A cure for Stuttering

“Hey! How’s my favorite nephew?” I ask, bending at the waist to make sure he gets a good look at my tits as I lean over the chaise lounge and give him a big kiss on the cheek. My white, flower-print bikini can barely contain my well-developed breasts, which is why I chose to wear it this afternoon.



“Aunt S-S-S-Sara,” Jeremy stutters as his eyes bulge out towards my tanned globes, hanging just inches from his face. As I stand up, I can’t help but notice that his eyes aren’t the only things that are bulging at the moment. I guess that answers the question!

“Your mother thinks your gay,” I tell him matter-of-factly as his eyes roam from my tits down to the tiny triangle of material disappearing between my legs.



“G-G-Gay?” he looks at me incredulously. “W-w-w-why w-w-would she think th-th-that?” he stutters some more and sits up, trying to hide his erection. Damn! He’s pretty good size for an eighteen-year-old. I can’t believe this is the same little boy I used to baby-sit. He’s certainly not little now. Swinging his legs over the side of the chaise lounge he looks like he’s trying to decide if he should risk standing up and exposing himself even more.

“Well,” I tell him, ignoring the stuttering which I haven’t heard him do since he was about twelve. “You’re an incredibly smart, good-looking guy who never dates and your mom never hears you talk about girls. You’re about to graduate, prom is coming up and you don’t even have a date.” I sit down beside him, and his eyes drop to my chest again. “You’re obviously not gay,” I laugh. “So, tell auntie what the problem is,” I say, putting my arm around his bare shoulder.

“I c-c-can’t,” he says, slipping out from under my arm and moving away from me.

“Why not?” I ask, trying to sound non-threatening.

“Bec-c-c-cause of th-th-this!” he says as he stands up. I’m not sure if he means the stuttering or the tent his cock is making of his swimsuit. “Every t-t-t-time this happens,” he says, glancing down at the front of his swimsuit. “I st-t-t-tutter!” he says angrily. “How c-c-can I ask anyone out?” he asks, turning away from me, embarrassed.

“Did I do that?” I ask teasingly, knowing full well the affect my body has on men. I workout regularly and, in this skimpy bikini, every toned muscle in my body is on display. I only came out here to convince myself that my nephew isn’t gay. The bulge in his swimsuit is exactly what I was expecting but I didn’t expect the stuttering or my own reaction to his erection. My pussy is telegraphing distress signals to my brain and I’m doing my best to ignore them. Forget it, he’s my nephew, I telegraph back.

“Yes!” he yells.” When you’re d-d-d-dressed l-l-like th-th-that!” he stammers, pointing to my tits.



“Tell you what,” I say, moving closer to him. “I’ll go get dressed, you do whatever you need to do to take care of that and we’ll meet upstairs, okay?” I smile. “Maybe I can help.”

“W-w-what c-c-can you d-d-do?” he stutters, his face completely crimson, probably from my reference to him taking care of his hard-on.

“Well… I’m not just your aunt,” I laugh. “I’m also a registered nurse with a degree in psychology. Maybe I can help you overcome your… um… issues.” I smile. “I’ll meet you upstairs in half an hour.” I take one last look at the large bulge in his swimsuit before turning to go. When I said his bulge was exactly what I was expecting, I lied. I wasn’t expecting it to be that large or so enticing. I might need that half hour myself.

As I walk up the stairs to my apartment, I see Jeremy almost running into his house. A couple of months ago I moved into the apartment over my sister’s garage. It’s a comfortable apartment over a three-car detached garage that sits on the back of the property next to the pool. It’s inexpensive and I get along well with my sister and her husband.

Stripping off my swimsuit, I stand in front of the full-length mirror, turning left and right, admiring the body that I work so hard to maintain. “Hey!” I say to my reflection. “You look good!” I laugh at my boastfulness, but I am proud of myself. When I think about turning 30 next year, it makes me wonder how long I can maintain it.

