Brown Eye Hole - a girls don't need modesty story

[EddieDavidson]

I am writing a short story, more as a treatment to see if I can enjoy this story. It's a slow start. the title comes from the small lake - it can't even be called a lake on the property that's used as a swimming hole by the family in a rural area. It's a play on words, the Brown Eye is named because it is shaped like an eye and the brown clay around it. It's also obviously the name of an asshole.

This story draws from my own experiences growing up and incorporates some of the modesty themes - less domestic discipline I think than some of my other stories. I'd be curious what you think before I invest too much time in it.

[EddieDavidson]

“Honey, come and meet your cousins, Cole and Tina,” my Aunt yelled down the hallway of her single-wide trailer.

“Coming, Mommy,” my cousin tra-la-la’d down the hall, skipping as she went, gleeful to meet us for the first time.

I was awestruck. When I heard her voice and the way that my cousin spoke to her mother, I expected to see a little girl. Honey came skipping toward me like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her hair—gold with a hit of honey—caught the light, and I wondered briefly if Honey was just a nickname for her thick and sweet hair color.

Her green eyes glinted playfully, and her smile was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It was vast, easy, a little crooked, and it seemed like she knew the punch line of a joke that only she could hear.

There was no doubt she was from the country. There was no pretense of maturity, just a bouncy playfulness as she tromped into the living room where me and my cousin were to greet us.

“Glad to finally meet you,” she smiled breezily and launched into a cartwheel in the living room. “Watch what I can do!”

Honey didn’t even look at my sister and me. She planted both hands on the green shag carpet. Next thing I knew, she was upside down—legs in the air, hair swinging wild—and landed the cartwheel clean, barefoot, and laughing.

I felt a tinge of guilt and looked away, because I noticed just a hint of her white cotton panties peeking out of her denim miniskirt.

“Ta-da,” she said like it was no big deal.

I was about to say something, but she continued her performance before I could introduce myself. “Watch what else I can do!”

She kicked up into a handstand, palms flat on the shag carpet, legs straight, toes flexed. Her shirt slid down with gravity, slow and obvious, and there it was—white lace, delicate, barely there.

Honey didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to fix it. Just held the pose, arms locked, hair brushing the floor, eyes on me upside-down like it was all part of the trick. Like she knew exactly what I saw—and didn’t mind at all.

“Honey Amber Lynn Johnson, whose bra are you wearing?” my aunt said, sharp and low. She exuded a folksy, down-to-earth sensibility -even without a strong Southern accent.

She was standing right next to me, arms crossed under her chest, close enough that I could smell her drugstore perfume—something floral and stubborn. Her skin had that warm olive tone that stayed tan even in winter. Her hair was big, all volume and layers, the kind you had to blow-dry and spray into place, with frosted tips, but still natural-looking to me.

Honey frowned, red-faced, but despite her pout, she didn’t act like this was much of a scandal. “It’s Sugar’s bra,” she said as she continued to hold the position. Her denim skirt started falling down around her thighs and revealing more of her white panties. I looked away so that I wouldn’t seem like a pervert.

However, I snapped the mental image of those creamy, perfect thighs.

“Stand up and stop clowning around, how many times do I have to tell you that you don’t need a bra and not to wear your sister’s things?” she asked.

Honey righted herself, blushing. She was close to my age but physically taller. “Sorry, Mom! Sugar doesn’t mind if I wear some of her clothes!”

“I don’t care if SUGAR minds,” my aunt insisted before clarifying that SHE minded. “Get that off right now. You don’t have any reason to wear a bra yet, little girl!”

My sister and I were both uncomfortable. My aunt didn’t raise her voice when she scolded her daughter, but it was obvious she was disappointed with Honey.

Honey reached under the white tank top she was wearing over the bra and unsnapped the bra without removing her shirt.

“This is quite the first impression for your cousins,” my Aunt continued, chastising her youngest daughter. “Cole and Tina just arrived from Baltimore; they are going to stay with us over the summer.”

I knew I had cousins in Florida, but I hadn’t met this part of my family. My Aunt had just picked us up from the local bus station and drove us out to their farm off of a highway in the middle of the Everglades.

“Hi, I am Cole,” I offered to shake my cousin’s hand. I wasn’t sure what else to do. She handed me the bra as if she thought I wanted it.

