Aunt Peg’s Visit

AUNT PEG’S VISIT




Looking at my mother and her younger sister, it was hard to imagine that
they were separated in age by ten years. My aunt, recently divorced from
her very successful and work-addicted attorney husband, was an
exceptionally youthful-appearing 34-years-old woman. My mother, soon to
be 44, had the same tawny hair and blue eyes, the same slim feminine figure,
toned by tennis and aerobics. The family resemblance was striking. That
they were sisters was not questioned, but that they were ten-years apart was
remarkable.

We’d picked up Aunt Peg at the United Terminal at SFO this morning.
While my aunt and my mother were emotionally close, they’d not had the
chance to spend much time together in recent years, each pursuing separate
careers on opposite sides of the country. In some abstract way, mostly from
snapshots, I knew Aunt Peg as a good-looking woman but I wasn’t prepared
for the vivacious lady who walked with us to the Baggage Claim area. After
the crushing greeting Mom and Aunt Peg gave each other in the Arrivals
Area, she’d turned to me and, grabbing both my hands, held them out and
looked me up and down frankly for a moment before saying, “Billy! God,
you’re a grown-up man!”

I heard my mother comment, almost as an aside, “They rarely ever grow
*smaller*.”

Draping one arm over my shoulder and sliding the other under my arm,
she gave me a full-body hug . . . a long one. I was acutely aware of her
body. I could feel her breasts against my chest and her pelvis against mine. I
looked over her shoulder and saw my mother watching us with a broad,
approving smile on her face. If Mom only knew! She’d probably not be so
approving if she could read my mind. My thoughts were anything but
innocent. Quite the contrary, my thoughts were mostly lewd and lascivious.
Looking into my mom’s eyes – as I felt the slim body of her younger sister,
a near-carbon copy – I was remembering that I had been secretly turned on
by my mother for several years and this was the closest I’d come to feeling
her body.

Embarrassed at the sudden lurch in my groin at feeling my aunt’s body, I
pulled back. Aunt Peg held to me a moment longer and almost stumbled
forward when I stepped away. I could feel the heat in my face and hoped
that neither of them would notice my blush or my tumescence. Jezz . . . this
was my deep, dark secret and my body was betraying me.

Mom and Aunt Peg were beaming at each other and appeared not to
notice my discomfort. Yet, I knew my mom. She missed little, but in her
kindness and sensitivity, often chose to ignore it for the moment. Later,
however, she’d let me know that she’d noted whatever it was I was wishing
she hadn’t noticed. She always shared with me her thoughts and insights,
both of herself and me, and always in a gentle, loving manner and never with
moral judgement. She was a particularly accepting woman who loved me
without qualification. Still, I was capable of being embarrassed at my own
thoughts. They’d turned to a strong sexual interest in Mom in the past few
years, ever since I was fifteen or so. And now, with the added closeness of
these weeks of vacation before my last year of college, I was even more
aware of her.

In the five or six years since their divorce, I’d spent time with both my
parents without need to choose between them. Because my dad traveled so
much, there was never any debate where I’d stay finishing high school or,
more recently, college. Mom’s house was the natural choice. We became
good friends . . . even buddies. Our relationship changed. It matured. She
had gradually shared much of the emotional feelings about my dad. It was
clear that she still loved him on some levels, but had come to accept their
diverging paths. She dated infrequently . . . obviously, her choice.

I was aware that Mom accepted my sexuality as well as her own in a
forthright manner that I didn’t think my buddies had experienced with their
mothers. For instance, when I first started having wet-dreams, I was
mortified that she’d find out, but it was inevitable. She didn’t ignore the
soiled sheets and pretend nothing was going on. Rather, she found ways to
let me know that she knew and that it was normal. I can’t recall how she did
it, but in oblique ways she let me know that it was a desirable masculine
trait. Once, holding up a cum-stained sheet, she smiled at me and said,
“Aren’t you lucky?” I didn’t really know what she meant, but I got the
message that it was okay to have sexy dreams. And another time, picking
up the Jockeys that I’d forgotten, she fingered the stiff crotch and observed,
“I understand, Billy. I used to have the same problem.” That gave me a
jolt! What problem had she had?

I’d been aware of her sexy body since I was a young teenager. The years
we’d spent alone together had allowed a growing intimacy. My interest and
her increasing casualness provided many opportunities for me to “check her
out.” While I’d never seen her completely naked, I had seen almost all of
her body at one time or another. It never ceased to thrill me, but I could
never talk about it with my friends, and I’d die of shame if I thought she
knew. Despite her openness and nonjudgmental stance, I remained guilty
about my licentious desires. I hadn’t, and couldn’t, talk about my thoughts
with Mom. But when Aunt Peg arrived, several years of suppressed
imagery came boiling to my conscious. I was simultaneously thrilled at the
vague possibilities and horrified at my “dirty mind.”

“Aunt Peg . . . ,” I started to say at the same time my mom said, “Peg . .
.” We both stopped, waited and then laughed. I nodded to my mom to go
ahead, but Aunt Peg spoke first:

“Billy . . . may I call you Billy? . . . I’d be much more comfortable if you
called me Peg or even Peggy. Right now I don’t want to be an aunt . . . I
don’t want to be all grown up. I just want to hang out with you guys and let
you take care of me. Okay?”

“Sure, Aunt P . . . uh . . . Peggy,” I replied as Mom took her arm and
added, “My sweet sister, Peggy . . . we’d be delighted to take care of you.
You’ve no idea how Billy and I have been looking forward to your staying
with us. Our house is bigger than we need and with Billy home for the
summer and me at work each day, you can keep each other company. Can’t
she, Billy?”

Not waiting for a reply, Peg grabbed my arm and off we walked, three
abreast, to the Baggage Claim. “Abreast” is an apt description. Hugging
my right arm against her, I was keenly aware of the swell of Peg’s breast
against me. Her summer dress outlined her breasts and nipples, plainly
visible as they moved to her stride. As she turned her head to talk to Mom,
I dropped my glance into the loose top of her dress and saw flashes of the
upper swell of her right breast and the lacy, scanty cup of her bra. The strap
must have inserted on the side of the cup, for I could see a flash of areola
when she burst into laughter at some comment of Mom’s.

“Well . . . do you *want* to, Billy?” Peg’s voice brought me back to the
moment and I looked up to see both of them looking expectantly at me.
Peg and Mom both smiled at my discomfort, for my staring down the front
of Peg’s dress had been blatant. I was caught, red faced. This was going to
be a long summer.

“I said,” Peg continued, “would you like to baby sit me this afternoon?
Mary – that was my mother’s name, Mary – Mary says the hot tub’s been
fixed and I’d just like to kick back. But I don’t want to be alone. Will you
stay with me my first day?”

I’d already broken a tennis date with a friend when I had heard we were
going to pick up Aunt Peg. “You bet,” I replied, “I’d been expecting that
we’d visit this afternoon and .