hips moved forward.

"It's beautiful," sighed my grandmother.  "I'd forgotten how
beautiful one of those things can be."

"Thanks," I said.  I meant it.  She was the first woman to make
me feel like I had a handsome prick.

"So young, and strong," sighed my grandmother.  "I remember when
I could make one of those sing."

"I bet you still could," I said, trying to compliment her, in
return for her compliment.

Her head jerked, and her eyes looked into mine.  "Looking is one
thing, young man.  Don't you go asking me to do something like
that."

"I wasn't asking you to!" I yipped.  "All I was saying was that
you probably still could!"

She looked at me speculatively.  "Has any girl made yours sing
yet?"

"No Ma'am!" I said, vociferously.  "You're the only girl who's
ever even seen it!"

Her eyes got all misty again, and her hands came up to her
breasts again, but then dropped.

"If you aren't just the little charmer.  I'm going to have to
keep my eye on you, young man."

"Like this?" I tried to make a joke.  I could feel tension in the
air, and I didn't like it.

It worked.  She laughed.

"No, not like this," she said, reaching for her blouse.  She
started to put it on, and then remembered her bra.  She dropped
the blouse and picked up the bra and shrugged into it.   She
turned her back to me again.  "Do me up?" she asked.

It was easier to hook it, than unhook it.  Her skin felt warm
against my fingers.   I don't know why, but I kissed her
shoulder.

"Thanks," I said.

She shuddered, and turned around and pushed me away.

"Cover that thing up," she barked.   Her face didn't match her
tone of voice, though.  She put on her blouse, while I pulled my
shorts up and tried to make my erection look less prominent.  
Then she hugged me.

"You're welcome."  She pushed me back.  "You'll have to do
something about that before Vanessa comes in here.  She'd have a
heart attack if she saw that."

"You didn't," I said.

"I'm used to going without, you scamp!" said my grandmother. 
"She's only been without for four or five years.  It would be
cruel if she saw that."

"How do you know she's been going without?" I asked, grinning.

I got another one of those speculative looks.

"I know my daughters.  I thought I knew my grandson, but I'm
beginning to wonder about that.   I'll give you ten minutes, and
then send Vanessa up here.  Don't tease her.  Do you understand
me?"

"I wasn't teasing anybody," I said, sounding hurt.   "It just
happened.  I can't help it if all the women in this family are
gorgeous."

I got a much longer hug, this time, but was pushed away just as
hard too.

"You do what I say, boy!  Now go on!"

================================

Despite what my Grandma Mona thought, I didn't want to rush
anything and only take ten minutes.  I know, I know. It wouldn't
have taken that long, but I kind of liked feeling all excited
like this, now, and I already knew that Aunt Vanessa would bring
it back to its current level of tuminescence, even if I beat it
into submission.   So I went to my room and put on my jeans
shorts, instead.   I was waiting when Aunt Vanessa peeked into my
mother's bedroom, and saw me, sitting on the bed.

"Oh!" she said.  Her voice sounded higher than usual.  "There you
are."

"This is where I take the pictures," I said.

"Yes, I know, but Mother said not to come up here too quickly." 
She sounded flustered.

When she came into the room, I knew why she was flustered.  She
was wearing a dress, for some reason.   I didn't know it then,
but she'd worn that dress on purpose.

"I'm ready," I said.

"Oh," she said again.   Her cheeks started to turn pink.

================================

Let me take a moment to go over some of the more important things
I wasn't aware of, at that point.

One thing I didn't know then, was that all these women compared
notes.  Despite their warnings to me about not showing my
reactions, they told each other ... or perhaps warned each other
... that I reacted, while I was taking the pictures.

For example,  I didn't know about my mother's statement to the
others: "When did he grow up so much?"  I also didn't know about
Randi, saying "He's definitely no little boy any more!"   And I
didn't know about Grandma, going back downstairs, and my mother
saying "Well?" and my grandmother saying "You're right.  He's all
man, I'll tell you that!"

For you guys out there, who don't speak female, that all
translates into "He got a boner while he was looking at my
boobs!"

So all of them, with the possible exception of Tabby, who might
not have learned that language, just yet, knew that, while they
were posing for me, I'd be hard.

Probably.

Another thing I didn't know was that, completely unintentionally,
I was giving each of these women validation that they were
desirable to a young man.  Man-haters, though I thought they
were, they still wanted to feel desirable.  When you push men
away, you don't get much validation, and, when you're a
man-hater, the validation you do get isn't trustworthy.  If you
don't understand what I'm talking about, just go find a man-hater
and ask her about it.  Anyway, part of why they all decided to go
through with this crazy project idea, was that, on some level,
they wanted a man to react to them ... a man who they trusted ...
a man who they weren't afraid of ... a man they knew loved them.
 They looked at me as that man, even though none of them would
admit it.  Not then, anyway.

So basically, what this all meant, even though I didn't know it
at that point, was that all these women WANTED me to get an
erection over them.   They wouldn't have admitted it, and they
might not have even been aware of it on a conscious level.   That
would change too, but that's later too.

That's why Aunt Vanessa was nervous.  She was afraid, on an
unconscious level, that I wouldn't respond to her, like I'd
responded to the others.

And little old me, of course, was basically clueless to all this.


================================

Aunt Vanessa had worn that dress on purpose, so that she'd have
to take off the whole dress to have her pictures taken.  Her eyes
flitted to me a dozen times, while she was in the process of
taking the dress off. It seemed to take some time, and a lot of
bending over and standing up.  I don't know if she meant to, but
it was a little like she was doing a striptease.

After she expertly - and quickly - removed her matching bra, that
left her in panties, like Randi had been, and my jeans weren't up
to the challenge.  Like I said, they were last year's jeans. 
That actually meant they were three or four years old.  I reached
my five-foot-eight-inch height when I was fourteen, and then just
stopped growing taller.  I filled out a lot, but my mom bought
clothes large, so I could wear them for several years.   Those
shorts had been my favorites for a long time, and I'd worn them
thin and pale.

When my Aunt Vanessa laid that dress carefully on the bed, and
tossed that bra on top of it, all that left, were yellow, high
rise bikini panties, that clearly showed there wasn't a hair
within two feet of what those panties covered.

The zipper on those three year old shorts gave with a soft pop.

Aunt Vanessa had never had children.  She married the High School
football star, right out of High School, where she was a
cheerleader.  I had never seen her with anything but honey-blond
hair, which she let grow as long as it would grow, which meant to
her shoulder blades.  I had no way of knowing her real hair color
was chestnut.  Boys don't notice little things like dark roots.
She was the most feminine, and the most helpless acting of the
women too.

One of those other things I was unaware of was that her husband
had tried to put the make on my Aunt Christy, at a New Year's Eve
party.  He had apparently been very forceful in dragging Aunt
Christy into a bedroom, and she had screamed, which led to Uncle
Danny, not yet married to Aunt Christy, punching him out, which
led to Aunt Vanessa's divorce.  That was something else I'd learn
later, when I got to know Aunt Vanessa ... much better.

Aunt Vanessa's breasts were different from the others, but I
could see similarities too.   A difference was that her nipples
were bright pink, with no brown in them at all.  Her areolas, the
same color, were bigger than Randi's, but smaller than my
mother's.   Their basic shape was like Grandma Mona's, except
that they didn't sag at all.  The ski slope was still there, and
the up-thrust nipples, but she couldn't have kept a pencil under
her breasts if somebody was paying her to.  Her nipples weren't
sharp, or pointed, either.  Not then.  They were just round
bumps, on top of her areolas.

"You're staring," she said.  Her voice didn't match the words. 
There was almost relief in her voice.

"Sorry," I said.  Then, based on how my grandmother had reacted,
I took a chance.  "You're very beautiful."

"Oh!" she said.  Her upper chest got as pink as those nipples. 
"Thank you."

I couldn't believe my Aunt had said "Thank you" like that.  I'd
understand later, but first I had to figure out what to do about
my shorts.  I could see white, from my underwear, peeking through
the broken zipper.

I couldn't think of anything to do.

So I started taking pictures instead.   I took more than were
necessary.  In the  process, I got some new information.

I smelled something.

It was something I had never smelled before, so I didn't know
what it was.  It smelled good, though.  I'll tell you that.   It
wasn't perfume.  I wasn't completely clueless about girls, even
if I was inexperienced, and when I stood back to take the final
picture, and saw that the crotch of those yellow high rise
panties had gotten darker ... and more transparent ... I finally
understood.

I have to admit, I stared.   It was my first look at a pair of
pussy lips, cradled by thin fabric, that wasn't doing much to
obstruct my view.  They were pressed tightly together, but were
still well defined, and looked just like what they were ... pussy
lips.

My zipper gave a little more, and the tip of my prick popped as
far out as my shorts would allow, which was maybe an inch.

"Oh my!" said Aunt Vanessa, staring at my crotch.

"Sorry," I said, my voice husky.  "It seems to happen a lot.  I
didn't do it on purpose."

"You broke your zipper!" she sighed.

I felt much more bold than I ever had before.  All this was
changing me, and I wasn't keeping up with the changes very well.

"I think YOU broke my zipper," I said.

Her hands came to her face and she waved them like fans, like she
was hot.

"Oh my!" she sighed again.

"I'm really sorry," I said.

She got all perky.  "Never mind that," she said.  She almost
jumped to the bed, where her dress was laid out.  It did the most
amazing things to her breasts, which swayed and wobbled.  The
rest of my zipper gave up the ghost, and my dick popped out
another inch.

She shrugged into her bra, putting both arms so far behind her
that for a second she looked like she didn't even HAVE any arms.
Then they appeared again and she used them to drop her dress
down, over her head.  It floated into place around her hips,
covering up what had been making that delicious smell.

"You can't let Christy see you like that!" she said, urgently. 
"She'd be horrified!"

All these women, who were all supposed to be horrified by my
boner, sure seemed to worry about each other's reaction, even
though their own wasn't at all what I expected it to be.   Or
what THEY all expected it to be, come to think of it.

While I went to find something else to wear over my boner, my
Aunt went downstairs.  Everyone looked at her.  She waved her
hands in front of her face again, like she had with me, and
giggled.

Of course, I didn't know that then.   Danny told me about all
that later.  He was there too.  He also told me that Aunt Christy
jumped up off the couch, where she had been sitting beside him.
He said she jumped up with way more energy than he thought she
should have, and he got a little jealous, about then, but he
didn't hold it against me.

Chapter Five

Of them all, I expected Aunt Christy to be the most reserved. 
She didn't have any children yet either, but she looked like a
Soccer Mom, to me.  She had dark brown hair, that she kept cut
short.  She was very pragmatic, about most things.   She worked
at a Doctor's office, but she wasn't a nurse.  She did something
with medical records.  She didn't dress flashy, or anything like
that.   She looked like what I expected Randi to look like when
she was ten years older.

What I didn't know about Aunt Christy was that, when she married
Danny, she was a virgin.  Not only was she a virgin, she had
never seen another man's body, and had never let any of her
boyfriends do anything more than grab a quick feel, and kiss her
for hours.  When her sister's husband had tried to divest her of
her virginity, at that New Year's Eve party, he was the first man
to shove his hand in her panties.  He'd been in the act of
getting naked, when she screamed.  Danny, who was just a friend
of his, and who had come along to the party because he had
nothing better to do, arrived like the knight on a white charger
that he really was, and saved Christy's bacon.  Or muffin.  Or
peach.  Or Cherry.

It's amazing now many names there are for pussy that have to do
with food.

Anyway, after the excitement was all over, and Aunt Vanessa had
dragged her husband out of the house by his ear, Aunt Christy had
reacted to the whole thing in a way nobody in the world would
have expected.  Basically, she almost gave up to Danny, what he
had barged in to protect.   It turned out he was old fashioned,
and wouldn't do it, and she was hooked on him for life.    They
started going out, and she badgered him into marrying her so she
could give him her virginity.

So, when my Aunt Christy went upstairs to have her breasts
photographed, she was going to show them to a man other than
Danny, which was a first, for her.   She spoke female, so she was
also aware that she might get to see evidence that she was
desirable ... evidence that, in the past, she had intentionally
avoided seeing.  Not counting Danny, of course.

She had also worn a dress that night, but not for the same reason
Aunt Vanessa had.  She'd done it because she wanted to look nice,
and she thought she looked nicer in a dress.  She was simple like
that, and very pragmatic.

She was sitting on the bed when I came in.  I was dressed in
newer, if a little looser shorts.  The first thing she looked at
was the front of those shorts.  I'd laid my little problem to one
side, and he made a horizontal line, across the front of the
shorts.  Aunt Christy blushed furiously, and moved her hands to
lay them in her lap.  She looked more nervous than any of the
others.

"You OK?" I asked, not wanting her to get upset.

She blinked at me.  "I'm fine," she said, her voice a little
breathy.  "I've just never done anything like this before."

"Neither have I," I said.

"Yes you have," she said instantly.

Like I said, she was very pragmatic, almost literal minded.

"Yes," I agreed, when I realized what she was talking about. 
"But not with you."

"Of course not," she said.

I saw trouble on the horizon.   Aunt Christy had always treated
me well, but more like I wasn't there, most of the time.

"You don't really have to do this, if you don't want to," I said.

"Yes I do," she said, again, instantly.  "I agreed to do it."

"Yeah," I said, "But I don't want to ..."

"Just tell me what to do!" she said.

I would find out later that Aunt Christy had a kinky side to her,
that only Danny knew about.   It was a weird kind of thing where
she thought about stuff happening to her, that she didn't want to
happen to her, except that she did.    What it amounted to was
that if somebody TOLD her to do something, that was OK.   She
couldn't do it on her own, because that would mean she was a bad
girl.   But if somebody TOLD her to, and she secretly WANTED to
anyway ... then that was OK.

There was a lot more going on with Christy, while we did this,
than there was with anybody else.   I didn't understand that
then, but she had told me to tell her what to do, so I did.

"You'll have to take off your dress," I said.

"All of it?" she asked, her eyes going round.

"Well, I guess you could just undo it, and let it fall around
your hips," I said.

"No, I'll take it off," she said, blushing.  "I wasn't planning
on this part, though."

She stood up, turned around to face away from me, and took her
dress off.   She was wearing a basic pair of matching white
panties and bra ... nothing sexy ... but of a modern design.  
She had a classical hour glass figure, with wide shoulders,
moving to a narrow waist, and hips that seemed to just explode
out from there.

She looked back over her shoulder at me.  Her eyes looked funny,
kind of dreamy like.

"What now?"

"Take your bra off?" I said, not quite a command.

"Yes!" she said.  "OK ... take my bra off."

Her hand reached around behind her, in that impossible way women
have of reaching the middle of their back, and her fingers
flicked at the catch of her bra.   It did the same spring forward
thing that Grandma's had done, and she did the same shrugging
thing that made it flop down into her hands.  She was still
facing away from me.   She held the bra in her hand, and her head
lowered.    She didn't do anything at all ... just stood there,
like she was ashamed, or something.   I almost expected her to
grab her clothes and run out of the room, but she didn't.

"What should I do with it?" she asked.

I was confused, at that point.

"Put it on the bed," I said, for lack of anything else to say.

She did so immediately, and stood there again.   I began to
realize she wasn't going to do anything at all, unless I actually
told her to.

"Go over by the drapes," I said.

She walked there immediately.

"Turn around."

She did, and her hands came to cover her breasts.  Her eyes went
to the front of my pants again.

"I can't take the pictures if you cover them up," I said softly.
"Put your hands down."

Her hands almost shot down to her sides, and she sucked in her
stomach.  That made her breasts push out at me.

Aunt Christy's breasts were different.  They were round, like
Randi's, but bigger.   There were no panty hose involved with her
breasts.  They had simply pushed her tight skin straight out, to
form two halves of a huge soft ball, with light brown nipples on
them that stuck straight out.  Those nipples were longer than
anybody else's, thought they weren't as fat as Grandma's.  They
looked hard and rubbery.  Her areolas were lighter brown than the
nipples, but definitely brown, and not pink.  Her breasts looked
hard as a rock, with no place to even try to put a pencil.  She
was standing so ramrod straight that it looked uncomfortable.

"Pat?" her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes?"

"This is embarrassing."

I tried the same thing with her that I'd said to her sister. 
"Don't be embarrassed. You're really very beautiful."

"You shouldn't say that," she said.  She seemed to be having a
hard time breathing.

"Why not?" I asked.  "It's true."

"Nobody besides Danny has ever seen me like this," she whispered.

"Danny is very lucky," I said.

"Are you going to take the pictures?" she asked, hoarsely.

"Yes," I said, somehow feeling like I had control over her.   I
didn't know where that came from.  "Just stand there, while I
frame the shots in my mind."

"OK," she said instantly.

I walked to the side, and looked at those bulging, tight mounds.
They looked so different, that what I actually thought about was
that there really WOULD be choices for the men to make, when they
saw all these pictures.  While all of these breasts were from the
same genetic line, they didn't look at all the same.  There were
similarities, but they were different too.

"Lift your arms over your head," I said.

She did so immediately.  The shape of her breasts didn't change
one bit, though they rose on her chest a little.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," I said.  "You can let your arms down again."

She did that instantly too.  I started taking pictures.  I took
more of hers than I needed to too.

I told her I was done, and she just stood there.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Do you promise you'll never tell anybody I asked you this?"

"OK," I said, rewinding the film.

"Are you ... um ... hard right now?"

Don't ask me how I knew to act outraged.  It was just a feeling.

"Aunt Christy!" I said, almost a gasp.

She flushed bright red, clear down to her nipples.  They looked
even longer and harder now, than they had when we started.   You
could hang a necklace off of them, if you wanted to.

"I know," she said miserably.  "Never mind."

"Yes, I am," I said, wondering how she'd react.

"For me?" she squeaked.

"I guess so," I said, losing a bit of my bravado.

"Ohhhhhhh," she moaned.  Her fingers twitched, at her sides.  I
remembered Randi, squeezing one of her nipples, after I had taken
her pictures ... and Aunt Vanessa, getting wet ... down there. 
My genius mind finally caught up with at least some of what was
happening.

"It's OK to be excited," I said softly.  "The others got excited
too."

Her head swiveled and her eyes stared straight into mine.

"They did?" she squeaked.

I nodded.   "You're a beautiful, sexy woman.  I can't help but
see that ... like this."

"You can never, ever tell anyone about this," she gasped.

"I wouldn't dream of it," I said.

"You told me about them," she said, pragmatically.

"I was afraid you were going to scream," I said.

"I feel so ..."  She didn't finish it, and her head turned back
to the front, her eyes staring straight ahead.  "I never felt
like this before," she finally finished.

"I understand that completely," I said, truthfully.  I'd never
felt like I did about these women like I did now either.

"The others ... they really got excited?"

"Grandma even wanted to see me," I said, without thinking.

Her head snapped back toward me.

"GET OUT!" she gasped.  I knew she didn't mean that literally.

"She said she hadn't seen ... one ... in so long that she'd
forgotten what they looked like," I said.   "You can't tell her I
told you that."

"I won't!" she yipped.  "She really looked at it!"

I nodded.   Something popped into my mind.

"You want to see it too?"

"No!" she gasped.   "I could never do that."

"I want you to see it," I said, thinking I was crazy as a loon.

"You do?"  She sounded doubtful.

"I got to see you.  It's only fair that you get to see me."

"No," she said.  "I don't need to see you."

Her voice didn't go with her words, and her eyes lowered to the
front of my pants again.   She also said "need", instead of
"want", and I noticed that, for some reason.

"I want you to," I said, thinking that any minute she was going
to scream bloody murder.  "You did this to me.  I think you
should see it."

"That's insane!" she whispered.  She didn't move, and her eyes
stared straight at what she thought was insane.

"You won't have to touch it, or anything," I said, not believing
what I was saying.

Her eyes snapped to my face.

"I certainly WON'T touch it!" she said.  Her voice matched her
look this time, and I thought it was all over.  She meant that.

Now I was scared.  I was scared she'd tell the others what I'd
said, and that I'd be skinned alive.  I might even get kicked
out!  I needed for SOMETHING to happen that would make her keep
quiet.  I was desperate.

"But you'll look at it," I insisted.

The hardness went out of her eyes.

"All right," she whispered.  "But I won't touch it."

So I showed her my dick.    I didn't give her time to come to her
senses.  I just popped the button and ran the zipper on my shorts
down and pushed frantically at the shorts and underwear at the
same time.  I felt pain and my prick bobbed up and down, as it
was released.

She sagged, and sat on the bed, putting one hand behind her, to
find it.  She stared at my pink penis, and her mouth dropped
open.   She didn't say a word then.  Later I was to find out that
Danny was circumcised, while I wasn't, and she was fascinated by
what she was seeing.   She seemed to shake, and she shook so hard
that even her breasts jiggled a little bit.  Her eyes cleared,
and she looked up at me.

"You can put it away, now," she said.  She suddenly sounded like
my Aunt Christy ... my NORMAL Aunt Christy.

"OK," I said.  "Thank you."  I pulled my clothes up and stuffed
everything into place and fastened everything.

She stood up.  I looked up to see my normal Aunt Christy's face,
on her mostly naked body.  She had the oddest look on her face,
but she was definitely Aunt Christy again.  She stepped closer to
me, which put those gorgeous breasts right there, within arms
reach.

"No," she said softly.   Her hands came to my shoulders.  "Thank
YOU."

She hugged me, and I about lost it, right then and there.   I was
bare chested, and the first pair of hot, naked breasts I had ever
felt, pressed against my chest.   Her arms went around me and she
squeezed me tightly.

"Nobody can ever know," she whispered in my ear.

"Nobody," I agreed.  I was about to shoot in my pants.

"I don't know why I did this," she said, still holding me.

"Me neither," I panted.  I was breathing so hard that my chest
was scraping against those nipples.  I thought they might poke
holes in me.

"I'm not like this," she said, grinding her breasts against my
chest.  They were a LOT softer than they looked.

"Me neither," I gasped, as my prick filled my shorts with hot,
sticky cum.  I groaned, both with the release, and the supreme
embarrassment of going off in my shorts.

She must have known, somehow, because she pushed me away.

"Did you just ...?"

There were tears in my eyes, now.  I had never been so
embarrassed in my entire life.   I nodded furiously, as the tears
spilled down my cheeks.

Her hands came to my face, and she stared into my eyes.   If
another woman ever looks at me like that, I swear I'll beg her to
marry me on the spot.

"It's all right," she said softly.  "You have no idea how good
that makes me feel, Pat," she said.  She kissed my tears, and
wiped them away with her thumbs.

She went through the "Don't cry" and "I love you" speech, that
Aunts do with little boys, who have scraped their shins, or
something.  But she meant it, and that, more than anything else,
made me love her back.   At that instant, Aunt Christy owned me.
I would do anything for her.  Now I hugged her back, and her
willingness to let me press my naked chest against hers, and the
fact that she didn't pull her panty-clad loins away from mine,
meant more to me than anything I had ever experienced.

I finally calmed down.

"I should get dressed," she said, quietly.

"Yes, you should," I said, a little defensively.

She laughed.

"You just have no idea how good you made me feel, Pat," she said,
smiling, as she dropped her dress over her body.   She left her
bra off.  She didn't need one, really, except to cover up those
nipples.   "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I may let you
make me feel that good again, some day."

"No you won't," I said instantly.  "This will never happen
again!"

Her attitude was completely reversed now.  We had shared
something very special, even though neither of us understood
quite why, and how it had happened.  She was a pragmatic woman,
though, and, once she had experienced this, she was quite sure
that she'd want to feel it again.

"We'll see," she said.  "I'll ask Danny if it's all right."

She might as well have electrocuted me.  I was terrified
instantly.  I begged her not to tell him what had happened.  She
kept trying to shush me, and calm me down, but it wasn't working.
 I knew that if Danny ever found out what had happened in this
room, that I'd be a dead man.

She, on the other hand, was worried that somebody would hear me
crying and pleading, and come investigate.  She finally put a
hand over my mouth.

"Be quiet!" she hissed.

Now I was the one who followed orders.

"Listen to me!" she insisted.   I settled into jerky little sobs.
 My pants felt awful.

"Danny knows I think about other men, sometimes," she said.  She
looked nervous.  I didn't know it then, but the only reason she
was telling me this was because she was afraid I was going to
lose it to the point that people would come see what was wrong. 
"We play little games ... at home ... we pretend."

That was shocking.  It actually shocked me into silence.  She
took her hand off my mouth.

"Do you understand?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"Sometimes we pretend he's ... somebody else."

"Who?" I asked.

"Different men," she said, carefully.  "But I've never actually
DONE anything ... with anybody else."

I didn't get it.  Not then.  I'm not sure I do, even today.

"It's just a game," she said.   "But this week, he knew you'd see
my breasts.  He knew I'd get excited about that.  He pretended to
be you."

"You're shitting me!" I gasped.

"Don't curse," she said instantly.  "It's vulgar, and you're not
vulgar."

"Sorry," I said meekly.

"It's just a game," she said again.   "I wouldn't do what we did
... here ... with anyone but you.  You have to understand that,
Pat.  Before tonight, I'd have sworn I wouldn't do anything with
you either.  I HAVE to tell Danny, Pat.  He controls my urges.  
He likes you.  He said he wouldn't mind if you touched me.  He
teased me all week long, telling me something like this would
happen ... that I'd lose control ... like he almost wanted me to
lose control.   It's very complicated."

"I guess so!" I said weakly.

"Tonight ... right now ... I'm going to go down there and get
him, and take him home.  Pat, I'm going to make love to him, and
while I'm doing that, I'm going to tell him what happened.   He
won't be mad, Pat.  I really think it will excite him.   He knows
I won't make love with anybody else ... not unless he lets me.  
He's said that a thousand times, Pat.  There's more that's going
on here, but I can't tell you that part ... not yet.   Just
believe me when I tell you I HAVE to tell him.  He's my husband,
Pat, and I HAVE to be honest with him.   If he gets mad, it will
be at me, not you.   If he gets mad, honey, then you're right ...
this will never happen again.  But you leave that to me.  Do you
understand?"

"I don't want him to be mad at you," I moaned.   "This was all my
fault!"

"No it wasn't," she said.  "There were two of us in this room,
tonight, and I loved what happened here.  I didn't plan what
happened here, but I loved it, and I love you.   He won't be mad,
Pat.  I won't let him be mad at you."

She stood back.  "Do you trust me, Pat?"

"Yes," I said instantly.

She came to me and kissed me.  Her breasts felt almost the same
as they had naked, but not as warm.  She held my face with both
hands, and her lips were so warm.  If I hadn't just shot off, I
probably would have then.  Then she pushed me away.

"Now go clean up, and let me handle Danny.  I'll make some excuse
for you with Tabby."

"Tabby," I groaned.

She looked at me sharply.  "No funny business with your sister! 
Is that clear?"

"Of course not!" I moaned.  "I just don't think I can face her
right now."

She relaxed.  "Of course you can.  You're a man, now."

Don't ask me why, but when the first woman to make me cum in my
pants told me that, I believed her for some reason.

Maybe I just wanted to believe her.

================================

As it turned out, she didn't have to make any excuses for me. 
Tabitha flatly refused to go through with it.   Again, I wasn't
there, but I think Aunt Christy's behavior, when she went back
down to the living room, had something to do with it.

She made the excuse, saying I had to change film, and it would
take a while.  My mother asked her what took so long.   She
ignored my mother, and instead, went and pulled Danny up.  She
said something along the lines of "We're leaving now, Danny." 
She dragged him out the door, saying she'd see everybody
tomorrow.

My grandmother then said "Well, that must have been interesting."

The thing was that, while some people might have perceived Aunt
Christy's abrupt departure as a sign that she was embarrassed, or
upset, all the women in that room knew her well, and knew that
she was neither unhappy, or embarrassed.  They knew what I didn't
know ... that all of them had gotten excited in the process of
having Pat stare at their breasts.

Tabitha didn't speak female - not fluently, anyway - but she knew
something was up, and it made her nervous.   When my mother said
she'd accompany Tabby to the photo shoot, that made her even more
nervous.  That's when she said "No way.  I'm not doing it!"

You see, there were things I didn't know about Tabby too.

Chapter Six

One of the things I didn't know about Tabby was that she wanted
to know what it felt like for a boy to see her naked.  She hadn't
told anybody about this ... it was just there.  Like most girls,
she thought she was very plain, at best, and probably ugly, at
worst.   She knew that if some boy saw her naked, she'd find out,
but that was about as far as her little fantasy went.    When my
project came along, though, and she realized her brother would be
that boy ...

That was another thing I didn't know about Tabby.  She thought I
was the best brother a girl could have.  She SURE didn't tell
anybody about that, especially me!   But she saw how her friends'
brothers treated them, which was probably normal for any boy who
didn't live in a house full of women, and she wasn't impressed.
She just naturally compared them to me, who DID live in a house
full of women.  And, when you live in a house full of women ...
the women just naturally come first.

It wasn't that I tried to give her what she wanted, or anything
like that.  But peaceful coexistence sort of required that I be
respectful, most of the time, anyway, toward all those women, and
Tabby was just one of them.  Don't get me wrong.  We argued and
had spats and all that, just like all brothers and sisters do,
but, at least to her, they seemed very minor, and she felt lucky
that I acted like I did.  She talked to all those girls,
including the ones I was interested in, or took to a dance or
whatever.  All she ever got from them was good reports on my
behavior, which was also not what they said about other boys.

