A Death in the Family

A couple of minutes after getting the email, I went on a local website and searched for someone to share the ride with me. I remembered well, the drive would take a day. Day and a half if I stuck to the speed limits. The funeral wasn't for a couple of days, so maybe I'd be law abiding for once in my life. My name's Kate. I'm in my mid-forties, fairly fit. Proud of how I'm handling aging, I suppose. Checking the rideshare ads, I spotted one that seemed just right. 20-something Daryl definitely fit the bill. She was traveling to the same town as me and wrote: 'Can't provide gas money, will provide tunes and chat.' That was just about all I needed to keep my mind on the road and off the funeral ahead. That, and keep my mind of a family I hadn't seen in years. Best of all, as she was going to the same town, I wouldn't have to go out of my way to drop her off. I replied to her post. We agreed a pickup time and place the next day.

She was standing out front of her building when I pulled up 5 minutes ahead of the time we had agreed. Good start. She must have been early twenties, I guess. Incredibly pretty and with a sensuous swagger that had me forcing myself to remember we were ridesharing and nothing more. There was something about the way she looked that looked almost familiar and made me yearn to be young again. Hell, I thought in the cutoff jeans, cowboy boots and a flannel shirt tied over a bare midriff she could well have been me when I was young. All that was missing was the cowboy hat. She had a small bag slung over her shoulder like they were all her worldly possessions. We introduced ourselves and I was immediately taken by her deep gravely drawl. This could be the best and worst car journey of my life, I thought.

"I'll aim to keep you on the straight and narrow, if you agree to take me to my door." She smiled, warm, welcoming with a hint of something ... dangerous. The thought skittered out of my brain as soon as it entered it. The girl would do just fine. We took off, heading south, and Daryl, as promised plugged a cassette on a wire into my old radio so she could play the tunes straight from her phone. I was pleasantly surprised at her choice. Her playlist comprised a lot of new tunes I barely knew but also plenty from my vintage. I never had to suffer the spat rap stuff for long. There'd be something more mellow I remembered from my own youth coming right behind it.

Daryl, it turns out I suppose obviously, grew up in the same shithole town I did. We shared a lot of similar stories, just a generation or so apart. Her parents were deeply square religious types. The same kind I'd escaped from for the big city years before. She had been a bit of a loner, an outsider, in our one-horse town, but found herself with a big clique in the big city we both now shared. As an early disbeliever and rebel myself, I understood her journey more than most. She was dropping home to visit with relatives -- as quick a trip as she could make it. I didn't offer the return trip just then, but figured I would probably do so by the time I dropped her off, unless she turned out to be a sociopath.

The morning went by as sweetly as any I'd had on a long trip driving. We got out of the city and followed the Interstate, sharing lanes and good-natured curses with the big rig drivers. We sang along together to every second or third song, and she went solo on the ones I wasn't familiar with. She'd also gave me a bit of background on those, so I would arrive slightly less square then when I set off. Seemed a fair exchange.

Conversation veered wildly between an avant garde scene I never knew existed in our city, to my life as an orthodontist. From art and music to movies and men. I was surprised that she seemed to be far more clued into the wiles of what she referred to as 'fuck boys' than I had been at her age. Hell, probably than I was right now. She had a worldly wisdom that belied her years, but without a hint of cynicism. We soon strayed into swapping relationship war stories, and I found myself enjoying her frankness rather than being offended by it.

In fact, I found myself opening up to her with more honesty that I would with my closest friends. I guess maybe I felt she was a stranger that I'd never see again, and that any secrets I divulged wouldn't be taken down and used against me. I never really noticed that as we touched on each subject, the next topic would be more taboo, each of us sharing more of the deep fantasies and desires that certainly I would normally barely share even with myself.

Nothing seemed off limits to this girl. I put it down to a generational openness. She was younger, freer and more open to new things than I had ever been. And stuck in the mud Miggins here didn't want to appear fusty, so I began to compete with more and more hairy, personal stories. It was almost like I was craving her approval of my openness and liberal attitudes to sex. I won't say I wasn't shocked. But I did try to hide it. And probably shared a lot of my own stories that it would have been better to have left untold.

