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.



   How The Women Got Plastered and Patrick Got Busted!

   By Beating Off Bob

   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 men-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.  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 there.  She was
wearing jeans, and a flowered silk blouse.  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 stiff
prick.

   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 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, 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 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 all the 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, 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.

   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.  I was
clueless then, at any rate.

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

   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.  I don't
know if she meant to, but it was a little like a striptease.

   After she expertly - and quickly - removed her matching bra, that put
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 she tried.  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 waved, 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, and then dropped 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 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.

   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, 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, and 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.

   "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 admitted.

   "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 her
house, Mandy Simpson 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 smart.

   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 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.

   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 HER.  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 did
swear 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 got up, sealing my sperm in her pussy with her fingers pressed to
her sex.  With her other hand she picked up her clothing.  Her cast lay on
the floor, by the bed, facing upwards.

   "I love you, Pat," she said quietly.  "I think I'm going to go take a
nap."

   I didn't understand the significance of the fact that she went straight
to her bed, instead of stopping off in the bathroom first.  I didn't know
that, when she lay down, and got comfortable, 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 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 fourteen 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 ...r 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 offende."

   "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 fifteen!"

   "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.  41 men chose Randi's breasts.  40 men
chose Christy's breasts.  39 men chose Vanessa's breasts.  41 men chose my
mother's breasts.  36 men chose Mona's breasts.

   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
   
