IT'S IN THE BOOK

by Holly Rennick

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Q: What danger is documented in the Bible, the Boy Scout Handbook, a French flipbook, the medical literature of the 19th Century, Ulysses, "Flossie, a Venus of Fifteen" and the writings of Mark Twain and Sigmund Freud?

A: That of Onanism.

The book "Onania; or, the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution, and All Its Frightful Consequences in both Sexes, Considered, with Spiritual and Physical Advice to those, who have already injur'd themselves by this abominable Practice" was updated 19 times between 1710 and 1750, each edition longer than the previous.

An excerpt from "Onanism and Nervous Disorders in Two Little Girls" in an 1881 medical journal  "One night she succeeds in rubbing herself till the blood comes on the straps that bind her.  Another time, caught in the act by the governess and unable to satisfy herself, she has one of her terrible fits of rage, during which she yells: 'I want to, oh how I want to!  You can't understand, Mademoiselle, how much I want to do it!'  Her memory begins to fail.  She can no longer keep up with lessons.  She has hallucinations all the time."

Mark Twain conclusion of his 1879 "Some Thoughts on the Science of Onanism" lecture to the Stomach Club of Paris: "If you must gamble your lives sexually, don't play a lone hand too much."

For the remainder of the references, you must read on.

Though you needn't view them, I've posted a page of the Aunt Olivia's flipbook at http://images.asstr.org/files/Authors/Holly_Rennick/Hat.jpg and a drawing of Flossie and Capt. Archer at http://images.asstr.org/files/Authors/Holly_Rennick/Flossie.jpg.  They look too old in the Swedish edition, however.  The females in both pictures are holding canes.  Did I mention Freud?

IT'S IN THE BOOK

I figured I'd invented it in the bath, rolling my penis between my palms until it got large and made me feel tingly.  I feared that Mother would come in with a fresh kettle of hot water, but she never did.

Later I learned to do it lying on my stomach, wiggling side-to-side under the comforter.  As we had an electric machine for washing, I hoped that Mother wouldn't notice a few stains.  Even if she saw evidence, I figured that Mothers wouldn't know about that sort of thing.

It wasn't something you'd talk about.  As far as I knew, I was the only practitioner.

When my buddies and I went swimming, I'd eye theirs.  Aware that I might have thickened mine too much, I'd be underwater in half a second.

It was at church that I learned what I did had a name.  Onan "spilled his seed upon the ground" to avoid impregnating his dead brother's wife.  "The thing which he did displeased the Lord" and Onan was killed.  Onanism angers God today as much as it did in Genesis times, according to Rev. Briggs.  It didn't occur to me to doubt it, but I was confused about her being his sister-in-law.

As I didn't want to go to hell, I resolved to cease, but still found myself prone to sin when I had extra time on my hands.

"Scouting for Boys" contained dire warnings.

"The practice is called self abuse and the result is that the boy after time becomes weak and nervous and shy."

"A very large number of the lunatics in our asylums have made themselves ill by indulging in this vice although at one time they were sensible cheery boys like you."

"Remember too that several awful diseases come from indulgence - one especially that rots away the inside of men's mouths, their noses and eyes."

"He gets headaches and probably palpitation of the heart, and if he still carries it on too far he very often goes out of his mind and becomes an idiot."

I did it less for a while as a Second Class Scout.

By the time I was 14, I had it down to a compelling science.  If need be, I could do it standing up.

***

According to Mother, Grandpa and Grandma never quite knew what to do with Olivia.  Their first daughter, Mother, graduated from high school, took a position at Anderson's Fine Apparel, sold my father an English cravat, married him and had me.  Olivia, younger than Mother by six years, went to Indiana University and became a librarian, but never caught a husband.

I figured being a librarian was why she wore glasses and maybe the glasses were why she was an old maid, thought I hardly thought she was very old.