Case in point, and I can tell you lot this because you're all strangers, when I was twenty and still stuck in that aforementioned shithole, I was sent to stay with my cousins for a summer while my mother went into hospital. Even back then, I knew she was drying out, though it was never said. My aunt and uncle were good people. Pretty button-down religious types, like my own folks. Their kids were older than me and mostly gone. Uncle Pete was a gruff man. A farmer, he spent sixteen out of every twenty-four hours on the farm or at farming things in nearby towns. My aunt was a good thirty years my senior and fairly beaten down. She was a lovely woman, just meek and came across like any gumption she possessed had been eradicated along with her dreams on this bleak flat farm.

One day, Aunty Ivy was in the kitchen as usual, baking and keeping busy with a thousand chores like she always did. I had been out with the horses all morning and when I rocked up starving, I accepted some stew which I ate hungrily. After that, and some stilted conversation, I took myself off to the sole shower in the house. After a few minutes washing off the smell of horses, I began to feel a bit amorous as I always did after being out riding. Long story short, I was playing with the showerhead when I happened to look up, thinking I heard something. The door to the room had been shut, I was sure, but now it was ajar. I could make out Aunty Ivy standing just outside it, dress pulled up, and with a hand playing with herself as she watched me playing with myself.

I almost went ass over tit on the slippy surface with shock. My aunt, realizing she'd been spotted, took off like a frightened goat. Later, she couldn't look me in the eye. Being the free-spirit-in-making that I was, I was determined to discover more about this hidden side of my landlady. Besides, there was something deeply dirty about the idea of an older woman, even -- or especially -- my own aunt being turned on by the sight of plain old me.

A week or more went by with nothing happening. I'd occasionally make out sounds in the night that appeared to be what counted as lovemaking on the farm. A whispered conversation, a few squeaks of the bed frame and a muffled guttural shout from my uncle. Then silence. Less than a minute by my reckoning. I took to spending more time away from the horses and more in the company of my aunt. Our conversations, stilted at first, became warmer and freer. I would never say we were intimate in our chats, as my aunt was a closed book, but we skittered off feelings here and there. One day, as we were putting away the things we'd just washed after dinner, her hand happened to rest momentarily on mine. I felt her pause a moment longer than necessary, then jolt away as if electrocuted. She made a big deal about fussing with something and talking about the weather to distract us both from something that felt almost desperately intimate. I decided I needed to do something to bring my aunt out of her shell.

Now, I'd never been into women, not at that stage anyway. The thought had never crossed my mind. Horses and cowboys were my obsession. But I was innately drawn towards this lonely, desiccated woman who was being so kind to me. I rocked out to the stables that morning and did my chores. I didn't go for a ride. Instead, I took the bailing knife and drew it across my upper thigh, slicing my jeans and just grazing the skin enough to hurt like a bugger and draw a little blood. I raced back to the house and was in full flood by the time I met my aunt who'd been drawn to the door by my cries.

Going into full maternal mode, she ordered me to sit down, asking what had happened. I explained (lied) that I'd caught myself climbing between stalls and fallen, cutting my leg in the process. As I talked, I wheedled my way out of my jeans, and plonked into the chair, legs akimbo, presenting my cut and my panties to my aunt. I could see she was conflicted at once. She saw the blood, of course, which had her worried, but she could also see the shadow of pubic hair coving my mons pressed tightly against the material of my white panties. Hell, she could probably make out the shape of my pussy lips through the material.

Grabbing a pot of water and a cloth, she began to wipe the blood away, averting her eyes bar the occasional longing look. I hissed, and then gave a little sigh, as she revealed the smallest graze on my thigh. Her knuckles brushed against my panties as if by accident, and I allowed myself the barest intake of breath. When the blood was gone, and the cut revealed to be of little consequence, she asked me was that it. I said that when I'd tripped climbing over the stall, I fell and bruised myself. I asked her if she could check to make sure I hadn't done any damage.

Breathing deeply, she looked closely, only a few inches from the front of my panties. I protested that she wouldn't be able to see like that, and stood, dropping my panties to the floor. She recoiled, but not too far. I turned my ass to her and lifted one foot up on the chair, spreading my legs, giving her a beautiful view of my pussy lips. "Can you see if there's a bruise?" I asked her. Tentatively, she approached me again. I could feel her breath on my ass as she got close. It was coming thick and hard.

"Just in here." I said sliding my hand down the side of my mons from the front to briefly cup the top of my thigh. I could feel wetness seeping through me, slicking my hand. The thrill of exposing my ass and pussy to my aunt was turning me on beyond anything I had ever felt before.

"Could you check if it's cut or bruised. I can't." I said as evenly as I could.