She also knew I was smarter than most guys my age.  She was
forever coming to me with her homework, which was sometimes
difficult for her, and always easy for me.   I didn't do it for
her.  I just explained it in terms she could understand.   I
found out later that, while Tabby was at Mandy Simpson's house,
Mandy asked her older brother for help with math, and he laughed
and said he hoped they held her back when she flunked out.  
Tabby brought the homework to me, and I didn't tumble to the fact
that it wasn't hers, and helped her.  She knew the answer, but
she had to be sure, because it was Mandy's homework.  Stuff like
that had caused her to have very strong feelings for me.

And, she was afraid that I'd think she was ugly.   When all the
other women started acting goofy, after being in mom's room with
me, the terror of it all got to her and she just flat refused to
do it.

My mom didn't want to traumatize Tabitha, so she came up to my
room, where I was putting on new shorts.  Thank goodness my old
ones were piled in such a way that she couldn't see the gooey
white mess that was in them.

I forgot about her nose.

Anyway, there she was, with this funny look on her face, sounding
like she was coming down with a cold.

"Tabby doesn't want you to take her picture," she said.

I was in no shape to put up any fuss.  As far as I was concerned,
one of the best things in the world ... or one of the worst ...
had just happened to me.

"OK," I said, buttoning my third pair of shorts for the day.

"I don't want you to tease her about this," said my mother.

"OK," I said.

"I mean it, Pat!"

"OK!"  I almost shouted.

She sniffled a little more and turned around and left.

================================

It was still an hour from bedtime, but I just stayed there, in my
room, reading.   I was so relaxed.  I'd cum before, lots of
times, but there is some kind of difference between beating off,
and shooting in your pants while your first pair of naked breasts
are pressed to your naked chest.   I was drowsing off to sleep,
about to turn off my reading lamp, when the door opened.

It was Tabby.  She was dressed for bed, which meant a T shirt and
panties.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked.

"Nope," I said.  I had promised not to tease her, and I wasn't
going to.

"How come?" she asked.

Just like a sister.   Not being mad at her isn't good enough. 
You have to explain WHY you're not mad at her.

"I respect your wishes," I said.

I told you I was a genius.  Sometimes, when you're a genius, the
right thing just oozes out of your brain, even when you're not
trying.

Of course, at that moment, I thought I had screwed up big time. 
Tears started rolling down her cheeks, which disgusted me,
because I now knew I wasn't going to get to fall gently asleep,
thinking of Aunt Christy's luscious breasts pressing against me.
Instead, Tabby was going to bawl, which would bring mom, and
punishment.

Then she did something that just blew me away.  She RAN across
the room and practically climbed on top of me, moaning about how
much she loved me, and what a wonderful brother I was, and how
lucky she was and all that.

I was still nervous.   Anybody who happened to walk by the room
would think we were fighting.  They might think she was winning,
but, under the circumstances, that still wouldn't do me any good
at all.

Then what she was saying got through to my brain.  I gave her a
half-hearted hug back.

"Hey," I said softly.  "It's OK.  Don't cry."  I tried to make a
joke.  "Are you sure you have the right brother?"

She sat up, looking affronted.

"You're the only brother I have!" she said.

Shades of Aunt Christy.  Tabitha could be very literal too.

"You want to tell me what this is all about?" I asked her.

"No," she moaned.  "You'll laugh at me."

"I promise not to laugh at you," I said, crossing my chest with
an index finger.  I should have realized how worked up she was
about this.  She took my word for it, just like that!

"They all talk about you, you know," she said.

"Who does?"

"Mom, and Aunt Vanessa and Randi ... even Grandma!"  She looked
half confused, and half like she was telling some deep, dark
secret.

"What do they say?" I asked.  This was interesting, now.

"They keep saying things about how grown up you are, all of a
sudden."  She frowned.   "It scares me."

"Why would me being grown up scare you?" I asked.

We had finally hit a point she wasn't so anxious to talk about.

"I'm just a girl.  They're all grown up women!"

"OK," I said carefully.  I couldn't very well tell her she was
all grown up too.   She was only fifteen.  She looked like a
woman, but I knew she wasn't quite there yet.

"Nobody would want to see me," she said, her voice pouty.

Aha!   I understood at last.   She was having self confidence
issues.   I figured that would be the easiest thing in the world
to deal with.

"You, dear sister, are quite wrong about that," I said
confidently.

"Why?" she asked.

Again, I said the right thing, without even knowing it.  I lied,
but it was the right thing to say.   "Because, dear sister, I
have had to threaten dire things to at least ten guys, all of
whom were plotting to rob you of your innocence."

She believed me.

"Ten?!" she whispered in awe.

"At least ten," I said, uneasily.

"Who were they?" she asked, excitedly.  She leaned forward.  I
swear her eyes sparkled.

I was in trouble now.   "I can't tell you that.  I warned them
off, and they agreed to give you a couple of years before they'd
even think about you again.  We have a pact, of sorts, and I
can't break that by telling you who they are.  It's the guy
code."

I really AM a genius.  I have the test scores to prove it.  That
doesn't mean everything that comes out of my mouth is
intelligent.

She slumped.  "You're lying.  Nobody wants to see me naked."  Her
voice said she believed that firmly.

"Aw, come on, Tabby," I said.  "You're cute.  In fact, you're a
babe.  If you weren't my sister I'd be all over you."

Sometimes the things that come out of my mouth are positively
stupid.

She looked at me very seriously.  "You're my brother.  You're not
allowed to think about me like that."

"I don't think about you like that, as my sister," I tried.  "I
think about you like that as me being just a guy, and you being
just a girl."

Could I possibly dig myself any deeper?

Of course, I didn't know how SHE thought about ME, which wasn't
all that much different than the silly thing I had just said.

"Oh, OK, then," she said.

I didn't goggle at her, but it was only by accident.

"I just get afraid that, if you see me, you'll laugh, or
something.  I couldn't take it if you laughed at me."  She was
being very serious, and I knew it.

"I don't think you have to worry about that," I said.  "You're a
Turner woman, after all."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"It means that all the other Turner women have been hotties," I
said, honestly.

"You mean, when they're showing you their boobs," she said.

"I mean then, and after that, when they get dressed again," I
said, again, honestly.

"They all acted weird, after you took their pictures," said my
little sister.

"What do you mean?"

She described what they'd said, and how Aunt Vanessa fanned her
face.

"And Aunt Christy!  I swear she took Uncle Danny home to have SEX
with him!"

"You're right," I said, unthinkingly.

"How do you know?" she asked, that same look on her face, leaning
forward.

"I'm not supposed to talk about it," I said, uncomfortably.  "But
I can tell you that she said she was going to do that."

"I knew it!" she hissed.   "And all the others ... they acted
like they were horny!  Even Grandma!"

"I guess it's pretty hard to show your breasts to a man and not
feel a little horny about it," I said.  I liked talking about
myself as a man.

"That's what worries me," said Tabby.  "I'm afraid you'll think
I'm too small, or that they're ugly or something.

"You want to know something about guys?" I asked her.

She nodded.

"Guys like boobs."  I looked at her.  "It's just that simple. 
There might be some idiot out there who might not fall in love
with your boobs, but I doubt seriously that you could find  him,
even if you tried."

"Do you really think so?" she asked.

"I want to see them," I said, testing the waters.

"For your project," she said.

"No, just to see them.  I've wanted to see them for years."

"Get out!" she whispered.

"But you don't have to," I said.   "That's the important thing
for you to remember.  You don't have to show them to me, or
anybody else.  And if some guy ever DOES try to get rough with
you, you just let me know, cause I'll tear him up."

"I'll show them to you," she said, suddenly firm again.

"You don't have to," I said.

"I want to," she said firmly.  "As long as you don't laugh at
them," she added, worry back in her voice.

"You want to know a secret?" I asked.

"Yes,"   Eager was back.

"You can't tell anybody," I warned.  "You especially can't tell
Mom that I told you, and Randi, you can't tell her either."

"Why not?" she asked.

"You'll know when I tell you," I said.  "Promise?"

She looked guarded, for a few seconds and then shrugged.  "OK."

"When I took pictures of them ... I got a hardon."  I let that
hang there.

She stared at me, her eyes going round, and showing more and more
white.

"You did?" she whispered.

"Every one," I said.  "Even Grandma."

"If you're lying I'll never speak to you again, I swear!" she
warned me.

"Tabby, what I'm trying to tell you is that the Turner women are
babes.  You are a Turner woman.  If you show me your boobs, I'm
probably going to get a hardon for you too."

I let THAT hang there.

She looked down at the front of my shorts.  I hadn't taken them
off yet.

"If I showed them to you right now, would you ... you know?" she
asked.

"I don't know," I said, honestly.   "This is kind of sudden.   I
had all day to think about seeing the others, and then ... there
they were."

"But you might?"  Her voice was almost pleading.

I nodded.

She stood up and whipped off her T shirt.  Just like that.  Her
panties were high rise bikini's too, but were plain blue cotton.
They puffed out in front, looking a little odd.  Tabby's breasts
were most like Aunt Christy's, being round, like they had pushed
the skin straight out.  They were smaller, about the size of a
softball, cut in half.  She didn't so much have nipples, as she
had big, pink mounds on the tips.  I could see that there was
something in the middle, but it wasn't formed.  Those nipple
mounds were about the size of a ping pong ball, cut in half.

As my eyes bounced around, noticing that she had definite hips,
with a smaller waist, I also saw her face.  She was biting her
lower lip, between her teeth.   She leaned forward, and her
strawberry blond hair fell down, and hung to the tops of her
breasts.

"Wow," I said.

"Wow?" her tone was plaintive.

"You're definitely a Turner woman," I said softly.

It was her smile that made me hard.  Well, her smile finished off
what her body had started.

She looked at my groin.  "Is it ...?"  Her voice held anguish.

"You sure you want to see?" I asked.

She nodded furiously, and her breasts, which looked so hard, like
Aunt Christy's bobbed on her chest.   I wondered if they felt as
soft as Aunt Christy's.   I unbuttoned my shorts and slid them
down, lifting my butt.  I moved my right leg up and used my right
foot to kick them off.  Then I lay flat.  The dowel rod was
there, in my underwear, but it was lying sideways.

She pointed.  "Is that it?  Right there?"

I nodded.

"And it wasn't hard?  Before?"

"Not until you took your shirt off," I said.

"Can I ..." She didn't finish, but she was Grandma Mona's
granddaughter, so I knew what she meant.

I stuck my thumbs in the waistband of my jockeys, and pushed. 
Hair showed first, and she gasped.

"You're sure." I said.

She nodded again, and her breasts wobbled some more.

I lifted my hips again, and slid my jockeys to my thighs.  Then I
let my butt back down.

She stared.   She was holding her breath, because her chest
wasn't moving.   Finally she had to take a breath.  Her mouth
opened and closed again, about three times in a row.  She stepped
back, and stood back up, while she backed up toward the door.

"You're the best brother in the world," she said softly.  "I love
you so much."

"Don't tell anybody," I said, meaning what she had just said.

"Oh, I won't!" she whispered.  "They wouldn't understand.  I love
you so much, Pat!"

"See you tomorrow," I said, not sure what had just happened.

"You can take the pictures," she blurted.  "Tomorrow, OK?"

"OK," I said.  "Thanks."

"Oooo I love you SO much," she whined.

Then she turned and reached for the door.

"TABBY!" I whispered as loudly as I dared.

She spun around to see me holding out her T shirt.   She grinned,
and darted to grab it.  She wriggled into it, flashed me another
of those killer smiles, and went out the door.

================================

Tabitha had her pragmatic side, as I mentioned before.  She
thought nothing of coming downstairs the next morning, sitting
down at the table, where the rest of us were eating, and
announcing: "I changed my mind.  Pat can take pictures of me
today."

My mother stared at her.  Randi didn't.

"You're sure?" asked my mother.

"Uh huh," said Tabby, like she didn't have a care in the world. 
She reached for the milk.

"Tell me when you're ready and I'll be there," said Mom.

"That's OK," said Tabby, her voice light.  "I don't need you
there."

"Tabitha, I WANT to be there," said my mother, her voice
dangerous.

"Mom, it would just be TOO embarrassing," said Tabby calmly. 
"It's bad enough that Pat is going to see me.  I'd just die of
embarrassment if you were there too."

Randi looked at her then, and one eyebrow was raised.

"What brought this on?" asked our mother.

Tabby shrugged.  "I thought about it, that's all.  He's a good
brother ... most of the time.   I just want to help him, that's
all."

My mother wasn't convinced.  Not by a long shot.  "You know,
Tabitha, that we almost didn't let you do this in the first
place.  You're only fifteen."

"I know that!" said Tabby, sounding injured.  "But nobody will
know they're mine.  What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that last night you were about to have a stroke
at the thought of doing this," said my mother, her voice level. 
"Now, all of a sudden, everything is hunky dory.  What changed?"

Tabby had guts, I'll give her that.

"Last night I was afraid he'd think I was ugly," said my little
sister.  "I thought about it and decided that Pat wouldn't do
that to me."

At least she had the sense to look at me and put a pleading look
on her face.  "You wouldn't do that to me ... would you?"

"How am I supposed to know?" I moaned.  I thought I did it pretty
genuinely too.   "You can't put that kind of pressure on me! 
That's not fair."

"You two are up to something!" said my mother, from whom I
apparently got my smarts.   "I want to be there, or there will be
no pictures!  Is that clear?"

Tabby melted.  "OK, OK, don't have kittens.  It's just
embarrassing, that's all."

================================

Neither of us were stupid.  I put on a T shirt and the jeans
shorts I hadn't cum in, and Tabby wore shorts too, with a T
shirt.   She didn't put on a bra, which I thought was pretty
stupid, but my mother didn't notice.  She was watching me, more
than she was watching Tabby.  If she'd been watching Tabby a
little more, she'd have realized that her darling daughter wasn't
embarrassed about this at all.

I put Tabby up against the drapes, she took the shirt off, and I
took the requisite pictures.  In the daylight, I saw that her
nipples were more formed than I had thought.  They were just
pushed into those pink ping pong ball mounds, which I guess were
her areolas, come to think of it.   I didn't waste any time.  I
just took the shots and said I was done.

Tabby looked at the front of my pants.  So did my mother.  There
was both disappointment, and pride there, that day.  I didn't
have a boner.  I was as proud of me as my mother was.  Tabby was
the disappointed one.   I winked at her, though, and she smiled.

Mom shooed Tabby out, but grabbed my sleeve.  "Hold it, buster,"
she said.

"What?" I asked, all innocent like.

"We're taking a trip to your room." she said.

"OK," I said, confused.  I followed her into my room, and wasn't
sure I was happy or not, when she closed the door.

It turned out that her nose had finally identified the odor she'd
been sniffing at, the night before.  I, being a complete dunce,
had left my cum-soaked shorts lying on the floor.   It only took
her maybe a minute to find them.   When she picked them up I
couldn't keep a sound from forcing its way past my vocal chords.


With dainty fingers, she peeled my shorts and underwear apart,
and held the underwear up, turning them this way and that, like
she was examining something she was thinking about buying.   She
turned around and held them out toward me.

"You want to tell me about this?"

"No," I whined.

"Patrick Jordan Turner, I want to know when this happened!"  She
had this amazing talent of sounding loud, even when she wasn't
loud.

"It was an accident," I moaned.

"An accident with which woman?" she bored in.

"I promised not to tell," I gasped.

"SHE KNEW!?"  My mother's mouth dropped open.   She closed her
eyes.  "Who was it?"

"I promised not to tell," I whined.

She looked at me with narrowed eyes.  Then she showed me where I
got my intelligence.

"Well, it wasn't mother.  She'd have said something.  And it
wasn't Tabitha, because she wasn't in here.  I smelled ...  I
suspected something when I came to tell you about Tabby.  She
crossed her arms, and the cum-soaked shorts banged against her
hip.  She didn't seem to notice.   So, it was either Vanessa, or
Christy."

She looked at me, like she could look deep into my brain.

"Vanessa isn't a good enough actor, to hide something like this."
 She frowned.  "But if it was Christy, I'd have expected her to
blow her stack!"  She stared at me some more.  "It WAS Christy,
wasn't it!   She took off out of here like she was on fire ..."
She stopped, and her eyes got wide.  "That's IT!   She dragged
Danny out of here and took him home to ..."  She stopped again. 
Then she did the strangest thing.  She came to me and stopped
right in front of me.

"Are you OK, baby?" she asked.  There was concern in her voice.

"I guess so," I said, not understanding what was going on.

"Oh, you poor baby," she cooed.  She dropped the shorts on the
floor and pulled me into her arms.  "You must have just been
mortified," she said softly into my ear.   "Don't you worry,
honey, you didn't do anything wrong."

All I could feel was those breasts of hers, pressing into my
chest.  I felt myself start to get stiff.  I'd been able to
handle Tabby, but this was too much.

"It's OK," I managed to say.

"Don't you worry.  I'll talk to Christy!  You can be sure of
that!"

"Mom! No!" I wailed.  "You can't DO that."

"Why ever not?" asked my mother, thankfully pushing me away,
before she felt my boner.  "I'm not going to let my sister get
away with teasing you so much that you ... well, I'm just not
going to stand for it!"

"It wasn't like that," I moaned.  "It just happened.   All she
did was hug me, and there wasn't anything I could do.  Then she
figured out that it happened, and she said it was OK, and for me
not to worry about it, but that I had to change shorts quick,
before Tabby got up there.  She wasn't mad, Mom, and she didn't
do anything wrong ..."  I trailed off, and then went for broke. 
"Didn't you say it was normal?"

My mother stared at me.  I saw doubt in her eyes.  Then something
else.

"Sweetheart," she said softly.  "I know I told you that what
happened when I was there was normal ... that it happens to all
men.  But this.  Honey, I'm worried about you."

"Mom," I said, exasperated that everything was coming undone. 
"You're ALL so beautiful.  I don't understand how Uncle Danny can
take it.  You guys flirt with HIM all the time!"

She looked shocked.  Then her eyes cleared.  "I suppose you're
right, honey," she said.  Her shoulders slumped.  "It's hard ...
not having a man.   I suppose we're kind of hard on him.  You
too, it appears."

"I'm not mad, or anything," I said.  "I mean sure, it was
embarrassing, but really, Aunt Christy was really nice about it.
You were too.  I was sure you'd scream at me, and you didn't. 
And I was sure she'd scream at me too, but she didn't either."

"She didn't, hmmm," said my mother.  "What DID she say?"

I tried to look embarrassed, which wasn't all that hard.  My
mother had just found my cum-soaked underwear.

"She said it was kind of a compliment," I said, trying to sound
shy.

"That's how I felt," said my mother softly.  "I know I'm not
supposed to feel that way, but it's been so long ..."

"And anyway, I'm done!" I said brightly.  "Now all I have to do
is get the pictures developed and I'm on my way.  No more
posing!"

She sat down on the bed.  "No more posing," she said softly.  She
didn't sound as happy about that as I'd expected her to.   She
looked at me.  "You're growing up ... you know that?"

"All us teenagers do that," I said, trying to make light of the
situation.

"Pretty soon, you'll go off to college, and the only man who
still gets an erection for me will be out of my life."  She
sounded sad, even though that was a really strange thing to say.


"I'll come home, sometimes," I said.  "I'll try to get an
erection for you then."  I was still trying to perk her up.

She did grin, though it was a little strained.  "Look at us," she
said.  "What a pair.  A son who gets an erection over his
mother's breasts, and a mother who loves it."

Now THAT was new information.

"Really?" I asked.

She nodded.   "It isn't supposed to happen that way, baby.  I'm
not supposed to lust after you, and you're not supposed to lust
after me."

"If it makes you feel any better, I lusted after all of them."  I
took another chance.  "Even Grandma."

My mother's eyes got huge.  Then she giggled.  "You know, when I
was your age, my best friend and I were talking about sex.  We
both decided that there was no way in the world that either of
our parents still had sex.  Nobody thinks about their parents
having sex."

"That's not true," I said, reflexively.  "I think about you
having sex."

"Oh really," she said, smiling.  "Who with?"

"Why do you think I got an erection?" I asked.  As soon as it was
out of my mouth I wanted to scream for mercy.

She went pale.  "Pat, you can't have sex with me.  That's crazy."

"I know that," I said.  "I didn't say I wanted to have sex with
you ... I just think about it.  I thought about it with Aunt
Christy too.  You saw what happened.   I can't help what I think
about."

My mother's face kind of twisted a little.  "Did that," she
pointed to my jockeys, lying on the floor, "ever happen when you
thought about me?"

"Not like that," I said.

She figured out the other way I might spurt, while thinking about
her, and blushed.

"I think we're done here, young man.   You should NOT be thinking
about me that way.   Do you think about your sisters like that?"
She looked horrified and held up her hands.  "NEVER MIND!  Don't
answer that.  I already have way too much information!"

She got up and picked up my jockeys.  Then she walked over and
bent over to pick up the shorts I'd worn over them.

"I'll just get these in the wash," she said.  She saw the others
lying there, the ones that the zipper broke on.  She picked them
up too.

"What happened here?" she asked, looking at the zipper.

"Um ... when I was taking the pictures of Aunt Vanessa ... I
guess they were too old or something."

"Oh, please," she moaned.  "Don't tell me Vanessa saw this."

"OK, I won't tell you," I said.

She closed her eyes.  "My sisters will think I'm a pervert who
can't raise a son decently," she sighed.

"Um ... actually ... Aunt Vanessa thought it was funny.  She said
I made her feel good."

She held up her hand.  "I've heard enough.  I'm going to wash
these things."

"You can just throw the shorts away," I said.

"Not until they're clean," said my mother, who sounded like my
mother again.

She started out of the room.

"Mom!" I called out.  She stopped and turned around.  "I love
you," I said.  "I love that we were just able to talk like this,
and you didn't get all weird."

"We've gotten weird enough to last us the rest of our lives," she
said, with a half smile on her face.  "Try not to think about me
like that, OK?"

"Deal," I said.  "And you try to wear ten shirts, so I can't see
your breasts any more."

She blinked, and then blushed, and then left my room.

================================

It was late, and I was about to turn off my reading lamp again,
when Tabby stuck her head in the door.

"Knock knock," she said softly.

"What's up?" I asked.

She came in.   She was in her sleep shirt again.

"Are you in trouble?" she asked.

"Not really," I said.

"I heard Mom yelling in here, after I left."

"She was trying to tell me not to get boners for the Turner women
any more."

"She KNOWS about that?!"  Tabby looked shocked.

"I got one for her too, Tabby," I said.

"Get out!"  Then her face screwed up.  "Ewwww, Pat, that's
gross!"

"Is it any more gross than getting one for you?"

I was tired, and I just wanted to go to sleep.

"I never thought about it like that," she said, looking
surprised.

"Is that all?" I asked.

She looked surprised again and then perked up.

"No, I wanted to ask you something.  Mandy gave me a pair of
panties, and I wanted to get your opinion."

"You're kidding," I said.

"Please?" she begged.

This new relationship with my sister might be exciting, but it
was looking like it might get to be a little time consuming too.


"OK," I sighed.

She held up her T shirt, and turned in a circle.

It was a thong.   I about choked.  Suddenly I was a lot more
interested in this new relationship I had with Tabby.

"Well?" she asked.

"Turn around again," I gasped.

The front was puffy, like her other panties had been, and there
was a lot of strawberry blond hair sticking out around the edges
of the front.  That's because it was tiny ... little more than a
triangle that tried to cover that hair, and the lips I knew were
under there somewhere.   Her butt was just naked.  That's all
there was to it.  There was a string that went from the
waistband, down between her butt cheeks, but that string was
buried.

She came back around and looked at my crotch.

"Are you hard?" she asked, quietly.

"Duh!" I croaked.

She grinned happily.  "So you like it?"

"Duh!" I croaked again.  I swallowed.  "You need to cut some of
that hair off, though."

"I hate my pussy hair," she said heatedly.   "It's gross, and
there's so much of it!"

"So shave some of it off," I suggested.

"I can't.  I cut myself to ribbons just trying to shave my legs."

I only shaved every three of four days, and could have gone once
a week if I wanted to.  Maybe shaving a chin is easier than legs,
but I hardly ever cut myself any more.

"I think you'd want scissors first," I said quietly.  "Get it
real short with scissors, and then you can use a razor."

"But they're pretty?" she asked. "The panties?"

I patted my crotch.  "Gorgeous," I sighed.

"Thanks!"  She hopped up and down, and I wished she was naked, so
I could see her breasts bounce.  But she didn't do that.  She
just dropped her shirt back down, leaned over to say "I love you,
big brother!" in my face.

To my everlasting astonishment, she kissed me!  Right on the
lips!

Then she scurried back out and probably down to her room.

Chapter Seven

There were two problems with the pictures.

The first was, that when I dropped them off, and asked for eight
by tens of all of them, on matte paper, they said it would be
overnight, instead of the hour they advertised all over the
place.   Well, the fact that they would take 24 hours wasn't the
problem.  The problem was that, when I went back, they wouldn't
give them to me.  In fact, they hadn't even done them.   All
there were, were two pages of contact prints.  The woman at the
counter looked down her nose at me.

"We don't print pornographic pictures here!" she said, loftily.

"It isn't porn," I said, reasonably.  "It's for my college
class."

"As if YOU were in college," the woman snorted.  "Go away, or
I'll be forced to call the police and turn you in."

I didn't know what to do.   I thought about going to see Cat, and
asking for her help, but then I thought about her, with her half
bald head, and crimson hair, with her pierced nose, looking like
SHE was only eighteen, though I knew she was much older,
approaching that woman.  I just didn't think that would go down
all that much better.

So I asked my mother what I should do.

Remember how intent she was to "have a talk with" Aunt Christy?
I barely got the passenger door slammed, before the car was
screeching out of the driveway.

================================


"I told him," said the same woman, "we don't print pornographic
pictures here."

"They are just breasts," said my mother, whose voice did not
transmit the tension I could see in her body.  "You have a pair,
yourself, if I'm not mistaken."

The woman was incensed.  She DID call the police.  I watched in
horror as my mother did battle with the bureaucracy of
conservatism.  I had to explain, again, that I really was taking
a college class, and that this was for research, not prurient
satisfaction.  The nice policeman took an exceptionally long time
to examine the contact sheets, holding them so close to his eyes
that I thought he might have left his glasses in the squad car.

"I'm going to have to take these with me," he said gravely.  "I
might need them for evidence," he added.

"Are you going to arrest them?" asked the irate counter woman,
hope in her eyes.

"That remains to be seen," he said.  He turned to my mother,
which put his face where the counter woman couldn't see it.  He
winked.  "I need you and your son to come with me," he said.

My mother was rigid with anger, but relaxed, when she saw that
wink.  It was pretty obvious, even to me.

The cop asked for the negatives too, and we left the store.  We
were watched by dozens of people as the cop had us follow him to
his car.   He handed me the negatives.

"Is this really for a research project?" he asked calmly.

"It most certainly is!" said my mother, avidly.  "Some of those
pictures are of me!"

"Really?" asked the cop, glancing at the contact sheets again.  I
swear he was going to ask which ones, but he didn't.   "It's not
porn," he finally said.

"Of course not!" agreed my mother.

"But you'll never get any of these outfits to print them," said
the man.  "They're too worried about bad publicity.   You might
be able to get a regular studio to print them."   He looked at
me.  "What kind of research is this, anyway?"

I gave him the scaled down version of my theory, about how
breasts might be important from an evolutionary view, or only a
cultural view, and how I planned on having men choose which ones
they liked best.

It all turned out pretty well, considering the circumstances.  I
didn't have my eight-by-tens, when it was all over with, but I
did have my first participant - Officer Charles Dalton - for the
men who would eventually view them ... if I could get them
printed.

My mother was so upset that she drove around, until she saw a
photographic studio.  We took the negatives and contact sheets
in.

That didn't go all that well either.   Getting past the
receptionist was an exercise in itself.  When the photographer
finally held my precious materials in his hands, and had been
told what they were for, he glanced over them and frowned.

"They're black and white, which isn't going to give you the kind
of realistic look you want for what you're planning.  Without
color, you're missing the kind of contrast you want for something
like this," he said.  "Plus they're grainy.   If I blow these up,
they'll look snowy.  Your light control was non-existent, and
some of these are so washed out that I don't even know if I can
print them.  I suspect the film was out of date too."

Of course he got around to suggesting that all the models come in
and be shot professionally, in his studio.   He could do the
whole package.  It would only be a couple of thousand dollars.

Both of us were deflated when we left.  It appeared that it had
all been for nothing.

Well ... not nothing.  A LOT of emotion had issued from this
project.  I'd had a heck of a good time, and there were some new
relationships budding, that I was really looking forward to
exploring further.   I got all kinds of nervous, thinking about
Aunt Christy, and what she might do, not to mention worrying
about the next time I saw Uncle Danny, and whether he'd wring my
neck or not.

"Don't worry, Baby," said my mother, as we drove home.  "We'll
think of something."

================================


I had learned a lot already from my first college project.  Most
of that was about the Turner women.   I had learned, for
instance, that they were all gorgeous.  I'd known that, on an
unconscious level, but many a man has looked at a pretty face,
only to be somewhat disillusioned when a naked body was then
unveiled.

I had also learned that the Turner women were all horny.

Now I learned that the Turner women were stubborn, and didn't
take well to failure, even when that failure was on the part of
the only man in the family.  Not counting Danny, of course.

