Aunt Catherine

Steve here:

It all started with a good night’s sleep.

I was a rising college senior, As a freshman, I’d gone out for track – cross country – but quickly found that the coach expected his runners to spend time running more than spend time studying, so I dropped that, still ran, but just for myself to clear my head as much as to stay fit. I was all about the future, hoping to claw my way in a year into a decent job, and thrilled to have been just offered an internship with a big corporation over the summer after my junior year..

The only catch had been that I had little money, my family couldn’t afford to help, and if I couldn’t manage to move cross-country to their headquarters city for the 3-month stint, I’d have to turn down the opportunity. I could manage the trip, but not the rents once there. The intern pay was meager, but the history of their interns being hired was impressive, and their starting salaries were eye-watering.

Enter my Aunt Catherine, my mom’s sister-in-law, my savior! Mom shared the good news of the offer with Catherine, and Catherine, without prompting, insisted I stay with her, free, unless I had a better offer. Mom and I gushed our thanks to the point of embarrassment, I’m sure, but it all came together, I finished exams, took a long low cost airline most of the way across the country to her city, and was met at the airport by Aunt Catherine.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t recognize her when she pulled her car over at the departures curb – she and my mom visited each other occasionally, despite the distance between, and Catherine’s daughter Brianna and I had been good friends – first childhood playmates, then just got along well from time to time over the decade since Catherine had moved away. Catherine’s husband, mom’s brother, George, had died three years ago from the kind of heart attack that high pressure executives are known to get, leaving her comfortably well off but with an aura of sadness, I thought.

Given all that, Catherine waved me over, I tossed my bags in her trunk, and we drove to her home, a small-looking bungalow in an upscale neighborhood, the other homes in the area much bigger. Catherine had downsized when George died, and stayed there when their daughter Brianna went off to school. Into the garage, then into the house, Aunt Catherine finally turned and hugged me welcome. I raved my thanks, which she tossed aside as “just what families do,” then showed me to Brianna’s room, where I’d stay. It had a nice bed, its own bathroom, and the decoration of a teen, left in place for no reason except there was no reason to change it.

As she’d directed, I showered after the long flight, changed into fresh, and met her back in the kitchen, where she had poured herself a glass of white wine and offered me whatever. I took what she was having – if university teaches us anything, it’s to drink everything.

Finally, as we relaxed, I took a good look at my hostess. Being 20 and healthy, I was aware and appreciative of her looks. She was simply dressed, casual jeans and a button-down shirt, nothing enticing, yet her woman’s body was unmistakable. Full, not overblown but full, breasts pressed against the shirt, and the jeans gave no illusion that her hips weren’t a girl’s, but were a woman’s, full and enticing, and from what I could tell, womanly firm as well. Jeans forgive a lot, but they reveal just as much. I sort of internally sighed, appreciating the view as she moved around the kitchen fixing snacks, knowing that she was my aunt, therefore absolutely off limits. She’s blonde and wore her hair in a ponytail, just a touch of makeup that I could tell – all very natural and casual.

We settled into an easy routine – I’d get up, dress, have a cup of coffee, leave the pot half full and warming as I went to work before Aunt Catherine got up. After work, I’d come back to her house, shower (so I wouldn’t have to the next morning), we’d have supper together, I’d do the dishes and clean up – least I could do. She usually read, which meant I fiddled on my laptop or read as well, and sometimes we’d watch some TV together. I figured if she was reading, I needed to keep silent. Either way, after a while, I’d refill and reset the timer on the coffee, then I’d retire, usually leaving her to do whatever. I knew not and had no business knowing. Rinse and repeat.

I had an online conference with my faculty advisor early every Saturday morning. He was a gem, getting up on Saturdays to keep track of his several interns at various companies. We’d all log in, brief him on how our weeks had gone, he’d give any advice, and we’d wrap up within an hour. I had no trouble tuning in, and Aunt Catherine knew my routine.

About a month after moving in, my advisor let us know that the next Saturday he’d be traveling, so we’d skip that week. I wasn’t thinking that Aunt Catherine would be interested, and accordingly failed to let her know – no reason to, right?

Whether to save on the cost of pajamas or to make it easier to roll over had long been lost to history, but I happened to always sleep nude. Those p.m. showers, an electric shaver, and a decent thermostat made me ok to go to work or wherever, and I just made it a habit. At school, if I was fortunate enough to have company for the evening, it also simplified things.