"Can't see nothing." She said.

"Maybe if you tried to see if you can feel anything with your hand?" I said pleadingly. "Just to be sure I haven't really hurt myself." This last bit laying it on a little thick.

A moment went by, and I thought she would chicken out. Then, I felt the barest touch of rough skin against the inside of my upper thing. Her breath was against my pussy lips now as she bent in close to see what she was doing. As if transfixed, her hand moved slowly along the line between the top of my leg and my pussy. I shivered and the hand shot away.

I turned and my aunt was standing two feet away, a shocked look on her face. But her eyes were glued to my pussy, and I could detect a hunger or a yearning in them. I sat back on the chair and raised both my knees, legs apart, revealing my pussy to her in all its glory. I turned on all innocence and sweetness.

"Can you just have a feel down there and check everything is ok?" I pleaded. "I'm worried I may have damaged myself. I won't be able to go back on the horse without knowing."

A look of fascinated horror crossed her face, but she couldn't drag her eyes away from my labia, now open wide for her to see. I reckon even she could see how wet I was from her vantage point. Very slowly, she took a step forward and reached her hand out. I think, at this stage, she knew there was nothing wrong with me. I think she understood that I wanted her to touch me. That I'd seen her outside the shower playing with herself. That I was more than ok with it.

Then her fingers touched the skin alongside my labia, and I shivered again. The air sucked in through my teeth and my eyes closed at the touch. This time, she didn't withdraw her hand. I opened my eyes and bit my lip coyly. "Just there, aunty." I whispered hoarsely.

"Please."

I could make out the turmoil in her face. Desire and shame fought each other even as her fingers gently traced along the edge of my pussy. I raised my hips, pushing down on the chair with my hands. My labia brushed her fingers. "Yes, like that." I said, desire showing in my own face.

Her finger tentatively traced along my slit and my thighs shook with restrained passion. I let a small moan escape. "Oh, aunty." I sighed. As if in a trance, eyes focused on my sopping pussy, she allowed her finger to slide back up between my labia, this time making a slight wet sound. I shuddered at what was now the most erotic experience of my life. Her finger reached my hooded clitoris and probed through the folded skin, making a tiny circle.

"Oh, there. Just there." I whispered breathlessly. "Please. Don't stop." I implored.

Then, in as innocent a voice as I could manage. "Could you kiss it better, aunty?"

The finger stopped moving and I cursed myself for taking it one step too far.

But aunt Ivy dropped to one knee, still like she was hypnotized, and leaned in close, finger still on my clit. I felt her breath as she inhaled my scent and let it out in a jagged breath. Then her tongue touched just above my perinium, and I almost came on the spot.

"Oh, aunty." I gasped. "Please kiss me better." I croaked. And felt her tongue trace its way the length of my slit from bottom to top, and her lips close over my clitoris. I felt a tugging pressure on the clit as she sucked it into her mouth, and then her tongue gently stroked it inside her mouth.

I lost all pretense of needing aid. "That feels incredible, aunty. Please don't stop." My hands left the chair and held her head gently as she licked, lapped and sucked my clitoris. Her hands too came into play, she ever so gently rubbed her thumbs over my labia and the area around my mons. I shuddered in pleasure. "Oh, god, yes. That feels so good." I implored, begged her to keep on going.

Her tongue slid downwards, inside the lips of my labia into the wetness oozing out of me. I could feel her sucking and swallowing the juices I was excreting. The feeling was incredible. That and her hands gently massaging my mons. I bucked my pussy into her mouth. Inhibitions melting away, my aunt tongued me to orgasm sitting on the chair in the kitchen. When she was done, she handed me my jeans off the floor as she stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"That should be just fine, now." She said matter-of-factly, turning away. I realized then, that, just as with my uncle, she would willingly pleasure another whilst refusing herself any. I was instantly angry and saddened. Still bare bottomed, I reached for her shoulder and made her turn. When she faced me, I stepped close to her and laid my lips on hers. She pushed against my chest and shook her head trying to break free from my embrace. I kept my lips on hers, probing with my tongue. My sodden pussy was pressed against her thigh, almost humping her leg. He lips gave slightly, and my tongue was inside.