The situation was discussed at the next Friday night confab. 
Apparently, the word had gone out already, because all of them
except Aunt Christy came prepared to stay the night.  That was
pretty rare, mostly because it put a strain on finding enough
places for everybody to sleep.

The next thing I learned was that, even though it was my project,
I wasn't in charge of it any more.  In fact, the Turner women
didn't need any man to help them solve this problem.   I got my
first glimmer of that when Aunt Christy arrived, with Danny, and
handed him the keys.

"I have been informed that you and I are going on another ice
cream run," he said, looking at me steadily.

I swallowed.  "Oh ... OK."

"Take your time, darlings," said my mother.   "We women have a
problem to deal with."

Aunt Christy kissed Danny goodbye, and I swear I saw her squeeze
his butt while she was doing it.   I knew we were being gotten
rid of, when they didn't even give us a list of what kind of ice
cream they wanted.

================================


"You want to tell me what the hell is going on?" asked Danny as
he steered the car towards down town.

"It was an accident!" I choked out.  "Honest!  I didn't mean
anything by it!"

He looked over at me.  "That?  We'll talk about that later ...
maybe.  I'm talking about what's going on back there, right now."

I was stunned.   If he'd have pulled a gun, I wouldn't have been
surprised, but this just about made me incapable of reacting.

"I don't know," I rasped.

"You have more information than I do," he said.  "You live with
them.  Something happened and they're all riled up."  He looked
over at me again.  "And it isn't that you creamed your shorts
while my wife rubbed her tits all over you."

He didn't actually sound angry, though his words could have been
interpreted that way.  He sounded more curious, and worried.

"Give me a chance to think," I said.  "I thought you were going
to kill me."

"It's complicated," he said, staring straight ahead, through the
windshield.  "You're young.  I don't know if you can understand
it.  But like I said, that's for later.  It's not a problem. 
That's all you need to know right now."  He sighed.  "Well, it
might turn out to be a problem, but not between you and me," he
added, mysteriously.  "Right now I'm worried about what they're
talking about.  When they get that secretive, I get worried."

"Why?" I asked.  "They're just talking.  What could happen?"

"Son," he sighed.  "Look what happened the last time they got
together like this.  You ended up staring at their naked boobs,
and taking pictures of them.  My wife almost lived out one of her
crazy fantasies, and then fucked me half blind afterwards!"

This was a different Danny than the guy I thought I'd gotten to
know.  He almost never used words like "tits" and "fucked" and
stuff like that.   He was ruffled, and Danny was my role model
for being calm in almost any situation.  I realized he'd called
me "son".   I wasn't used to anybody calling me that.  My mother
didn't even use that word.  It felt kind of good, even though I
knew it was just a turn of the phrase, so to speak.   His comment
sparked something in my mind, though.

"It might be about the pictures," I said.

He looked at me, obviously waiting for more.

I told him the whole story.  He chuckled, and then started
laughing at the part where Officer Dalton examined the contact
sheets so closely.  Eventually he was laughing so hard he pulled
over and parked.  I started laughing with him, and just naturally
described things in as humorous a vein as I could think of.   He
wiped his eyes.

"I can just see Lonnie shouting at that woman," he giggled.  "And
the cop!  That's priceless.  He really asked to be one of the men
to look at the breasts?"

"He did!" I grinned.  "He said he knew lots of guys who'd be glad
to help out with my research.

"I just bet he did," laughed Danny.  "Me too, for that matter." 
Then he sobered.  "On the other hand, that might not be the best
idea."

"Why?" I asked him.

He put the car in gear and pulled out again, but didn't say
anything for a while.

"I don't know if I should talk to you about this or not," he
finally said.

"What?" I asked, naturally.

He didn't seem to hear me.  "On the other hand, she'll never let
up.  I've known this was coming for years."

"What!?" I asked, more loudly.

"Your aunt," he said.  "Christy.   She was almost raped one time,
and I happened to be there, and stopped it."

"That's cool," I said.   I meant it.  The idea of Aunt Christy
being raped was horrible.

"It changed her, somehow," he said, tentatively.  "Or maybe it
was there before, and she just didn't think about it.  I don't
know.  All I know is that she has some pretty weird ideas,
sometimes."

"What kind of ideas?" I asked.

"That's the part I'm not sure you'll be able to understand," he
said softly.  "I'm not sure even I understand."

"I'm a genius," I said, trying to lighten the mood.  He seemed
worried.

He smiled, but there wasn't much emotion in it.

"She has these fantasies.  Most of them involve her being with
other men, and me being with other women."

"Like sex?" I asked, my mouth dropping open.

"Yeah," he said.  "But it isn't just ANY other man or woman.  It
has to be someone she likes."

"Oh," I said.

"It's like she has these desires, but they're not normal.  She
wants me to have sex with ... these women ... but, on the other
hand, she doesn't want to LET me have sex with them."

"That's weird," I said.

"Yes, it is," he agreed.  "And she has these fantasies about
other men having sex with her, but not with her permission."

"Like rape?" I asked, astonished.

"Something like that," he said.  "But not exactly.  Again, she
wants to do it, but she doesn't want to ADMIT that she wants to
do it.  She wants the man to MAKE her do things ... things she
wants to do, but can't admit she wants to do.  It's crazy."

I thought about what had happened in my mother's bedroom ...
where if I told Aunt Christy to do something, she did it.  She
had complained a little, but she did everything I told her to do.
  That was part of what had seemed so strange about it, at the
time ... that she'd actually do what I told her to do, even
though she didn't seem to want to.   But I had also noticed that
she acted like she really wanted to do everything I'd told her to
do.   Based on what he was saying, it was beginning to make sense
... even if it didn't make sense.

"She told me she was going to tell you what happened, when I took
her pictures.  Did she?" I asked.

He looked over at me.  "In excruciating detail," he sighed.  "How
do you think I knew you creamed your pants?"

"Oh ... yeah," I said.

"She was so proud of herself, for getting you to tell her what to
do.  If you'd have told her to strip naked, she'd have done it. 
In fact, I'm quite sure if you'd have told her to do ... other
things ... she'd have done them too."

"With me?"  I was astonished.  I didn't know exactly what he was
talking about, but I had a vivid imagination.

"Probably only with you," he said.  "Or me, pretending I was you.
 That's what she likes to do sometimes.  She likes to pretend I'm
somebody else."

"Ouch!" I said, thinking about how that would make me feel.

"I don't actually mind, any more," he said.  "I know she loves
me.  She just likes to pretend.  I know she wouldn't do anything
with anybody else, except maybe you."

"Why me?"

"She loves you," he said simply.

"Yeah, but not like THAT!" I said.

"With her, it's the same thing.  If she loves a man - and
currently, that's just you and me - her imagination allows her to
do things with that man.   Everything else is just play acting.
I told you it was complicated."

"I don't want to mess things up between us," I said.  "You and
me, I mean."

He smiled.  "That's the other complicating factor.   Somehow, and
I have no idea how this happened, I've kind of gotten used to the
idea of being excited about thinking about her with another man."

"Wow," I said, awe in my voice.

"I didn't want that to happen, at first," he said.  "I still
don't, mostly.  I mean, when I pretend to be the washing machine
repairman, and make her have sex with me, that's fun and all, but
I don't want the REAL washing machine repairman to do that.  She
doesn't either.  But with you, it's different.  You're family. 
We know you, and respect who you are becoming.  She loves you.  I
like you a lot too.   She's pretended I was you in the past. 
That started maybe a year ago, I guess.  Her fantasy about you is
a little different."

"It would have to be," I said.  "I could never force her to do
anything!"

"You wouldn't have to.  All you'd have to do is tell her to do
things, and she'd do them.  She'd resist, but only verbally."

"She resisted me.  She's the one who called everything to a
halt." I said.

"That was because she wanted to talk to me about it," said Danny.
 "All we've ever done is talk about doing things with other
people.  This kind of took her by surprise - doing something, I
mean.    She was crazy in bed, when we got home.  You really got
to her, Pat.  She wanted to do a lot more, but she wouldn't do it
unless I approved."

"You can't approve something like that!" I said.  "That's
insane!"

"We're talking about the woman I love, here," he said.  "I'd do
anything to make her happy.  Well, not anything, but almost
anything.  I can't get on board with her having sex with
strangers.  She doesn't want to do that, though.  Just you."

"She actually wants to have SEX with me?" I asked, incredulous.

"She wants something to happen between you," he said patiently. 
"I'm not sure she even knows what that is.  It just excites her
that the possibility exists."

"My mom would kill me if she found out," I said.  "She found my
shorts, and figured out who I was taking pictures of when it
happened.  She was going to yell at Aunt Christy for teasing me.
I barely got her not to."

"That's the other problem," said Danny.  "Christy wants me to
have sex with your mother."

I was speechless.  He looked over at me.

"And your Aunt Vanessa, and your sisters.   One of her favorite
games is to pretend to be one of them."

It was quiet in the car for a long time.

I knew I had to say something, but I didn't know what to say.

"Does she do this a lot?" I finally asked.

"Not really," he said.  "You know how they're always saying they
want to borrow me?  Well, that turns her on.  She gets in the
mood once or twice a month - I think it has something to do with
her cycle - and wham!  Suddenly somebody else is in my bed.  
Sometimes it's her, and sometimes it's me.  I never know which it
will be."

"What should I do?" I asked.

"I have no fricking idea," he said.

================================


We drove around for two hours, just talking about what life was
like, living with Aunt Christy, and her strange ideas.   His
strange ideas too, for that matter.   I thought about the women I
had dreamed of having sex with.   Actually, there were two
categories of women that I had lustful thoughts about.  There
were the women I wanted to see naked, and the women I fantasized
about having sex with.  I know that sounds goofy, but it's just
how I think.

Take Mandy Simpson, for instance, Tabby's friend.  I knew her. 
She was cute, and friendly, and I liked her.  I whacked off
several times, thinking about lying on top of her, with her
welcoming legs spread open for me.    I'd never made a move on
her ... I just liked to think about it.    Tanya Vogle, on the
other hand, was this babe at school who I fantasized endlessly
about seeing naked.  I didn't know her.  I'd never talked to her.
 She was just a babe.  I didn't think about fucking her ... just
imagining her naked.

I thought about the other women who had, in my imagination,
spread their legs for me.   The vast majority of them either
lived in my house, or came over every Friday night.   They were
the women I knew, was comfortable around, and loved.

I wasn't married, and couldn't imagine being married, but, in a
way, I wasn't all that different than my Aunt Christy.  I
realized that, when I imagined Danny, lying on top of those same
women, their legs spread in welcome for HIM ... and got a boner.

Chapter Eight

When we got back, the atmosphere was decidedly different.  Wine
had been opened, and tippled.  Lots of wine.  Women had changed
into sleep wear.  Mostly scanty sleep wear.  My grandmother ...
my fifty-four year old GRANDMOTHER ... was wearing a T shirt that
she'd obviously gotten from Randi, with the logo "COLLEGE GIRLS
DO IT AFTER STUDYING HOW" on the front.  Her legs were bare,
where the shirt stopped about mid thighs.

None of them were wearing bras.   Tabby had on her fricking
THONG!  I found that out when she bent over to pick something up,
and I saw bare buttocks, split by that cord.

"We," said my grandmother, dramatically, "have solved the
problem!"

Danny was his old, unflappable self.   His wife, who had decided
they were staying for the night, and had also borrowed one of my
mother's nightgowns.   She almost crawled up onto him when we
came in.  Only the cold bags of ice cream in his hands, which he
pressed against her back, got her off of him.

"Behave yourself!" he ordered.

"I don't want to!" she whined.

"And what problem have you solved?" Danny asked, ignoring his
wife.  He started handing out ice cream.

"Pat's project has been saved," said my mother.  "In fact, it has
been improved immeasurably.   It may go down in history as the
best project ever done!"

My mother had obviously been the one opening the wine.

"It was MY idea!" proclaimed Aunt Vanessa, importantly.  She had
obviously been helping my mother open the wine.

"Hey!" I objected.  "This is MY project!"

"Of course it is, Darling," said my mother, coming to give me a
hug.  She had a wine glass in one hand.  I felt wetness on my
back, as she spilled wine there, and luscious, soft, unfettered
breasts on my front.

"Don't waste it!" said Grandma, taking the wine glass from my
mother's hand, and drinking from it.  That just let my mother hug
me tighter.

I still had the boner that had developed when I imagined Danny,
fucking my mother.

I don't know what she'd been imagining, but whatever it was, with
the wine added to it, allowed her to press her loins against mine
when she felt that boner.  She rubbed her loins back and forth.

"Mmmmmm," she moaned softly into my ear.  "You feel good."

"Mom!" I whispered hoarsely.

She pulled back, and blinked at me.

"Pat!" she said, as if she had just realized it was me.  Who did
she think she was hugging?

Everybody else was chattering, and eating ice cream, so nobody
noticed my mother molest me, or almost molest me.   They were all
trying at once to talk about the solution to the problem with the
pictures.   Finally Randi, who was the least drunk of them all,
except for Tabby, who was only allowed a few sips, grabbed my
shirt and pulled.

"Come on," she said.  "I'll show you."

She pulled me to the computer, which was set up in one corner of
the dining room.  The screen was dark, but when she pushed a
button, it lit up to display an internet page.

It took a minute, because I had to scroll up and down.  The
pictures didn't make any sense, at first, but then became clear
as I realized what I was looking at.

It was the web site of a company called "Proud Body", and the
page they had pulled up was describing what they called their
Pregnancy Belly Cast Kit.  Basically, it was a kit that had rolls
of cloth, with powdered plaster in them, sort of like what a
doctor would use to make a cast on a broken bone.  Of course this
company said their cloth and their plaster was much better
quality than mere medical plaster.  Anyway, what you did with
this cloth was get it wet, or something, and then lay strips of
it all over a pregnant woman's belly and breasts.  When it dried,
and was pulled off, you had an exact, anatomically correct copy
of the woman's pregnant belly and breasts.   The pictures were of
how a bunch of these casts had been decorated.

The whole idea was to preserve the look of a woman's pregnant
belly, and the breasts that went with that belly.  It was one of
the coolest things I've ever seen.   It was also really detailed.
 On some of those casts, you could even see the nipples, and that
was THROUGH all that cloth!

Of course, the outside of the cast was a lot less detailed than
the inside of the cast.  The Turner women had thought of that,
though.   Their idea was to cast only the breasts, and then pour
plaster into that negative impression.  What would result would
be a bust ... of a bust.

The kits only cost about thirty bucks apiece.   If you didn't use
all that cloth to cover a bulging belly, a kit might do three
pairs of breasts.  They had even tried to calculate how much
plaster would be needed, and the cost of that.  They had been
talking about the thorny issue of their luscious, soft breasts,
being portrayed in dead white plaster, and about whether you
could paint plaster, or color it to look like flesh, when we came
in.

Anyway, what they'd already calculated came to WAY less than two
thousand dollars.

Of course, it also resulted in having to carry my project around
in a truck, instead of a briefcase, but then they didn't worry
about that.  All they thought about was that the breasts ...
their breasts ... would be rendered in life-size, three
dimensional, perfect copies of their breasts, which, when
appropriately painted, would be the next best thing to seeing the
real McCoy.

They had discussed trying to do that, by the way.   You know. 
Lining up behind a board, with a hole or a slit cut in it, for
their breasts to stick through.  Then the men could look at real
breasts, and make their choice.

They went through a LOT of wine that night.

I was still looking at the gallery of photos of casts that had
been made, and decorated, when Randi's voice broke into my
consciousness.  She was saying something about how, if my
original sample wasn't big enough, I could recruit other women to
do busts like these, in the privacy of their own homes.  I
wouldn't even have to be there.   It could be expanded until I
had a whole room full of plaster breasts, if need be.

I turned to look at her.  Her nipples, poking through her T
shirt, were right in my face.   It was like an omen.   I could
have a copy of those breasts, that I could look at ... and maybe
even fondle ... any time I wanted.   I'd have the rest of them
too.

I was sold.

================================


It was a party atmosphere, the rest of the night.  On the other
hand, with the women being tipsy, they were ready for bed fairly
early.  It was midnight, when they started divvying up the
bedrooms.

The first problem was Danny and Christy.  It was assumed they'd
take up one bed.

"I don't have to have sex EVERY night!" said aunt Christy,
slurring a little.  Her mouth went into a little 'o'.  She didn't
usually talk quite that openly.  The rest of them did, but not
Christy.  Knowing what I now knew about her, I thought that was
kind of odd.  Danny had told me nobody else knew ... that I was
the first one in the family to know that all that kidding about
borrowing Danny wasn't being blown off by Christy NEARLY as much
as they all thought it was.  She was the stable one, with the
good marriage, and the common sense approach to things.  So her
bald comment was not what everybody expected from her.  They all
stared.

"Maybe every OTHER night," she suddenly giggled.  She wobbled
over and sat on his lap.  The nightgown she'd borrowed from Mom
did nothing whatsoever to keep those hard breasts from wobbling
in counterpoint to her feet, as she wobbled.  When she plopped
down on Danny's lap, so much of her legs showed that I could tell
what color her panties were.  "Kiss me, baby," she sighed.

"That's just not fair!" moaned Aunt Vanessa.  She had brought her
own nightgown, which was what I've heard called a Teddy.  It
showed a lot of leg too.   A lot.

"He can kiss you later," said Christy, completely unaware that
she was completely out of character.  Apparently, what had
happened between us, mixed with the wine, had unglued her
fantasies.  She kissed her husband, long, deep, and continuous. 
There were more stares.

"Grandma can sleep in my room," said Tabby brightly.  She was the
only one, besides Danny and me, who hadn't really had anything to
drink.

Mona lurched to her feet and held out her hand to her
granddaughter.  Tabby helped her climb the stairs.

"I'll give up my bed," sighed Randi.  She looked at Mom.  "Your
bed's plenty big enough for two, if you won't flop all over it."
My mother was known to take up the whole bed.

"OK," said my mother, her voice muzzy.

The two of them left.

That left Randi's bed, and mine.

"I like the boy," said Danny, "but not enough to sleep with him."

"My bed's not really big enough for two, comfortably," I
suggested.  I had this horrible ... but fascinated feeling, that
if I ended up sharing a bed with a female ... well ... I didn't
think I'd be able to sleep.

"I'll take the couch," said Danny.  "You two girls can relive old
memories in Randi's bed."  He looked at Christy, and then
Vanessa.

"That's not so bad," said Aunt Vanessa.  "At least I won't have
to lie there and imagine the two of you in bed together."  She
brightened.

Aunt Christy kissed Danny again, one of those kisses a boy like
me wishes for all the world he might get to experience some day.

"Night, honey," she said into his lips.  "You know I love you
more than anything in the world."

"I know," he sighed.  "I love you too."

"I know you do," she said, standing up.  "And it means everything
to me."

"Knock it off, you two, I'm horny enough as it is!" groaned
Vanessa.

The two women wandered, more or less, arm in arm, up the stairs.

Danny looked at me.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"She's horny, and it's that time of month."

"Aunt Christy?" I asked, nasty thoughts chasing each other around
in my mind.

"Yup," he said.   "I'd have felt a lot better if she'd have
insisted on sleeping with me."

"What could happen?" I asked.

"Who knows?" he said, standing up to take his pants off.  He wore
jockeys, like me.

I went to the linen closet and got him a sheet, so the rough
fabric of the couch wouldn't scratch him all night.  By the time
I got back, he'd taken his shirt off.  He put his clothes right
by the couch, on the floor, so he could get into them again, in
the morning.

I went to my room in the dark.  As I passed Tabby's room, I heard
snoring.  I knew it wasn't Tabby.  Apparently, Grandma snored.  
I passed my room, and listened at the door of Randi's room.  I
heard female voices talking softly.  I guessed my aunts were
catching up on stuff, or talking about old times.

I went back to my room and lay on my bed.   I thought about what
Danny had told me.   The erection that caused was a doozy.  I
pushed my jockeys down to my thighs.    It was so hard, and felt
so good to stroke, that I didn't want it to be over, so I just
stroked slowly, and thought about things.  I had a tissue handy
for when I needed it, but for now, it just lay there.

================================


I have to warn you about something, for just a second.  From this
point on, you need to understand that, while I'm telling the
story, I wasn't actually there for all of it.   Some of what
happened I learned fairly soon, and some of it was years later,
but it will make a lot more sense if I just tell it like I was
there.   I was there for the parts that involved me, of course.
I just didn't want you to get confused, as you read on.

================================


I was just thinking about getting serious about milking my prick,
when my door creaked open.   I don't know for sure, but it was
probably forty-five minutes or so after I got into bed.  I'd
worked myself up pretty well, by then, but couldn't concentrate
on any one fantasy for longer than a minute or two, without
cumming.  It was so fun to just feel good, that I kept changing
fantasies ... just so I wouldn't cum.

"Pat?"

My eyes were used to the moonlight, coming in the window.  The
short hair told me it was Aunt Christy.

"Aunt Christy?" I whispered.

"Shhhh."

She came over to the bed.   I suspect her eyes were adjusted too,
and saw me holding my bone.

"I think I had too much to drink," she said softly.   "I got up
to go to the bathroom, but I must have gotten lost."

I thought of two things immediately.  First, aunt Christy had
been in our house, and used every bathroom in it lots of times. 
There was no way she could get lost.  Second, she had called my
name, like she was trying to see if I was awake or not.

She also didn't sound nearly as drunk as she had when she went to
bed.  In fact, she sounded suspiciously sober.

That led me to think about why she wanted me to think she was
drunk.   What burst into my mind then was what Danny had told me
about how she felt about me, and how he felt about that.

Now I don't know about your life experiences, or how you lost
your virginity.  Maybe it was a surprise, and maybe you planned
it out in fine detail.   I had dreamed about it a zillion times,
but I wasn't exactly prepared for it to actually happen.

On the other hand, I was a genius, and I had thought long and
hard about what Danny said in describing what my aunt wanted. 
More than that ... how she wanted it.

"You're not lost," I said.  "You came here on purpose."

She knelt beside me.  Her face was pointed toward my boner, which
still had my hand wrapped around it.

"I know," she said softly.  Then "No! I'm lost!"  Her face leaned
closer to my hand, and the stiff prick in it.  "What are you
doing?"

She knew what I was doing.

"I was thinking," I said, thinking furiously.  "I was thinking
about you."

"You shouldn't do something like that while you're thinking about
me," she said, proving that she knew exactly what I was doing.

"I was thinking about you helping me do this," I said.  I had no
idea how to play this game, but I was trying to learn fast.

"I could never do that," she sighed.

"Take off your nightgown," I ordered.

Her head swiveled to look toward my face.  There was just the
briefest hesitation.  Then she stood, and slipped out of it.  She
was wearing panties.  It was dark, but I knew what color they
were.  That made me even harder, for some reason.

"Take your panties off too."

"Pat ..." she said, her voice tense.

"Take them off, Aunt Christy.  I won't hurt you.  I just want to
see you."

She bent, and skinned them down.   She had dark hair on her head.
 All I saw between her legs was pale white.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered.

"I shouldn't be here," she whispered back.

"Lie down with me," I said.

She knelt again, and leaned close.  I could feel her breath on my
face, and smell the lingering odor of wine.

"I can't do that, Pat.  That would be too dangerous, right now."

She sounded like regular Aunt Christy, except that she was stark
naked, right beside me.  This game was harder to play than I
realized.

"You could touch me, at least," I pleaded.

"I could never do that,"  I heard that peculiar sing-song tone in
her voice, that I now recognized was one of the parts of the
game.

"You have to touch me," I said.   "Look what you did to me."  I
wagged my prick around, and then felt stupid for doing that.

Her hand went to my abdomen.   Her fingertips tickled, and I
sucked my stomach in.  She took her hand away.

Tentatively, I reached for her hand.  She let me grasp her wrist.

"Not there," I whispered raggedly.  "Here."

I put her hand against my prick.

When her fingers closed around my penis, and she moaned, I almost
lost it, right then and there.

"I don't know how to do this," she said, in that sing-song voice.

I gave her instructions.  She knew exactly how to do it, but
wouldn't perform unless told to.

I think I was moaning something about how much I loved her when I
said I wished she'd kiss me.   Her lips descended on mine and I
thought she was going to suck the life out of me!   She wouldn’t
get on the bed, but she would rest her upper body part way there,
with her left breast on my chest, as she kissed, and stroked.

That was it.  My hips bucked and I felt the first soothing streak
of cum lance through my penis.   Her hand squeezed hard,
suddenly, and I thought the top of my head would blow off.    Her
lips pulled away from mine, and her head receded down towards my
prick.   I lifted my head to see her open mouth and, unbelieving,
watched as it descended over the tip of my prick, which was
sticking out of her hand.  Then she released her grip and jerked
me like she meant it.

The warmth of her mouth and tongue, sucking at the tip of my
prick was indescribable.  My hips bucked again, but her left hand
was ready, and pushed against my thigh.   Then it came up and
softly squeezed my balls as I fired off twice more in her mouth.
 It was unbelievable.

I lay there, gasping for breath, feeling my heart pounding in my
chest, as she continued to suck and slurp.  She held onto my
prick as she pulled her mouth off.

"You wasted some," she said.  "You shouldn't waste it."

"Will you marry me?" I gasped.

She giggled.  "I can't.  I'm already married."

She let go of my penis, and swiped two fingers through the line
that my first burst of semen had left on my stomach.  She stuck
those fingers into her mouth.

"You can never tell anyone this happened," she said, smacking her
lips.

"Never!" I promised, with all my heart.

"I wish I could have gotten on the bed with you," she said
softly.  "Maybe some day."

"I love you," I panted.  "I mean it.  I really love you."

"You love this," she said pragmatically.  "I know you love me,
but don't get carried away."

"How could I help but get carried away?" I moaned.  "That was the
most amazing thing that ever happened to me!"

"You're sweet. I'm almost ready for Danny.  Will you help me get
the rest of the way ready?"

"How?" I panted.

She stood, and came to the head of the bed.  That whiteness
between her legs was right by my face.   She leaned down, and
lowered one of those fabulous breasts toward my face.  A long,
rubbery nipple was right over my mouth.

"Suck," she ordered.

I was more than happy to help her.

================================


I lay there in a haze of happiness after Aunt Christy picked up
her nightgown and left.   I knew she was going to go down to the
living room, where Danny was, and "fuck him half-blind", as he
would have put it.  As hard as I had cum, I started getting stiff
again, thinking about that.   I thought, briefly, about trying to
spy on them, but it felt too good to just lie there.   I picked
up the tissue, and cleaned up what she hadn't gotten off me.

My door opened again.   She was still carrying her nightgown ...
still naked.

"What's wrong?" I whispered.

"Nothing," she said, her voice strange.  "He's busy."   She
dropped the nightgown on the floor, and came to stand by the bed
again.

"Don't tell me to get in bed with you again.  I could never do
that."

She said it with her sing-song voice.

================================


Danny was sleeping when he was shaken awake.   He looked up to
see Vanessa standing over him.

"Where's Christy?" she whispered.

"I thought she was sleeping with you," Danny whispered back.

"She got up to go to the bathroom, and never came back."

"Well she didn't come down here," said Danny.  "Maybe she's still
in the bathroom."

"I checked," she said, shaking her head.

She stood there, looking at the bright white of his jockeys,
against the darker pale of his skin.

"You didn't kiss me good night," she said.

"When did I start kissing you good night?" asked Danny.

"Christy said I could kiss you ... later."

"Well, yeah ... but ..."

"It's later."

"Vanessa, what are you doing?"

"Just a kiss," she moaned.  "Just one little kiss, that's all. 
It's been so long.  I can't let other men kiss me, Danny.  They
get the wrong idea.  But you understand.  You know me.  Please?"

"Vanessa, I'm half naked, and you don't have on much more than
that.  If you kiss me, I'm not sure I'll be satisfied with just
one kiss."

 He was trying to scare her off.  It was the wrong thing to say,
though.

"Ohhhhh," she moaned, sinking down on her knees beside the couch.
 "Just one kiss."

Her kiss was hot, and hungry.  She really had drunk a lot of
wine, and it had loosened her up considerably.   She probably
wouldn't have done it otherwise, but her inhibitions were lowered
just enough to make the difference.

The other thing, which she didn't know, of course, was that in
their role playing, one of Danny's favorite partners was Vanessa.

It was a long kiss.  In fact, it went on long enough that her
manicured fingers found their way under the waistband of his
jockeys, to find something else she hadn't felt in a long, long
time.

Their kiss broke.   They were both adults, and she wasn't
smashed.  She held on to his bone, though.

"I've always been so jealous of Christy," she sighed.  "When you
beat the shit out of Alan at that party, Christy wasn't the only
one who fell in love with you."

"I love Christy," said Danny.

"I know," she said.  "I love her too.   All I want is a little
bit of your love ... just a teensy little bit.  I know she'd kill
me if she found us like this, and I don't want to hurt her, or
you, but I get so lonely."

"What would you say if I told you she wouldn't kill you?" he
asked.

"What?"

"You guys keep asking to borrow me.  She's kind of gotten used to
that."

"Don't tease me, Danny," she whined.

"I think Christy would understand, if I gave you just a tiny,
little bit of my love," he whispered.

It took a few seconds to sink in, but when it did, it was like
they had decided to wrestle.  She couldn't decide whether to kiss
him, or take his jockey's off.   When she took his jockeys off,
she couldn't decide whether to suck him, or kiss him.   He
settled the issue by letting her do neither.  Instead, he got up,
stripped her, laid her on the couch, put her knees by her ears,
and filled her pussy with prick.

