Aunt Catherine

I tiptoed in, and stood still, maybe six feet away. As I watched, wondering how those testicles don’t get crushed by guys as they move about and eyeing his in the process, almost suddenly his penis grew! And grew! Without any prompting by him, it surged to its full size and like a fat snake, swelled and straightened. I was mesmerized, never having seen how that happened on its own, with him still asleep! Feeling I was seeing something so private I had no business seeing, I backed off, tried to ignore it, but couldn’t suppress my fascination, so snuck back to hallway. I turned back to the still-partly-opened door and just watched. For several minutes, I gazed, seeing it bounce a bit on its own.

I realized I’d pressed my hand against my crotch, just as his own hand moved to grasp his erection, holding it, then starting to stroke. Was he awake, deciding on a morning masturbation? Maybe he was still sleeping, a dream leading his hand? In either case, I was split between shock and embarrassment, fascination at his cock and the scene versus realizing I was invading his privacy in no uncertain terms. My conscience took over and I backed off, tiptoed to the kitchen, and calmed my beating heart and heaving chest by making breakfast. I think I managed not to be too flustered by the time he appeared.

Steve, back:

Catherine was in the kitchen again, coffee ready, a batch of muffins cooling on a rack, still warm and smelling great.

“‘Morning, sunshine!” she said cheerily. “I was going to wake you so you could get a muffin straight out of the oven, but, ah,… (and she paused)… I decided to let you sleep in,” she said. As she brought me a muffin on a plate, I could tell she was blushing, and agitated.

Oh damn, I thought. She came to wake me, saw me naked on the bed and came back to the kitchen without closing the door! Shit, I hope I hadn’t grossed her out – and what if she came up while I was jerking my stuff?! Fuck, no won der she’s blushing! How to handle this – act like nothing happened? Maybe nothing did. Apologize? Again, for what?

I decided to go with the nothing happened option, and that seemed to work. We finished breakfast and she said she wanted to do some gardening, so I volunteered to help, and we went and changed into grubby clothes to work in the dirt. I didn’t have much of a gardening wardrobe, so just put on some running shorts I didn’t care about and a t-shirt, with hiking boots – from a fashion perspective, likely comical, but we weren’t going to do fashion, or comedy. She came out in denim cut-offs (you could tell they were real cutoffs from well used jeans, not bought that way), cut pretty short but shy of intentionally hot, with a halter top that tied behind her neck, leaving her shoulders bare and promising nothing underneath. I was happy to work with her and to check out whatever cleavage might present, and we got to it.

The day was already warm when we headed outside, and without much thought, I tossed my t-shirt aside, knowing I’d be getting it dirty if I didn’t. I realized at once that she was checking me out and hoped that she didn’t think I was stripping for her benefit, or, more like I hoped that she did think that.

“You’ve been working out,” she said, standing with her hands on her hips, clearly taking in the scenery, smiling. “Whenever you get around to that relationship thing, you’re liable to be making some young lady very happy.”

Well, that’s a bridge crossed, I thought. She was practically flirting with me!

“I don’t know about that, but I’d say the same for whoever is in that pool whenever you decide to get back in,” was the best I could come up with – lame, but returned the compliment, and got another blush – great thing about blondes with pale complexions that they blush so visibly!

We worked well together, her directing since she knew what she was doing (and I didn’t), but both of us ending up dirty and sweat-soaked. I can report that she, in dirt and sweat, was gorgeous. Her breasts pressed against the halter top, which I wished had been light colored and thus sheer, but alas wasn’t – something of a bandana pattern. When finished and tools stowed, we rinsed off our feet and dried them with old towels she’d put out, then proceeded inside and showered, also alas, separately, meeting again in the kitchen once cleaned up, for cold beer. The rest of that day was unremarkable, but I was smitten, horny, and couldn’t clean up my dirty thoughts, yet had no business, or maybe hints of business, maybe.

That night, I intentionally left my room door open a good foot or so. I knew that a direct line from Catherine’s bedroom, connected to her bath anyway, to the kitchen would not take her past my room. If she watched, it would make it easier on her. If she wasn’t, nothing ventured, nothing gained. The next day was a national holiday, so I canceled my wake-up alarm.

