My Aunty Fucking

I found some fresh clothes and right there in front of him I dropped the towel to dress. His eyes nearly popped and then he looked away and said, “So, how long have you known Marty and Bruce.” With him looking away it was as if I had total privacy. “I’ve known Bruce over a year and Marty about a day.”He glanced sideways at me and then looked at his fingernails, “So you’re nineteen or twenty?”“Just turned twenty a month ago, and you’re eighteen?”“I’ll be nineteen next month,” he said.“Okay then. We’re all legal,” I said. “Legal for what?” he asked.“Fucking. In this state if you are under eighteen, then older guys can go to jail for fucking you.”“Oh, I see,” he said as he looked at me.“So what do you do?”“Nothing right now. Just graduated from high school. Going to trade school next month to be a machinist.”“Is Skip a nick name?” I asked.“Yeah, it’s better than Alfred,” he said.“Oh, I think Alfred is a good name and you can go by either Al or Fred.”“How about Carly? Is that a. The day of our ‘marriage’ dawned and Maria and I were not allowed to see each other. I was an honoured guest in Mistress Pickles’ apartments and Jenkins and the seamstress attended to my toilette and my dressing. I wore fine silk bloomers such as I had never felt but on the highest born guest of the household. The fabric caressed my thighs and the ribbons at the knees, above white silk stockings, glistered in the candlelight. A tightly laced corset of white satin clenched my waist and then three petticoats and then the dress, oh, and such a dress it was. It shone and gleamed and shimmered as it was held over me and lowered, buttoned and hooked into place until I, feeling like the Queen herself, was led to a mirror to wonder at the generosity and kindness of my Mistress. The final glory was a ring of white flowers from which a veil hung like gossamer and this was placed atop my long, unfettered hair. I was led by Miss Jenkins who, clad now not as a butler but as a fine gentleman, took.
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