What seemed to be worse than not being wed was Olivia's un-remorse.  In Mother's view, anyway, postponing marriage might make sense for a professional woman, but "already heading towards thirty," Olivia needed to be going to church socials where introductions might result.

But instead, Olivia wrote poetry that didn't even rhyme.  She showed me one about a sunflower that she said was God.  I guess God could be a flower if He wanted to, but why would He do that?  Mother told me that Olivia was an intellectual, which I wasn't sure was good or bad.

As her nephew, I didn't see a problem with Olivia being an old maid.  Who wouldn't want an aunt who spoils you?  The birthday gift from Aunt Olivia would always be my favorite because she'd have researched what boys who came to the Library liked.  One year she bought me an Erector Set.  Another year it was a tweed tam o' shanter.

It was my 15th birthday and Aunt Olivia was over for Sunday dinner.  Mother insisted she get at least one proper meal per week.  "You're just skin and bones!" mothering even to her sister.

Aunt Olivia's present was an illustrated "Journey to the Center of the Earth" which I planned to begin yet that evening.

Before she left, though, she signaled me back into the kitchen while Mother and Father were listening to the radio.  She grinned and hushed her voice.  "You're catching up with me, Buddy," squeezing my arm.  "Seen one of these?" pulling a miniscule booklet out of her bag.

I had, in fact.  It was a flipbook, the kind that looks like a moving picture when you thumb the pages.  Theodore had one showing a fellow juggle.

"Sure."

The cover gave no indication of the subject, but seeing the first page, I knew it was naughty.  There was a lady, back to me, cane at her side, wearing but a man's cap, garters and heels.  Wow!  Would Theodore want to see this!

"Go ahead.  You're old enough," Aunt Olivia allowed.  "Just don't tell where you got it."

The lady wiggled her fanny and turned toward me bare-breasted, a triumph of black between her legs.  Then she made a look as if to say, "Oh My," rubbed her cane and saluted me goodbye.

I wasn't sure how I was supposed to react.  As Aunt Olivia showed it to me, she must not think it that bad.  On the other hand, a boy shouldn't say much to his aunt.

She relieved me of my quandary.  "As they say over there, oo la la," bussing my cheek and bustling off to the parlor.

She'd kissed me enough times before.  This time, though, it left me feeling not like a baby.

I'd get to "Journey to the Center of the Earth" third.  First I wanted to study the lady.  Second, I'd take some time tonight under my comforter.

***

It was a few weeks later, another Sunday afternoon.

Aunt Olivia suggested hiking to the oxbow, the channel forgotten by the river.  We could take a couple of books, even.  At the oxbow you might see a pair of otters also out for a Sunday afternoon, the difference being that they wouldn't have brought books.  I've always liked the water.  Mother thought the idea was fine.

As we departed, younger sister winked at older.  "Sunday afternoon, nobody else around.  We'll be gone for a while."

Mother blushed and shooed us along.

Hiking through the cornfield, Aunt Olivia took my arm like I was some sort of Dapper Dan.  "Boy Scout sir, would you help this old auntie cross the busy street?"

I smiled, "I'll watch for runaway corn, ma'am."

 “Here’s one for you, Buddy,” Aunt Olivia offered.  “I’ll bet you’re old enough to get it.”

If I weren’t, I’d not admit it.

“So there’s this girl who sells cigarettes on the Empire Express.  She’s got a beau at every station, but the train only stops for ten minutes.  What does she wire ahead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mate me at the station.”

I laughed and laughed, not because the joke was so great (but maybe it was), but rather in the swell of her considering me grown-up.

“That’s a good one,” as nonchalantly as I could manage.

We sat on the oxbow bank and watched the water, rippled in the afternoon sun.  We both had books: me, a new one about Tom Swift and her, something involving a butler, Jeeves.  She read me a few lines, but I didn't see why she thought it funny.  The day was far too pleasant to while away reading.

I flopped on my back to let the sun make the insides of my eyelids turn orange, and when I did so, Aunt Olivia lay back as well, head against my ribs.