“Don’t hand that to Cole. He’s not going to wear it. You can put that back where you found it in your sister’s room, and while you are at it, you can bring their luggage and find a spot in one of the drawers in your dresser for it. They’ll be sharing your room.”

There was no discussion or debate – the decision had been made. I expected my cousin to push back and take umbrage with our invasion of their room. However, she seemed perfectly fine with it.

I assumed my cousin would complain about that. I wasn’t aware I’d be sharing a room with girls. At home, I had my own room, and my sister Tina had her own room. I was glad that there was no drama – but surprised that my cousin didn’t seemed shocked.

“Okay, Mom,” she giggled and hugged me as she took the bra back while apologizing for handing it to me. “I thought you wanted it for something,” she said. Honey might have looked like an adult in the face, but she talked like a ditzy teenager.

She hugged my sister Tina. I didn’t think Tina expected that, but she politely hugged her back. We barely knew these people even though they were our blood relatives. Tina is a year younger than me and shorter. She’s bookish, intelligent, and shy.

I picked up my bag, but my cousin Honey insisted on carrying it and my sister’s luggage.

“I hope you brought some lighter clothes than what you got on,” Honey giggled as she looked us up and down. We were wearing jeans and polo shirts and hadn’t anticipated the oppressive Florida heat and humidity.

“We brought swimming suits,” I answered for Tina and me.

“You probably won’t need those,” she giggled as she led us down the hallway to her room.

“I thought Florida had beaches and swimming pools,” I said as I followed my cousin. Honey may not have had much in the way of boobs, but she had an amazing bubble butt that hypnotized me as she wiggled while she walked.

“That’s the glamorous side of Florida. We are out in the boonies. This is cattle country and orange groves. We don’t get to the beach very often, but we have a swimming hole on the property. We call it the Brown Eye because of all the brown clay around it,” she smiled breezily as she led us into her room.

Honey pushed the door open with her hip. “Y’all can crash in here.”

Her southern accent seemed to come and go.
The room was small—barely enough space for the two single beds with thin pink blankets stretched tight. A dresser sat between them, its drawers slightly crooked, a few stickers peeling off the front. Against the far wall was a vanity, cluttered with cheap makeup, a curling iron, and a blow dryer with a cracked handle. A compact sat open like it had just been used. The mirror above it was streaked with fingerprints and smudged eyeliner.
Bras and panties hung from the metal sliding door of the closet—lace, cotton, some barely there. She didn’t seem to care they were out in the open. On the wall above one bed were posters of guys with feathered hair and smirking faces—Leif Garrett, Scott Baio, maybe one of the dudes from Duran Duran. Next to those, a patchwork of band mirrors was tiled like decoration, each one about the size of a sheet of paper—Cheap Trick, Van Halen, Journey. Some were chipped at the corners.

“We won all those at the Collier County Fair,” she explained as she admired the mirrors festooned on the wall with pride. They were tacky like the rest of the room.
“Do you guys have a television? Any video games?” I asked because I was unsure what to say about her mirror collection. The Atari 2600 had only recently been released, and I had a TV in my room back home in Baltimore.

She giggled like I was speaking a foreign language. “The TV is in the living room, but we ain't got no video games. They got an arcade at the Coastland mall called the Goldmine though,” she bragged.

“Is that nearby?” I asked.

My cousin walked to the curtainless window to show us the swampy Everglades. In the distance were some cows grazing, and a chicken coop. I could see a couple three-wheel ATC vehicles parked by a barn. “This is Bum-Fuck Egypt Florida,” she snickered playfully. “This is my television, and it only gets one channel,” she indicated the swamp outside.

I could hear the hum of the air conditioner right outside the window. “Coastland mall is on the other side of town, and the big city is Fort Meyers. It’s about two hours from here, but we only go there to buy school clothes. You might get a little bored here,” she said as she tossed her sister’s bra carelessly onto a bed.

My mom and sister took extra care to make sure that I never saw pantyhose or lingerie around the house, so it was quite shocking to me that Honey didn’t seem to think that she needed to keep any of it secret.
“We are gonna be roomies, so you may as well change and make yourself at home,” Honey started emptying the top two cabinets in her only dresser to make room for our stuff and putting most of her underthings on the floor in the closet.