On the Saturday in question, the one with no seminar call, I vaguely remember being roused from my sleep by Aunt Catherine, shaking my shoulder gently, saying “Steve, Steve, you’ve overslept your call – you need to get up.”

I roused quickly, first alarmed by her alert, then realizing all pretty simultaneously:

that the call had been canceled,

that she was unaware of it,

that she was looking out for me and kept track of me,

that I had my usual morning wood, fully inflated, and

that, thankfully, the sheet was still covering me!

I quickly rolled to my side to conceal my tent, and told her that the call had been canceled. Looking up, I saw her, obviously agitated – was it blushing? – as she stammered something about being sorry to bother me. She turned and stumbled, recovering her balance, as she practically fled out of the room.

Had she seen the tent my erection was making? Had I, inadvertently or not, offended her, and was that going to be a problem in about a thousand ways? I leaped out of bed. My hard-on dwindled immediately as I pulled on some sweats and a t-shirt, and headed downstairs.

I found her in the kitchen, the coffee pot still full. She was puttering at the counter, putting in some bread for toast, I think.

I babbled something like, “Aunt Catherine, I’m so sorry – that call got canceled yesterday, and I didn’t think to tell you. I didn’t know you would know, much less care. Thanks so much for looking after me, and if it happens again, I’ll be sure to let you know,” I had no idea why I was apologizing, but she seemed so upset when she fled my room, and still, that I figured it had to be something I’d done, and done poorly, and certainly didn’t want to offend her, intentional or not.

“It’s nothing – I shouldn’t have felt I needed to check up on your schedule, Steve. No reason to apologize. I’ll even let you sleep through in the future – I had no right to come into your room without permission.”

“Is that it?!” I exclaimed. “Hey, it’s your house, I don’t have any room rights, and I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. Let’s call it a learning opportunity. I’ll let you know my schedule better, and you can know I have nothing but appreciation for whatever you might do in your own home!

There was a momentary pause, and then we both grinned our embarrassment and agreement.

The moment passed, I offered, “Can I get you some coffee?”

“Yes, thanks – care for toast?” she replied.

“Give me a couple of minutes,” I said, as I registered that my bladder was telling me I was up and it was its turn.

I went back out, hit the bathroom for my usual habituals, and returned to the kitchen. Aunt Catherine still seemed a bit on edge, but had my coffee and toast set out. At her suggestion, we took a tray of it out to the covered porch, set it down aside, took our plates in cushioned chairs facing each other, and breakfasted. I was still puzzled on just what had prompted the situation, but was glad the crisis seemed to have passed.

We sat in silence. I noticed she was wearing a knee-length scoop neck t-shirt kind of thing, likely her night wear. I wasn’t used to seeing her until after my work, or at least until after my call or sleeping in on the weekends, by which time she was always fully dressed. We munched on toast and sipped coffee silently, which let me check her out further. Sure enough, those breasts that were concealed at the airport and since, were unfettered by a bra and their curves looked great, as well as a hint of cleavage at the scoop. She seemed not to be self-conscious about it, and I was enjoying seeing the slight sway of them when she’d lift her coffee cup or toast. As I sipped, I saw that the outline of a nipple was suddenly apparent, that hadn’t been there before. It was amazing.

I guessed that I was staring, because suddenly, she picked up her coffee and plate, still unfinished, and crossed over to the sink, putting them on the counter, then turned and exited the room, calling back over her shoulder to me, “High time I got going – and decent. I haven’t even washed my face!”

Hi, I’m Catherine, and I’ll be interjecting my own views from time to time here:

Steve’s view of things is interesting to me, since I was certainly involved. I think you readers might appreciate just what was going on from the female perspective, so I’ll intersperse his story-telling with my recollections.

As Steve said, I got a call from his mom, my sister-in-law, several months ago, telling me about his internship opportunity. I offered, didn’t even let her get to asking, to have him stay with me. Since George passed on, I’ve been leaning toward the hermit side of things. I have my book club and Tai Chi classes, which I tell myself is sufficient social contact. I’m a reader as well, and in good health, so I stay fit. George left me financially comfortable (and debt-free), so I travel a bit, but for the most part am a quiet homebody. Having a nephew around would be a pleasant change, if he weren’t the partying type, which I knew he wasn’t from other discussions with his mom. I might even get that fence gate fixed and the gardening done! All told, I was happy to offer, and Steve did not disappoint.