Hefting my breasts, I look at my large areolas and tweak my thick nipples with my fingertips. No wonder Jeremy had such a reaction, my nipples are fully erect and would have been clearly visible through my white bikini top. Touching my nipples reminds me that Jeremy wasn’t the only one with a reaction. I let my fingers glide over my flat stomach and brush across the strip of blonde hair, about two inches wide which runs neatly down towards my pussy.

“Ahhhhhhh!” I involuntarily moan, surprised by how sensitive I am when my fingers touch my pussy lips. Now that I’m touching myself, I realize how turned on I was by my nephew’s large bulge. Checking the clock, I move over to my bed. I still have about twenty minutes before he gets here.

Lying back and spreading my legs, I imagine Jeremy, up in his room, stroking his hard-on as he thinks about my tits. I wonder if he’s on his bed or in the bathroom. Don’t young boys always jack off in the bathroom? Sliding two fingers inside my wet pussy, I wonder if he’s large. “Aaarrrrrgggghhhhhh!” I groan as my juices flood my pussy and run down my hand.

Shit! Jeremy will be here in about five minutes.

Thankfully, he’s a few minutes late and I’m cleaned up and dressed when he knocks on the door. Glancing at his non-bulging crotch, I wonder how well it went for him. Stop it! He’s your fucking nephew! Now start acting like a decent aunt and help with his problem. First step is to find out what it is.

“You want a coke or something?” I ask as he follows me into the apartment. I intentionally put on a baggy sweatshirt over loose fitting jeans so I won’t cause any serious reaction from my nephew.

“Sure, that’d be great, Aunt Sara,” he says, taking a seat on the couch. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he adds without a hint of stutter.

“So tell me about this problem,” I say, handing him his coke and sitting next to him on the couch.

“Well,” he says. “There’s not much to tell.” He’s looking at the floor and almost mumbling. “I’m just a big zero with girls,” he says. “When I meet someone, I’m attracted to, my libido overreacts and all I can do is stand there stuttering, with an obvious bulge in my pants.” He shrugs.

“What do you do?” I ask, seriously curious about his answer.

“Well…” he looks at me sheepishly. “I go to the boy’s bathroom a lot.” He looks at me to see if I get his meaning. I do.

“How much is a lot?” I ask, not sure why it matters but I really want to know.

“Three or four times a day,” he says, not looking at me. Damn! This kid jacks off three or four times a day. What a waste of good cock. Down girl… stay focused.

“Does that help?” I ask. “I mean, can you then go back and talk to the girl?”

“No!” he says, pounding his fist on his thigh. “Then I just, you know, get hard again and the stuttering starts all over.” He buries his face in his hands. “I’m hopeless!” Hopeless my ass! Not if he recovers that quickly!

“You are not hopeless!” I reassure him. “In fact, once we solve this stuttering thing, you’re going to make some girl very happy, getting it up three or four times a day!” I smile. “Is there someone at school that you’re attracted to?” I ask while digesting what he’s just told me.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “There’s a girl in my calculus class but every time I try to talk to her…” His voice trails off.

“I get the picture,” I answer, glancing at his crotch as I feel the moisture building in my pussy. “That must be frustrating.” I’m starting to formulate a solution, but I want to keep him talking.

“What’s really frustrating is that I think she likes me, too!” he exclaims. “Aunt Sara, you know that I tested like in the 120th percentile for my age, I can do calculus problems in my head, but I can’t talk to a fucking girl without stuttering!” He stands up and paces around the room. “I don’t see how you can help me. I’ve read everything I could find on the subject but nothing seems to work.” He plops back down on the couch. “I’ve never even kissed a girl,” he says under his breath.

“Hey!” I punch his arm. “Cheer up! Aunt Sara’s on the case. You’re going to be dazzling this girl in no time. What’s her name?”

“Megan,” he says, looking at me. “Are you sure? Do you think you can actually help me?” The way he’s looking at me with those big brown eyes, he looks just like his father. My heart starts fluttering and I take a deep breath.