"You're my pillow so I can keep reading," propping her book where she could keep reading.  When she laughed, it jiggled my lunch.

In a minute, though, she took off her glasses.  Then she did the most surprising thing, taking my hand and laying it on her stomach.  I suppose that putting it there made as much sense as anywhere, given that it had to be somewhere.  Now when she chuckled, her belly bounced my hand.

We lay that way, just the pair of us and the sun overhead, my aunt rubbing the back of my hand ever so slightly.  It felt comfortable, lying in the sun, nothing to do.  Maybe I even napped.

When a hint of breeze blew our way, we sat up to watch the water shimmer.  I put my arm back far enough to steady us when Aunt Olivia leaned against mine.

It's nice to watch the water with someone else.

"It looks so cool I could just hop in!" my aunt laughed.

"Sure does," I agreed, watching to the dragonflies.

"Except for the frogs," she noted.

"They're no problem," I spoke from experience.  "They just swim away."

She looked at the water, then back at me.  "Well, we really could."

"Bathing suits," thinking it rather obvious.

She gave me a smile.  "I'd go over behind the trees," nodding to the nearby poplars.

I must have looked blank.

"You'd have to close your eyes till I get in the water," she clarified.  "Anyway, we're related," as if that made a difference.  Turning to another surmountable difficulty, "Our hair will dry before we get back.  No one will know.  Can't beat a bob," fluffing hers.

I didn't have time to think about logistics before she'd darted behind the poplars and, the brush being not all that solid, was pulling off her camisole, white through the greenery.

Then I remembered to shut my eyes until I heard a splash.

"Water's fine."

There she was, dogpaddling toward the middle.

I wasn't sure if I should take my turn behind the trees, but as she was facing away, I hurried off my clothes and was quickly in.  As long as we weren't close, I wouldn't reveal something I shouldn't.  Plus she'd left her glasses with her clothes.

After a minute or two of acclimation, Aunt Olivia paddled closer.  "Take that, landlubber!" splashing me with a sweep of her arm.

I returned the volley, more effective than her delivery.  "What we do to pirates in these here parts."

The quality of our insults outweighed the quantity of our sloshes.

When she kicked herself up to direct a two-handed drench, I saw her breasts.  Just for a second, to be sure, but I absolutely saw them.  Maybe the size of apples.  Her nipples, pink like peppermint drops, stuck straight out.  When you see something like that, you remember.

If she recognized her exposure, I wasn't sure.  Probably not.  In any case, it wasn't something you'd discuss.

After we'd each claimed oceanic victory, we paddled in opposite directions to regain our breath.  At least I thought opposite directions.  When I turned to see, though, there she was, following.

"Maybe I went at it a little too heartily," her grin belying remorse.

"Don't worry," unsure if she suspected what I'd seen.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," and scissor-kicked high enough to re-expose them.  "As long as it's just us two."

It's one thing to see breasts at a distance, but up close I could even see her goose-bumps.  How could I not notice?  I guess if it didn't matter to her, though, maybe it shouldn't matter to me.  Like she said, we're related.

After we splashed a bit more, her breasts carefreely unsubmerging with each delivery, Aunt Olivia headed for the bank.  As she didn't say to cover my eyes, I watched her emerge bare-butted.  While she redressed behind the trees, I darted to my clothes.  I've no idea if she peeked.

Walking back to the house, she didn't take my arm like an old auntie, but rather swung my hand until we were in sight of the house.  Then she gave me a kiss.  The way she did it pushed her blouse against my chest and I knew exactly what was under that blouse.

***

It rained the following Sunday and Aunt Olivia and I were in the carriage shed, looking at Fathers new Ford automobile.  He said it was to give him a jump in sales, but we all knew that Mother wanted him to sport her around, so they needed a few layers of excuse.

