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Text:Tom Hathaway - Memoirs of Forbidden Love/Revenge by M.L.

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I feel a tiny bit guilty about what happened, but itʼs more that I think I should feel guilty than I actually do, you know what I mean? Iʼm going to try to be honest and not make excuses for myself, but I want to explain what happened … and why.

When my nephew called and said he wanted to visit, the first thing that flashed across my mind was, Iʼll take him away from her. “Her” meaning my sister, my big sister, his mother. Appalled by this mean thought, I pushed it away and said, “Sure, Jason, come for a visit. Iʼd love to see you.”

Jason had just graduated high school and was out to see the world, or at least as much of the US as he could pack in before college started. Heʼd be heading out from his home in Illinois in the car his parents had bought him for graduation. He wanted to spend the night at my place in Ohio, then on to New York City. As he talked, full of enthusiasm and curiosity, his plan sounded great. I wished Iʼd done the same thing at his age.

The day he was due to arrive, I took out my photo album and looked through it for pictures of Jason, thinking he might want to see them. He was in several of them, usually with his mother, my sister … big sister. Then I went earlier back, to pictures of her and me as kids. The photos put me into kind of a daze. I wasnʼt quite all here. Another part of me sort of took over.

I decided to make a fancy dinner for Jason, with food that would be a sensual turn on — Cajun prawns in a spicy, buttery sauce, quite hot, with caramelized yams and sourdough bread. I considered what kind of wine an eighteen‐year-old boy might like, something a bit sweet but still light — chenin blanc. I baked a chocolate cake.

I mulled over what to wear, tried on several things and finally settled on my lowest‐cut dress. Nothing brazen, mind you, I donʼt have those. Just a light summer frock that shows off a bit up top. Itʼs hot in Ohio in June — I had a good excuse.

Like most of me, my breasts are about average, nothing special. At thirty‐eight (my age, not their size) theyʼre starting to sag. But brassiere technology has had great advances (Iʼm grateful to the scientists for taking time off from designing smart bombs and instead design smart bras). Thanks to cantilevered uplift, I now had a pretty appealing pair. I rubbed some musky perfume between them and more behind my ears and knees.

Despite the weather, I left my hair down, teasing and fluffing it to make it fuller.

From the way Jasonʼs eyes opened when he saw me, I could tell my efforts had an effect. I kissed him quite properly on the cheek but lingered a bit with my hand on his shoulder. “Youʼve grown so big. Youʼre turning into a real he‐man.”

He smiled and stood straighter, pleased as punch.

“Iʼll bet youʼre hungry.”

“Sure.”

Judging from the amount he ate, he seemed to like the food, but he devoured it so quickly I canʼt imagine he actually tasted it. The wine was a hit, an entry into the adult world, and I refilled both our glasses several times.

After dinner I brought out the photo album and had him sit beside me on the couch while we looked at it. I told him stories about the pictures and said what a good looking boy heʼd been then and what a good looking man he was turning into.

“Once when you were little I saw you run through the lawn sprinkler. A hot summer day … like this one … you were stark naked … and cute as can be. I bet you donʼt remember that.”

He shook his head with embarrassment.

“Well I do. I wish we had a picture of it.” My dress was a bit above the knee and my leg pressed against his.

After the photos and more wine I asked him for his masculine help changing the bulb in the living room lamp. “Itʼs so high up there,” I said.

I got the step ladder and held it steady while he mounted it. Then I held him steady, my hands around his legs and my head pressed against his hip. I could see him stealing glances down my cleavage. Looking at his pants, I noticed a growing lump: Jason wanted something. I was glad to see he was a normal, red‐blooded young man.

“Thereʼs probably some joke about how many nephews and aunts it takes to screw in a light bulb,” I quipped. “But you seem to be doing it just fine.”

As he was getting down from the ladder, I dropped one hand to his bottom to brace him. “My hero!” I kissed him on the cheek and hugged him into my breasts, letting my tummy brush against his prominence. “You did it!”

He blushed and said, “Glad I could help.”

“Thanks. That was a good job. I hate climbing up on that ladder. You deserve a reward.” I kissed him again, this time on the lips.

I could tell from his lecherous smirk that he was getting ideas. Good for you, Jason.

His eyes were wide and a bit glassy, seeing Aunt Marge in a whole new light. Whatʼs happening here? they seemed to ask.

I just stood there against him. His breath deepened and quickened. He kissed me back, deeper, and I touched my tongue to his, then glided my fingers over his buns.

He began pawing me, groping me all over with hands that had more eagerness than finesse. First he felt me up, then he felt me down. My linen dress was disastrously rumpled. I smiled. Yes, Jason, thatʼs the way.

I helped him through zippers and bra snaps, then patted his crew cut while he slurped at my chest. “I canʼt resist you,” I told him breathlessly. “Youʼre so … virile!”

When I squeezed his bulge, he tore off his shoes without unlacing them and turned his pants inside out getting out of them.

His fresh young body, so taut it trembled, covered me, trying to devour me like heʼd devoured dinner. His fingers and lips couldnʼt get enough of me. He was gasping and gulping and grabbing. With quivering hands he pulled off auntieʼs panties.

I peeled his jutting jockey shorts down and stared at his equipment, as average as mine, then said in shock and awe, “Oh my god, Jason, itʼs so big! Do you think itʼll fit? Iʼm afraid it might hurt.”

When he hesitated, I said, “Just put it in slow.” I grabbed it and guided it in the right direction, then helped him get lined up and ready.

Jasonʼs rod sinking into my fleece was a gratifying sight for me. Iʼd been alone for quite a while. Itʼs always nice to be wanted, and his excitement was contagious. I grasped his ramming hips and held on.

After a few frantic lunges, he was finished. Easy come, easy go.

“Boy, that was great,” he mumbled as he fell asleep.

I finished myself off with a few quick strokes.

Next morning I fed him breakfast, gave him a sophisticated adult kiss, and sent him off looking for new worlds to conquer.

He sent me a postcard from the Empire State Building. “Wow — I had a way cool time with you!”

I donʼt regret the experience and neither does Jason. Heʼs well on his way to thinking heʼs Godʼs gift to women.

But Iʼm not proud my motive — to get even with my sister. A year older than me, sheʼd always been the prettier one and never missed a chance to remind me of the fact. In high school she used her wiles to steal my first young love away from me, then laughed at my tears.

Now that Iʼve had my revenge I can forgive her for what she did back then and let it go. Itʼs finally OK between us again. Thanks, Jason, for laying old me and laying an old resentment to rest.


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