“No guarantees,” I answer, trying to control my breathing. “But I’m going to give it my best shot. We’ll start tomorrow right after school. Bring your homework up here and I’ll have a plan ready for us,” I tell him, hoping I’m doing the right thing. “But right now, I’ve got to get ready for work.” I work the night shift at the local hospital.

“Okay,” he says, standing up. “Thanks, Aunt Sara. You’re the best,” he says, giving me a big hug.

“See you tomorrow.” I spend my entire shift at the hospital thinking about Jeremy’s problem. During my break, I talk to our resident speech therapist about how to overcome stuttering problems. By the time my shift is over, I’ve got a strategy for Jeremy that just might work but I figure I better run it by my sister. I e-mail her from the hospital computer and arrange to meet her for breakfast when I get off.

“Well, the good news is, he’s not gay,” I tell my sister over coffee in the hospital coffee shop. My shift just ended, and Jenny came by after dropping Jeremy off at school.

“Thank heaven,” she says with a sigh of relief. “Not that we wouldn’t have been supportive but it’s a cruel world out there when you’re different,” she smiles. “You said that was the good news, does that mean there’s bad news?” I tell her about Jeremy’s stuttering problem as delicately as I can, but she just cuts to the chase.

“So, whenever he has a hard-on, he can’t talk?” she laughs. “How is he different than other men?” she laughs louder. I laugh with her but try to explain the extent of Jeremy’s problem.

“There’s an approach that utilizes total immersion to overcome these kinds of disorders,” I tell her, trying to sound as clinical as possible.

“Total immersion?” she asks.

“Yes,” I take a breath and give her the one-two punch. “If we can help desensitize him to the stimulus that causes the erection, then the stuttering should stop,” I explain.

“Desensitize him to girls?” she laughs. “Is that possible or even desirable?” she asks. I’m starting to realize that all the laughing is nerves. I try to set her at ease while I explain.

“Not girls,” I correct her. “Scantily clad girls. He didn’t have a problem when I wasn’t in my bikini.”

“So, what, take him to the beach?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “I don’t understand how this works, Sara.”

“What I propose is that I act as the stimulus,” I tell her cautiously. “I will invite Jeremy to do his homework at my apartment every day after school. I will wear my bikini while I help him with his homework. According to the speech therapist, if he concentrates on something completely unrelated to the stimulus, he will eventually get desensitized and stop stuttering.”

“Do you think it will work?” Jenny asks, apparently unconcerned that I’ll be exposing most of my body to my teenage nephew.

“We can only try,” I shrug.

“Thank you, Sara.” Jenny says. “I suppose this is more than you bargained for when you volunteered to find out if Jeremy was gay,” she says, looking at her watch. I don’t dare tell her how much I’m looking forward to helping my nephew or how wet I got looking at the bulge in his pants.

“No need to thank me,” I tell her, meaning it differently than she thinks. “You need to get to work, and I need to go home and get some sleep.” We hug briefly in the parking lot before heading to our individual cars.

I’m awake and showered by the time Jeremy knocks on my door after school. Once again, I’m in my baggy sweatshirt and loose-fitting jeans but this time I have a surprise for him.

“Hi Aunt Sara,” Jeremy says, setting his backpack on one of the kitchen chairs. “Did you still want to get together today?” he asks.

“Yes!” I say, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “I’ve got your program all mapped out, I just need to discuss it with you,” I tell him. “Have a seat,” I say, pulling out the chair to the right of his.

“I did some research and I think we can conquer this arousal based stuttering problem of yours,” I smile at his anxiousness. “Are you familiar with the concept of behavior modification?” I ask.

“B.F. Skinner?” he asks, and I nod. “Sure, we learned about him last summer during that course I took at the university.” Sometimes I forget I’m dealing with a genius level IQ. Okay, here goes. I take a deep breath.

“Okay, so you’re familiar with cause and effect and stimulus and response?” I ask.

“Sure, but Aunt Sara, we already know what the cause and effect is…