Aunt Olivia and I both wanted to learn to drive, but she said that I was too young and I said that she was a girl and we swatted each other with our caps.  Mine was the tweed.  Hers was a sailor style from Sears & Roebuck.

After declaring armistice, she looked at the automobile's controls.  "So maybe we could teach each other."

Fine by me.

We shared the driver's seat, deducing which apparatus did what.  Between us, we pretty much knew.

"Want another birthday present?" after we'd discussed the choke.

That surprised me.  "Sure."

"A real kiss?"

A what?

Taking off her glasses, she cupped my chin in her palm and rubbed her nose against mine.  "Eskimo style, maybe?" she whispered, pretending to shiver and pushing against me as she'd done the week before.

Instinct was my guide.  When she hooked the back of my neck with her hand and her mouth brushed the side of mine, I kissed in return.

It wasn't as if I'd planned to.

"So maybe you already know," she giggled.

"Not really," somewhat emboldened, even if it was only my aunt.

We tried it again.  Her lips felt smooth.

"The thing about a kiss is that there's usually more to it," after we'd touched tongues.  "If you touch me just a tiny bit, maybe I won't mind, as long as we keep kissing."

I wasn't sure what that meant.

"Like this," resting my hand against her side.  Through her sweater I could feel her ribs.

"I never said you could, though," leaning back against the upholstery.  "Like I said, when a girl gets kissed, she doesn't mind what else's happening."

My hand was but an inch from her breast.  What if I accidentally leaned my wrist inward not to far while I gave her my best kiss?

"But if we're going to drive this thing," shunting aside my unspoken urge,  "you need to hold the wheel."

I took the diver's seat and pretended to steer while she perched on my lap, reaching over my arms to move the gears.  When one of us would vigilantly spot a roadway impediment, we'd skillfully skirt collision.  "Cow!" and I'd steer sharply left while she punched at the levers.

"I think you hit his tail," she accused, bouncing with the swerve, her hair bushing my nose as her arms pulled mine against the sides of her chest.

I tried to shift the blame for the deceased bovine.  "You're working the brakes, not me."

She settled lower into my lap.  "Just keep your eyes on the road."

"Elephant!"

Breaking for the pachyderm tipped her against the wheel, her bust against the sides of my thumbs.

"Don't move," she whispered.  "I read that elephants are very dangerous if you startle them," her breathing perceptible as recurrent pressure on my hands.  She may have been my big aunt, but her nipples were like little thimbles.

"He escaped from the circus," explained Aunt Olivia as I sat motionless and powerless while her soft bottom molded my swelling lump.

"We're good drivers," she affirmed when we parked exactly where we started.

***

Aunt Olivia mouthed, "Swimming?" as we cleared the table the following Sunday.  Apparently my parents needn't know.

"Now?" following her lead about voice.

She nodded.

"We're going reading again," she explained to Mother.  "We'll be at least an hour," and Mother blushed just like she had two weeks earlier.

Away from the house, Aunt Olivia took my hand.  "Come on, silly, like we're off to an ice cream social and I'm your special gal."

An aunt's not your gal, of course, but none of my buddies were around.

"They don't get many afternoons alone," she reflected about my parents.  "We'll take lots of time."

Maybe she was referring to my parents making love, I realized, what everyone's parents had done, but probably not that much and probably not during the day.  Anyway, it wasn't my business.

When we arrived at the oxbow, Aunt Olivia darted from the trees to the water before I'd finished with my shirt.  But rather than paddling away, however, she hunched in the shallows to await me.

"Water's fine," splashing her face and hardly trying to submerge her top.

"Just a minute," I stalled, acting as if my belt were complicated.

She didn't move on.

I delayed another moment, recognizing that my fumbling must look odd.

"I left my glasses on my clothes," she pledged.

Not knowing what else to do, I dropped my trousers, hopped out of my drawers and dashed, penis flopping until I could swim past her to the middle.

"Wait up!"