She got so loud he had to muffle her cries with his lips.

That was when Christy tiptoed down the stairs, to satisfy her
raging lust for her nephew, with her husband ... who was busy.

================================


"Busy?" I asked, not up to speed yet.

"Please don't make me get on the bed with you," she whined.

I couldn't believe what was happening.   What had happened before
was enough to last me for years.   My mind tried to catch up.  
If she got on the bed, she'd have to lie at least half on top of
me.  I only had a single bed.  I got up.

"OK, then," I whispered.  "Get on the bed while I'm not there."

"What?  Wait ... "

"Get on the bed, Christy!" I whispered loudly.

"All right," she said, her voice pouting.  "You don't have to
yell at me."

She got on my bed, and adjusted my pillow under her head.  I was
standing between the window and bed, and my shadow darkened part
of her body.  I walked around to the other side.  There, lying
before me, was my dream.

"Spread your legs," I said.

Her legs sprang open.

I was on a roll, and I went for broke.  I might never get this
chance again.

"You want me to lick you." I said.

"Nooooo, I'm married, you can't do that," she moaned.

Her legs stayed parted as I crawled onto the bed between them.  
I got my face right next to her pussy.  It was as bare as a
baby's butt.  Even in the dark, I could see that her pussy lips
were dark and thick, like they were swollen.

This is where my plan petered out, no pun intended.  I had no
idea how to do what I wanted to do.

"Tell me what you like," I rasped.

"I can't, you'll make me cum," she moaned.  "I'm married. You
can't do this to me!"

"Tell me!" I said heatedly.  I was, in fact, pretty hot.   My
prick was stiff as a board.

Her fingers came down and pulled those fat pussy lips apart.  It
was the first pussy I'd seen like that, except in pictures.   I
saw the bump that was in a lot of the pictures.   Her index
finger pushed at that bump.

"Don't lick and suck that," she panted.   "You can't touch that."

I sucked first, and she went crazy.   She pulled the pillow out
from under her head and covered her face with it.  I could still
hear her grunts and whines, and realized she was cumming already.
  I wasn't sure how long to suck.  Her hand came and pushed at my
head.  So I licked then.   When I used the flat of my tongue, her
fingers gripped my hair, and pulled my face against her pussy.  
They kept my face there, for a few minutes, and then pulled
harder.  I liked licking her, so I just kept licking as my face
went up her body.  When I licked her belly button, she sucked her
stomach in, like I had.   I stopped at her breasts.   Her nipples
were so hard, and so long, it was like sucking on little rubber
toes or something.   She made it quite clear that she liked that.
 I realized she'd taken the pillow off her face.

I didn't know if she'd let me kiss her, what with my face all wet
from her pussy.  I tried anyway.

Remember that kiss that she gave Danny, that I wished someday I'd
get just one of?

I got like ten of those.  They tapered off into shorter ones,
where it was like she was nipping at my lips, trying to taste
them.  I realized her hand was around my boner.

"You can't put it in me," she whispered, digging the tip between
the pussy lips I had just been licking.

"I won't," I said, giving a tentative little push.  I felt the
head surrounded by heat, and thought of her mouth.

"Make sure you don't," she panted, taking her hand away.  "I'm
married.  You shouldn't have made me come here."

"Be quiet," I said softly.

I watched her face as she bit her lips, trying to be quiet, as I
pushed again, and kept pushing until that heat was around my
entire penis.

"Ohhh fuck," she groaned.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," I said, my voice above a
whisper.

"No!" she moaned.  "Don't fuck me."

I didn't know how to do this either.  So I did what I saw in porn
tapes.   Her hands came to my hips, and taught me what to do. 
The whole time she was whispering "No ... please, no".

It took a long time, but eventually she went rigid and whined. 
She came a lot more quietly this time.   Knowing I had made her
cum sent the most electric feeling through me, and suddenly, my
balls were screaming.

I'd been to health.  I knew about making babies.  Her fingernails
were dug into my buttocks, though.

"I have to pull out!" I gasped.

"You can't cum in me!" she squealed.  Her fingernails dug in
deeper.

"I mean it, Aunt Christy! I'm gonna cum!"

"Pleeeasse" she groaned.  "If you cum in me you'll make me
pregnant!"

I almost didn't cum.  That was because I was afraid my butt was
bleeding from multiple puncture wounds, caused by her
fingernails.

But it was already too late.  I groaned as the soothing bursts of
semen flashed through my prick, and into my Aunt Christy's belly.
 The natural impulse was to push hard, and plant that seed as
deep in her garden as I could.

When she felt that, her hands left my probably bleeding buttocks
and smoothed all over my back, as her legs wrapped around me.

Her voice, right in my ear, only made me cum harder.

"I love you, baby," she whispered.  "I love you so much.    I've
wanted this for so long.    Make me pregnant, Pat.  I want your 
baby so bad!  Pleeeease make me a mommy."

Danny hadn't told me about that part ... the part where, for
three years, they'd been trying to have children ... and it
wasn't working.  The doctor had told them his sperm count was
low, but not so low that persistence might still pay off.   It
hadn't, and Christy wanted a baby so badly, that she was willing
to get it any way she could.   But only with the right man.  
There were only two candidates.   They had talked about it, even
before my project started.  It was part of their fantasy play. 
They intended to wait until I was eighteen, and keep trying in
the mean time, but things got speeded up.   They had still been
unsure about it, until she saw her sister being royally fucked by
Danny, on the couch.   That had been speeded up too, but she
didn't care.   This was her chance, and she took it.

I learned that while I lay, almost lifeless on my aunt Christy's
naked body, my prick still plugged loosely into my first pussy
... the pussy that had accepted my virginity.   She told me about
their dreams and hopes.  She told me things that he'd already
told me, and much more.  Amazingly, at least to me, she managed
to get me hard again.

This time, there was no game playing.   She told me what she
loved, and how to make her sing.  She didn't sing, but she had
two more orgasms, and I felt so proud I almost burst.

"I need to get back to bed," she whispered, as I rocked in her,
after her second orgasm.  "I'd love to stay here all night, but I
want to be there when Vanessa gets back."

"OK," I groaned.  "Just a little longer?"

"Can you cum again?" she asked, delighted.

"Yes," I moaned.

"Oh yes!" she said.

Then she whispered those sweet things in my ear again, begging me
to make her pregnant.   It felt like she sucked out every drop of
liquid in my body.

If I'd have died that night, I'd have died with a smile on my
face that even a plastic surgeon couldn't have gotten off.

Chapter Nine

The next morning was just as normal as it could possibly be.  I
got up early.  Apparently good sex, even if it's your first ever
sex, is as good for you as a whole bunch of sleep.   Danny was up
early too, as was my mother, who was rustling up a mess of bacon
and eggs.  She had lots.  They had planned this all nighter,
unknown to me.

My Aunt Christy, who probably still had my spunk soaking into her
womb, came downstairs dressed in the clothes she'd worn over. 
She went over to Danny and sat down on his lap, straddling him. 
She kissed him so long that I was afraid both of them would fall
over unconscious.  She also rubbed her spermy pussy against his
crotch, until my mother scolded her for acting pornographic in
front of me.

"He's a big boy," said Christy, not looking at me.  "You said so
yourself."

"There are things he can learn later," said my mother.

Christy turned her head and winked at me.  Damned if I didn't
start getting stiff.

Grandma was next.  She said she left Tabby whining about having
to get up so early.  Randi was close behind her.  She'd taken a
shower and was ready to go out somewhere.

When Aunt Vanessa came in, I was afraid it would all go to shit.
She was obviously embarrassed, and obviously nervous.  She was
jumpy too.   I turned around to see who was coming in, and
knocked my knife off the table.  She actually jumped.

Aunt Christy climbed off of Danny, and went to her sister, who
flinched, slightly.   All Christy did was hug her and tell her
she loved her.  Vanessa broke down and was crying and saying
thank you and all that stuff.  My mother turned around and looked
like she was seeing a three antlered moose or something.  Randi
was pretty interested too.

"What in the world is wrong with you two?" asked their other
sister.

"They're making up," said Grandma, munching on a piece of bacon.
"Anybody could see that."

"Did you two start fighting again?" asked my mother, rolling her
eyes.  "I thought you grew out of that!"

Aunt Vanessa finally sat down.  She looked a lot happier, even if
she blushed every time she so much as glanced at Danny.  He
ignored her completely.   Christy came and sat down beside me. 
She draped an arm over my shoulders.

"So, are you going to order the casting kits?"

I nodded, trying to act normal.  "I'll have to mow a bunch of
lawns to get that much money," I said.

"If I get to keep the mold after you're done with it," she said,
"I'll pay for mine."

"What would you do with a mold of your breasts?" asked my mother,
chuckling.

Aunt Christy cupped her breasts and looked down at them.  "They
won't always look like this," she said.  She bobbed them up and
down.  "Someday I'll have to use that mold to remind Danny of
what I used to look like."

My mother's mouth dropped open.

"What in the WORLD has gotten into you?  Have you started some
new medication I don't know about?  You're acting very strangely,
Christy!"

"Maybe I'm just tired of being plain old steady-as-she-goes
Christy," said my aunt.  "Maybe I want life to be a little more
interesting.   Maybe I'll hang my boobs on the wall, for visitors
to look at when they come over."

My mother actually came over and tried to feel Christy's
forehead.  Christy leaned away from her.

"I'm fine," she said.

My mom looked at Danny, who just grinned and shrugged.

Tabby finally made an entrance.  She was still in her sleep
shirt, and had on fuzzy slippers that looked like tiger faces.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Your aunt is losing her mind," said my mother.

"Really?  Which one?" asked Tabby.

Aunt Vanessa swatted at her.

Then she turned to me.  "I'll pay for my kit too.  Same deal as
Christy, OK?"

"One kit will do more than one woman," I said.

"We can do the shoulders and stomach too," said Vanessa.  "That
way it will be more than just boobs."

"Who says I want my flabby stomach being looked at?" grunted
Grandma.

"There isn't an ounce of fat on your stomach," snorted Danny.

Mona looked at him and arched an eyebrow.  "And how would you
know that, young man?"

A glint came in his eye.  "Pat told me, of course."

All eyes in the room turned to me.  I heard the intake of breath
by six women, who were about to scream at me.

"LIE!" I shouted.

"It had better be," sniffed Mona.  "A gentleman doesn't kiss and
tell."

She looked at Danny again.  "Have you been peeking in my windows
again?"

"AGAIN?!" came three or four female voices.

Mona grinned at Danny.   "Gotcha!   Let that be a lesson to you.
Don't mess with age and experience."

"Yes Ma'am," said Danny politely.  "And you should be careful
where you wear that snappy little halter top you like to garden
in."

Mona blinked.  "When did you see me in that?  I don't let anybody
see me in that!"

Danny just smiled.  "You should.  You look pretty good in it,
Mom."

Christy giggled.  "Isn't he just adorable?  I'm so glad I married
him."

There was a lot more, before they broke it up and everybody left,
but it isn't important to the story.  Suffice it to say that
everybody was in a good mood.  My problem had been sorted out. 
Two women had gotten their fantasies fulfilled.  Danny had
flirted with Grandma, and everybody had said how good breakfast
was, even though it was just bacon and eggs.

================================

It seemed quiet with just the four of us there, in the kitchen. 
We washed our dishes by hand.  We had a dishwasher, but it was
just a habit to do them by hand.   A while back our allowances
had been based on chores, and sticking dishes into a box isn't
much of a chore.  Our mother made us earn our allowance.

"Can I be first?" asked Tabby suddenly.

"First for what?" asked Mom.

"First with the cast thingie," said Tabby.

"Don't you think that should be up to Pat?" asked my mother.

Suddenly, I was in charge of my project again.

Tabby looked at me.

"Fine with me," I said.

She almost wiggled with happiness.

"I thought this was all embarrassing for you," said our mother.

"I'm over that," said Tabby.

"From reading the description, it sounds like you could almost do
it all by yourself," said my mother.

Tabby looked shocked.  If that's all she did, it would have been
fine.  But she spoke too.

"No!  I want Pat to do it."

My mother's face went from shock, to puzzlement, to
understanding.

"Come with me, Tabitha," she said firmly.

"What?"

"We're going to have a little talk."

"What about?  I didn't do anything!"

"Good!" said Mom.  "That's a good start."

Mom grabbed Tabby's wrist and pulled her out of the kitchen.   I
looked at Randi, who was trying not to smile.

"It looks like several of us are getting a crush on Pat," said
Randi.

"Hey," I said.  "I didn't do anything!"  That wasn't exactly
true, but I wasn't going to admit what I HAD done.  Nosiree Bob!

No pun intended, there.  It's just a saying.

"I want you to do my cast too," said Randi, smiling wider.  "You
think Mom's going to want to talk to me about that too?"

"Don't get me in trouble here," I pleaded.

"You're already in trouble, little brother," said my older
sister.

"Why?" I moaned.

"You can't just get a boner for a bunch of women who love you and
expect them to ignore it," she said. "Get real!"  She smirked. 
"I'll bet you the cost of my kit that every one of them wants
your help with making the cast."

"Why?" I asked.

"Didn't you read the instructions?" she asked, raising one
eyebrow.

"No, I didn't have time."

She rolled her eyes.  "There's a special gel, Pat.  It comes with
the kit.  You have to rub it all over the skin, so the cast will
come loose easily."

My eyes must have bugged out, because she laughed.

"That's right, sport," she giggled.  "You have to rub it all over
the shoulders ... and belly ... and breasts."

I suddenly knew what Mom was talking to Tabby about.

I had a pretty good feeling I was going to be next on the list.

================================

I was next.   As soon as Mom was finished with Tabby, she came
looking for me.  She looked confused.  I expected her to lay down
the law, but she didn't.

"Pat, Tabitha told me that you're the only boy she knows who
thinks she's pretty."

"That's stupid," I said immediately.  "I know a lot of guys who
think she's cute.  They can't wait until she's old enough that
you'll let her date."

"Why would she tell me that?" asked my mother.

I had to be careful, here.  I didn't know what Tabby had said
during their "talk".

"Do you remember the day she said she didn't want to get her
picture taken?" I asked.

She nodded.

"She came and talked to me that night.  She was afraid I was mad
at her for not doing it."

"That's ridiculous!" my mother snorted.

"I know.  I told her it was OK.   But she was all worked up.  She
wanted to know if I thought she was ugly."

A look of horror came over her face.  "You didn't ... tease her,"
she whispered.

"Of course not," I said.  "I could tell she was really bothered.
She doesn't mess around with boys, like a lot of girls her age,
but she was worried what some boy might think some day."

"What did you tell her?" asked my mother.

"I told her she was gorgeous, like all the other Turner women," I
said.

My mother got a far away look in her eye, like she did when she
was trying to remember something.  "The next morning ... at
breakfast ... she said she loved you."

"Yeah," I said.

"Now I understand!   Up in her room she wouldn't stop crying. 
She said that you understood, but she wouldn't tell me WHAT you
understood.  The only thing I could get out of her was that you
thought she was pretty.  Now I get it!"

Never pass up a chance to get some parental praise.

"Did I do OK?" I asked.

She looked at me, and the next thing I knew those wonderful
breasts were crushed against me again.  I was getting to like
this ... a lot!

"You did wonderfully, honey," she said into my hair.   "You're a
good brother, and I'm proud of you."

"Well, she was pretty upset, and she's OK, most of the time," I
said, like most brothers would.

She pushed me away, and looked into my face.  "She wants you to
help her make her cast."

"I know," I said.  "I heard her."

"I can't just let you run your hands all over her breasts, Pat. 
She's your sister!"

"I know," I said.  "I'll talk to her.   I'll get her to just let
me supervise, or something."

"What's happening in this family?" she sighed.  "First, you get
an erection for me, and it makes me feel wonderful.  Now your
sister wants you to fondle her or something!"

"I don't know," I said.  "It's all strange for me too.  Tabby
usually just yells at me.  All I did was say she was pretty, and
she got all teary eyed on me."

"You have a lot to learn about women," said my mother, shaking
her head.  "Being a teenage girl is one of the hardest things on
the planet.  You just made it a lot easier for your sister, and
that's no little thing."

"I just got lucky," I said.

Her eyes narrowed.  "You just be careful how lucky you get, young
man."

Chapter Ten

I ordered the casting kits online, and my mother graciously let
me use her credit card.  Over the next three days I got asked
exactly six times if I'd ordered them.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking my mom knew I
ordered them, so I should have only been asked five times.  Danny
asked me too.  Apparently he'd been getting extra good sex, since
the night that the decision to use the kits had been made.

Yes ... that night.

The thing that made me crazy was that Aunt Christy didn't act any
different toward me than she ever had.  I still got the same
hugs.  Maybe they were a little closer, and a little longer than
before, and then there was the way she pushed her pussy against
me during the hugs.  But that was it.  She didn't flirt with me,
or say things with innuendo in them or anything like that.  I
started to get the idea that, once she'd lived her fantasy, she
was satisfied, and that was it.

Danny and Vanessa didn't act all weird either.  They treated each
other exactly the same as they always had.  There was still a low
level of flirting and teasing going on all the time, but that's
all it was ... teasing.

That was fine for them, I suppose, but I was going nuts.   I was
almost seventeen.  I'd just lost my virginity.  Not only that,
the woman I'd lost it to had begged me to make her pregnant while
she was doing it, and she still came around every other day or
so.  I won't lie.  I wanted to do it again.   But she acted like
I was her nephew or something!    I know ... I AM her nephew ...
but I didn't FEEL like her nephew ... or something.

And it was happening with Tabby too.   Every night she came in to
kiss me good night.  She'd never done that before.  All I'd done
was get a boner for her and tell her she was gorgeous, and
suddenly she liked showing me her boobs, and her ass sometimes,
and started kissing me on the lips!  It was getting hard to think
about her as a sister too.

On top of all that, my birthday was coming up, and the casting
kits would be here soon, and I didn't know how that was going to
play out.

I was beginning to learn that, as life goes on, you take steps,
and turn corners, and choose paths, and that, once you do that,
you can't turn around and go back.  Life just doesn't work that
way.  You're stuck with the situations you get yourself into.  I
know it sounds like I was feeling sorry for myself, when most
guys would have had a permanent smile on their faces.  But the
fact was, I was horny, and I knew what the "new" way of dealing
with it was like, but I didn't have any way to do that.

I was full of sexual frustration.

As it turned out, I wasn't the only one who was full of sexual
frustration.   Of course, genius though I was ... I didn't know
that.

================================

The kits arrived in a big box, delivered by UPS.   You'd have
thought, based on the reaction by my sisters and mother, that
we'd won that silly clearing house magazine prize or something.

I was actually in Cat's class when it happened.  The class only
met twice a week.  As a summer school course it went longer each
day than the usual classes did.   I had decided to fill in my
professor about the project after all.   Surprising her didn't
seem like the best idea any more, even if that's what she'd said
she wanted.  I told her about all the troubles I'd had with my
project.   She thought it was a lot funnier than I did, but she
was enthusiastic about the solution the Turner women had come up
with.

"That sounds so very interesting," she said.  "I can't wait to
see the results."

When I got home, everybody was acting froggy.

Tabby met me at the door, like she'd been waiting for me.

"They're here!" she squealed.  "Remember ... I'm first!"

My mother was baking cookies.  I knew she did that sometimes,
with an intensity that might have made one think she had a
contract with the Girl Scouts or something.  When she got in the
cookie making mood, she made dozens of dozens of them, usually. 
A lot went in the freezer, for later.   What I didn't know was
that she did that when she got horny.

Randi just pulled me aside, and said: "Well, I guess you get to
see my boobs again, Sport."

I should have known something was up, when Mom asked me if I
wanted to get started right away or not.  She was talking about
Tabby.  She had stated more than once, in the past week, that she
was going to be there, when the cast of her darling daughter's
breasts was made.

Tabby suddenly had other things she just "had" to do, and she
left.

That lasted until Mom took a cardboard box of cookies big enough
to hold a microwave oven, and went to make deliveries to her
sisters and mother.  She hadn't been gone five minutes when Tabby
bounced in the door from wherever she had been.

"I'm ready!" said Tabby.

"We're supposed to wait for Mom," I said.

"Oh pooh," said Tabitha carelessly.  "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that I have to touch you," I said.

"You've SEEN me," said my sister.  "It's not that different."

I knew better, but I was horny.

Fifteen minutes later Tabby was standing in her panties, in my
room, jumping around and telling me to "HURRY UP!" while I tried
to make sure I'd read the instructions well enough not to screw
things up.  It was hard to read anything, with her pink-tipped
breasts right there.  She was also wearing those thong panties
again.

I unpacked a kit, and everything was there.  I picked up the
lubricant, opened it, and smeared some on my hands.

Tabby didn't show any sign of nervousness at all as I advanced on
her, my hands outstretched, forming claw-like appendages on the
ends of my arms.  If anything, she stuck her chest out a little
more.

Oh man, oh man, oh MAN!

Her breasts felt hot under my hands, and soft, but with an
underlying firmness that made them SO much fun to squeeze.   I
don't know if there are any professional belly cast technicians
in the world, but if there are, and one of them would have been
there, I'm sure it would have only taken twenty or thirty seconds
to lubricate the skin on the front of her shoulders, upper chest,
breasts, and stomach.

I only stopped after she started acting like she had to pee,
dancing around so much that I couldn't keep my hands on her
boobs.

She was breathing so hard that I had to wait, to start applying
the strips of plaster-soaked cloth.  Thank goodness most of that
was done when our very unhappy mother walked in the room.

It was only then that I realized I must have spread lubricant on
Tabby's breasts for half an hour or more.

"WHAT are you two doing?" demanded our mother.

Thankfully, Tabby had calmed down considerably.  Most of her
upper body was covered, and I was putting on additional strips,
building up the cast.   I knew I only had a certain amount of
time to work with the stuff before it started setting up, so I
kept working, smoothing each strip into place with wet, plastery
hands.

"I couldn't wait any more, Mommy," said Tabitha, her voice calmer
than it had been since we started.  "It goes really quick.  We're
almost done."

I smoothed my hand along Tabby's belly, and up across the side of
her left breast.

"You knew I wanted to be here for this," said my mother, whose
eyes were glued to my hands.  "I should ground you both!"  She
blinked.  "And what are you doing in just panties?  And
particularly THOSE panties?!"

"Mom," moaned my sister.  "I was afraid plaster would get all
over my shorts, and these were just the panties I put on today. 
Don't be a fuddy duddy!   It's just a cast.  It was no big deal.
I just pretended he was Tim Sutton."  She giggled.

"That will be enough of THAT!" said our mother.  "That's EXACTLY
why I wanted to be here!  You're too young to be having those
kinds of thoughts."

Tabby rolled her eyes and said "Mom, I've been having thoughts
like that since seventh grade!"

"Not about your brother!" blurted Mom.

Tabby was good, I'll give her that.  "EEEWWW, Mom!"

"Well, you were so intent on having him do this ..."

"That's only because he was nice to me," said Tabby.  "He'll
probably go back to being a turd when this is all over."

"Don't call your brother names," Mom reacted naturally.

"Oh, all right," said my sister, sounding bored.  "How long will
this take to dry?"  Now she sounded impatient.

I picked up the instructions.  "I don't know," I said, poring
over them.  I was looking at the part that was printed in
Spanish, and had to search for the English version.

I guess that seeing her darling daughter's chest covered with wet
plaster made Mom feel better, because she left.  "Call me when
you take the cast off!" she yelled, as she went down the hall.

Tabby leaned forward and kissed me, full on the lips.  It was a
long, wet, hot kiss, the longest one she'd ever given me.

"Don't move," I said shakily, pulling my lips away from hers.  I
was already hard.  I don't see how Mom missed that, but she did.

"I'm so glad we did this," she sighed.

"I'm your brother," I reminded her.

"I don't care.  I love you, and nothing has ever felt so good as
your hands on me."

================================

We did call Mom up, when it was time to peel Tabby out of the
cast.   It worked perfectly.  It was SO cool.  The outside looked
really good, but the inside was incredible.   Tabby inspected it
so long that Mom had to tell her to cover up.

"I'm going to go take a shower," she said, instead.

I turned the cast over in my hands.  "I'm really kind of glad I
did Tabby first," I said, running my hands over the transition
from stomach to breast.  "See here?  She doesn't sag down, like
some of the others do, and it was easier to put the strips there.
 I'm glad I got some practice."

"Are you calling me a saggy old woman?" asked my mother, her
voice tight.

I looked at her.

"Of course not.  It's just a technical issue I hadn't thought
about.  Now I have.  I thought about having everybody lie down,
but that won't work, because the breasts would slide to the
sides."

"You ARE calling me a saggy old woman!"  She sounded upset.

"You don't have saggy breasts," I said, still intent on my
examination of Tabby's cast.  "I love your breasts."

"Oh," she said, a little breathlessly.  "So ... are you ... um
... planning on ... helping me too?"

I nodded, my mind only half on what she was saying.  I could see
that there were places where the edges of the cloth would show on
a cast made from the mold.  There might have to be some smoothing
of the busts, when they were made.

"I suppose it would be easier if there were two people working on
it," she said.

I was excited at the success of Tabby's cast, and looked up.

"You want to do it now?"

Her eyes fluttered a little.  "Let's wait a bit," she said.  "I
need to clean up the kitchen."

Somehow, cleaning up the kitchen lasted until Randi, who was also
going to summer school, was taking three classes, and had been
studying the whole time I was fondling Tabby's breasts, left for
class.  It lasted until Tabby decided that she was going to
Mandy's house.

"Don't you dare tell Mandy about the cast!" called out my mother,
as Tabby went out the door.

Then my mother washed her hands, wiped them, and with a shaky,
breathless kind of voice said:  "OK, I'm ready."

================================

Working on Tabby had only increased my level of ... excitement. 
Thinking about doing my mother's cast ratcheted things up even
more.   She wasn't the only one with an elevated respiration
rate.  Tabby and I had made the cast in my bedroom.   The last
time I'd seen my mother's breasts was in her bedroom.   I went to
her bedroom, and she followed me.   I unpacked another kit.

"What should I do?" she asked, sounding very meek.  It reminded
me of Aunt Christy, which may be why I spoke in such a commanding
tone.

"Take your blouse and pants off," I said.

"My pants too?"

"We're working with plaster here," I said, very businesslike.

I watched her take her clothes off.   She watched me ... watching
her ... taking her clothes off.  She looked at my crotch.

"Don't feel bad, honey," she breathed, as she saw my lump.

"I'm kind of used to it, by now," I said.

She giggled, half hysterically, and stood there in her bra and
panties.  Her panties puffed out, like Tabby's.

"Your bra too," I said, licking my lips.

"Yes, of course," she said.   Her arm disappeared and her bra
went slack.   She did that beautiful shrug and there they were
again.

================================

Giving her instructions seemed to be getting positive results.  I
knew, from the night with Aunt Christy, that some "commands"
would be resisted, so I tried to proceed carefully.

I know you're thinking I was acting like some kind of predator. 
That wasn't it at all.  I just loved her, and her breasts, and I
wanted to touch them.  Touching Tabby's had been fantastic.

"With Tabby, it worked better when I spread on the lubricant," I
said, trying to make myself sound credible.  I looked at her
sideways, to see if she was buying it.

Her breathing rate increased immediately.  Her nipples, which had
been fairly flat, got un-flat before my eyes.   I remembered
sucking on Christy's, which was mind blowing.  Mom's nipples were
even bigger, and my mouth watered.   I knew, though, that there
was no chance of that.

"Should I sit down?" she asked.

The only place to sit was her bed, and that made my prick jump
all over the place.

"No," I said, a little quickly.  More seemed to be called for, if
I was to continue the illusion that I was only doing this for my
project.   "I want the skin on your abdomen to be as smooth as
possible."   I thought I recovered pretty well.

Working on Tabby from the front had been fun, both visually and
physically, but it was awkward, because my wrists didn't bend
right to put my hands on her, both high and low.  I'd ended up
standing beside her, but then I could only reach one side at a
time.  Well, actually, I could only use one HAND at a time, if I
stood beside her, and I really liked having BOTH of my hands full
of soft boobs.  With Mom, I wanted to start with her breasts, but
thought that might be rushing things.  So I started on her
shoulders and upper chest, which was fine, standing in front of
her.  Her eyes looked at my face, as I slid my hands all over her
shoulders, and the skin above her breasts.

She sighed.  "Feels good," she said, a little timidly.

"Kind of like a massage," I suggested.  She nodded.

I squirted more stuff on my left hand and rubbed both hands
together.  I went around behind her.

"Lift your arms, please," I said, as professionally as I could.

She did, and I reached around under them, starting on her
stomach.

She hissed, and leaned back against me.   I stroked her abdomen,
my hands going in circles to cover her well.   I wasn't aware
there are millions of nerves there, associated with her ovaries,
which are connected to her other sexual organs, which were
currently protected by her panties.

I finally slid both hands up, to cup her breasts.   They were
heavier than I thought they'd be, and more malleable too.   My
hands slipped up and over them, and she tried, unsuccessfully to
stifle a moan.  I felt her nipples bend, as my hands smoothed
upwards, and slid over them.   I did circles with my hands then
too, all around each breast, loving the feeling of her nipples
resisting, and then bending and pushing into her breast flesh.