Having done that, it seemed to take forever for me to get to sleep, my thoughts running from one fantasy scenario to another, all involving her at the door, then her seeing me naked and aroused, then her coming into my bedroom, with various antics resulting. When I finally drifted off, I guess it led to nice dreams, because I woke up the next morning, a Sunday, naked as usual, my hand already around my engorged pole, the remnants of a dream receding where I was being hand-stroked by Catherine.

I stopped my hand, not wanting to mess up the sheets and surreptitiously opened one eye just a tiny bit. I thought I could see a shadow in the dark hallway. It was just at sunrise, so it was only shadows, and maybe my imagination anyway. If I was imagining, and she was still asleep or even already in the kitchen, there was no harm in quietly calling out. If I was right, I might even get company!

“Come on in, I won’t bite,” I said in a voice loud enough to be heard in the hall but I hoped not so loud as to wake or disturb.

Suddenly, there was a clamor in the hallway, then a crash of furniture or something! I leapt out of bed and ran to the door to find Catherine sprawled on the floor face down, a small table that was always next to the wall near my door toppled next to her. She was in that t-shirt nightgown thing, the hem of it up to her waist, exposing her thighs and ass, and as I took it in, the rest of her! Naturally, I looked, who wouldn’t, but I was worried, too, despite her legs looking great and her pussy barely visible but amazing, framed by the comic sprawled posture.

Worried she might have actually hurt herself, my thoughts of seduction vanished, and I knelt down to her on one knee, touching her shoulder, asking “Hey, are you ok? Does anything hurt or feel broken?”

“Only my pride, she said, rolling over toward me. The result was she looked up and saw first my now down to two-thirds-hard cock, above its ball sack, swaying or whatever in the breeze. Above that was my worried face looking down at her from my kneeling crouch.

We both froze at that point. She was busted – apparently my calling out spooked her looking in, she’d spun to flee, and crashed into the table. I was naked, pointing my still pretty hard dick at her face – hardly a proper appearance by a guest boarder and nephew. And to top that off, she was naked from ribs on down, and having turned toward me, I couldn’t help but look down and see the downy light brown curls between her thighs. Seeing my gaze, she realized what the shirt hem had done and struggled to pull it down to a modest level. That done, there was nothing either of us could say that would make the embarrassment of the moment go away. I was still kneeling as she leapt up and fled to the kitchen.

Catherine, as in mortified:

Later on, Steve and I had taken in a movie, passed an evening chatting over wine, and worked in the garden, all uneventfully. I got the opportunity to check him out a couple of times – in his sweatpants one time, and working in the garden in shorts. I knew, but it was exciting to be reminded, of that member he carried around, and soon I was thinking about it every time I saw him.

I thought I was just having an innocent fantasy and that it would have no real effect, and was even getting a little flirtatious. No harm done to anyone – we were turning into good friends in the bargain.

Then on that Monday morning, I didn’t know if he had to work or not, due to the holiday, so I went to wake him in time to get there. His door was open a good bit, and there he was again, that big cock emerging from his fist, but the fist not moving and his head facing me with eyes closed, his breathing even. I’ve heard about wet dreams but don’t know if they happen if a guy is self-stroking in his dream, or if they can come on (so to speak) without any added friction. I was fascinated to see what would happen next. Would he start stroking, or in his sleep just roll over and end the episode, or maybe even he was awake after all, just enjoying the erection and getting ready to spurt, a sight I definitely wanted to see.

Whatever, that thick appendage was several inches above his fist and looking purplish, and I was rooted to the spot – again so to speak, I guess. As all that was going through my mind, he said softly, “Come in, I won’t bite.” I freaked, caught in the act, ashamed, and panicked. I started to run, I guess, as I turned, and had forgotten about the small table in the hallway. My spin took me across the table, scattering its nick-nacks and resulting in my lying face down on the floor, the table somewhere, I wasn’t sure.

Still panicked and out of ideas, I froze. It was only seconds before Steve was at my side, his hand on my shoulder, asking if I was all right. I was mortified. I rolled over to say that I was ok – I was anything BUT ok. And found myself inches from his penis in front of my face as he knelt to my aid. He was still naked, of course, and I think his erection hadn’t had time to detumesce. I on the other hand was getting what I started after – a really good look at his privates! I just looked, not moving, seeing the tip of that big thing mere inches from my face, and I recall I was tempted to reach out to it and – what? hold it? kiss it? take it into my mouth? That impulse was so strange and foreign, but the sight of it was primal and beckoning. On the other hand, my rational self was mortified and screaming flee, flee!