Aunt Olivia breaststroked my way, fanny bobbing, and did a sideways roll.  For a moment I saw a fluffed darkness between her legs.  Then she sank back down to stand where the water was shoulder deep.

"Hold my shoulders 'cause it's slippery," as if nothing had happened.

As long as I steadied her from behind while she maneuvered along the muddy bottom, she couldn't see me.  But when she'd slip, her fanny sometimes brushed.  At least she couldn't see my penis, but was that better or worse than bumping it?  Thank heavens the oxbow was cold and I hadn't gotten big.

Heading shoreward, she took my hand.  Wading side-by-side, I could see both her wavy blackness and my bobbing whiteness below the surface.

She looked as well.  "My glasses are just for reading," she grinned.

Then her hands were all-of-a-sudden around my back.  Her breasts, surprisingly hard in the cold water, were slippery.  When my penis touched her stomach, she rose on her toes, making her hands and nipples and my penis our five points of contact.  Then she let me go and retook my hand.

At least we're related, I mollified my modesty as we waded forward, her matted tangle and my yet-shriveled penis emerging into the sun.

"It's just how we're built," she assured, reading my mind.  "Pretty interesting, the difference."

I didn't like being so interesting, though.  "Can we get dressed?"

"Sure.  Can't let those silly frogs see us."

Her clothes were behind the trees, but it didn't make any difference where she changed.

***

Sitting to sun-dry our hair, I tried to hide the front of my trousers.  A reaction's not the sort of thing you can control when you're remembering.

"Girls are why it gets that way," she reflected matter-of-factly, hardly looking.  "And I'm a girl."

I guess I'd never thought it would be a topic of conversation.  Certainly not a topic of conversation with an aunt.

"Ever see a woman undressed before?" she pursued.  "Besides me, I mean."

I shook my head.

"Me neither.  A fellow, I mean."

That maybe she'd been nervous, too, caught me by surprise.

"So I'm not too sure what to do now."

That she didn't know either made me feel more grown-up.

"Aunt Olivia?" I ventured.

"Yeah?"

"Want a kiss?" not too sure if she'd think me old enough.

"I'd love one," leaning back and smiling.

I'd only intended to lean down, not being pulled.  When her thigh pressed my boner, I thought maybe I'd better stop, but she kept kissing.  When her leg rolled the other direction, maybe I even rolled back a little.  It felt so familiar.

That I might climax didn't occur to me until it was far too late.  I tried to not change my kissing, but the fact that she held me tightest when I came suggested she knew exactly.

***

Swinging on the porch that evening, Aunt Olivia gave me a conspiratorial prod in the ribs.  "You made love against my leg, didn't you?"

"What?"

"You know, in your pants."

"No," I fibbed.

"I could tell, Buddy.  You think it's bad to masturbate?"

The word I knew very well, but answering put me in an awkward position.  It's not something you talk about.  If I said yes, I'd be sounding like Rev. Briggs.  If I said no, I'd be admitting that I'd done it.

"It's bad for your health," my Scout Handbook answer.

"Easing your glands helps your complexion," Aunt Olivia countered, stroking my cheek.

"It does?"

"Your cheeks are so rosy," half-whispered, but ominously appending, "But for cheery boys like you, dubbing off causes nose rot," twisting my nose before I could mount defense.

Nose rot?

"Hey, silly!  Just spoofing.  The Library has your Scout Handbook."

I was sure that Baden Powell, our founder, hadn't meant for females to read it.

"Everything's in a book," she spoke with authority.  "Sure it didn't happen?"

"Maybe just a little bit," I confessed.  You can tell your aunt a few things you can't tell your mother.  Especially an aunt who swims naked.

"They say it makes us imbeciles," her finger hooked in the side of her mouth to give the impression of lunacy.

I laughed nervously.  Girls?

"Freud says it's a temporary stop, a way to get ready for co-operative interaction," she continued.

"Who's Freud?"

"A doctor who likes canes."

"What's co-oper...?"