I stood there awkwardly and looked at Tina. “Are you going to mind sharing your room with us?” my sister meekly asked the question that was hanging heavy in the air.

“The more the merrier,” she smiled sweetly and added, “It wouldn’t matter if I did. There isn’t any point in complaining, because there aren’t any other rooms you could stay in, and my mom has already decided you are staying here. Are you guys going to mind staying in here with me and Sugar?”

I didn’t want to answer that question. I was far too polite and shy. I also barely knew them – so I didn’t want to risk offending them. Tina remained quiet, and it fell on me to answer for us both.

“Where is Sugar?” I asked.

“She’s down at the animal shelter volunteering. She’ll be home directly. You’ll like her, I am sure. She’s pretty,” she added.

“Why would I like Sugar because she is pretty?” I asked about my cousin’s strange qualifier.

“All boys like Sugar. She’s got big boobs,” she tossed the bra that she wore earlier on the couch.

“I am your cousin,” I reminded her.

“That won’t stop you from looking,” she giggled knowingly. I wondered if Honey had noticed how I had looked at her panties earlier and assumed I was a pervert. I blushed a little.

“It’s not going to hurt anyone to look,” she shrugged. “Are you going to mind being the only boy in a room full of girls who are looking at you while you change?”

I blushed awkwardly and didn’t respond.

My Aunt opened the door to our room without knocking, which was a no-no at my house. My parents had taught me to always knock on doors before entering, and my parents knocked on my door before entering as well.

“I am fixing to make lunch,” Aunt Rachel announced. I felt like she was just checking on us. “Come and help me rustle up something,” she instructed Honey. “Do you know how to cook, Tina?”

“Not really,” my little sister replied.

“Well, you can come on and learn something. Leave your brother some privacy so he can change into short pants,” she said before asking me if I liked grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

“Yeah, that would be fine,” I didn’t particularly enjoy them, but I had no problem with that.

“I could make you a fried pork chop if you prefer,” my Aunt said. She seemed so stern with my cousin. She wasn’t abusive or like a drill sergeant, but Rachel didn’t tolerate any backtalk or nonsense from her daughter.

Rachel wasn’t spoiling me – but she was polite and accommodating, and it was apparent to me that she talked to me differently than she did to the girls. I chalked it up to being polite to a guest.

“Yeah, that would be great,” I said.

“If you are hungry enough, I can whip you up two pork chops,” she offered politely.

“Sure!” I smiled.

“Good, you are too skinny. I may be able to put a little meat on your bones before I return you to my sister,” she smiled and left with the girls. I changed my clothes after shutting the door and looked around the room.

It SMELLED like girls – teenage girls to be precise. Their perfume, makeup, and even their sweat left a faint scent on their pillows and sheets. I assumed it was a pheromone of some kind – designed to excite teenage boys.

Even though Honey and Sugar were cousins, I found myself attracted to that scent – turned on by it. I noticed that their laundry, and shoes gave off a different smell – their sweat and the feint trace of pussy. I didn’t walk around huffing panties or anything like that, and I was far too naïve to really process what the source of the intoxicating scent really was.

All I knew was that I was turned on when I was alone in their room – my cousin’s underthings were strewn around and out in the open and there was something so taboo about that. It was like a wild, free sexuality that I shouldn’t be privy to was now suddenly wide open to me.

I didn’t realize how repressed things were back in Baltimore because I had grown up with girly stuff put away – but even seeing a box of tampons lying on the floor gave me a voyeuristic thrill.

The girls’ room didn’t feel like MY room. I still couldn’t believe that I’d be allowed to sleep in this room. It was so spartan and lacked pictures and knick-knacks. I had action Figures and Legos arrayed on shelves in my room back home, and Tina had a library of books on the wall.

My cousins got a long with a lot less, but Honey seemed content and even proud of her collection of mirrors.

I was tempted to masturbate. I jerked off back then at least a dozen times a day. I had jerked off when we hit the bus stop in Atlanta before we arrived in Florida. I had seen an older women dressed like a slut, and she approached me about going on a “date”.

I was so naïve at the time that I thought the mature woman wanted to see me socially and I told her that I was just passing through. I was just now putting together from her laugh that she was asking if I wanted to pay to have sex with her.