She leaned against me hard, and her arms lowered, almost trapping
my forearms.  I kept rubbing.  Her butt pressed into my erection,
but by then I didn't care any more.  I was in love.  Hands full
of breasts just can't be beat.

"Ohhhhh baby," she moaned.  "How long do you have to do this?"

"I just need to make sure everything is covered," I whispered
into her ear.

Her head leaned back, ever so slowly, to rest on my shoulder.

"Please hurry," she panted.  "I don't think I can take this much
longer."

"Am I hurting you?" I asked.

"Oh mercy no," she gasped.  "You're making me have terrible
thoughts, Pat."

Her ass ground against my prick.

I couldn't go on forever, so I finally stopped.   I wiped my
hands on a towel and started getting the strips ready.  She was
breathing too hard to start, anyway.

"Did you do that to Tabby?" she asked breathlessly.

"She's smaller," I said, hedging a little.  "It didn't take as
long.  I barely had to touch her."

"Thank goodness," she sighed.

Doing her cast was very different than doing Tabby.  Tabby's
ribcage transitioned into breast in a mellow curve, but Mom's
breasts would have held a pencil solidly.  I had to lift them, to
get the strips in the right place.   At one point she looked down
and said "It looks like I'm wearing a bustier."

"What's that?" I asked.

It was the wrong thing to say.  It reminded her that I was a kid.

"Never mind," she said, drawing in a deep breath.

"Don't do that!" I scolded.  "It stretches the cloth!"

"Sorry," she said.

Just like that I was back in charge.  I didn't even know I'd
almost blown it.

Finally I started working on the rest of the breasts themselves.
That was harder too, because there was so much curvature.   When
I got to the nipples, I had to squeeze the cloth around them.

"Uhhhhhh" she groaned, blowing out air.

"Would you stop that?" I said, squeezing more, to make up for the
movement.

"I can't help it," she moaned.  "You don't know what you're doing
to me!"

"Just stand still," I said.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes.   I got both nipples the way
I wanted them.  They stuck out, even through the cloth.  It was
going to look SO hot.

Once I got to her upper chest and shoulders, she relaxed a lot,
and calmed down.

Then it was time to wait.

================================

When the cast had cured enough to take the stress, I let her sit
on the edge of the bed.    We talked as she sat and waited for
the cast to cure.  She looked down and said she still felt naked,
because the cast was so detailed.

"At least you're not touching me any more," she sighed.

"Was it that horrible?" I asked.

"You know it wasn't horrible at all," said my mother.  "You have
no idea how close I came to losing control."

"What could you have done?" I laughed.  "You might be my mother,
but I think I can take you."

She looked injured. "It's not funny!   You don't know what I was
feeling!"

"Mom," I said, patiently.  "I'm still as hard as a rock."

"Oh!" she yipped.  She looked at my crotch.  Some mother part of
her brain took over.  "You got plaster all over your shorts and
shirt.  I hope it washes out."

I took my shirt off and dropped it on the floor.  Then I took off
my shorts.

"What are you doing, Pat?" asked my mother, her voice tense.

"I'm going to put them in the wash," I said.  "I thought that's
what you wanted."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea for me to be around you in just
your underwear," said my mother, staring at the diagonal line,
making a bulge in my jockeys.

"It's OK, Mom," I said, suppressing a grin.  "It's normal to feel
that way.  You're just feeling normal things, and don't have to
be embarrassed."  I couldn't hide my grin any more.

"Oh ... you!" she yipped, and waved an arm at me.  "Oops!" she
said, looking down at the cast.  "I think I moved it.  It feels
looser all of a sudden."

I went over and knocked on the case with my knuckles.  It was
hard.  I checked the edge, by her shoulder. It felt done.  I gave
it a gentle tug.

Her breasts didn't want to let go.   I had her lie back on the
bed.  I had to crawl up and half sit on her thighs, so I could
lean over and pull the cast down toward her feet, a little, and
up off her body at the same time.  It finally came loose.  I
crawled off of her and sat on the edge of the bed, beside her,
looking inside.   It was beautiful.  Her leg bumped into me.

"Move, so I can get up.  I'm all icky," she said.

"You just lie right there," I said.  "I'll go get you a
washcloth."

When I got back, she was still lying there, and looked nervous
again.

"I can do it," she said, reaching for the washcloth.

"I got you all messy," I said.  "I'll do it."

I ran the washcloth over her shoulders and she closed her eyes.

"They're so beautiful," I murmured, staring at her breasts.

I cleaned her belly next, and her legs moved.  She bent her knees
and then straightened them, and her arms went up above her head.
As I started upward, she bit her lower lip between her teeth.

"AHHHHH," she moaned, as the rough cloth covered one breast.  I
could feel the nipple bend through the cloth.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered.

I couldn't help it.  I remembered the sounds Aunt Christy made
when I sucked her nipples.  Mom's were bigger, and I knew they
were sensitive, so I knew it would make her feel good.  Plus, I
just wanted to suck on those long rubbery things.  Maybe it was
from when I was a baby ... some dim memory of those breasts
giving me life.

I leaned over and sucked on the one I'd just cleaned.

She screamed.

It was a primal, hoarse kind of scream ... not a word, or phrase
... just an outpouring of something that had been pent up inside
her for a long time ... maybe years.   I was to find out how
iron-willed the Turner women were, if only because they kept such
control of their passions, and all the Turner women, as it turned
out, were very passionate.

I swiped at the other breast with the cloth and switched to that
nipple.  She thrashed, and her scream became long moaning cries.
 I wanted to climb on top of her so bad I actually ached, and
leaked into my jockeys.

But something in me knew that wouldn't work.  Not now, anyway.  I
knew she was letting herself feel what she was feeling.  Her
hands came to my head, but didn't push.  They just gripped, and I
could feel the tension in her being transmitted through them.   I
knew I was involved too, of course, and the pride that I felt,
just from making her feel so good, swelled in me.  I wanted her
to have an orgasm.  I think I needed her to have one worse than I
wanted to have my own.

I bit a nipple, not too hard, but enough that I knew she'd know
it was my teeth on it, and, while she was arching in reaction to
that, I pushed my hand down her belly, into her panties, through
a luxuriant growth of hair that my fingers tangled in, and to wet
pussy lips.   I didn't give her time to react to that and stop
me.  I knew she would, if given the chance to think about it at
all.   Instead, I slid my middle finger into her as deeply as I
could.  Then I pulled with that finger, and used my palm to crush
where I hoped her clit was.  I whipped my hand back and forth to
rub her clit fast.

Her knees jerked up and flopped open as her heels dug into the
bed and her butt came off the covers.  She arched so hard that
her loins, and my hand, had to be two feet off the bed.

She screamed again, an agonized wail that went with her pussy
suddenly clamping down on my finger.   She held that rigid
posture for another five or six seconds, and then went limp,
falling back to the bed, her legs akimbo.

Then she bawled.

I was horrified.   I'd wanted just to make her feel good.  I
wasn't stupid.  I knew she hadn't done anything like this in
years.  But her sobs pierced me to my very core.

I climbed halfway on the bed and moved my face to hers.  Her eyes
were still closed tightly.

"Don't cry, Mom," I moaned.  Her mouth was partly open, and I
kissed her lower lip.  "I'm sorry!" I moaned.  "I just wanted you
to feel good ... honest.  Oh please don't cry.  I won't ever do
it again.  I promise!"

Her hands were still on my head, and her eyes snapped open.

Her hands pulled my head toward her face, and she kissed me on
the lips.  As hard as her hands were gripping my head, that kiss
was surprisingly gentle.   Then she pushed me back.

"I'm not mad at you, baby," she said in a soft pant.  "You did
make me feel good.  It's just been so long.   I shouldn't have
let you touch me.  I knew I'd lose control if I wasn't careful."

"You're not mad?" I moaned, thankfully.

"I love you, baby," she murmured.  "We shouldn't do things like
this, but I love you so much.  Don't ever think I don't love
you."

"I love you too," I moaned.  "I couldn't help it either.  I had
to touch you."

She kissed me again, and it turned into a make out session. 
Slowly, so slowly that I wasn't even aware it was happening, I
got further and further onto the bed.  First I lay against her,
as our tongues started dueling.  Then, somehow, I ended up on top
of her, my boner pressing through my underwear, and hers, into
the pussy I had just made have an orgasm.

She finally stopped kissing me.

"We can't do that, baby," she moaned softly.   "I want to, but
that's going too far."

"I want to, too," I husked into her mouth, kissing her again.

"No, baby, we can't," she moaned.

"I want to, really bad," I moaned back.

"Paaaaaat" she groaned.  "I can't resist you when you're like
this.  You have to stop!"

"OK, OK, I moaned."  I ground my prick into her pussy.  "Could
you maybe touch me?"

I think, to her, she saw that as a way out of what was rapidly
turning into a situation she wanted as much as I did, on one
level, but didn't want, on a higher one.  She was ...
enthusiastic ... in her response.

She wiggled out from under me and manhandled me onto my back with
strength that still surprises me.  She didn't rip my jockeys, as
she pulled them down, but she scraped some skin off my backside.

Apparently touching me wasn't enough.  Not with her hand, anyway.
 She did that, cooing at my penis, telling it how strong and
handsome it was.

Aunt Christy had used her mouth to make sure I didn't waste my
sperm on the bed.  She hadn't actually given me a blow job, per
sey.  Strictly speaking, I'd never had a whole blow job.

My mother rectified that situation.

She'd obviously done this before, because she was very good at
it.  I came within a minute.

She sucked as her mouth pulled off my prick.  She looked at me
and opened her mouth, which was full of creamy white stuff.  Then
she closed her mouth and swallowed.

"So soon?" she said, her voice pouty, but a twinkle in her eye.

I was gasping for breath, and felt limp.

Now that I was limp, she didn't mind lying with me, and cuddling.
 I wasn't dangerous any more.  She talked softly, mostly about
how we shouldn't do this again, but how wonderful it had made her
feel.  She had missed this kind of closeness with a man, and she
knew it.

"I've always wanted to try something," I said, telling a little
white lie.

"What's that?" she asked, nuzzling my cheek.

"What you did to me," I said, "except it would be me doing it."

She must have been feeling very safe, because she simply skinned
her panties down, lay back down, and spread her legs.  That
renewed the danger, but I hid it from her as I got into position.

Christy had guided me, to give her pleasure, but to be honest, it
was all kind of fuzzy in my mind.  Everything was fuzzy in my
mind, as I stared at my mother's pussy.   She had a big, fuzzy
bush of hair above her pussy lips.  Those lips looked completely
different.  They were loose and floppy, but thick at the same
time.  She smelled like Aunt Vanessa had, when I first smelled
turned-on pussy, only stronger.

I let her teach me how to do this again, just loving the feel of
her slippery sex on my lips and tongue.  She groaned through an
orgasm, but didn't make me stop, so I kept going, and she wiggled
and whined through another one.  She said: "That's enough, baby,"
and I crawled up to suck at her nipples again.  I knew my prick
was right there, at her pussy.  While I licked them, those lips
had opened up, to lay flat against her thighs, stuck there by her
sticky juice.  I felt the overpowering urge to slide my penis
into her.  Instead, I reached down and laid the bottom of it
across her opening.  I laid down and started rubbing my prick
through that thick growth of hair.

I wanted a kiss, but what I got was wide, round, almost terrified
eyes, and a woman holding her breath as she felt hard prick
rubbing along her clit, and balls rubbing her pussy lips, where
my tongue had been only a few seconds before.

"No, Pat," she whispered.

"I won't go in," I moaned.  "It just feels so good to rub."

"Ohhhh baby," she whined, her hips lurching, and her knees
pressing against my thighs.  "I don't know ... [her loins jerked
up against me] ... if that's ... [Her pelvis did a little
circling thing] ... a good ... [ her hips lifted her butt off the
bed]... idea." she gasped.

"Just some rubbing," I moaned.  I put my lips on hers, to keep
her from telling me to stop.

Rubbing was fine for me.  I was having a great time.  Her kisses
got more and more emotional, and more and more wild, and I rubbed
for all I was worth.  I had just cum, so the urge wasn't there to
do it again just yet, but the rubbing felt fabulous.

Rubbing, however, was not enough for <i>her</i>.   Right in the
middle of a kiss, her hand forced its way between our slippery
bodies, and grasped my prick.  I honestly thought she was going
to jerk me off, so I raised up a little, to give her room.  
Instead, her hand directed my prick to where I had wanted to put
it.  My next rubbing shove took care of the rest.

Just like that, I was balls deep in my mother's hot, sucking, and
amazingly tight pussy.

Her hands came back to my head, and suddenly she was the one
keeping me from saying anything.   Not that I would have.  I gave
up all pretense, and started fucking my mother for all I was
worth.

If I hadn't just cum, ten minutes before, I'd have experienced
what is politely called "premature ejaculation".  But I HAD cum,
and I knew that something was happening that would bring more
tears when it was all over, and part of me knew that they
wouldn't be happy ones, this time.   I think that was what drove
me to make sure that, since this was likely to be the only time
this ever happened, and the last time she ever let me get near
her, that she'd have something to remember.

Her first orgasm was moaned into my mouth.   Her second was
expelled in whines and grunts as she flopped her head from side
to side, her eyes tightly closed.   Her third orgasm, which took
longer, arrived while she was staring straight into my eyes as I
bucked on top of her.  Oddly, she wasn't breathing nearly as hard
as she had been when I licked her, and not NEARLY as hard as I
was.

"I love you so much," she whispered, as I saw the orgasm start to
wash over her.   Tears came into her eyes, and she blinked.  "You
have no idea how much I love you," she whined, as that orgasm
took hold and shook her body.

I also knew I'd only get one chance to spurt in her ... so I did.
 I wasn't thinking about the consequences.  She was my mother,
and all her children were mostly grown.   She hadn't had any
babies in over a decade, so thinking of her as being pregnant was
completely foreign.

I just did what came naturally, which, when she was in the middle
of that third orgasm, was to drive in as hard as I could and hold
it there, while my penis spat streams of thick spunk into her
womb.

The aftermath, as it turned out, wasn't nearly as frantic, or
tear-filled as I had thought it would be.   It had happened, and
it couldn't be undone.  My mother wasn't the kind to cry over
spilled milk, even if it was man milk, and it had been spilled in
her womb.   She later told me that she knew quite well what the
consequences could be, and that she knew I wouldn't have the self
control to pull out.   In that moment, she accepted my offering,
and she knew that, as I lay panting on top of her body.

She did swear to herself that this would be the only time.  She
swore to herself that she'd never let me touch her again.  That
was because she knew, at that moment, that if I asked to do this
again, she'd be even more eager to do it than I was.

All that was mixed with the inevitable guilt she felt.   It was
so much to think about that she just felt tired.  We cuddled for
a few minutes, and she kissed me a dozen times, while her mind
roiled.  Then she pushed me off of her.

She reached, sealing my sperm in her pussy with her fingers
pressed to her sex.

"I love you, Pat," she said quietly.  "I think I'm going to take
a nap."

I got up.  Her cast lay on the floor, by the bed, facing upwards.
 My clothes were nearby.

I didn't understand the significance of the fact that she stayed
in bed, instead of going to the bathroom, to let my sperm drain
out of her.  I didn't know that, after I left, she licked my
spunk off the fingers that had been holding the rest of it in
her.  I didn't know that she was mid-cycle.  I didn't know that,
as she drifted off to sleep, she was very aware of the feel of my
sperm in her defenseless pussy.  I didn't know that, when she
finally fell asleep, she was smiling.

Chapter Eleven

I didn't know what to do.   I had just fucked my own mother,
after she had made it quite clear that she didn't want that to
happen ... that that COULDN'T happen!   Her denials hadn't had
Aunt Christy's game-playing flavor.  She had meant it, when she
said it.  I knew all of that, but all I could think of was the
feel of her hand, putting me in her.  She'd said she loved me,
and I believed that.  But parents love their children when
they're disappointed in their children too.

So I went and mowed Mrs. Johnson's lawn, in an attempt to stop
thinking about it.

================================

Mrs. Johnson had a neighbor I had never met, but who came out
while I was mowing and asked how much I'd charge to do his lawn
too.  I did his after hers.   That's why I was gone through
lunch.   When I got back, Tabby was back home.  Randi had gotten
in from class.  My mom was dressed, and sitting in an easy chair,
reading a magazine.  She looked up at me as I came in.

"I wondered where you were," she said, taking in my sweat soaked,
and grass covered clothes.   "Take your clothes off on the back
porch, would you?"

Just like Aunt Christy, she was treating me as if nothing had
happened.   Of course Tabby and Randi were there too, but she
didn't seem either overwrought, or mad.  She was just ... Mom.

Tabby showed up to watch me get undressed.

"What are you doing?" I asked.  I was tired.

"Looking at you," she said.

"Save it for later, OK?" I asked.  "Besides, Mom might see you."

"She gave me a lecture, when I got home," said my little sister.

I didn't cringe, but it was close.  "What about?" I asked.

"About how I'm not supposed to let you touch me again."  She
frowned.  "She also said I can't date until I'm thirty, again."

"Making her cast kind of got things roiled up," I said.

"She showed it to me.  It's beautiful.  I can't wait until I look
like that."

"She's beautiful," I admitted.  "You all are."

"That makes me want to let you touch me again," she said, her
voice quite serious.

"Mom's right," I said.  "It's a bad idea."

"If I can't date until I'm thirty, you're the only boy around who
CAN touch me," she pouted.

"She's kidding about that," I said.  "You know that."

"She sure sounded serious this time." Tabby pouted a little.

"Like I said, making her cast was ... difficult.  You know how
you felt when we did yours."

"Do I ever.  I had to rub off twice in the shower!"

"Tabby!" I moaned.  "That's more information than I need, here!"

She stood there, like she was waiting.  I was standing there in
my jockeys.

"Well?" I prompted.

"You're not done yet," she said, pragmatically.

"If you think I want Mom pissed off at me for showing you my
dick, you are sadly mistaken," I said, bending over to pick up my
clothes.  I wadded them up, in preparation to putting them in the
laundry hamper.

"You dunce!" said Tabby.  "Shake them out first!  Why do you
think she wanted you doing this on the back porch in the first
place?"

"Oh," I said.  "You're making me nervous, that's all."  I shook
the grass off of my clothes and wadded them back up.

"Good," she said, turning around.   She looked over her shoulder.
 "You've been making me feel really nervous lately too."

================================

I took a shower and, out of habit, just wore clean underwear to
raid the fridge in.  I intended to take a nap of my own.  I was
lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, with half a peanut
butter sandwich in my hand, when Randi opened the door and walked
in.

"I saw the casts," she said.  "They're really beautiful."

"Thanks," I said.  I was so tired that I just wanted to go to
sleep.

"Mom suggested that I put the lubricant on myself," she said.

"Oh," I said.

"She didn't say why."  My older sister looked at me.  "Did you
put hers on her?"

I nodded.

"That must have been interesting."

"You have no idea." I said.

"When do you want to do me?" she asked.

I wished she hadn't put it quite that way.  I was tired, but I
wasn't dead.   I had had sex twice now.  You'd think a guy would
get used to it ... be satisfied ... not want it so much any more.

Stop laughing.  I was only two days away from being seventeen.

"I don't know," I said.  "Right now I just want to take a nap."

She looked miffed.  "You don't want to see these again?"  She
cupped her breasts.

I looked at her.  "You know very well how much I want to see them
again," I said.  "I just don't want to OD."

She laughed.   "OK, sport.  Maybe later.  You might have to beg
me, though."

I looked her dead in the eye.  "I know how much you want to show
them to me again," I said.

She blinked.  Her eyes got wary.

"You really ARE growing up ... you know that?"

"You have no idea," I said.

She turned to go.  I had a sudden impulse to experiment. 
"Randi?"

She turned around.

"Kiss me good night."

"What?"

"I'm taking a nap.  Kiss me good night."

There for a second I didn't think she was going to do it.  She
frowned, and then looked puzzled.

"I don't kiss you good night," she said.

"I'd really like it if you started," I said back.

She looked confused, but at the same time, she came back toward
the bed.   She leaned down, and her hair fell to my face.  It
tickled.  She pressed warm lips against mine, just for maybe two
seconds, and then pulled up a few inches, to stare into my eyes.

"Thanks," I said.  I reached up and tweaked one of the nipples
poking through her shirt.  I did it very gently.  "I do want to
see them again."

Her eyes got round, and she stood up quickly.  She looked
confused again.   "Later," she said.

"Later," I agreed.

================================

Later turned out to be the next morning.  Randi got a call from a
girlfriend, while I was taking my nap, and they went out that
night.  I wondered if she was punishing me for squeezing her
nipple.  To be honest, though, I needed the break.  This sex
business was a lot more demanding than I ever would have thought
it could be.

My mom worked, part time, as a temp, and she never knew when she
was going to be called in.  When the divorce happened, I guess
the judge felt sorry for her, because she got what I thought was
a huge alimony check every month.  I only saw my dad maybe four
or five times since he left, but I guess he was doing OK, at
least financially.

I was eating breakfast, in my underwear of course, when Randi
came down.

"Sorry about last night, sport," she said, yawning.  She
stretched and her nipples poked out.  "Jennifer broke up with her
boyfriend, and needed moral support."

"It's OK," I said, feeling relieved that she hadn't been
punishing me.

"I told her about your project," she said, bending over to get
the orange juice out of the fridge.  She had on tan, lacy
panties.  "She said if you need more models, to let her know."

Milk dribbled out of my mouth as it dropped open.

"You're kidding," I said around a mouthful of cereal.

"I didn't tell her how ... personal ... it can get," said Randi,
standing up.  "She's pretty wild, though.  I guess you could tell
her how to do it and not be there."

"Is that what you're going to do?" I asked, thinking she was
working up to how she was going to punish me for squeezing that
nipple.

She sat down, and looked at me.  "Oh no," she said.  "I don't
have a boyfriend either."

I felt myself getting stiff.  "I can't be your boyfriend," I
said, stupidly.

"Of course not," she said seriously.  "But you're the only game
in town, right now."

"There are dozens of men out there who'd kill to ... see them."

"You, sir, are correct," she said, without a trace of humility. 
"But I'm mad at all them.  I'm not mad at you."

"You're not?" I sighed, with relief.

"Not yet," she said.

"Um ... does that mean you think you will be later?"

"That all depends," she said.

"On what?"

"On how I feel after you're done with my cast."  She winked at
me!

================================

We did her cast in my room.   She was taking off her shirt while
I unpacked a kit.  When I turned around, I dropped the bottle of
lubricant from nerveless fingers.  She'd taken her panties off
too.

"Do you like it?" she asked, looking down.  "You're only the
second man to ever see it."

I was looking down too.  That zig-zaggy darkness I had seen
through her panties, before, was a tattoo of a lightning bolt. 
It was bright blue.  Her pussy hair had been shaved into a "V",
with the lightning bolt striking down into it.  The bottom of the
"V" stopped at the beginning of her split.   Her pussy lips were
swollen.  Even I could tell that.  They also glistened.

"Tabby told me about how you made her cast," said Randi.  Her
hands came to her belly and rubbed, for some reason.  "She said
I'd have a very good time."  She looked at me with lowered
lashes.  "I haven't had a very good time in a very long while."

"Wow," I said, stunned.

"She said you didn't fuck her."

My mouth tried to fall even farther open, but couldn't.

"Of course not!" I gasped.

"That's good," said my older sister.  "She's too young for that.
I know.  I lost my virginity when I was fourteen, and it was
horrible."

"She's my sister!" I squeaked.

"Mom talked to me," said Randi.  "She told me about what happened
when you made her cast."

"Oh noooo," I moaned.

"You were very naughty with her," said Randi.

"I know," I whined.  "I couldn't help it."

"I know," she said.  "You're a man.  Men are weak.  Most of them
are selfish."

"I know she's mad," I said.  "But it sort of just happened."

"She's not mad," said Randi.  "She was crying, but it's OK now."

"Crying?"

"She felt so guilty.  That's why she told me.  She confessed, I
think."

"Is she going to be OK?" I asked.

"I think so.  We had a long talk.  I wasn't shocked, like she
thought I'd be.  I knew how you made me feel, when we took
pictures.  I knew how I made you feel too.  It was easy for me to
understand.  It was a good talk."

"I'm glad," I said, feeling relieved.

"I know you are," she said.  "That's what makes you different
from most men.  You care.  You really love us."

"I do!" I blurted.

"She was worried about Tabby.  That's why I talked to her.  Our
little sister didn't want to tell me anything, but I got it out
of her."

"When?"

"When, what?" asked Randi.

"When did you talk to them?"

"While you were mowing lawns yesterday."  She cocked her head. 
"Why?"

"Tabby watched me get undressed ... on the porch.  She said I
made her feel nervous."

"That's because she wants to have sex with you."

I couldn't believe my ears.  My totally naked older sister was
standing there, saying things that made me feel like exploding.

"Well," she said, seeing my reaction.  "She wants to find out
what sex is like.  That's more nearly correct.  And, like it is
with me ... and Mom ... you're the only game in town, as far as
she's concerned."

Something she'd said during that sentence was pounding at my
brain.  What was it.  I reviewed it, as well as I could.  My mind
was spinning.

"You?"  I looked at her.

"Mom and I don't think it would be a good idea for Tabby to do
that."

She stepped closer to me.  "We're all hot-blooded," she said
softly.  "It's our curse.  We love men, but we can't stand most
of them.  You're different.   You're weak, but that's just
because you're male.  We love you, and we know you love us.   The
only way Mom and I can keep Tabby from getting you to fuck her,
is to keep you limp ourselves."

"You?" I asked weakly.

"Take off your underwear, Pat," she said.  "We'll do the cast
when we're finished."

================================

This was no accident.   There were no flaring emotions here. 
Well, mine were flaring.  Maybe hers were too, but she was in
MUCH better control of herself than I was of me.   She basically
laid me on the bed, jacked me for a few seconds, and then climbed
on to put my penis where her lightning bolt pointed.  I gasped,
and she raised up enough to squeeze the base of my prick between
her thumb and first two fingers.

"Not yet, sport," she said, looking down at me through lowered
lashes.  "There are two of us here.  Remember that."

The urge passed.  This was so insane that I just got on board
with it.

"I'm OK now, I think."

"Tell me if you get close again.  I want this to take a while." 
She smiled.

She had done a lot more of this, and a lot more recently, than my
mother had.  She didn't let me control anything.  She had a way
of rocking that didn't move me very much in her, so I didn't want
to spew quite as often.   Her orgasms were quiet too.  She closed
her eyes, as she had one, and stopped rocking, to kind of grind
her clit against my pubic bone.  She leaned forward, when she did
this, so I could suck at a breast too.  Her areolas were so small
that I got all of them in my mouth, along with each pencil eraser
nipple.  She didn't have to tell me to do that.

After her first one, she sat back up, smiling dreamily.

"Yesterday," I said.  "when you came to my room.  You knew then."

She nodded.

"You kissed me."

She nodded again.  "I knew we were going to do this," she said. 
"You were naughty with me too.   I decided to forgive you."

She started rippling her pussy muscles, watching my face
intently.  I didn't warn her, but she knew anyway.  She raised up
and pinched me off again.

"You're supposed to tell me when you get close."  She squeezed
hard enough that I winced.

"OK," I gasped.

"You don't squirt until I tell you to squirt."

"OK," I gasped again.

"This time, anyway."  She let go.

She rocked her way to another orgasm.

"You're longer than ... the others," she sighed, grinding down on
me.  I felt the tip of my cock being squeezed by something up
inside her.

She tensed, stopped rocking, ground against me, and leaned
forward.

When that one was over, she sat back up.

"You have to learn how to be stronger, Pat."

"I do?" I whined.  I liked things fine the way they were.

"You might have made Mom pregnant."

She pulled up and clamped me off again ... just in time.  Don't
ask me why, but the thought of making my mother pregnant made me
want to make Randi pregnant too.

"That's what I'm talking about," she said, like she could read my
mind.  "Men just want to impregnate women, but that's not always
the best thing for the woman.  You didn't warn me again.  You
have to learn to be stronger than that."

"I don't know how," I gasped.

"I'm going to teach you." she said.

"I'll use condoms!" I gasped.

"No," she said.  "That just makes you stay weak.  This is serious
business, Pat.   It isn't just for fun and games."   She started
rocking.  "Though I have to admit this is really fun."  She bit
her lower lip, like Mom had.   She stopped, and just sat there.
"You could make me pregnant too," she said, looking down at me. 
"Not right now.  It's the wrong time for me, but in the future,
you could.   That's not in my plans."

"What do I do?" I moaned.

"You care," she said.  "You ask.  You don't start if it's the
wrong time, and you stop if you should."

I groaned.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

"Yessss," I groaned.

"Then don't make me pregnant unless I want that."

I didn't understand.   It was crazy!  She was fucking me on
purpose, with no protection, but didn't want to get pregnant! 
And I was her brother to boot!  It almost sounded like, at some
time in the future, she might WANT me to get her pregnant!   It
made no sense.  The idea of my mother being pregnant, because of
me made me want to ...

"I'm close!" I gasped.

She rose up and clamped me off.   It hurt, not because she
squeezed so hard, but because I wanted to cum so badly, and I
winced.

"That's a good start," she said, leaning down to kiss me for the
first time.  "Now you can cum."

Except that I couldn't.  The urge had passed.   It only took her
fifteen or twenty seconds to figure that out.  She didn't rock
again.  Instead she kissed me, playing with my tongue, and made
her pussy muscles ripple again.

