Our mean aunt Stacy

It began when I was twelve years old; my father left us to be with another woman, and my mom submersed herself in drugs and alcohol. It was like she had given up altogether. She didn’t want to get a job; she didn’t care about keeping the utilities on, or keeping the house clean, or even keeping food in the house. All she wanted to do was stay drunk and high, and she didn’t care how she did it. She began bringing guys home from the bar and god knows where else. Eventually my brother and I became a burden; an obstacle standing in the way of her being free to do what she wanted. I overheard her one-day talking to her sister and convinced her to take my eight-year-old brother and myself in. That afternoon our things were packed and we were unceremoniously dumped at my aunt’s doorstep without even a “goodbye”.

Our aunt Stacy was about thirty-five, single, and generally not much to look at. She stood five foot three, with a slender build but with a little bit of flab around her midsection. She had straight stringy brown hair that came about half way down her D-cup breasts.

We’d not had much exposure to our aunt, and why she even agreed to take us in was beyond me; but there we were standing at the door of her tiny, run-down house. I knocked and moments later the door jerked open and we were staring face-to-face with our new caretaker. With a disdainful sneer she ordered us into the house quickly adding that we not say one damn word. Dinner that night consisted of canned spaghetti that we had to share. We slept on pallets on the living room floor, which we were required to have put away before she got up in the morning. Not that it was a problem because she usually didn’t get up until around eleven. Mornings usually consisted of cold cereal accompanied with cartoons ,until our aunt got up and changed the TV to watch trashy talk shows.

This went on for a few weeks and then one morning when my brother and I were getting a little carried away playing, our aunt stormed out of her room and began screaming at us…naked. Her hair was a mess, as it usually was when she awoke, and was kinked up enough that her saggy breasts were completely exposed. Her areolas were dark brown, easily the size of a baseball, and capped off with three-quarter-inch long nipples. Four droopy flaps made up her stomach that hung down just above a fully un-manicured mat of dark brown pubic hair. My brother and I stood completely stunned with mouths agape. Neither one of us had ever seen a nude woman before, save for our father’s porn magazines. She stood screaming at us, but her words didn’t register with us at all. Once she finished her rant she came to the realization that she had neglected to dawn her usual heavily stained robe. Rather than try to atone for her oversight she advanced a few steps into the room as a maniacal smirk formed across her lips. “You boys have never seen a naked woman before; have you?” She said in a lowering tone. Our expressions never relented but I’m sure I mustered a slow shake of my head. She laughed aloud and pointed to me. “Bobby” She said in a condescending way, “I bet your little cock is getting hard; isn’t it?” I was completely taken aback. Never had I even heard a comment like that, much less been confronted with such an accusation. I adamantly shook my head from side to side in complete denial. “Drop your shorts.” She demanded. The shaking of my head intensified. She lunged forward and slapped me across the face, halting my denying gesture.