I fantasized about that woman’s daily reality – she wakes up every day not knowing who she will have for a sex partner and fucks anyone with the money – even a teenage boy like me. She was probably a homecoming queen or a heartbreaker that lived next door to someone with a crush on her when she was a teenager.

The prostitute was definitely a fallen angel and oozed a casual sexuality. I was over due to whack off again, but afraid I’d be caught when someone yanked the door open again. The fact that I couldn’t masturbate only made me a little hornier. My cock twitched in my shorts, and I tucked it into my underwear.

Honey was laughing as she opened the door to her room to call for me. I doubted she saw me tucking my cock into my shorts, but I couldn’t be sure. If she did, she didn’t say anything about it.

“Lunch is ready,” she skipped away to the kitchen. The family took their meals at a dining table in the cramped kitchen. The table was designed for four, but my Aunt set up extra folding chairs and mine was right between where she and Honey sat.

It wasn’t crowded though, because Honey and Aunt Rachel remained standing as they put food on the table and filled my glass. “I’ve got some good sun tea here. I hope you like sweet tea, because the well water is nasty,” my Aunt warned me as she poured it into my glass without asking about my preference. My Aunt poured tea for everyone and didn’t ask anyone what they preferred.

At home, everyone drank different things at dinner – so that was another change for me.

My sister was seated at the table, and she had a grilled cheese bowl with soup in front of her. She started to take a bite.

“I know my sister didn’t raise you like that, Tina,” my Aunt warned her politely. “You don’t eat until everyone else is seated and has a plate.”

“Sorry,” Tina put her sandwich back down.

“We don’t stand on too many formalities around here, but basic manners at the table are important. You don’t chew or talk with your mouth open, elbows off the table, no leaning back, and ask for seconds. Don’t just take them unless nobody else wants them.”

Those rules made sense. It was another example of the difference in how things were at my Aunt’s house, though. My mom would never have made those rules or announced them to someone who was visiting. It was just assumed you wouldn’t do those things.

“Here are your pork chops,” Aunt Rachel served up a plate of southern fried pork chops that were honestly some of the most appetizing pork chops I had ever tasted in my life. “I can warm a little breakfast gravy that I have left over if you want.”

“No, that’s quite alright,” I said.

My Aunt smiled, clearly pleased that I was satisfied with my lunch. She made a completely different lunch for me and grilled cheese and tomato soup for herself, Honey, and Tina.

“I didn’t want you to go to any special trouble for me,” I said as I admired the delicious scent of the Southern food on my plate. My aunt gave me some warmed-up leftover butter beans from the night before.

“Nonsense,” Rachel dismissed my concern politely. “If I didn’t want to make it for you, I wouldn’t have offered. You just enjoy and eat up.”

I waited for my Aunt and Honey to finish serving themselves and sit down at the table.

“Let’s say Grace,” my Aunt took my hand and squeezed it. I didn’t expect her hand to be so delicate and soft. Honey took my other hand and then joined hands with Tina. Tina had to reach across the table to join hands with my Aunt. “Do you want to do the honors, Cole?”

I felt an obligation to say grace, but my only experience with that was watching a TV show like Little House in the Prairie where the actors did that. It was yet another difference.

“I should probably hear how you do it first?” I politely made an excuse.

“You don’t have to blow smoke up my ass and tell me it’s raining,” my Aunt smirked. She had the same sassy smirk that her daughter had, and it was endearing and sexy. “I’ll have to have words with my sister about abandoning traditions. We were raised saying grace and giving thanks,” she said.

“I’ll do it, Mom,” Honey offered and when her mother nodded, she politely offered a short prayer for our food. "Dear Lord, we thank You for this food, the hands that prepared it, and the company we share. Bless this meal to our bodies and guide us in Your ways. Amen."

“Very good,” My Aunt praised Honey and released my hand. I didn’t want to let go at first – and I wasn’t ready for it. I hate to say that I was turned on or sexually excited, but there was something about how my Aunt grabbed my hand like she was getting ready to take me to the wedding chapel. My hand felt magnetized to hers because I didn’t want to let go.