I went off like a bombshell, and then she ground her clit against
me, kissing me hard.  By the time my prick finally stopped
spurting, I felt like a wet dishrag.   She sat on me, looking so
beautiful.  Her fingers played with my nipples, and she squeezed
both of them gently.

"We love you," she said softly.   "You have to be strong enough
to learn how to love us like this ... and when not to."

"Anything," I gasped.  I meant I'd do anything to make her happy
with me.

She sighed.  "Men are so weak."

She got off of me and stood there, while my spend started running
out of her, and down one thigh.

"Get up!" she said.  "We have a cast to do."

Chapter Twelve

Behavior modification is the process of withholding rewards,
until the subject displays appropriate behavior.   You do good,
you get a treat.  You don't do good, you don't get a treat.  
That's basically what my mother and Randi did to me.

The exception was my birthday, which was the next day.   My
mother got up at five in the morning and came into my room.  She
woke me up by sucking on my dick.  She didn't control me the way
Randi had.  I think that's because, now that she'd decided to
keep doing this thing, she was fired up enough that she was able
to cum twice before I lost it.  She let me cum in her that
morning, and didn't say a word, except "Happy birthday, baby," as
I grunted and strained to get as deeply in her as I possibly
could, while I spewed.

After that, though, things changed.   If I didn't warn them I was
about to cum, I didn't get to put it in a warm pussy for days. 
They kept me soft, but it was with their mouths.   They taunted
me, showing me their pussies, sliding a finger in, saying I could
be there, if I was a good boy.  Then they milked my prick and
sucked me dry.

 Tabby might have been curious, and horny, but she wasn't
impatient.  She continued to come see me at nights, to give me
good night kisses.  She delighted in showing me her breasts.  
Mom and Randi, though, were doing a good job of keeping me limp.
I still had a bulge, and if I arranged it carefully, it looked
halfway stiff.

At least to a fifteen year old girl.

================================

What interferes with behavior modification, is if behavior is
rewarded in different ways by different people.   My mother and
big sister had devised a plan to control my libido, or at least
teach me how to control it.  Their problem was that they didn't
bring the rest of the Turner women in on it.   That's
understandable.   They had no clue about Christy, and I didn't
tell them.  They were quite sure that, should other family
members find out about our strange little practices, they'd be
horrified, and the family would probably fragment.

There is research out there, about incest, which suggests that
80% of all women find the body odor of their sons, fathers and
brothers to be distasteful.   It is hypothesized that this is a
natural development, to discourage incest.  The finding is the
same for the way men react to the smell of their mothers,
daughters and sisters.   This is all based on the odor when the
people involved are pubescent, and no chemicals, deodorants or
other foreign scents (perfumes) are employed.   This research
relies heavily on the theory that, genetically, close family
members are just naturally not attracted to each other, sexually.

They don't say anything about the other 20% of the study
participants ... the ones who did NOT find the odors of their
close relatives to be offensive.  That may be because of genetics
too.   That doesn't mean that, genetically speaking, 20% of all
pubescent women are attracted to their brother, son, nephew, or
grandson.   There's no research to prove that, of course.   Even
if the odor didn't bother them, that wouldn't mean that women in
the same family would be SEXUALLY attracted to the men.

But it's possible.

There's even anecdotal evidence to support it.    That would be
... in part ... Me.

At the next Friday night confab, which was four days after the
kits arrived, I found out that their arrival had been kept
secret.   I found that out when Mom, Randi and Tabby proudly
displayed their casts, and three other women expressed
displeasure ... with me, of course ... for not telling them the
kits had arrived.

They all wanted theirs done next.

Grandma finally pulled rank.   She asked a lot of questions,
which was pretty shrewd of her, in my opinion.  She made me
explain the whole process.  She hadn't read anything at the
website with the rest of the women, because she said she was too
old to "mess with computers".

When she was looking at my mother's cast, which was on her lap. 
Her hand went inside it, to feel the part that would hold a
pencil, on the real woman.

"If you fill this up with plaster, how are you going to get the
hardened plaster out of it?" she asked.  "I can see how you got
her breast out of it, but a plaster breast won't bend and move,
like hers had to."

Danny took the cast.  He put his hand over one of the breasts, in
the process of holding it, and peered inside.

"She's right," he said.  "Once the plaster hardens, you'll never
get this off of it without destroying it."

My mother was looking at his hand, on the facsimile of her right
breast.  Her cheeks were pink.  Her libido had not only been
awakened, but had been allowed to run free, two or three times a
day, for the last three days.

"The actual bust is what's needed for the project," said my
mother.  "Not the cast.  If it has to be broken to get it off,
then I guess it has to be broken."

Danny fondled the breast in his hand.  "That's just criminal, to
destroy something this beautiful."

My mother got MUCH pinker, and Aunt Christy slapped Danny.

"Quit flirting with my sister," she said.  "She isn't even on the
schedule yet."

I think she was trying to make a joke.

My mother blurted:  "You mean someone else IS!?"  She looked
around.

Aunt Vanessa did an astounding job of inspecting her cuticles,
like she was bored.

"Don't be silly," giggled Christy.  "I was joking!"

I half expected my mother to say "So I AM on the schedule?" but
she didn't.

Grandma Mona took the cast away from Danny.   "I sag more than
Lonnie," she said, pragmatically.   "It may be more difficult to
do mine, and take longer to get off.  I'm not going to try to
rush it.  Pat?  Why don't you come over to my house tomorrow, so
we can take our time."

"OK," I said, automatically.

Aunt Vanessa leaned forward.  "That would leave tonight ...
open."

"I'm next!" said Grandma immediately.  "Age, before beauty."  She
looked at Vanessa.  "Besides ... give the poor boy a break.  He's
already done three of them this week.  He's probably a wreck."

THAT got some stares.   My big sister and my mother seemed to get
particularly impatient to get some eats distributed, and left the
room.

We watched a movie that night.  Tabby wore her thong again, and
lay on the floor on her stomach, in front of the TV.   My mother
was so distracted that she didn't notice.  At least not at first.
  I did.  So did Uncle Danny.

Pretty soon, my mother, who was looking at Danny a lot, saw where
his eyes were, and went there too.  She got up, slapped Tabby on
her bare butt, and told her to go get into some decent panties.

Nobody seemed to notice the irony of that.

By the time they left, I had three appointments, at three
different houses, to make the rest of my casts.

================================

When I got to Grandma's house the next day, she handed me a
package.  Guitar Hero II was in it.

"For your birthday," she said.  "I forgot to bring it with me
last night."

"Thanks!"  I was excited.  I'd been wanting the game for ages.

"How naked do you want me?" she asked.

I must have looked guilty or something.  I was also tongue tied,
and she went on.

"Well, looking at those things, and finding out what's involved,
I know you had to run your strong young hands all over their
breasts," she said.   "I'm not so old that I forgot what just
taking my picture did to you either."  She looked at me
carefully.  "How naked did they get?"

"I can't tell you that," I gasped.

"Those are my daughter and granddaughters," she said firmly.  "I
know something happened.  I know my own daughter, and she hasn't
been that relaxed, and jumpy all at the same time, in years."

She took the kit from me, and opened it up, peering inside.

"And Tabitha ... when she showed her bare butt to the whole wide
world, like it was nothing at all, I knew something was up then
too."

"I didn't do anything to Tabby!" I blurted.  "Honest!   I only
did the cast on her!"

My grandmother smiled sweetly.  "Your very proper denial suggests
that something DID happen with the other two."  She pulled out
the bottle of lubricant and peered at the label.

"Grandma," I pleaded.   "I'm not saying another word!"

Her eyes darted from the label on the bottle to my face.

"Good.  I told you a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

She started taking her clothes off.

"Which is why, young man, that I'm not going to be left out of
the fun.  I haven't had a strong young man run his hands over
these old boobs for so long that I can't remember what it was
like.  You, my dear grandson, are going to remedy that."  She
looked at me with wary eyes.  "How about almost naked?"

"You mean it?" I whined.

She laughed.  "You DO make me feel so good.  You're a very sweet
boy."

By the time she was standing there, in surprisingly feminine ...
and surprisingly small panties, I was hard as a rock.  She may
have thought of herself as an old woman, but she didn't look all
that old to me.

"I bought these," she said, fiddling with the waistband of the
panties, "just for you.  Happy birthday."  She turned around.  
They were thong panties, and I about choked.

"I know they look silly," she said, turning back around, "but I
thought you might like them."  She looked at the front of my
pants.  "I see you do.  Off with them, boy.  If I'm going to be
naked, you are too."

I got out of my clothes.  I wasn't embarrassed at all by the fact
that I was board stiff.  I also took off more than she did.

She looked at me and sighed.  "I never thought I'd see another
one of those things, in that condition, because of me."

It was a line that was now tried and true, and I used it
shamelessly.

"You're very beautiful," I said.

She took me to her bedroom, which got me leaking.  Who knew? 
Maybe she was going to do what Randi did.   She got on the bed,
showing me a bare but that looked like it was thirty, instead of
fifty-four, and rolled to her back.

"You need to be standing up," I said, regretfully.

"Not for the first part," she said.  "Oil me up, stud."

"Stud?"  I goggled at her.

"Pat, I know you're my grandson, but I'm having the time of my
life, right now.  Don't pay any attention to me.  I haven't been
this horny in twenty years, and I'm enjoying it.  Don't mind me
if I think of you as the pool boy for an hour or two."

Hmmmm.  More role play.  Could that be genetic too?

I didn't fool around.  I started on her breasts, and she sighed,
and closed her eyes.

"I'll give you just an hour to stop that," she said softly.  "If
you don't stop then, I won't be responsible for the
consequences."

I twiddled her fat nipples, trying to squeeze them, but the
lubricant wouldn't let me.  She started moving her legs around on
the bed.

"Oh, damn, that feels good," she moaned.

"You know," I said, pushing her breasts all around her chest. 
"After the cast is off, I have to clean you up too."

Her eyes opened.  They looked smoky.

"In the shower?" she asked.

I hadn't thought of that, but it wasn't a bad idea.  I nodded.

"I'd have to take these ridiculous panties off in the shower,"
she said.

"Yes, you would," I agreed.

"Do you think you'd be able to behave yourself, if I didn't have
these panties on?"

I pretended to think about it, and even frowned.  Then I shook my
head.

Her eyes widened a little.  I really don't think she'd have
thought of going that far.   I think what she'd had in mind was
some very naughty play, with a very intimate massage thrown in.
Her hands came to grip my wrists.

"Perhaps we should get on with making the cast," she said.

She had more control than my mother did.   When I pinched all
round her nipples, to form the cast around them, she just panted
a lot.

She also asked me at least a dozen times if the cast was hard
enough to take off of her.  She looked at my prick a lot.  I
wasn't sure what she was thinking, but whatever it was, I was
going to honor it.  By the time her cast WAS ready to take off, I
was only half hard.

She was right.  Getting her soft breasts out of the cast made it
clear that anything harder would require that the cast be cut or
broken, to get it off the breasts.  The molds were going to have
to be perfect on the first try, because the negative could only
be used once.  At least in the cases of my mother and
grandmother.

She had enough control to examine the cast when it was off.

"That's just amazing," she said, running her fingers over the
nipples.

"You're amazing," I said, in my most suave voice.

"Stop acting like a man," said my Grandmother, standing almost
naked in thong panties.

"Sorry," I said, automatically.

She laughed.  "We have you trained pretty well, don't we?"  She
put her cast on the bed.  "I believe you said something about
cleanup?"

================================

We had been in the shower together for less than five minutes. 
She was squeaky clean ... all of her.   So was I.  Her lips were
about half an inch from mine.

"I feel very strange about kissing you," she panted, holding my
stiff prick in her hand.

"I don't feel strange about it at all," I panted back.

"Let's get out of here," she said.   "I'm about to start letting
you act like a man again."

We dried ourselves off.   Her hair had been up, when I got there,
like it almost always was.  Now she let it down, and I saw it was
a lot longer than I had thought.  It came to the middle of her
back.  There were streaks of gray where it came away from her
temples, but the rest of it was dark brown.   Her nipples were
hard and fat.

Standing by the bed, she stopped and took my face in her hands.

"You know this is wrong," she said.

"Why?" I asked.  "I love you, and you love me."

"You should be interested in girls your age, and not old women."

"Right now I'm interested in you."  I was too.  This was a whole
new Grandma, and she was very interesting.  I had always thought
of her as a hard woman, but she was all soft right now.

"Have you done this before, Pat?" she asked.

I wasn't going to lie to her.  "Yes, but I can't tell you who
with."

She lay down on the bed, and spread her legs.  She didn't blush a
bit, as she exposed her sex to me.

"I think I know who," she said, pulling me on top of her.  "And
it makes me feel a lot better."  She kissed me, and didn't seem
at all troubled by it.  "I shouldn't feel better," she said,
thrusting her pussy up against me, "but I do."

================================

She wanted me in her, but I wanted to taste her first.  When she
realized what I was about to do, she started moaning and wiggling
all around.

"Ohhhh Pat, baby, nobody's ever done that to me before.   Oh,
please, baby, yes, I've wanted to feel this for as long as I can
remember!"

She was active in life.  She'd been a runner until just the last
few years, and still walked with her friends three times a week
at the High School track.   I don't know why I expected her to
just lie there.  She didn't.  She was just as active while
getting her pussy licked.

Apparently this was the day she got to do all kinds of new and
taboo things that she'd thought about for a long time.  She moved
like she was in an earthquake as I found her clit, which was
surprisingly small, to me, and sucked on it.  She sat up halfway,
and whined, before flopping back down and pushing her pussy up
into my mouth.  Her pussy lips were smaller than my mother's, but
I could suck them into my mouth too.   Five minutes later she
manhandled me until I turned around, and my dripping dick was
hanging over her face.

She was tentative at first, but once she got it in her mouth, she
must have liked it, because it felt like she was trying to eat it
off of me.  She knew how to jack it, and within another five
minutes I was about to spew.

Randi and Mom had taught me well.

"Grandma!" I gasped.  "I'm gonna cum!"

"WAIT!" she gasped, and started manhandling me around again.   It
was obvious what she wanted, and her hand came to help aim me.

Age has no effect on how warm and tight a pussy feels, at least
not as far as I've been able to figure out.  I was so excited
that I started squirting as I slid it into her.

"I'm sorryeeeee," I moaned, pressing in hard.

"Mmmmmm," was her response.  "It's OK, baby, I haven't felt a man
giving me his gift in a long time.  Just let it go."

Her heels came up to hook my calves, and her hands slid all over
my back.

"So young and strong," she moaned, as I filled her fifty-four
year old pussy with seventeen year old spunk.  "I know you'll be
ready again in no time."

She obviously didn't mind kissing me any more, and, as I went
soft, we started making out.  She didn't want to talk, except to
tell me what she wanted.  She wanted her nipples sucked, and my
finger in her soggy pussy.  She's the one who taught me that the
hard, rubbery thing deep inside her was her cervix, and that,
when I poked my fingertip through the dent in the middle, that I
was almost in her womb.

Half an hour later, she taught me how to feel for that opening
with the tip of my prick, so that, when I spurted this time, it
would all spurt into her womb.

================================

It took thirty minutes to make the cast of my grandmother's
breasts.

It took two hours to satisfy her sexual needs.

As I got dressed to leave, she was still lying limply on the bed,
naked, her legs spread, and my sperm dripping out of her pussy.

"Pat?" she said, as I kissed her goodbye.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I know, Grandma, and I love you too."

"You tell my daughter that she has to share you from now on."

"OK ..."  I blinked.  "What?"

"I thought so," said my grandmother.  "Don't you go getting her
pregnant, now.  You can spurt in me any time you want, and
nothing will happen, but your mother is still of childbearing
age, young man."

I had been outsmarted.

"She won't let me ... when it's the wrong time," I said.

"You just come see Grandma, when that happens," said the woman. 
"Do I have to worry about Tabby or Randi?"

"Not Tabby," I said, blushing.  "That's why they let me ... um
... so I can't with Tabby."

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard!" she said, sitting up.
"You're a young man!  You're virile and I have no doubt you could
leave them all as weak as I am right now!"

"It's OK," I said.  "I know Tabby's too young."  I smiled. 
"Besides, I already get to play with three of the most beautiful
women in the world.  What more could I want?"

She stood up, and looked down.  A long drip of white was hanging
from her pussy lips.

"You have no idea how long it's been since I saw something like
that," she said, still staring.

Her fingers caught the drip, and she brought it to her mouth.  
She tasted.

"Not so bad," she said.  "Maybe next time I'll taste more of it."

She looked at me.

"Don't you go getting any of them in your house pregnant," she
said.  "If you want to get somebody pregnant, make it Vanessa. 
That girl will never find a man who can meet her standards, and
she deserves to be a mother."

"I don't do it with her!" I said quickly.

"If I know my daughter, you will when you make her cast."  She
grinned.  "Don't try that with Christy, though.  "She's not like
the rest of us."

She kissed me goodbye.   I loved the feel of her skin under my
hands.

"Just one more time?" I asked hopefully.

The look on her face was priceless.


Chapter Thirteen

Grandma pushed me out of the house, calling me "Stud" again, but
she was laughing.   I found out later we'd overdone it a bit, and
she was sore.

I thought about how smart she was, as I went back home, her cast
wrapped in a blanket she'd given me so that the neighbors
wouldn't see what I was carrying under my arm.  She had figured
out so many things.  She'd called Christy wrong, but that was
about all.  Rather than being unhappy that someone outside our
immediate family knew about Mom and Randi, I felt better about
it.  At least now, I wouldn't have to be so careful about what I
said around Grandma Mona.

================================

Aunt Vanessa, picking up on her mother's claim of seniority in
terms of scheduling the making of casts, had demanded to be next
after Grandma.   I had to go to class on the day she wanted her
cast made, so our appointment was for the afternoon.

When I got there, she was dressed normally.  What I mean by that
is that she didn't meet me at the door in a negligee or anything
like that.   I didn't know it, but that one night with Uncle
Danny had been all she could bring herself to look for.  Danny
didn't tell her he was going to confess to Christy, like Christy
had confessed to him, about me.  So she thought that her one
night stand with Danny was a secret.   She certainly didn't know
that I knew about it.

At the same time, the sexual excitement created in my photo shoot
of her, when my zipper broke, and my purple helmeted warrior
tried to come out fighting, had been further stoked by Danny's
thorough fucking of her that night.   It hadn't satisfied her.  
It had only awakened long suppressed memories of what it was like
to BE satisfied.

Basically, she was as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof.   She'd
broken the rules with her brother-in-law, which wasn't that far
away from breaking ... other taboos.   And what I was to find
out, was that she was a sex-starved female in the body of a woman
trying very hard to be a good girl.  It was for that reason that
she had put on sensible panties, a nice thick bra, shorts and a T
shirt.

That's the kind of woman she was.   If she'd have thought about
it, she'd have realized I was going to see and touch her naked
breasts, so that bra wouldn't matter one whit.   But, in her
mind, she was "acting responsibly", which cancels out common
sense sometimes.  At the same time, she had set this up so that
she could get some attention, for a legitimate purpose.   It
would be wrong, in her view, to try to seduce her nephew, but if
he had to put his hands on her for a good reason ... well ...
that was different.

Anyway, she was nervous when I got there.

I was also nervous.  This woman's mother had suggested that I
would have sex with her, and that I should knock her up in the
process.  I wasn't so sure about the knocking up part - Mom and
Randi had taught me to think about that - but I wasn't averse to
having sex with Aunt Vanessa.  Not by a long shot.  I knew she
had fucked Danny.   But you don't just walk in and say "Hi,
Auntie, how bout we strip to the buff and get nasty!"

"I hope you wore pants with a stronger zipper today," she said. 
Then she blushed.  I don't think she meant to say that out loud.

"Uh ... yeah," I said.

"Do you want something to eat?" she asked.

I had come here to see ... and touch ... her fabulous upturned
breasts, not eat.   Then again, those pink upturned nipples of
hers had looked mighty tasty.

"Maybe later," I said, thinking about those nipples.

"Oh ... all right," she said.

It was easy to think of that as "All right, you can suck my
nipples later!"   I felt the beginning of what would be a really
nice erection.

She fidgeted some more, just standing there.  "I suppose we
should get started, then."

"Yes!" I said.  I handed her the kit, for some reason.

She looked at me blankly.  She was prepared for me to tell her
what to do, and I hadn't done that.

"I thought you were going to help me," she said, with a small
frown.

"I am," I said.

"Oh!  OK then," she said.  The look on her face changed to a look
of anticipation.  "Where should we do this?"

"Well, I'll need water, and a washcloth to clean you up with,
afterwards.  How about your bedroom?"  I had done all of these
casts in a bedroom, so that was just what came out of my mouth.

"Bedroom," she said, her eyes glazing over a little.  "I guess
that would be OK."

She still didn't do anything, so I went to the agreed-on location
and hoped she'd follow me.

Her bedroom was very feminine, with lots of ruffles and lace and
pastel colors.  It smelled good too.   There was a mirror on one
wall that was so big that I could see all of both of us in it.  I
was really glad she had followed me, because I have no idea what
I would have done if she hadn't.  I dumped the kit out on her bed
and arranged things, in the order they would be used.

I turned around, and she was just standing there.   I didn't get
the impression, with Aunt Vanessa, that she wanted to be ordered
around.  I don't know why.  Maybe it was because she just looked
kind of lost, or something.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"Yes, of course," she said.  "Why wouldn't I be OK?"

"This is kind of awkward," I said.  "I mean, you, having to get
naked and all."

"Naked?" her voice went up.  "All the WAY naked?"

"No, not if that will bother you, but at least partly naked. 
That's what I meant."

"Oh ... of course," she said.   Then her voice firmed and she
said "Why would that bother me?  We're both adults."

How about that?  My Aunt thought I was an adult!

"To be honest," I said, "I thought that because of last time ...
you might be embarrassed about it."

"You mean your ... zipper."  She said "zipper" as if it were a
quickly substituted word for something else.

"Yeah," I said.  "I didn't want you to be offended."

"I told you it was all right," she said, getting flushed.   "I
understand that happens to men."

"OK, good," I said.  "I have a stronger zipper, today."

"Well," she said.  "That's good, then."  She still hadn't started
taking her shirt off.

"Um ... do you want me to help?" I asked, helpfully.  "Undress
you, I mean?"

"Why would I need help?" she asked, her voice going up again.

"I don't know.  You're just standing there."   I didn't know what
else to say.  I mean we WERE just standing there.  The kit was
all laid out and ready, but nothing was happening.

"I'll just leave my shorts on this time," she said nervously.

Finally, she pulled her T shirt off.   Her hair, which had been
held up with clips, came partly undone when a clip caught on her
shirt.   I bent over and picked up the clip, which had fallen to
the floor.  Instead of giving it back to her, I tossed it on the
bed, by the kit components.  She was standing there again, in her
shorts and that sensible bra.   I reached up and pulled the other
clip out of the other side of her hair, and it fell to her back.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.

"I like your hair down," I said.

"Oh," she said.  Her hands went and her fingers combed through
it.  "Thank you."

Again, I waited, just standing there.  I looked at her bra, which
covered most of her cleavage.  Her shorts weren't hip-huggers,
and came up so high they covered her belly button.   Finally she
reached behind her and loosened her bra.   She pulled one strap
off her shoulder, and her other arm came up to keep the bra in
place.

"Are you sure you're OK?" I asked.

"Of course I am," she said, her voice breathlessly soft.

She pulled the bra off, almost violently, and threw it on the
floor.  She was breathing hard.   Her upturned nipples, which had
been bumps before, looked longer and harder now, but still looked
soft.  They weren't as long as my mothers, and wouldn't bend,
like hers had.  I wanted to taste one.  They looked like some
kind of small, sweet fruit.

She was facing me, and my back was to the bed, so I turned around
and picked up the lubricant.

"I'm going to put this on first," I said, trying to sound like
this was all routine.   "Once I get all the skin covered with
this, then we'll start with the strips that make up the cast."

"OK," she said.  Her eyes were pinned on the bottle in my hand.

"It's easier if I do it from behind you," I said, walking around
behind her.   I put a glob of lubricant in one hand, and reached
forward to give her the bottle.  "Hold that for me, and raise
your arms."  She did. putting her arms up in the air, like I was
putting her under arrest.   It was when I looked forward, ready
to reach around her and start, that I realized our images were
staring back at us from that big mirror.

I started high, just under her neck, stepping to one side to get
the opposite shoulder and pulling my hand across her upper chest,
to the near shoulder.  My wrist slid across her right nipple,
which did, indeed, feel soft.   It was different, because her
arms were straight up in the air.  "Bend your elbows, please," I
said, and she folded her forearms arms, so they were lying on top
of her head.  That wasn't what I wanted, and just made it harder,
so I just took one wrist, getting lubricant on it in the process,
and moved it out to the side.  She got it, and started looking
like a goal post.

I went back to doing her shoulders, and then slid my hands down,
pressing the sides of her breasts, and forcing them together. 
She took in a big breath and held it, and her back arched.  I
kept going, though, and did the area below her breasts, and she
let her air out in a whoosh.   That moved her lower body, and my
hands went onto the waistband of her shorts.

"These are too high," I said.  "The cast needs to go lower than
these will let me."

"Oh," she said, a little breathlessly.  "OK, then."

She was still standing there, like a goal post, so I took that to
mean I should remove them.  I went around in front of her and
knelt.  Getting the catch loose, with slippery fingers, was a
challenge, but her belly sucked in, and I got it.  The top gaped
open, and the zipper started down all by itself.   I smelled
ambrosia immediately ... the same ambrosia that had made a damp
spot in her panties while I photographed her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice high.  I looked up to
find her looking down at me, her arms still rigidly extended. 
She was the most beautiful goal post I ever saw.

"Taking them off," I said.

"Oh," she said.  She closed her eyes.  "OK."

They were tight.  When I pulled them down, her panties started
coming with them.   She must have felt it.

"Pat!" she said.  I looked up.  Her eyes were still closed.  "My
panties!"

"You said we were both adults," I said, and pulled harder.   Her
bare mons was right there in front of my face.   Her legs were
too close together, and the material balled up between them. 
"Can you move your foot for me?" I asked.

"But ... " she stopped, and her left foot moved ... maybe three
inches.

"Farther, please," I said.

It moved another three inches.   I looked up.  Her eyes were
still closed, and she was panting now.

"This is so embarrassing," she whined.

"No it's not," I said, calmly.  "You're beautiful.  You know
that.  I told you that."

"But THIS ..." she moaned.

I pushed her shorts down, and she automatically lifted the same
foot.  When she put it back down, it stepped on her shorts.  She
moved it outward, automatically, which put her feet shoulder
width apart.

Her pussy lips looked a little like my mother's.  The outer lips
were fat and swollen, and the inner lips peeked out, squeezed
between them, protruding maybe half an inch.  They glistened. 
She smelled delightful, and my erection started leaking.

I left her other foot in the shorts, and got up to go back behind
her.  I reached for the bottle, took it from her hand, which
hadn't moved, squirted some on my other hand, and put the bottle
back in her hand.  I looked in the mirror.  She was gorgeous,
standing there, like a referee in the Naked In School program, in
the process of signaling a touchdown.   Her eyes were still
closed.

I reached around and rubbed her abdomen.  I watched my hands in
the mirror, sliding all over her flat belly.   Her hips reacted,
moving backwards and pressing into my swollen prick.

"Ooops," I said softly.  "Sorry."

"It's ... OK ..." she panted.

Then I slid my hands up and filled them with soft, upturned
breasts.

"Ohhhhhh," she moaned.

I didn't say anything.  I just ran my hands in circles all over
her breasts.  Like my mom, she leaned back against me.

"Ohhhhh shit," she whispered.

"Aunt Vanessa!" I chided her softly.  "Such bad language!"

I started working on those nipples, trying to get them to get
harder.  I pinched them, as well as I could, with slippery
fingers.

"Why ... are you ... doing ... that?" she panted.

"The nipples need to be as hard as possible," I said softly into
her ear.  "That way I can make the cast around them."

"Ohhhhhh shit," she said again.

That bald pussy screamed at me in the mirror.  With her legs
spread like that, her pudendum hung there, like ripe fruit.  I
couldn't help it.  It was impossible for me to keep myself from
going too low, to that shaven mons, below.   I slid one hand down
and, suddenly three fingers were wet with something else
slippery.  I pulled them back up, over her now slippery mons.

Her hips crushed into my prick, and her eyes flew open, but her
arms stayed right where they were.

"Pat!" she gasped.

"I'm sorry," I said softly.  "I must have slipped."

She turned her head, leaving the rest of her body exactly like it
was.

"You ... didn't ... just slip!" she panted.

"OK," I said, circling her breasts with my hands again.  "I'm a
bad boy, who can't control himself, then."

"You have to!" she said breathlessly.

"OK, you're right.  We'll put the cast on now."

"OK," she sighed.  She sounded almost disappointed.

I wiped my hands on the towel she'd gotten me, and soaked the
first strips of cloth.  I was watching her, behind me, in the
mirror.  She lowered her arms, pinched her own nipples, and
stepped out of her shorts with the foot that was still in them. 
Her panties caught on her toes, and she kicked them off.   I
turned around before she could get the idea to pick them up and
put them back on.

