Lucky at Summer Ch. 01

"First we're going to get you a pair of boots," Molly laughed, mocking his footwear. "And a hat. Then you won't look like such a tenderfoot."

Molly was the first to confess her surprise at her nephew's physique.

"Shit, Mike," his aunt said peppering her language with the easy curse words that accompany the rough life of the open range, "I didn't know you'd got so tall."

Mike detailed his extraordinary growth over the last year but didn't think it appropriate to include corresponding information about his penis.

"Truth be told," Mike confessed to his aunt, "I thought you was my age when I saw you from the back like that."

"Why Mike, how nice of you to say that. You just earned yourself a better pair of boots."

"No, I really mean it!"

"If you don't stop flattering me I'm not going to be able to afford your new footwear," Molly smiled. "One thing for sure, the ranch will keep you fit."

"How old are you anyways?" Mike asked before thinking maybe he shouldn't have. "That is, if you want to tell," he added quickly.

"A lady never tells," Molly laughed, "course that don't apply to me. I'm forty-six, Mike. Was married to your Uncle Hastings for twenty-eight."

"Do you miss him?" Mike asked with genuine sympathy.

"Every day, Mike," Molly answered morosely before turning upbeat. "But look at the stud I got now! I'm so glad you're here Mike. It gets pretty lonely sometimes."

Whether or not Molly realized she was sending mixed signals to her nephew with references to him as a stud and her being lonely, Mike quickly became befuddled. The truck fell silent as he tried to sort out his feelings for an aunt he hadn't seen in more than a decade. He knew the thoughts that were jumping into his brain shouldn't be there but was powerless to stop them.

It was late afternoon when Mike pulled the pickup into the lane that led to the house. It was a narrow two-story frame structure in need of painting and serious upgrades to windows, doors, and mechanicals.

The first floor contained a living room, dining room, kitchen, and powder room. Upstairs were two decent sized bedrooms separated by a common bath.

Molly lit the burner under the stew she'd made the day before knowing she'd be gone all day to Cheyenne and back. Then she took Mike upstairs and showed him his bedroom. The bathroom, Mike noticed had three entrances: one from each bedroom and one from the hallway.

After supper, Molly cleaned up the kitchen while Mike put away his clothes. He had exactly one pair of sneakers, two pairs of new Levis, three new cotton shirts with collars, five tee shirts, five pair of socks, and five pair of briefs.

He never knew how desperately low those new clothing purchases left his mother's bank account. No matter the sacrifice, she would not send her son out to face the world with an ill-fitting wardrobe.

Also packed with his clothes were photographs of his mother and father, his high school yearbook, about a dozen magazines and two books he had resolved to read. As he was finishing unpacking, Aunt Molly poked her head in to say she was taking a shower before turning in.

"Can I go down and watch TV for a bit when I'm finished?" Mike asked.

"Sure, honey, but not too late. The sun gets up early and so do we." She left him to ponder her use of a term that sweethearts use.

Leaving his room for the stairs, Mike noticed the bathroom door was open about four inches and the light was on inside. He tried to move quickly past it but was unable to refrain from glancing inside. What he saw made him stop dead.

He could see just a sliver of Molly's body but it was clear she was naked. She faced away from the door. All he could see was her extreme left side. Her arm was at her side and Mike could see her shoulder, arm and a strip of her back. From the waist down, he could see part of her buttock, but not the crack, and the left half of her left leg.

Molly slipped a towel around herself and turned around. Mike was startled and froze like a deer in the headlights as he watched her close the door.

"Shit!" he muttered to himself and scurried for the stairs.

Downstairs, Mike quickly discovered that the ranch had no cable and the three channels that could be received were fuzzy. He soon retired to his room.

Lying in bed, Mike was not surprised when his erection paid him a third visit that day. He began stroking himself using images of Jen to fuel his lust. Mike was mildly surprised when thoughts of his Aunt Molly intruded. He finished quickly as images of both women filled his mind.

Less that thirty feet from where Mike arm wrestled his one-eyed pants python, Molly struggled with her own forbidden thoughts and images. Her nephew was far more attractive and desirable than she'd considered when she sent her request to her sister-in-law.

It had been seven long months since Hastings had died and more than twice that since they'd last been intimate. In all that time, she'd never once felt the familiar ache that had so dominated her physical life since puberty.

When her husband fell ill, it was as if her libido just died. The demons that lived in her ovaries and converted estrogen into liquid heat requiring constant extinguishment from male fluids simply disappeared completely.

Molly didn't care where they'd gone nor why. She didn't miss them. But now they were back, and in their dormancy they'd grown more powerful. It was as if her nephew's arrival had released them from a prison.

Gently she massaged her inner thighs trailing her fingertips close to her pussy lips without touching them. Her teasing hands did nothing to ease her tensions; rather they inflamed them.

For the first time in more than fourteen months, Molly slid open her nightstand drawer and groped in the dark. There was no mistaking the hard plastic. Gripping the long tube with one tapered end between her fingers and thumb, she slid the instrument between her thighs.

Feeling slightly virginal from her sexual hiatus, Molly gently rubbed the "head" against her moist labia. She moaned out her self-induced pleasure. Soon, the tip was slick with feminine juices and Molly was able to insert about three inches before the dry shaft began to stick in resistance.

Pulling the vibrator out most of the way, she swirled the end around her vulva as one might a fat straw in a thick milkshake, coating it with more goo. This time, nearly five inches slid easily inside her.

Molly continued swirling and thrusting until the hard plastic phallus easily moved in and out of her vagina. Pulling her old companion out, she rested the tip against her clitoris while she twisted the end to produce those sweet, pulsating vibrations that would lift out the orgasm that she'd held for so long.

Nothing. Molly didn't know whether to curse or cry. Thinking of her nephew for courage, she did neither. No doubt the batteries had lost their charge in their extended hibernation. She threw off her covers moved one hand to her clit and thrust the plastic cylinder to and fro with the other.

Her climax was so long and so beautiful it seemed as if it never would or should end. Eventually, she exhausted herself and sagged limp on the mattress.

The vibrator remained lodged in her vagina as the tears began to flow onto her pillowcase. But these weren't tears of sorrow, or bitterness, or frustration as they had been for over a year. They were tears of relief and renewal.

Her long mourning of Hastings had come to an end.