My open-minded aunt

One December evening I received a phone call from an aunt I hadn’t seen for years. It was my aunt Mary, of whom I’d been very fond as a kid. She and her husband had lived near my parents back then and we saw each other often. Since then, however, I had moved away from home when I’d gotten a job on the other side of the country. I still saw aunt Mary when I came home for birthdays and holidays, but that had changed when my parents had retired and moved to another part of the country as well.
When I heard aunt Mary’s voice again that evening it had been years since I’d seen her. The last time had been at her husband’s funeral. That was now, what, six years ago? Seven?
We talked a bit about trivial things until aunt Mary asked if I would like to come and visit her. I hadn’t expected that, but I agreed. When I thought about it, I decided that it would be nice to see her again and reminisce about the past with her. I was in between girlfriends at the time, so to speak, so I had plenty of time to spare. Since aunt Mary lived quite far away from me, we agreed that I’d come see her on a Saturday and then spend the night so I could drive home on Sunday.
A few weeks later, therefore, I took a long drive to the area where I’d grown up. When I drove through the old neighbourhood again fond childhood memories immediately surfaced. Even though I hadn’t been there for years it took me no trouble to find my way to aunt Mary’s house, a rather large stately home on the edge of a suburb. I got out of my car, grabbed my shoulder bag, walked up to the door and rang the bell. A moment later aunt Mary opened the door. “Hello, John,” she welcomed me and gave a hug and a kiss, “it’s really been too long. You look great.”
“You too,” I answered and I wasn’t lying. Though I hadn’t seen her in years, she didn’t look that much older than the way I remembered her. In fact, she looked almost exactly the same as when last I saw her. I knew her to be 67 now, but she could have easily passed for 55. Sure, there were wrinkles in her face and her curly shoulder length hairs had long turned grey, but other than that she seemed pretty well-preserved. She was still tall and from what I could see – which wasn’t much since she was wearing a wide black woollen pullover with a high neckline and a long, wide black cotton skirt – her figure wasn’t suffering from old age either. No matter how wide her wide and decent her pullover was, there was no way any garment was going to conceal the size of her gigantic tits, that were really enormous. I couldn’t even begin to guess her measurements; they were most likely off the scale! As a kid I had been fascinated by aunt Mary’s colossal boobs, even when as was way too little to have a clue as to why I found these breasts so enthralling. I had never spoken about this with anyone and had never done anything with this silent admiration for aunt Mary’s boobs. After all, she was a close family member. Later in life, however, I figured that my exposure to my aunt’s mammoth balls of flesh as a young child was probably the reason why, since puberty, I found myself solely attracted to girls with very large breasts. Consequently I had always had girlfriends with big tits, but not a single one of them – no matter how huge her tits were – had ever had a chest even close to matching aunt Mary’s in size. Now that I was standing in front of aunt Mary again after so many years, I suddenly consciously realized all this, something that I had of course subconsciously known all along. The realization made me a little uneasy, but I managed to act perfectly normal nonetheless I followed my aunt into the house and into the large, conservatively furnished living room.
She asked what I would like to drink and I told her I’d like a beer. While she went to fetch drinks I put my bag on the floor and sat down on the couch. Looking around, I noticed the living room hadn’t changed a bit since last I’d been here.
Before long, aunt Mary returned, bringing along a can of cold beer for me and a glass of sherry for herself, which was exactly I expected. She had always drunk sherry for as long as I could remember. She sat down as well and we talked throughout the afternoon, mostly about common light-hearted family memories. Before long I started to feel at ease again. I tried not to look at my aunt’s amazing chest and after a while I began to feel as comfortable around her as I had been as a five-year-old.