I got businesslike, telling her what I was doing, and why I was
doing it, and she actually relaxed.  Again, I started on her
abdomen, and worked my way up.  When I formed the cloth around
her nipples, she started panting again.  I was to find out her
nipples were very sensitive, and very dangerous ... to her,
anyway.  She was easier to do, because she didn't sag at all.

While the cast set up, I got her to talk about my mother, when
she was younger.  She told me some stories, and I learned a
little bit.

"I can't believe you did this to your own mother," she said, at
one point.

"She was almost as much fun as you were," I said, grinning.

"You're terrible!" she said.  "This is SO strange.  I'm standing
here, naked, with my own nephew!"

"You're not naked," I said.  "You're wearing a cast.  Your mother
did the same thing."

"She got NAKED?!" she gasped.

"Don't move!" I ordered.

"She got naked?" she said, more quietly.

I sensed an opportunity here.

"Yes she did, and she made me get naked too."

"NO!" she gasped again.

"If you keep doing that we'll have to start all over," I warned
her.  Actually, the cast was almost set, and I wasn't worried
about it.

"OK," she said.  "I can't believe that, though."

"Yup, she said if she was going to be naked in front of a young
man, he had to be naked in front of her too.  It was
interesting."

"She saw your ..."  She blushed.  "She saw everything?"

"She's almost as good looking as you are," I said easily.  "I can
see where the Turner women got their looks."

"You mean you got ..." Again, she couldn't say it.

"I got like I did with you," I said.  "I was embarrassed about
it, until she said I was a fine specimen of a man.  She made me
feel pretty good.  It was weird, but she made me feel pretty
good."

"Did she ..."

"Did she what?" I asked, when she didn't finish.  She wasn't
finishing much, and that worried me a little.  I sure wanted her
to finish me.  I was hard as a rock.

"Never mind," she said.   "I just can't think about that."

I knocked on her belly.  I wanted to stroke her between the legs
again, but didn't.

"I think you might be done," I said, like she was a cake.

"Thank goodness," she sighed.

"Let me get that off of you, and I'll clean you up."

"OK," she said.

Her cast popped right off, again, I think, because she didn't
have any sag to her breasts at all.   We both looked inside the
cast.

"That's astonishing!" she said.

"Only because you're astonishing," I said.

"You're flirting with me," she said softly.

"I guess I am," I said.  "I can't help but get naughty around a
beautiful, naked woman."

Her eyes got a little wild, so I told her I'd be back.  I went in
the bathroom and got a washcloth nice and warm.  I wrung it out
and went back.  She hadn't moved.

"Why don't you lie down," I said.  "It will be easier."

"On the bed?" her voice went up again.

"I guess you could lie on the floor, if you want," I said
amiably.

She lay on the bed.  I started at her shoulders, and worked her
breasts over until she was panting again.   Her stomach rippled,
when I cleaned off her abdomen, and her legs spread.  I think it
was an automatic response, and not on purpose, but I couldn't
resist any more.

"I remember slipping," I said, and pushed the cloth between her
legs.

"Ahhhhh!" she almost screamed.  Again, by automatic response, I
think, her knees came up and flopped apart, opening herself up. 
Then they slammed shut on my hand.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" she cried.

"Cleaning you up," I said back.

"No you're not!" she said, a little more softly.

"I guess I'm being naughty," I admitted.  "Let me be naughty ...
please?  Just a little bit?"

I punctuated that question by bending over and finally sucking
one of those up-turned nipples into my mouth.

Her reaction was most satisfying.   She let out a wail, and her
knees fairly flew apart.  I ditched the washcloth, leaving it on
her mons, and slipped two fingers into her pussy.  Then I rubbed
for my life.

She was primed to go off, and it happened so quickly that I think
it took both of us by surprise.   She went rigid, and arched her
back, and wailed loud enough that I was worried the neighbors
might investigate.

Had I quit there, with that one orgasm, I really think everything
would have stopped.  I thought so, anyway, and I thought there
might be repercussions.   As they say, in for a penny ... in for
a pound.  If I was already going to be screamed at, I wanted it
to be worth it.

So, while she was flopping around, I took my fingers out of her,
jumped over one spread leg, and sucked those beautiful smelling
pussy lips of hers into my mouth before she could say or do
anything about it.

I learned something about my Aunt Vanessa that day.  It's not the
kind of thing the average nephew would ever learn, so I'm not
surprised that I was ... surprised.

You see, it turned out that Vanessa loved oral sex.  She loved to
do it (which I found out later) and she loved to have it done to
her.  It also turned out that, when she got oral sex, she went
ape shit.   Little, feminine, almost prissy Vanessa, had a tiger
inside her, and it was a HUNGRY tiger.

She let me give her three orgasms in a row, and she got louder
and talked dirtier with each one.   She would have made a sailor
blush.  She had a HUGE clitty, about the size of one of Randi's
nipples, and she purely loved to have it chewed on.

Then, after three orgasms, she pushed me away, bounced up, and
all but ripped my clothes off.  I helped, and she still almost
ripped them.

Another thing I learned that day, was what it was like to fuck a
woman who likes it hard.  I'm not talking about liking a hard
penis.  She almost wanted to be beaten up with that penis.  She
pulled me on top of her and then, when I tried to ease into her,
her heels BEAT on my butt, and slammed me deep.

"AAAHHHHHH FUCK YES!" she screamed, as I skewered her.

She then demanded that I pound her through the bed, and, if
possible, through the floor.   I got into a rhythm where I would
pull out as far as I could, and then slam her hard enough to
leave bruises.  Sometimes I pulled back too far, and slipped out.
 She cursed me when that happened, screaming at me to get it back
in.

I found out that if I didn't pull out as much, but went really
fast, she'd go off like a bucket of gas thrown on a bonfire.   I
was having fun, but it was WORK!   It took her three more orgasms
before she started calming down.  Finally, dog tired, I stopped,
with it deep inside her.

Her eyes lost their crazy wild gleam, and she looked up at me.  I
was dripping sweat on her chest.

"I can't believe we did this," she said softly.

I just panted at her.

"I'm sorry I cursed at you."

I just panted some more, and leaned down to give her the first
kiss I'd ever given her on the lips.  It had to be quick, because
I felt like I had just run ten miles, being chased by wild dogs.

"I raped you," she moaned.

I found the energy to give her a few more thrusts, but they were
calm ones.

"SHIT! that feels good," she blurted.

I finally had enough breath back to speak.  This was a weird
enough situation that I didn't think anything could make it any
weirder, so I just tried to keep it going.

"Grandma said you'd been without for a long time," I panted.  "I
wanted to make you feel good."

Her eyes went wide.

"My mother talked about THAT ... to YOU?"

I thrust some more, and her hips started responding.

"Doing these casts kind makes for a very intimate atmosphere, and
some pretty interesting conversation," I said.

"What else did she say?" asked the naked woman under me, whose
pussy was stuffed with my leaking prick.

"She said I should get you pregnant, if I could," I said, staring
straight into her eyes.

I thought they'd gone wide before.  They almost bugged out of her
face now.

"What?" she asked, weakly.  Her hips were moving more, now.

"She said you deserved to be a mother."

"How in the WORLD did THAT come up?" she panted back.   I had
raised up, so she could breathe, and I looked down to see those
upturned nipples of hers as hard as I'd ever seen them.

"She was warning me not to get Mom, or Randi pregnant."

"OHHHH fuck!" she gasped.  "You did this with THEM TOO?!"

"Like I said, making these casts makes for a very intimate
atmosphere," I panted back.

"You can't make me pregnant!" she gasped.

Her hips started to buck up at me, but I couldn't tell if she was
just responding to my prodding of her cervix, which I could tell
was letting me through, or whether she was trying to get me off
of her.

"Your mother said I could," I said back, not thinking.

"Pat, I'M FERTILE RIGHT NOW!"

"Ohhh good," I said, stroking harder.

Her voice lowered.  Now she was pleading with me.  "Pat, honey,
listen to me.  I know I attacked you.  I couldn't help it.  When
a man eats my pussy it just drives me crazy.  But I'm fertile
right now.   I didn't think about that, Pat.  Honey, you can't
cum in me, please, you can't make me pregnant!"

"Why not?" I gasped.  I was close.  Thinking about making her
pregnant appealed to something I had never known was deep inside
me.

"Why not!" she yipped.  "You're my nephew, that's why not!"

"Grandma says you'll never find a man who meets your demands," I
gasped.  "She says you'll never give her grandbabies.  Don't you
want to be a mommy?"

"Ohhhh FUCK!" cried my aunt.  I had speeded up enough that her
body had betrayed her, and another orgasm washed over her.

Her body betrayed her even more, when her legs wrapped around me,
holding me there.   I gave a few more humps, during which I felt
the tip of my prick invade her cervix, like Grandma had taught
me, and then gave a long sigh of relief as jets of spunk burst
through my prick and splattered her womb full of my seed.

She felt it, and she went ape shit again.

Believe it or not, that was just the beginning of the strangeness
with Aunt Vanessa.

================================

She was mad as hell, when we finally calmed down.  She pushed me
off of her and got up, staring down at her shaven pussy.  She
watched as a single drip of white collected to hang on her
extended inner lips.   It eventually stretched into a drip, broke
off and fell to the floor.

Then commenced the screaming that wasn't associated with orgasms.
  She stomped around the room, yelling at me for cumming in her.
She talked about how fertile she was right now.  She talked about
what a thoughtless bastard I was, to cum in her while she was
fertile.  She reminded me twenty times that she had told me NOT
to cum in her, and that she WAS fertile.

Then, right when she'd worked up a good head of steam, she
stopped.  She stood there, wild eyes and panting, her hair all
messed up, and put a hand on her abdomen.

"You might have gotten me pregnant," she said, her voice tiny.

It was SO odd, and such a sudden change, that I gaped at her.

"I'm sorry," I whined.  "I couldn't help it."

She sort of drifted over to where I was, still lying on the bed.
My prick was all spermy, and lying lifelessly on my pubic hair.

"My mother told you to get me pregnant!" she said, her voice
taking on a whiny note.

"You were just so beautiful," I moaned.  "You were so sexy, I
couldn't resist."

"You wanted to make a baby in me."  She was looking right at me,
and her eyes were wide again.

"I know," I moaned.  "It just felt so good, and when you said you
were fertile, it made me spurt."

"You ... WANTED ... to make me pregnant."  Now her voice was
hushed.

I started to say I was sorry again, but suddenly I couldn't,
because her lips were on mine again.  In fact, her whole body was
on mine, and she was wriggling around like crazy!

I was astonished.   Words cannot convey how astonished I was.

It would be another half hour before I learned what had happened.
 I'll tell you now, so you understand, and you won't be as
astonished as I was.

When they got married, Alan didn't want Aunt Vanessa to get
pregnant.  He said it was too soon.  He ALWAYS used a condom when
they had sex.  He also made her go on the pill.  That lasted for
two years, and even when he was making more money, he still said
he didn't want children.

Then, at the New Year's Eve party, where he tried to rape
Christy, at the point where Danny pulled him off of her, and
punched his lights out, Aunt Vanessa had discovered that not only
had he tried to have sex with her sister, he'd been trying to
have sex with his naked prick.  In the divorce proceedings that
followed, which were messy and horrifying, he'd screamed at her
that he'd been trying to knock Christy up.  Who knows if that's
true or not, but the fact was that while Vanessa had always
wanted to have a baby, she had never been with a man who wanted
to give her one.   The fact that I did, flipped some switch
inside her.  The reaction was as if I had just sucked her pussy.

So, while I lay there astonished, not knowing all this, she had
decided, quite suddenly, that she WANTED to have my baby!  Don't
get me wrong.  We had some very interesting discussions about all
this, later on, after passions had cooled off a bit, but right
then, passion ruled the day.

She went from kissing me to sucking my penis into her mouth like
she was starving.  I'd say it was sparkling clean within fifteen
seconds of her mouth covering it.  Like I said before, she purely
loved oral sex, and nobody in my family was better than she was
at it.  When I got hard, she just took it down her throat.

Most men haven't had the chance to see a woman's lips pressed
firmly against their pubes, knowing that their prick is as hard
as it's ever going to be.  It is a mind-blowing sight.   That she
loved sucking my dick was as obvious as it is that the sun is
bright.   She knew when I was about to cum too, because she
pulled off, licking her lips.

"Not now!" she said.  "Later!  Can't waste it!"

Then the tiger was back, and it was both hungry AND thirsty.

She wanted my sperm, but she wanted to be satisfied again while
she got it.  I almost couldn't do it.   By the time she screamed
at me to fill her pussy with my cum, I felt like I'd run back
those ten miles, chased by the same wild dogs, but this time I
was carrying my aunt in my arms while I did it.

This time, when my prick coughed, she calmed almost instantly.

"Yes, baby," she cooed in my ear, stroking my back.  "Give it to
me, honey ... cum in my pussy."

And this time, when we were done, she kissed me over and over
again, regardless of how often I panted in her mouth.

================================

We lay in bed another hour, which is when I learned all that
stuff I told you about.  There was a lot of "I'm such a slut!"
mixed in with it, but every time she said something like that I
kissed her and told her I loved her.   We finally stopped
talking, and all there were, were loose lipped kisses, and
stroking hands.

"This is so crazy," she sighed, finally.

"Yeah, I guess it is," I said.

She hadn't looked at me a lot, while we talked.  She'd been
embarrassed about some of it.   Some of it had just gushed out. 
I think it was a catharsis for her, because all those kisses were
genuine.

Now she did look at me.

"Did you really want to make me pregnant?" she asked.

I looked her back in the face.

"It's weird, I know, but I have to say yes.  I mean it hasn't
always been like that.  I fantasized about you before, but not
like that."

"You fantasized about me?" Her voice was light and happy.

"Lots of times."

"What did we do ... in these fantasies?" she asked.

"Well, it wasn't like this!" I sighed.  I was still tired. 
"There were all kinds.  You were always naked, and you always
wanted me to do stuff to you."

"When did you decide you wanted to make me pregnant?" she asked.

By now, I knew how important that was to her.

"I think it was when I was putting the lube on you," I said. 
"You were so beautiful in the mirror, and my hands, sliding
across where a baby might be ... it just felt so good to touch
you there.  And you WOULD make a really good mother."

"Do you really think so?"

 "I've always thought that," I said.  "Except you can't cuss like
that around your kids."  I grinned.

"I don't know why I do that," she said, looking confused. "It
just feels so good."

"It was ... interesting," I said.  I gave her a kiss.

"I don't always do that," she said, blushing.

That was when I learned that, if I wanted her crazy, all I had to
do was get my face between her legs.

I looked at the clock on the wall.

"I should probably go home.  I've been here for hours.  Mom might
get suspicious."

She looked at me like I was crazy.

"Suspicious?  She's been fucking you too!"

"I wasn't really supposed to tell anybody about that," I said. 
"It just sort of popped out."

"You said Mom knows!"

"I don't know how she got it out of me," I said.  "She tricked me
somehow.  Things got kind of crazy when we ..."  I stopped.

Vanessa went pale.

"Don't tell me my mother ... you ... you and my mother ..."

"OK," I said.  "I won't tell you.  It's time for me to go."

I got up.

"Patrick JORDAN TURNER!"  My aunt knew my full name too, and she
used it just like a mother.   "Did you fuck MY MOTHER!?"

"Aunt Vanessa," I said formally, pulling on my underwear. 
"Grandma told me that a gentleman never kisses and tells.   I was
not a gentleman, when I told you about my mother and Randi.  I'm
sorry for that.  But I'm not going to make it worse."

"You DID!" she gasped.  "YOU FUCKED MY MOTHER!"

I put on my shorts, and picked up my shirt.

"How could you fuck your own GRANDMOTHER!?" she moaned.

I turned on her.

"The same way I fucked my AUNT!  The same way I fucked my MOTHER!
 The same way I fucked my SISTER!   THERE!  Are you happy now?"

"Pat ... why?" she cried, wiping her eyes.

I was so frustrated with all this that I yelled.

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU ALL, AND YOU'RE ALL IRRISISTABLE!  IT'S BEEN
EVERYTHING I COULD DO NOT TO FUCK TABBY TOO!"

She stopped crying.  She wiped her eyes a few more times.

"You're staring at me!" she said.

"You're still naked," I said, unhappy that I'd yelled.  "I'm
sorry for yelling."

"You made me get naked."  She was actually pouting.

I went over to her.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"What?"  She was still pouting.  It was crazy!

"Are you glad this happened today?"

She looked at me, and I could see the battle going on in her
mind.

"It shouldn't have happened," she said.

"Are you glad it did?" I asked again.

"Why would that matter anyway?"  She gave an angry toss of her
head.  It made her breasts jiggle.

"Because everybody else is having a great time," I said.  "If you
had a great time, then why are you trying to make yourself feel
bad about it?"

"It's incest, Pat!" she moaned.

"OK, it's incest," I agreed.  "Is anybody getting hurt?"

"I might be PREGNANT!" she squealed.

"Do you WANT to be pregnant?" I asked.

"Don't you think you should have asked me that three hours ago?"
she pouted.

"Do ... you ... want ... to ... be ... pregnant?" I said slowly.

"I don't have to answer your questions!" she said trying to sound
indignant.

"Get on the bed!" I ordered.

"Why?" she said loudly.

"Because I'm going to eat your pussy again!"

"No!"  Her eyes went round.

"DO YOU WANT TO BE PREGNANT?" I yelled.

"OK!" she yelled back.  "YES!  I WANT TO BE PREGNANT!   ARE YOU
HAPPY NOW?   NOW, WILL YOU  LEAVE ME ALONE?"

I grabbed her face and kissed her before she could stop me.  Her
lips were stiff, but all I wanted was a quick meeting of the
lips.

"I'll leave you alone when you're pregnant," I said, grinning. 
"Now, I really have to go, unless you want to explain to my
mother how it took four or five hours to make your cast."

Just then, the phone on her nightstand started ringing.  Both of
us jumped.

While she went to pick up the phone, I got her cast and wrapped
it up in Grandma’s blanket.

"Hello!"

...

"Yes, he's still here."

...

"Yes, it's done.    We've been talking."

...

"No, nothing is wrong.  How nice of you to worry about us."  My
aunt shot me a look that was full of daggers.

...

"Lonnie, he's getting ready to leave right now.  He'll be home in
ten minutes.  Don't get your panties in a wad!"

...

"I'm not mad!  Who said I was mad?"

...

"What do you mean, did I have a good time?  Lonnie, so help me,
if you're insinuating that I'd do the same thing with him that
YOU'RE doing with him ..."

Aunt Vanessa went white as a sheet.  She let the phone drop from
her ear, and then, convulsively, hung it up.  It started ringing
again within ten seconds.

"What do I do now?" she asked helplessly.

"You want to give me a ride home?" I asked.  "I think she might
want to discuss this."

The phone kept ringing.  Finally she picked it up.

"Hello?" she said softly.

...

"Lonnie ...  Lonnie ... LONNIE" she finally had to scream.  "Calm
down.  I'm bringing him home right now.  We'll be there in five
minutes."

She hung up the phone again, and started getting dressed,
frantically.

The phone started ringing again.

We let it ring, as I watched her get dressed.   I asked her for
the keys, when we left the house.  She was in no shape to drive.

================================

I know you're thinking there was a big blowup, when we got to my
house, and I dragged my aunt inside.   Actually, it wasn't
anything like that.  My mother already knew that the only way
Aunt Vanessa could possibly know about us, was if I had told her.
 Remember how she figured out which woman I shot in my shorts
over?   She also knew that the only way that would come out of my
mouth was if something very unusual was going on ... such as me
boffing the shit out of her sister.  She knew both of us pretty
well.

When we walked in, the first thing she said was: "Pat, go to your
room."

I went.

I listened, but didn't hear any shouting.   I realized how
drained I was.  My Aunt Vanessa could wear out a professional
wrestler.

I decided to take a nap.

Chapter Fourteen

I was awakened from my nap by my mother's fingers, tracing along
my jaw.

"Wake up," she said.  "It's almost supper time."

"OK," I said, rubbing my eyes.

Then I remembered, and took my hands away to look at her face.

"What are we going to do with you?" she asked.

"Please let me keep my balls," I begged.  It just popped out,
honest.

"We haven't decided about that, yet," she said, her face
completely straight.  "We'll talk about it later.  Randi and
Tabitha don't know, so watch your mouth," she paused and looked
at me intently, "at supper."

"Yes Ma'am," I said.

================================

As on other occasions, when something momentous had happened, my
mother acted completely normal.  It was pretty amazing, actually,
but it helped me to act normal too.

We acted normal all night, which, oddly, included Randi coming to
my room to make my dick soft.  She didn't know it had already
spurted twice that day.   Believe it or not, I wasn't in the
mood.  I know she was shocked, but I couldn't tell her why.  She
gave me a kiss, and left.  I was afraid she was going to go talk
to Mom.   I found out later that she did, but Mom just blew her
off and said I was probably coming down with something.  She
mentioned my earlier nap as evidence of that.

That was the only thing I didn't like about all this.   I didn't
like keeping secrets, like about Mom and Randi, and keeping that
secret from Tabby.   It was a little like lying, and I didn't
like to tell lies.  The last two times Tabby had wanted to see my
penis, it had been limp.   She looked disappointed, and I was
beginning to get the feeling that she didn't think she was pretty
enough to get me hard any more.

She showed up again that night, just being Tabby.   She wanted to
tease me again.

I didn't know what to do.  When you worry that much about things,
you can't ... well ... perform, I guess.  You don't WANT to
perform.  You just lose the desire.   I started worrying even
more.  What if I couldn't ever get it up again?!

"What's wrong with me?" asked Tabby suddenly.  She let her T
shirt fall back down to cover the breasts she'd been showing me.

"Nothing," I said.

"You don't ever get horny for me any more."  She sounded like she
was going to cry.  That was all I needed.

"Sit down," I said.  I patted the bed beside my hip.

She sat, and turned her head to look at me.

I loved her. No matter how lousy I felt, I couldn't hurt her
feelings.  Besides, crying would bring Mom, or Randi, and all
that would do was complicate things worse.

"I had a rough day today," I said.

"That's what you said the last time," she whined.  "The last TWO
times!"

"It was true," I said, putting my hand on her thigh.  She looked
at it.  "There's nothing wrong with you, Tabby.  You're just as
beautiful, and sexy as ever."

"Then why don't you get a boner for me any more?"

"Tabby, you're my sister," I said.  She started to say something
and I waved her quiet.  "When a guy gets a boner, he wants to DO
something with it."

Her eyes got round.

"I don't want to get a boner for my baby sister, and think about
stuff like that," I said.

"I'm not a baby!" she said instantly.  "I'm almost sixteen!"

"I know that," I said.  "But you're still my sister, and we can't
..."  I started to say "fuck" and it suddenly seemed crude and
vulgar.  "We can't do stuff like that."

"I don't want to do that," she said, sounding unconvinced.  "Well
not really, I mean.  I think about it sometimes, but just for
fun."

"Guys are different," I said, stroking her thigh.  It was soft.
"When guys get horny, they want to cum."

"Yes," she said.  "I know all that.  But you do that after I
leave ... don't you?"

Our mother had finished blowing Randi off, and had come to check
on me herself.  Thank goodness the door was open.  She had stood,
quietly outside, listening to the last part of the conversation.

"Bedtime" came her voice, suddenly, from the doorway.  Both of us
jerked, guiltily.  I took my hand off Tabby's thigh.

"We were just talking," said Tabby, sounding guilty as hell.

"Well, it's bedtime," said Mom.

"OK," said Tabby.  She started to lean to give me a kiss.  By now
it was just habit.  I turned my face, and she kissed me on the
cheek.  She caught on right away.

"Night," she said, getting up.  If it had been lighter in the
room, her blush might have been noticeable.

"Good night, darling," said Mom, giving her a good hug.

Mom watched her go down the hall to her room.  She waited until
the door closed, and then came to the bed.   She sat down, where
Tabby had been sitting.

"I'm proud of you for telling her that," she said softly.

"This isn't fun any more," I said.  "I don't like lying."

"Is that why you told Nessa about us?" she asked.

"No." I said.  "Not really."

"Why did you?"

"It was complicated," I said.  "After the cast was done, I was
cleaning her up and things got weird."

"I know.  She told me."  My mother's voice was calm.

"It was between times that I told her," I said.

"Between?"  She sounded surprised.  "You ... went ... more than
once?  She didn't tell me that."

"See what I mean?" I moaned.  "Everybody's trying to keep
everything secret, but you can't.  Even Grandma figured it out."

"Nessa did say something about that.  She was very upset.  I'd
like to talk about that, but not now."

"I don't know what to do," I moaned.

"I know, baby.  Things have gotten out of hand."

"I don't want to hurt anybody," I said.  "It was fun, for a
while, but it's getting too hard."

"Do you just want to stop?" she asked.

"No," I whined.  "I'd go crazy.  I love you.   I love ALL of you.
 I just don't want to lie and keep secrets."

"Well," she sighed.  "There aren't that many secrets any more. 
Tabby and Christy, and Danny, of course, are the only ones in the
dark now."

Speaking of secrets.   I couldn't take it.

"Aunt Christy knows," I said.

Mom blinked at me.  "What?"

"Not about you."

"How could she know about Nessa?  It only happened this
afternoon?!"

"Not about Aunt Vanessa either," I said.  "Well, not with me
anyway."

"Pat," said my mother in her dangerous voice.  "Tell me what
you're talking about."

So I told her about that night, when Aunt Christy came and gave
me a blow job.  It took a long time because I had to try to
explain about what Danny had told me, and how I knew she wanted
to play around with another man, except I was the only one who
was acceptable to them both.  She didn't say a word, and just
listened.  When I got to the part where I explained how, when she
came to my room, I ordered her around, her eyes got wide and she
put up a hand.

"What?" I asked.

"You did that to me too."

"Yeah," I said, blushing.  "It worked with her, so I tried it
with you."

"You wanted me?  Like that?  Before it happened?"

"Mom, I've been living in a house with half a dozen babes and
it's been making me crazy."

She leaned over and gave me a kiss.  Then she pulled back.  "Go
on," she said.

So I told her about how I tried to get Aunt Christy to lie down
with me, but she wouldn't, and then she left and saw Uncle Danny
fucking Aunt Vanessa on the couch.

"Nessa didn't tell me THAT part either!" said my mom, her voice
breathy.

"Well, that kind of broke things open and she came back and we
..."

"You had sex."

"She wants me to make her pregnant," I said softly.  "She and
Danny have been trying for a long time, and it isn't working."

I had run out of words, and my mother was staring at me, her
mouth hanging open.

"Nessa was so upset I had to calm her down and send her home,"
she said.  "I told her everything would be all right, and that
we'd work it out.  She said something about you trying to get her
pregnant too."

"That's because Grandma said I should," I said.

My mother swayed.

"Maybe you'd better tell me what happened there too."

So I told her about making Grandma's cast, and the thong
underwear and about how I had to be naked too.  She held up her
hand at that point.

"Did you have sex with her?"

I just nodded.

"More than once?" she asked, swaying a little more.

"It's hard to say," I said.  She blinked at me.  "I came in her
twice, but it took four hours."

"Four hours," she repeated, her voice faint.

"She said it had been a long time," I said.

"Oh my word!" she sighed.

"See what I mean?  I just can't take this any more.  I have to
sneak around and lie and keep secrets and I hate it."

"OK," said my mother, ignoring my bid for sympathy.  "Let me get
this straight.  You haven't fucked Tabby."  She stopped, and I
nodded.  "But you have fucked Christy, and Nessa, our mother."

"And you and Randi," I added helpfully.

"And you tried to get Christy pregnant."

"And Aunt Vanessa," I helped again.

"Are you trying to make me or Randi pregnant?" she asked.

"No Ma'am," I said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Randi said I can't.    Grandma said I can't either."

"My mother ... told you ... not to get me pregnant."  Her voice
was high.

"And Randi," I said, helping a third time.

She stood up.  "I think I'm going to bed now," she said, heavily.
 "I'm very tired."

"I love you," I said, automatically.

She bent over and gave me a nice, long, sweet kiss on the lips. 
No tongue ... just a really warm kiss.

"I know you do, baby.  I loved you before all this, but I love
you so much more now.  I'm a little unhappy with the way things
turned out ... I think ... but we'll get through it.  Please keep
trying not to have sex with Tabby, OK?"

"I promise," I said.  "Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Tabby thinks I don't get a boner for her any more, and I think
it's really bothering her.  I don't want to hurt her either."

"I'll talk to her," said Mom.

"You've talked to her before.  So has Randi.  I have an idea,
though."

"What's that?"

"I was thinking that maybe ... if I could tell her that some day
I could ... you know ... do stuff that she wants to do ... maybe
that would help her understand that I still think she's really a
babe."

"That's silly," she said.

"Oh," I said, disappointed.  "OK."

================================

I should have known things wouldn't just simmer down.  The next
night, which was a Thursday, there was an unscheduled confab. 
Some of them probably knew why, but Christy didn't, and was the
last to arrive, as usual.   My mother handed Danny two twenties
when he walked Christy through the door.

"It doesn't matter what kind.  Surprise us."

He gave me a look and I just walked to the door.

I knew what they were going to talk about.  So I told Danny
everything.  He drove around the same block so many times that a
policeman pulled us over and asked him if he was lost.   He
didn't give the guy a hard time.  He just said we were talking
about something important.   He drove out into the country while
I finished.  It took me an hour and a half, and I gave him every
bit of it.

"They're right about Tabby," was the first thing he said.