Honey beamed over the praise her mother gave her, and started eating. My Aunt glanced coyly at me as if she could read my mind and knew that I had received a thrill when we touched.

“You don’t have to say Grace the same way. You can say it anyway you want, Cole. You just have to give thanks and mean it,” she explained. She asked me if I was saved and went to Church while we ate.

“I um…I don’t know,” I shrugged.

“Tina, what about you?” she asked my sister. Tina blushed and looked down, while nodding she was.

“We go to church. I won’t make you. Your uncle Mike doesn’t go because he says that even God rested on Sunday, but it’s a chance to dress up and get out of the house, and there are a lot of pretty girls there, Cole. I’d imagine by Sunday, the two of you will be bored enough that you’d join a Buddhist temple just to get out of the house,” my Aunt explained.

Honey laughed, and it sounded to me like water flowing wild and free in a nearby brook. My sister and I politely tittered because we didn’t want to imply that it was going to be boring.

“What do you like to do in Baltimore, Cole?” My aunt took an interest in my interests and that was a little different than my parents as well. We usually ate a meal like this around the television and rarely seated together. My parents had a lot going on and even though they talked to me, they seldom asked open ended questions.

I told her that I liked the Atari 2600 and that at school I was in an Apple IIe club. I had even brought some floppy disks with me in my luggage of some of my favorite games.

She wrinkled her nose. “You brought your own computer games?”

“I didn’t know what would be available, so I planned for any contingency,” I explained. My Aunt didn’t seem impressed by the fact that I was interested in video games. Honey was totally bored, and Tina had heard of all this before.

I kept talking to convince my aunt that it wasn’t silly. “They're not like arcade games. These are different. Ones called Zork. There's no map, no set path—you just explore. It's all text. You type what you wanna do: ‘go north,’ open door,’ ‘take lamp.’ And the game just... lets you. You can get lost. You can die. But you can also do anything.”

She tilted her head as if she was intrigued. “Anything?”

“Pretty much. There’s no high score. No time limit. It’s just you figuring it out. Like being dropped in another world where you gotta survive, solve stuff, find treasure. There’s no right way to do it.”

She looked at me like I’d made it up. “That’s a real game? There is no right to do life, but there are more than a few WRONG ways,” she observed cleverly.

“Yeah,” I said. “And I think games are gonna go more that way. Less about winning, more about choosing. Doing whatever you want. Like building your own story.”

“You are going to build your own story here, Cole, except it’s going to be sweat, swamps, and hard work. We are going to put a little meat on your bones, some muscle on your arms,” my Aunt pinched my bony bicep with a trace of amusement. “We may even put a little hair on your chest. You may learn how to post a fence, feed a chicken, ride an ATC, you may even learn something about the birds and bees, but I don’t think you are gonna need floppy disks.”

“Floppy dicks,” Honey giggled at the play on words – big, playful smile on her face.

“Honey, what have you been told about vulgarity at the table?” my Aunt asked sternly – unamused.

“I couldn’t help it,” Honey was already standing up and put her fork on the plate.

“Stand in the corner, nose, toes, and elbows, and think about the impression you are making on your cousin!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Honey was already across the cramped kitchen by the trash can, pressing her nose against the printed faux wood veneer that decorated the entire trailer.

The kitchen was tight, with barely enough space for the four of us around the table. The dishes had already been washed and put away in the upper cabinets—thin doors that didn’t quite close all the way, with little round wood knobs that spun in place when you turned them. The stove was an avocado green General Electric, probably from 1973, with fat, square dials, and a tiny light above the coil burners that glowed orange when it got hot. It hummed like it had something to prove. The fridge was a bulky white box with chrome handles, scratched and yellowing at the edges, but built like a tank. They were probably old when they moved in and too stubborn to die.

The linoleum under our feet was cracked in the corners, a patchy yellow-and-brown checkered pattern that used to be shinier, maybe. It peeled up a little near the baseboards, and the edges had been tacked back down with clear tape in a few places.

A calendar hung by the door—May, with a picture of a long-haired cat sitting in a wicker basket. Each square was full of my aunt’s handwriting: dentist appointments, feed deliveries, church, “clean out gutters,” “Sugar’s check-up,” “fix the girl’s damn dresser.” Some days had three or four things scribbled in, then scratched out or rescheduled into the margins. A couple hearts drawn in red ink stood out, but whatever they meant, she hadn’t explained. It looked like my aunt had stopped and started a chaotic grocery list a dozen times, and the latest iteration was a mess of crossed-out calculations and bad attempts to estimate the price.