"Mating, silly," and pinched my nose again to change the subject.  "Heard about Ulysses?"

"The sailor?" thinking of the hollow horse.

"By James Joyce.  The hero masturbates.  You might not follow it, though.  Anyway, they don't sell the book here as it's rather modern."

A book where someone wanks?

"There're books easier to read," she decided.  "Stop by the Library."

***

If she hadn't acted like masturbation was so normal, I'd never have stopped by.

Librarian Olivia slipped me a book not from the shelves, but from her desk drawer, a volume wrapped in newsprint.

"No due date," she winked.  "It's about girls, too.  Better hide it under your mattress."

I opened the wrapping on the way home -- "Flossie, a Venus of Fifteen".  The author was "One Who Knew this Charming Goddess and Worshipped at Her Shrine."  I'd enough sense to re-wrap it until I got to my room.

That night I read it all the way through.  Capt. Archer meets 15-year-old Flossie while strolling in Piccadilly Circus and is smitten by her breasts.  Flossie's guardian, Miss Eva Letchford, allows the captain to be her ward's companion, provided she remains a virgin.  The captain, a man of honor, and Flossie, a girl of amazing immodesty, keep the pledge in the most satisfying ways.

I realized what Aunt Olivia meant when she said it's about girls, too.  The captain masturbated Flossie lots of ways.  I also realized that Aunt Olivia knew what I did in my bed, maybe just not how often.

Librarian aunts know too much.  Even the best place to stash it.

***

Taking a book to the oxbow was by now our Sunday habit.

"How 'bout bringing the Flossie one," my aunt suggested.

"Maybe my one about baseball," I countered.  How could your read Flossie with your aunt there, even if she'd given it to you?

"Suit yourself, Babe Ruth."

If anything, my folks acted increasingly pleased with our outings.  "You two bookworms, at least you're getting some sunshine out of it," Mother encouraged.  In a real change of Sunday routine, Mother was heating bathwater as we left.

"They say more kids come from a Sunday afternoon than a Saturday night," my aunt smiled as we walked.  I sort of understood, but didn't say so.

We swam as if we'd always done it naked.  She was right, I realized, it's fine if you're related.

Afterwards we lay side-by-side, the sun warming our bare backs, her ankle crossed over mine for communication.  I'd made our shirts into a blanket so we'd not get scratched.

"It gets big when you think of Flossie," she declared as though I'd announced why I was staying on my stomach, except it wasn't Flossie I was thinking about.

How could she tell?  "I'm not thinking of anything," unsure what to do.

"So sun your front then," nudging my hip.

"Don't want to."

"I'm just your aunt." now sitting up and boldly trying to reach around my stomach.

I knew what she was after.  Further flattening was my only defense.  It's hard, though, to not be rolled when your legs are straight.

I protested, "No fair!" as she reached between my legs.  Librarians know about everything, even a guy's balls.

"I'll be careful," she promised, fingers now around them.  If I closed my legs, she'd turn me flat on my back in seconds flat.  Knees apart or knees together, she had me.

I didn't buy her promise, "Relax and you'll like it," but she was being careful, I realized.

I didn't relax, that's for sure, but it didn't hurt or anything.

"Now little Flossie's going to masturbate Capt. Archer," she cooed, coaxing her hand up and around me.

"It's private," appealing to mercy.

"Being naked's private and we're naked."

"That's different," though I wasn't sure exactly why.

"Just lift up and I'll hardly see," she insisted.

That I doubted.

Maybe I was just the more stubborn.  Maybe she didn't realize how quickly a hand around your boner makes resistance fade.

"Okay, not till you want me to," she conceded.  But then the stipulation: "You do it to me, then."

"Do what?"

"Masturbate me," as if it were a reasonable request.  "Like Capt. Archer did to Flossie."

You can't touch your aunt down there!

"Come on, Buddy," lying at my side.  "It's easy."