Her eyes opened wide, and she stared at me. Not wanting to lose the advantage, I hiked up her dress and ran my hand over her mound, covered by her underwear. Even through the thick unappealing material, I could feel the wetness, and sense her turmoil and she both recoiled and pushed her hips towards me at the same time. She struggled against me as I kept on probing her mouth with my tongue and her panties with my hand. My fingers slid along the outside of her lips, pressing down as I went, searching out her clitoris.

Finally, her resistance broke, and she returned my kiss and my embrace, pressing her mound into my hand, even as I stroked her. She came quickly on my hands once I slipped it inside her panties and went to work on her flesh-to-flesh. Her kisses melted into mine like a woman who hadn't had a passionate kiss in twenty years. She cried out when she orgasmed, almost in fright, like she was shocked by the long-forgotten feeling that ripped through her. I held her as she came. And held her after, as weak-kneed she found it hard to stand.

I spent less and less time in the stables after that. Aunty Ivy and I explored each other's bodies, and the pleasure one woman could inflict on another with abandon. We never talked about what we were doing. Outside of my bed (she refused to do anything in the marital bed), you would never know we had become intimate. But in that bed, she became a fiery, passionate creature bent on making up for lost time. Thanks to her, I discovered my own sexual appetites when it came to women, and she, in turn, had a brief period of selfish, sensuous pleasure in a life otherwise dedicated to serving others.

All of this, I somehow told Daryl as we sailed cross country. I had never told another living soul before or after until right now. I think the story really got to her as I related it, and she kept asking me for more and more details. I felt coy telling her what she wanted to hear but, as I say, I think I was somewhat intimidated by her youth and was trying to appear ultra-liberal and cool to her.

She in turn, related many of her own exploits as well as a far from enjoyable story about a male family member taking her virginity on her eighteenth birthday, much against her will. So, to say we were intimate by the time we pulled into the roadside motel was putting it mildly. Call me innocent, but I somehow imagined that our age difference would be a defense when the idiot motel keeper leerily told us the only room available had only got a double bed. I snatched the keys from his hands and said "That'll be perfect. Come along, darling." And stalked haughtily towards our room. I felt just like Thelma or Louise.

Once inside, we both broke out laughing. I'd packed a bottle of wine and we both continued the chat as we polished it off. Eventually, the day's drive and the emotion of the last couple of days (not to mention half a bottle of pinot) caught up with me and I said I was going to go to bed, but for Daryl to feel free to watch tv. I took my nightclothes and changed in the bathroom, and passed Daryl as she went off to do the same. Mine were a silk set of pajamas, hers, it turned out, comprised a long t-shirt that came down to her knees. I was already under the thin cover when Daryl slid in beside me and switched out the lights.

I was out like a light in seconds. I woke a few hours later, disoriented by the strange room and alcohol now leaving my system. For a moment, I couldn't place the figure under the sheet beside me, but a passing headlight from the highway lit up her face and it all fell into place. I sighed and lay back down waiting for sleep to take me. But it resisted all my attempts. I discovered that I was feeling a tad frisky after our sexual confessions and no amount of mantra-chanting was going to allow me to drift off without doing something about it. Gingerly, so as not to wake Daryl, I slid my hands over my breasts, feeling my nipples respond quickly through the silk material of my pajamas. I used the fingers on one hand to rub a nipple while my other hands snaked down under the waistband of my pjs to find my mound.

I stroked two fingers either side of my labia as my thoughts drifted to my aunt, and quickly skittered off her onto my bedfellow. I'm not one for cradle snatching, but there was something about this twenty-year-old and her lack of inhibitions that had me horny. I mentally undressed her in my mind as I felt wetness well between my lips. My middle finger dipped in between them, into the slickness, as the other two digits continued to stroke the outside of my mound. I imagined Daryl, sitting beside me in the car not in boots, cutoffs and flannel shirt, but naked. Her pixie-skinny body, bright eyes, perfect bronze complexion, winning smile, pert little breasts, tight blonde hair, tight waist and flat stomach, her rounded hip and perfect ass, her long slender legs, her perfect little pussy, I imagined hairless and rounded, the cleft, cheek-rose red and glistening. I imagined that tongue I'd watched out of the corner of my eye as we drove lapping inside me, matching my finger as it slid back and forth through my pussy. I sensed a growing sensation rising within me and realized my fantasizing was quickly playing dividends. I must have been more het up than I imagined. I was mildly conscious of the schnicking sound of my finger sliding though my slick slit as I picked up the pace, incredibly loud to my ears in the quiet room. At this stage, I couldn't have stopped had I wanted to.