“I don’t want you two to think that I am an ogre or a drill sergeant, and we joke around here plenty. We don’t mind cuss words and vulgarity most of the time, but we don’t tolerate it at the dinner table from our girls, and we won’t tolerate it from either of you. You’ve had your warning,” my Aunt glowered.

Tina quietly moved food around on her plate, and I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Honey remained quiet and blushed – her back to us while she did her penance and ostensibly learned her lesson.

We ate mainly in silence, with my aunt asked Tina the same question she asked me about her interests.

“Not much,” Tina admitted humbly. It was obvious that unlike me, Tina didn’t want to blabber on about her passions. “Mostly older stuff,” she added in conclusion.

“I would love for that to rub off on my girls,” My aunt nodded politely before asking her to elaborate.

Tina didn’t look up. “Wilkie Collins, E.M. Hull, A. N. Roquelaure.… sometimes books that aren’t exactly in the school library.”

I didn’t read those authors, and I had no idea what my sister meant by that. Tina said it so plainly that I didn’t realize at the time she was talking about erotic stories. I think my Aunt could read between the lines, though.

“I found the Sleeping Beauty series at a yard sale, and I fell in love with it,” she admitted. I assumed she meant the Disney version, but she was talking about an infamous series written by Anne Rice under the name Roquelaure that involved bondage and humiliation.

“Fairy tales?” my aunt frowned. Clearly, she was as unaware of what those books were about as I was.

Tina gave a small shrug. “Kind of. There’s one I liked more than the others. It's about this prince who's taken far from home. He thinks he's going to be rescued or maybe fall in love, but no one’s coming. He has to serve people who don’t care about who he used to be. And there’s this one woman—he wants her to notice him, to love him, but she just watches. It’s all... complicated.”

She paused, then added, “It’s not sweet. It’s about being seen and still being ignored. And what that does to you.”

“You may find that attention isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. My daughters would rather I keep my nose out of their business,” my Aunt quipped. “If I wanted to ignore them, I would just let them do whatever they wanted and not take the time to discipline them when they do wrong, and praise them when they do right.”

“I understand that,” my sister smiled meekly. “I found this comic once,” Tina said, poking at the crust of her bread, “at an old book store in Baltimore where I hang out sometimes and talk to the owner. “it was called Harenchi Gakuen, and the captions are all in Japanese. I think it was about a boy whose mom complains about him, and he ends up at an all-girls school as a peeping tom.”

“I’ve never understood Peeping Toms,” my Aunt admitted as she stood up and started to clear away all the dishes except for her daughters. “Most girls like showing off, and I don’t see what the thrill is about sneaking around to see a girl’s butt crack and boobs in the distance,” she admitted.

I wished it was that simple and all you had to do was ask to see their bodies. I didn’t want to mention that, technically, my Aunt had violated her own rule about vulgarity at the dinner table. She had stood up after eating, and I would come to learn later that she had a lot of double standards.

“You won’t get a lot of time to read naughty books here,” my aunt frowned and asked my sister to help with the dishes. It’s summer vacation from school, but that doesn’t mean work doesn’t have to get done. Everyone here has to pull their weight, do their share, earn their keep, and contribute. I’ll teach you to cook and clean my way – everything in its place, and a place for everything,” my Aunt promised.

I stood up and began to help clear the table. My mom usually took care of that for everyone at home, but I knew how to scrape my plate.

“You go on and explore the property; get outside and look around, Cole,” my aunt Rachel took my plate from me and wouldn’t allow me to help.

“I don’t understand. You just said that everyone has to contribute,” I observed with a befuddled expression.

Aunt Rachel dried her hands on a dish towel, then looked me square in the eye—not angry, just firm, like she was explaining something that should’ve already made sense.

“Everyone contributes in their own way, Cole. I guess your mom doesn’t believe in saying Grace or traditional gender roles, but that’s how we were raised, and it’s how I raise my girls – so while you are in our house, you will do things our way. I’d be hesitant to send my girls to Baltimore for a summer because I think they’d be spoiled and bratty when they got back.”