Maybe you can touch your aunt down there, if she says so.  I had to roll to face her, but she kept her promise; not starting on me again when she saw my boner.

"It's a big one," she affirmed before rolling on her back, taking my free hand and pressing it into her hair.  It felt wiry.

Once she'd put my hand there, it seemed okay to leave it.

"Down here," pushing me into the dip where her flesh was warm, soft and slippery.  "Just a finger.  It doesn't hurt any," guiding me inward, pulling me back and doing it again.

This was something I shouldn't do.  But it sure was something to be doing!

"And I'm still a virgin," she declared, pushing me deeper and raising her hips.

Actually, it was rather easy.  It has to do with staying slow plus pushing your palm down when you're all the way in.

"Kiss me," was her final instruction.  She'd said to kiss while I touched her breasts the first time.  Girls must like to not be able to say stop.

I wasn't sure how many times I should slide in, but figured she'd let me know.  When she pushed her knee my way, I let myself rub against it.

All of a sudden she sucked in and held her breath.  "Oooh," she managed before her next push.  Then she was just bouncing, me trying to hold her down, penetrating deeper.

Aunt Olivia's face was flushed and her breath was ragged.  Her eyes were open, but I don't know what she was looking at.  She was biting her lower lip.  I'd have been worried if it weren't clear that she wanted me to do it.

"Good!" she ruled after a particularly emphatic sigh, her face flushed with exertion.  I knew she'd climaxed because she looked like I felt when I masturbated.  More so, since there were two of us making it happen.

"You ready now?" after smiling a lot.

"For what?"

"Doing it to you."

I'd hardly an argument when she took me in hand.

She fairly well guessed how to pump.  Probably read it, I suppose.  When I began to lose control, though, she let go to rub against me with the mound between her legs.  I was worried about getting her wet, but she didn't seem to mind.  Not many aunts would be so casual about the mess afterwards, declaring as she wiped it off, "It's in the book."

"What is?"

"Letting it happen outside so we don't make a baby."

"Oh."  It hadn't occurred to me that I might do otherwise.

***

Over the string of Sundays, we got really good.  I'd stashed a piece of tarp at the oxbow so we wouldn't get itchy.  If it looked to thundershower, we'd get in the Ford automobile.  You can do it sitting.

In either case, my parents encouraged our afternoon absence.

"We're the best thing to happen to them," said my aunt.  "Not many grownups take baths every Sunday after dinner."

I knew what she meant, but still didn't like thinking of them naked in the tub in broad daylight.

By now I shouldn't have been surprised when Aunt Olivia read my mind.  "I'll bet it's really nice that way.  Sometime when they're out, you can give me a bath, too."

***

The summer's heat had broken with the corn harvest.  We were side-by-side, nude and lazily spooning.  She hardly ever used her hand any more, other than to get me started.  Once we'd get going, bodies rub both ways.  The nice thing about the start, though, was how we could still watch each other.

"Buddy?"  She used thumb and forefinger to travel my boner top to bottom.

"Yeah?"

"We've been making love our private way, right?" letting it flop on my stomach and then starting over.

"I guess."

"So why be virgins?" turning her inspection from my penis to my eyes.  Her manner of asking said she wanted an opinion.

"I donno."

"Maybe it's different for you," she persisted.  "Boys can just go pay some lady a couple of dollars."

I didn't realize that she knew about Sanders St.  Some of my buddies had gone there and acted like they were so smart.  I wasn't scared or anything; I just didn't want to one of those ladies looking at me.  Aunt Olivia was fine, though.

"You think it's bad?" she continued, tightening the draw.

"What?"

"To make love the real way," beginning the constant strokes.

"I donno," wondering how long I'd last.  Probably not long.  There's no way to stop any aunt who knows how.  On the other hand, there's no way to hurry an aunt who wants to take all afternoon.

"Well, Flossie wasn't about modern times.  I think it's absolutely natural, don't you?" and with that sat up and straddled my knees.