"I was afraid you'd kick me out of the car for being a pervert,"
I said.

"From the sounds of it, we're a whole FAMILY of perverts," he
sighed.

"That's what they're talking about right now," I said.

"We don't need ice cream," he said.  "We need whisky, and lots of
it."

"What do you think will happen?" I asked.

"You told them about Christy, and about Vanessa and me?"

"I told my mom.  I was just so frustrated I couldn't take it any
more.  I didn't mean to get anybody in trouble."

"I don't think we're in trouble," he said.  "Not like you're
thinking.  This might create some stress."  He stopped.  "Who am
I trying to kid?  This is going to create a LOT of stress.  They
may be killing each other back there!"

"Should we go back?" I asked, anxiously.

"Not without ice cream," he said.  He wasn't kidding either.

================================

When we opened the door ... carefully ... there was no screaming
going on.  They were watching something on TV, and they were all
alive.   Mom, Grandma and Aunt Vanessa were sitting on the couch,
a daughter on each side of Grandma.  Aunt Christy was sitting in
the easy chair, and Tabby was sitting on the floor, leaning
against the front of it, between Christy's legs.  Randi was
curled up in the other easy chair.  She and Christy looked over
at us, as we came in.

Danny stood there, two bags of ice cream in his hands.  I was
behind him, with another one.

"Ice cream?" Danny said, his voice nervous.

The three women on the couch all turned around to look at us.

Grandma said "What did you get us?"

Tabby got out of the way, as Christy got up.  She came to Danny,
took the bags from him, and handed them to the women on the
couch.  She leaned past him to take the bag out of my hand, and
opened it, to look inside.   We had opted for pints ... all
different flavors ... in case we needed to put them in the
freezer, while the police cleaned up the crime scene.

"Butter Brickle!" said Aunt Christy, her voice delighted.

"Me - me - me!" yipped Tabby, jumping up.

"I'll split it with you," Said Christy.  "Go get bowls.  Bring
lots of bowls."

"OK!" said Tabby, excitedly, running off to the kitchen.

Danny and I were standing there, poised on the balls of our feet,
ready for flight.

Grandma was still turned around, her neck craned, looking at us.

"Well, come on in," she said impatiently.  "We have a lot to talk
about."

"Oh," said Danny, misery in his voice.

"You too, Pat," said my grandmother.  "You're mixed up in this
too."

"I don't feel too good," I said.  "I was going to go lie down."

Randi laughed.   She tried to stop herself, but she couldn't keep
it in.  She kept giggling and actually turned around to face away
from us.

Aunt Christy put her arms around Danny's neck, and leaned in to
kiss him.  It was one of those kisses I hoped to have gotten some
day.  You could CLEARLY see her grinding her pelvis against him.

She leaned back, and I saw all the other women standing up.

"You are my man," said Christy.  "And I love you more than I'll
ever be able to show you."

Danny was standing there, mouth open, eyes wide.

Christy backed up and stepped sideways, to stand in front of me.
She put her arms around my neck and kissed me too, right on the
lips, and right in front of everybody.  She gave me just a little
rub with her pussy.  She leaned back.

"I love you too, Pat, very, very much, but you'll never be my
man."

I realized my mother was standing in front of Danny.  He was
still frozen.  She put her arms around his neck.

"It's finally my turn," she said, leaning in to him.  She kissed
him, and I could feel the heat.  She was rubbing all over him.  
She backed up.  "You'll never be my man, Danny, but we're going
to get MUCH better acquainted."

She stepped over to me, and embraced me, giving me a long kiss.

"You are my man," she said, when she was done.  "I love you,
darling."

They were lined up.  Grandma was last.  When Tabby got back, Aunt
Vanessa had just released poor Danny from a heated kiss, saying:
"You are not my man, but I love you, and I hope you love me."

Grandma pushed Tabby into line in front of her, behind Randi. 
Aunt Vanessa stepped over to me.  There were tears in her eyes. 
She kissed me with tongue, and whispered in my ear.  "You can't
be my man, baby, but I love you, Pat ... I love you so much!"

Randi was next.  She kissed Danny like they'd done it a hundred
times.

"You are not my man.  I don't have a man.  I need you because I
don't have a man."   To me, she said "You are not my man either.
If I ever find a man like you, though, he will be."  She kissed
me again.

I watched Tabby step up to Danny.

"I get to kiss you too," she said, almost shyly.  "I don't get to
do what everybody else is going to do with you, but I get to kiss
you sometimes."  Then she kissed him.  He kissed her back.  I
think he was finally coming to grips with what was happening. 
When they were done, she was pink and panting.   "I'm going to
LIKE kissing you, Uncle Danny!"

She jumped over to me.  She was much more formal.  "You're not my
man, Pat.  But, when I'm seventeen, if you don't come home from
college and pop my cherry, I'll never speak to you again."  Then
she kissed me.  I kissed her back too.

Grandma was the only one left.  She stepped up to Danny and
stared at him.

"This is the craziest family on the face of the earth," she said
calmly.  "I've enjoyed not having a man around to mess things
up."  She put her arms around his neck.  "I'm going to need some
things done around the house, though."  She kissed him, and it
was a gentle, warm, long kiss.   He’d caught on enough, by then,
that he squeezed her butt through the jeans she was wearing.  She
pulled back, smiling.  "I'm so glad one of my daughters chose a
good man."

Then she came over to me, while Christy almost attacked her
husband again, hugging him and crying into his shoulder.

"Well, little man," she said, pressing her lower body against
mine.  "I see that these women have gotten you all worked up." 
She rubbed her pussy against my boner.  "You made me feel better
than you'll ever know.  If you have the strength, I'd like to
feel that way again every so often."

With the ritual over, Christy couldn't take it any more.  She
didn't even take Danny home.  She was so worked up that her
fantasy was going to be met over and over again that she took him
up to my mother's room.  They did close the door, at least.

That left me standing with five women ... four of whom had been
given permission to fuck me half blind.  Still, I was feeling a
lot better than when we first came in with the ice cream.

Actually, the confab had been a wild and riotous affair, with
flaring emotions and all manner of shouting and screaming.  But
the Turner women were like that.  They blew apart, like a nova,
and then coalesced back into a new galaxy, that would go on for a
long time.  As I later heard it, it was the oldest and youngest
members of the group that actually set the agenda.  My
Grandmother basically said that, as unhappy as it may be to some,
I was a sexually active and sexually capable young man, and would
continue to be so.  If I wasn't fucking the women in the confab,
I'd just be fucking some girl, or girls, somewhere else. 
Whatever they decided, I was going to still be sexually active.


Tabby then spoke up, empowered by the mere fact that she was a
Turner woman, and had been included in everything that had
happened thus far.  She promptly said that, while she understood
that everybody else thought she was too young to get laid, she
disagreed, and CERTAINLY wasn't going to wait until she was
eighteen.  She faced a united front, until she demanded to know
the age at which each other woman present had been deflowered. 
My mother was the only one who was older than sixteen.   That
established, and because she was Tabby's mother, Mom finally
ruled that Tabby would have to wait until she was seventeen, with
the threat to lock her in her room if she failed to agree to it.
As an additional perk, Mom graciously agreed that, as long as
Tabby slept only with me, she could start dating at twenty,
instead of thirty.

The situation with Danny was emotional for a different reason. 
All of the women had a crush on him.  He was a good guy.  The
trouble came from Vanessa trespassing, because she took what they
all wanted but had not been given permission to receive.  
Christy solved that tension, when she admitted that she'd
actually been trying to figure out how to actually share him with
the others.  She had been stymied, and worried on two fronts. 
First, she couldn't figure out how to share him, without people
looking at her like she was crazy.  Second, she wasn't sure that
all of them actually wanted that kind of attention, and she
wanted anyone who didn't, to be free to say that.

Then she had to explain why she didn't mind sharing him, and, in
fact, was turned on by it.  She had also explained that Danny had
been turned on by finding out that she had taken my virginity.  
She didn't tell any of them about trying to make a baby with me.
 There were enough problems to get through, that night, as it
was.   Neither Grandma or Vanessa brought up the part about how I
should probably knock her up too.

They were that way, the Turner women were.  While they needed
each other, they didn't need any man who didn't treat them with
respect, love, and the sacrifice that each of them felt they were
worth.   Their social network didn't require that they all have a
man to feel self worth.  They knew their own worth.   At the same
time, they were hot-blooded women, with all the natural urges
that any woman has.   To make it even stranger, while they needed
each other, they were independent.  Not only did they not depend
on a man for their self worth, each had her own agenda, that
didn't necessarily include any of the others.

So, in the end, when Grandma stood up and said "Did anybody have
to force the boy to do anything?", and got lots of head shakes,
she said.  "Well, then ... no harm done."

Chapter Fifteen

You'd think that it would have been all open and above board,
what with it being discussed between all of them like that.

You'd have been wrong.

It was one thing to agree to do things that no one else in the
culture would understand, or permit.  It was another to do it
bald-faced.  Everything from that point on was quite private,
with one exception that I'll mention later.

After the ritual was done, the women went back to treating me ...
and later Danny ... almost like they had always treated us
before.  As I write this, years later,I am still lover to all six
women, but an outsider wouldn't have a clue.   I still had
disagreements with them, and fights with some of them.  I still
had to do chores, and get good grades.   Almost nothing changed,
except that, when they were in the mood ... and sometimes when I
was in the mood ... they made that known and ... in private ... I
emptied my balls, while they had orgasms.

Mom was the exception.   The night of the confab, she asked me to
sleep with her, in her bed.   I did, and we must have made love
four or five times.   After that, her bed was always open to me
at night, except for a little misunderstanding that I'll tell you
about later.  I could have slept with her every night.  Even if
she had been my only lover, I doubt I would have done that.  She
really did take up the whole bed in her sleep.

Some nights I slept with Randi.   She had her own signal that
meant she wanted some attention.  She'd swat me on my butt as she
walked by.   That was it.  Just a swat that didn't even hurt.   I
didn't figure it out for almost a month.  After that, I paid
attention to what the others did.   Most of them started out
asking me to come over to the house to do this or that for them.
 When I got there, there was a horny woman waiting for me.  
There were a couple of times when they actually wanted me to do
some chore for them, and no sex was involved.   Aunt Christy was
the hardest to read, except for when she was ovulating.   I
learned how to track a woman's cycle based on hers.  There was a
nine day window in the middle of that cycle, and she tried to get
my sperm in her womb every one of those nine days.  I had to do
double duty, between her and some of the others, when Christy was
ovulating.   I didn't have any trouble with that, though.  Once
they knew they could have me whenever they wanted, they didn't
get so frantic about it any more.  There were lots of weeks where
I only emptied my balls two or three times.   At least in a warm
pussy.  Both Mom and Randi, my primary sources of relief, had
decided they didn't want to get pregnant, and during each of
THEIR nine days, they wouldn't come near me.

Aunt Vanessa just called me on the phone, said "I'm horny, Pat,"
and that was all their was to it.   She did more kissing on me,
when she visited, than any of the others.  I think that's because
she was pregnant.  She didn't tell anybody until she showed so
much that Grandma asked her when she was going to spill the
beans.

It took me nearly a year to knock Aunt Christy up.   It turned
out that part of the problem was her.   Everybody had thought
that Danny just had a low sperm count.  It turned out that was
true.  He did have a low sperm count.  But she had a blocked
fallopian tube or something like that.  They found out about it
when she WAS pregnant, and got it fixed.

Remember those nine days that my mother and Randi wouldn't  let
me near them, because they didn't want to get pregnant?    They
had been availing themselves of the "safe" man, during those
times ... the one who couldn't get Christy pregnant.   Of course
I got the blame, when they turned up preggers.   There were some
very tense weeks in our house as Mom and Randi muttered and
scowled, and it was a good thing I still had my own bed, because
I sure didn't get invited into theirs for a while.    They calmed
down, after a while, though.  Mom got all sappy about having
another baby.  Randi was less happy about it, until the baby
started moving around in her belly.  That changed everything. 
Once she saw it as a living, almost breathing little piece of her
(and me), and you could see its little footprint through her skin
sometimes, she got all sappy too.

We ordered more belly cast kits, and I made casts of all the
pregnant bellies in the family.  That was almost as much fun as
making the original casts had been.

I thought it was almost hilarious when both Mom and Randi
delivered babies with flaming red hair.  I had the best time
explaining to them all about recessive genes, and how that meant
Danny had to be the father, instead of me!

They took it in stride.   They even chose Irish names, to
commemorate the occasion.  Mom named her daughter Eileen, which
means "Bringer of Light" because she brought so much light and
happiness to her mother.   Randi named her son Shamus, which
means "The Supplanter", because she hadn't planned on getting
pregnant.  She loved him, though, and adjusted to being a mother
well.   Randi was the first to teach me what breast milk tasted
like.

Aunt Christy's little boy had coal black hair, exactly the shade
of mine.  It was curly like mine too.  She named him Jordan, my
middle name, and I knew I'd try my best to knock her up again.

Aunt Vanessa's baby was known to be mine.  That's because she
didn't exert her privileges to Danny until after she knew she was
pregnant.  I was her only lover between the menstrual period she
had after dallying with Danny, and the one she missed after I had
spurted her belly full of my sperm several dozen times.    She
had a daughter, and named her Mona, after Grandma.

Grandma didn't have the libido of her daughters, and
granddaughters.  On the other hand, a lot had happened in the
sexual world, in the time since she'd kicked her philandering
husband out, and given up sex.   She wanted to try everything. 
She said that acting out everything in the Kama Sutra kept her
young.  Some of that stuff is just plain goofy.

As for Tabby, she was actually serious about keeping her
virginity intact.   She kissed me good night almost every night,
and rubbed her breasts in my face.  When Mom and Randi found out
they were pregnant, and I was banished to my own bed, Tabby
interpreted "staying a virgin" to mean that no penis had been in
her pussy, yet.  That meant everything else was fair game.   She
came in most nights and lay down with me, cuddling and kissing,
while I got her off with my fingers or mouth.   For my High
School graduation, she wanted to give me a blow job.   She had
secretly been getting lessons from Aunt Vanessa, working on a
dildo.   She was a good student.

The night before I left for college, (I got accepted at a private
school, with a full ride, because I'm a genius, after all) they
had a big party.   There were four babies crawling around on the
floor, and Aunt Vanessa was showing again.  This time she didn't
know whose it was.   Nobody knew about the Everclear Danny dumped
in the igloo cooler of punch he and Christy brought.  Well,
nobody except Danny and Vanessa.  He whispered it in her ear, so
she wouldn't drink too much and risk harm to the baby in her
womb.   Everybody else figured it out when Tabby got loopy and
lurched into a wall.   Mom and Christy took her up and put her in
bed, but the party broke up soon afterwards.

I awoke to find Tabby sucking my dick, that night.  When I asked
her what she was doing, she said she hadn't kissed me good night,
and since it was my last night at home, "maybe EVER!", she
couldn't not do that.   She crawled up on my naked body and laid
her naked body down, rubbing her pussy against the prick she
hadn't quite finished off with her mouth.  I thought she was
going to make a mess with it, because while she was kissing me,
she was jerking me off too.  Then she stopped kissing me.

"I'm sorry, Pat," she said.  "I don't want to get you in trouble,
but I can't wait 'til I'm seventeen.  That's a whole year away."

I'd had enough of that punch that I didn't react fast enough when
she plugged my prick into her pussy and then pushed, with her
other arm, sitting up straight.  She slid down my pole like a
fireman in a hurry, and sighed.

She'd borrowed that dildo.  She told Aunt Vanessa it was to
practice her oral arts, but she'd used it to make sure that when
she did what she was currently doing, it wouldn't hurt.

It didn't.

The second I realized my root was planted in a fresh, virgin
pussy, I went off like a volcano.

Then she got all worried, because it wasn't a good time to be
doing this.  By the time I got her calmed down, she was horny
again, and got another dose of spunk.   She really was a true
Turner woman.   I left for college, and she called me every day
until her period finally came.  It was a week late, but I think
that's because she was so worried and emotional about it.

I'd only been gone two months when I started going home every
other weekend.   I know you're thinking it's because I had all
this pussy at home, and could tap it any time I wanted to.  
That's true, in a way, but it's not the original reason I started
going home every other weekend.

I got a call from Danny.  He begged me to.

================================

Oh yeah.   I didn't tell you about how the project turned out.  I
wonder why?  That was, after all, the whole point of the story
... right?

Making the busts was messy, but it worked.   They looked almost
eerie ... pure white things that were so perfectly detailed, and
looked so much like the real thing.  Cat was amazed by them, and
demanded to know exactly what it took to make them.   I showed
her Tabby's cast, which was the only one I could get my hands on,
and one of the boxes the kits came in, and explained how it was
made.  Her response was simply:  "Fascinating!"

Cat arranged for a select group of students from the art
department to paint the busts for me.   When they got done, they
looked so real I wanted to put my mouth on the nipples.  She
found a room we could borrow, and I put an ad in the paper for
men for a research project.  It read as follows:

Wanted:  Men of all ages.  College research project, concerning
men's preferences for  female body types.  Approximately ten
minutes needed.  Involves viewing busts of naked women. 
Completely confidential.  No monetary compensation provided.

I didn't know how long to run it.  Cat had suggested having more
than ten  men in each of four rough age groups, so I paid for
five days.   I put my mother's number in the ad, which turned out
to be a mistake.   That happened around the same time she and
Randi found out they were pregnant, and weren't happy with me.

We got over three thousand calls in the next six days.  All three
of the women I lived with, went to stay with Grandma.  It worked
out to about one call per hour ... twenty-four-hours a day.   And
that didn't include the crank calls.   I didn't get a wink of
sleep, and I got grounded because Mom had to get a new number.

Cat also convinced me to set the busts up in a circle, on a
table, facing out.  They were lit from above, by multiple spot
lights.  The table was covered with some black, shiny cloth.  
The men were sent in and told to circle the table up to three
times, make their choice of favorite breasts, and then fill out a
short questionnaire about why they chose that bust.

I used fifty men, age eighteen to twenty-five, fifty men age
twenty-six to thirty-five, fifty men age thirty-six to
forty-five, fifty men age forty-six to fifty-five, and fifty men
over fifty-five.

Officer Dalton got to go first.  He'd done me a favor.  He was in
the twenty-six to thirty-five group.

There was a sign in front of each bust that said "DO NOT TOUCH"
in huge black letters.

Cat and I sat in one corner of the room, watching.  That started
after the sixteenth man to view the busts tried to smuggle my
mother's bust out, under his coat.    He was pretty bald faced
about it, saying he thought he was supposed to choose the one he
wanted ... and take it with him.  Officer Dalton was still
hanging around, hoping to have a second go, and offered to arrest
him, but we decided not to push it.  We did let Officer Dalton
take it back in and put it back.  He had clean hands, though, and
didn't smudge anything, even though he felt it was neccessary to
use the breasts themselves as handles.  I thought about rewarding
him again, by telling him it was my mother's bust, but decided it
might be awkward if he decided he had to seize it as evidence or
something like that.  He'd given me back the negatives and
contact sheets, but that didn't mean he'd give me back the bust.

After we started monitoring the viewings, almost every man who
circled that table touched at least one bust, almost always
squeezing a nipple, though some cupped a breast.  Thank goodness
the artists used paint that could be cleaned with a soft damp
cloth.  I spent more time cleaning smudges off of the busts than
I did making them in the first place.  Of course that brought
back memories, and I caught Cat staring at the front of my pants.

"Who were these models, again?" she asked, at one point.

I hadn't told her that.  "I signed a confidentiality agreement
not to disclose that," I lied.

"Yes," she said, looking at me oddly.  "I'd bet fifty bucks that
you got laid more than once, doing this project."

"Cat!" I said, trying to sound astonished.  "I'm only seventeen!"

"I know that," she said, still staring at me.  "But the way these
men are reacting to the busts, and thinking about what it
involved to make them ... I just figure things got a little wild.
 Come on, I'm your professor ... you can tell me."

"No, I can't," I said firmly.  "I agreed not to, and I won't
break that promise.  Shouldn't we be calling another one in?"

"What ever happened to all those fun-loving teenage boys with
loose lips?" she murmured.

================================

We reviewed the questionnaires together.   They were supposed to
be confidential.    The last space on the form had said
"Additional comments:".

Here are the statistics we garnered:

Sixty-eight percent of the questionnaires had a name and address
on them, with phone number, both home and work, and comments
like:  "Have this model call me!", or words to that effect.  The
others had things like "I'm in love!", and "*sigh*".

Twenty-two percent put down more than one bust as their favorite,
generally with the note, something like: "How could anyone
possibly choose only one?" on the comment line.

One guy (.004 % of the group, in case you're wondering)  listed
his annual salary, along with all the other contact information
he wasn't supposed to put on the form. He also wrote down that he
was single, and liked long walks on the beach at sunset.

Seventy-six, or 30%, offered to buy the bust they'd chosen.

I don't know how many touched them before we started monitoring
the viewings, but 224, or 95.7% of the rest of them stroked,
pinched or touched the busts.

Of the 234 men who were monitored, all of them ... a hundred
percent ... circled the table more than six times.

In cases where more than one bust was listed as "the favorite",
we credited the first number they wrote down as their favorite. 
Those results revealed the following:

52 men chose Tabby's breasts.<br>
41 men chose Randi's breasts.<br>
40 men chose Christy's breasts.<br>
39 men chose Vanessa's breasts.<br>
41 men chose my mother's breasts.<br>
36 men chose Mona's breasts.<br>

I could go into all the breakdowns we did, within age ranges, and
all of that, but I can save you a boring paragraph by telling you
that the findings were:  Men love boobs.  They love all kinds of
boobs, and their age, whether we're talking about the men ... or
the boobs ... just doesn't seem to make much difference.

That's right.  The whole project ... dare I say it, was a ...
bust.

Cat gave me an A, though.  She said it was innovative, and
interesting, and opened her eyes to the power of the skin under
her blouse.  She told me all this in a conference, on the last
day of summer school.

"So," she said, when she'd finished.  "Are you going to take any
more of my classes?"

"Not right away," I said.  "I have to finish High School, and I
don't think it would be a good idea to take college classes at
the same time I'm doing that."

"I understand," she said.  "You'll do fine in college, Pat.  I'm
sure of it."

She got up and went to the closet in her office.   She reached
in, and took out a familiar looking box.  She returned to her
desk with it.

"Since you are no longer officially a student of mine," she said,
sitting down, and placing a belly casting kit on the desk in
front of her, "I am now officially free to ask you to make a cast
of me."   She looked at me through lowered lashes.  "Would you be
willing to do that?"

"Um ... the project is over," I said, needlessly.

"These casts are intended for purposes other than your project,"
she said.

"But you're not pregnant," I said, needlessly.

"Will you help me ... or not?" she asked, point blank.  "I've
already given you your grade, so you are free to decline, if that
is your wish."

I looked at the woman, sitting in the chair ... half bald ...
with wildly red hair ... smallish breasts ... lush hips ... and a
tiny diamond in one lobe of her nose.

"Uh ... OK," I said.

================================

She had me follow her to her house.   She was very direct. 
Within five minutes of entering her house, she was stark naked. 
I almost laughed when I saw that, on the side of her body that
had a bald head, she had the same color of bright red pubic hair.
 On the other side, her pussy was as bald as could be.

"I want you to do my cast exactly like you did the others," she
said, standing there.

"Exactly?" I said.

"Exactly," she said.

"They weren't all the same," I said.

"Do me like you did the one you liked making the most," she said.

That would have been Randi's.  She fucked my brains out before we
made her cast.  Then again, Grandma's had been a lot of fun.   I
thought about Christy's, which had been done after the confab
that entitled them all to my prick.   There had been four other
women at her house when I showed up.   They all wanted to watch.
They were punishing her for fucking me first, when she didn't
have permission, or at least their permission.   She thumbed her
nose at them by climbing on top of me right in front of them,
when the cast was done.  When she sank down on me it was like
somebody had dropped a wolf in the middle of a flock of chickens.
 It was wild, but I couldn't do that here.

I finally decided it had to be Aunt Vanessa's session, and asked
her if she had  a big mirror.   There was one in the bedroom that
would do, and I made her stand in front of it while I stood
behind her.

I started with her breasts, which were between Tabby and Randi
size, round and soft, with no sag at all, and small, very pink
nipples.   I explained, as I pinched those nipples, why they
needed to be hard.   I "slipped" several times, putting the
lubricant on her belly, and she spread her legs so I could "slip"
again.

I improvised, by hauling my prick out, when I thought her cast
was almost done, and masturbating it slowly, right in front of
her.

She didn't wait for me to clean her up.  As soon as I put the
cast on the floor, she tackled me and threw me on the bed.   She
rode me for a while, lying down on me to wiggle her still
slippery body all over my chest.  I rolled her over and pounded
her like Vanessa liked it.  She liked it too.  She wasn't quite
as loud, but her pussy could milk me better than any of the
others.

"I made two of them pregnant," I panted, staring down at her,
while making long, hard thrusts.

Her eyes got wide.  I don't think she'd thought about that aspect
of things.

"You said you wanted me to do exactly what I did to them," I
huffed.

"Pat!" she barked.

"You said to!" I grunted, going in deep.  "You said to!" I
moaned.

The first spurt geysered into her, and her mouth opened to
scream.  I covered her mouth with mine.  She scratched bloody
streaks down my back, as I spurted over and over again into her
professorial snatch.  I did notice, though, that her pussy went
crazy, and milked every drop out of me.  I'd swear I felt at
least one heel on my butt, too.

When we were done, she pushed me off of her, and got up.  She
went to the bathroom, and I figured she was trying to drain my
dangerous spunk out of her, but she came back immediately.  She
had antiseptic, which she treated the scratches with.

"Sorry," I said, remembering my manners ... much too late.

"My husband is gone for weeks at a time," she said, bending me
over to put stuff on my wounds.  "He's almost never home when I'm
fertile."

"I shouldn't have done that," I said meekly.

"He'll never get me pregnant," she said.  "Can you be gentle
too?" she asked, while she ran a fingerfull of cream down each
scratch.

"Yes," I breathed.

"Show me that too," she said.

I had been gently rocking in her for ten or fifteen minutes, and
she had had three orgasms.

"I'm about to cum," I informed her, shoving the tip of my prick
into her cervical opening.  "Do you want me to take it out?"

"It's a little late for that," she moaned.

"I will if you want me to," I panted.  "Are you on the pill?"

"Noooo," she moaned, wrapping her arms and legs around me.

I added five more healthy squirts to what was already in her
womb.

================================

Some of you have already written to me about how I started this
story saying I had seven women at my beck and call, but only
talked about six.  I wasn't going to include Caitlin.   She
wasn't family.

She is now.  She named our son Thomas.  She's Irish too, and
likes Irish names, like her own.

What does Thomas mean, you ask?

It means "Twin".   She named our daughter Tommie, which is the
female version of the same thing.

Which brings me back to the beginning of this story.

I now have four children, with one in the oven that could also be
mine, and I'm not even through my first year of college!

It's not that all these women are demanding I support my
children.  At least not financially.  I don't mind the
father/child bonding that goes on, though Caitlin doesn't require
that.  Her husband thinks they're his.

But I still feel responsible, and I have this feeling inside that
it's just going to get worse.  Caitlin, for instance, is pissed
off at her husband, because he hasn't changed his work schedule
at all.  I've been going over there to help, as often as I can,
and when both babies are asleep ... well ... Caitlin is just as
hot blooded as the Turner women.  She reminds me that she's not
on the pill.  She says it makes me a better lover.

Tabby called me, the other day.  Her birthday is three days away.
 She basically told me what happened the night before I left for
college doesn't count, because it wasn't authorized, and is still
a secret.  So are the other three times she's been alone with me
long enough to pull me between her naked thighs, when I was back
home on weekends.   She also admitted she hasn't been taking the
pills Mom got her.  She says they make her retain water, and look
fat.   I told her so does getting pregnant, but she won't tell me
whether she's been having regular periods.

Aunt Christy and Uncle Danny have been trying, ever since red
headed step children, so to speak, popped out of Randi and Mom,
and it still isn't working for them.   Aunt Christy's starting to
ask for special visits again, and I suspect that it's during a
certain nine days each month.

Aunt Vanessa says that two is good, but she wants a third.  Every
time I ask her if she's on the pill, she kisses me hard and says
"Make my mother proud!"

Randi still isn't dating anybody, and she keeps telling me how
much she loves being a single mother!  And, every time I go home,
Mom claims me first, saying I'm her man.  Somehow, I never seem
to be home on a weekend that's dangerous for them, because they
never deny me the chance to show them how much I love them.

At this rate, by the time I get through college, and get a real
job, I'll have a dozen or more kids!   At least Grandma's stomach
is still nice and flat, whenever I thrust into her famished
pussy.  She is proud, of me, by the way.  She told me so.

And, if THAT'S not enough, it turns out that while Cat was in
Lamaze classes, she showed around her second belly cast.   She
calmly handed me a list of twelve women who wanted one done of
them!  She cautioned me not to wait too late.  When I did Cat's
second one ... the one where she had twins in her belly ...  she
was so far along that putting the lubricant on got her milk
flowing, and that led to having to get it to stop ... which
involves ... well, use your imagination.

What do I do?

I had a fantasy where I got to sink my spurting prick into all
these women, and it came true!  My fantasies have changed, just a
little bit, in the last couple of years.

Now I think about settling down ...

Maybe with only one woman.


The End


  
busted_complete