"Hey!" I protested.

"You want to stay a virgin?" she challenged, scooting up to where my penis pressed her wetness.

"No, but..."

Her "Me neither" didn't quell my nervousness, but it was already too late, as she was pushing down.  What was I to do?  Slipping in was as automatic as it had become with my finger, just warmer.

"Don't!  I can't keep from..." I warned.

But Aunt Olivia made me slide inward.  I wanted her to make me.  I'd thought she was finger size, but this way she was the capacity of my boner.

And now I wanted to help it happen.  When she put her hands on my shoulders, I steadied her sides.  I guess we both sensed the importance of keeping ourselves centered.  Once we found our rhythm, it was maybe just five or six thrusts before she bit her lower lip.  Biting the lip must have to do with first times.  Probably my face looked as odd, but how would I know?

I guess the way we pushed together said that we both wanted to stop being virgins pretty bad.

I pulled her forward and she was probably as surprised as I when we rolled over to make me the one working downward.  We helped each other before, but never in anything as athletic.  I'd been able to hold off coming until she was ready and I expect she'd done the same for me.  But now we just wanted to do it and do it.

A thought dashed through my mind: Father doing to Mother at this very minute what I was doing to Mother's sister.  If my aunt had it right, it's what they did when we went off.  In the bathtub?  Their bed?  I'd never quite pictured it, but now I did.  For being so new, it suddenly didn't seem that strange.

Coming inside a girl's really different from just shooting in the air or against her skin.  Inside, there's the softness all around.

Even if I'd remembered about making a baby, I'd have stayed inside.  Even if she'd remembered, she'd have kept me there.  We'd always enjoyed our battles, splashing like pirates, swatting one another with our caps, whatever.  Making love was the ultimate win for both of us.  We had to finish the right way.

Not many boys have their aunt for their first lover.  Not many boys are their aunt's first lover.  Not many aunts and boys do it by the oxbow with the frogs watching.

"Hey, Buddy?" a bit later, our bodies yet learning about the other.

"Un-hmm?"

"Co-operative interaction, right?"

"It's in your book," granting credit, if a bit flippant, pleased to be no longer a virgin.  I'd never say who because she's my aunt, but as my buddies endlessly exaggerated their Sanders St. episodes, I'd know that mine was a virgin.

"Not the specifics," reflected my aunt, hooking my calves with her heels so I'd stay mounted.  "Maybe I need to write one myself."

"A book?"

"I like books.  I'd use your voice," sounding like a librarian.

"Huh?

"How a boy would see it."

My crestfallen look must have proclaimed my deflation.  The thought of somebody reading about the oxbow was devastating, not because it was about me (though the betrayal would hurt), but because the boys who read it would pretend that they were the character, just like I did when Capt. Archer made Flossie orgasm in the parlor.  The boys who read Aunt Olivia's would see her naked.

Boys I don't even know would imagine that she was their aunt, not mine.  She'd be masturbating them, not me, before they mated her.  Probably they'll do it even better than me because they're older.  Afterwards they'd snicker about Aunt Olivia, just like the guys do about the ladies on Sanders St., how they made them do nasty things and how much they loved it.

I, Buddy, her only real nephew, wanted to be special for her, doing something special just we two wanted to do together.

Aunt Olivia must have sensed my disappointment.  She cradled my head against the softness of her breast,  "Not for real, silly," her voice softening.

She stroked my cheek.  "There're lots of books about making love, but they're just books.  I love your cheery cheeks.  You and me, Buddy, we're a real story."

***

Dedicated to my nephew, Lt. Buddy C., USNR, July 8, 1911 -- May 13, 1943

Olivia T.

THE END

Holly on the Web

Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to the server.  My problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As literary errors (or just lame word usages) are made known to me, I'll repair that which is salvageable on http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick/.  My website's not much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native language.  If you take the time to read me, don't wade through an earlier version.

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Holly