I took offense to that because it implied that my sister and I were bratty. Tina was far from it, and while I may come across as a know-it-all and a nerd, I didn’t think I was impolite.

My aunt noticed my expression and explained she wasn’t saying we were bratty but that her daughters were different than us and would probably get lazy in Baltimore.

“We haven’t told you much about how we live in Baltimore, Aunt Rachel. How can you say that?” I asked.

“Your reaction to some of our house rules tells me a lot more than you realize,” she admitted in a very down-home way. “Everyone contributes, Cole. But not everyone contributes the same way. Girls have obligations—to the home and to the family. They learn to cook, clean, and manage a household. That’s not just chores, that’s preparation. It’s what’s expected of them. It’s what makes a home the way that it should. We were born with boobs, to give milk and raise babies, but until those tits come in and we become mothers, my girls still have to learn how to keep house.”

My aunt indicated the big tits under her apron to emphasize her point. “You come from the big city where they think they are doing women a favor by treating them equal to men. We were born with different equipment to suit our roles – wombs to have babies, boobs to feed them, and faces to please men.”

I didn’t understand, but I listened to the argument. She made sense, even though I had been raised to believe that women were just as capable as men in all things.

“Almost every major discovery was made by a man, and they run things. Boys have an obligation to learn from men how to be men. You’re expected to lead, fix, and defend the house. Asking a woman to take a man’s role is a bit like asking a house cat to do the job of a guard dog.”

It was hard to argue with that folksy wisdom.

“Boys get a little more leisure time than girls and a little more freedom. I don’t want you to cook and clean my kitchen. It’s not that I don’t love you and don’t want to teach you the same things I’ll teach my girls and your sister – it’s just that I don’t feel comfortable with a boy trying to wear my apron and do what I do. Go outside and play in the woods, go down to the barn, walk around, explore Brown Eye Hole, but don’t go swimming, and don’t walk down the highway by yourself. Just stay on the property.”

“How will I know that I am still on the property?” I asked. I didn’t like going outside and considered it a bit of a punishment. It was hot and muggy, and there was air conditioning and television inside the house.

“There is a fence and a draining ditch that runs along the front of the property along the US. 951 highway,” my Aunt explained. “We have six square miles of land, Cole. You probably won’t find any fences in the other directions. We have cattle, orange groves, chickens, and ATCs around here. I assume you don’t know how to drive one?”

I had no idea how to drive a car, much less a three-wheeled vehicle.

“Stay off of those, and your Uncle Mike will teach you how to ride them. They are a lot of fun. He can teach you to hunt, fish, and do things that men do – but we aren’t going to put you in a skirt and let you run around dusting and frying pork chops.”

I didn’t have any interest in wearing a skirt, but I understood my Aunt’s meaning.

“Can I finish my lunch, Mom?” my cousin Honey asked.

“You may turn around, hands at your side and apologize to me and your cousins for your vulgarity,” my Aunt sighed and said she’d think about it.

Honey was contrite and no longer had her trademark silly and jovial smirk. She faced us, stood in a military-style pose and said “I am sorry that I said floppy dicks at the dinner table. I know that I am not permitted to cuss at the table and be gross or sexual.”

“You were showing off, and you didn’t have to repeat the word floppy dicks, when you apologize,” my Aunt almost laughed as she gave feedback to Honey. “Before I let you sit down and eat, tell me, was this punishment too harsh?”

“No, Ma’am. I knew what I was supposed to do, and as you say, if I don’t want to be punished, all I have to do is not do anything wrong.”

My Aunt nodded and pointed at the table. Honey promptly sat down to continue her lunch. The sandwich was certainly cold by now. “Do you mind cleaning up and cooking while Cole goes outside and explores? Am I being a big meanie butt for expecting you to do a few chores?”

“No, I like doing things around the house,” Honey said in the most earnest and believable way -no trace of sarcasm. I found it hard to believe she didn’t think it was unfair, and I found it even harder to believe that she ENJOYED cleaning.

“Tina, you’ll learn to get satisfaction from a job well done and from seeing people enjoy the things you do for them,” my Aunt agreed with Honey and promised my sister that she’d feel the same way by the end of the summer. “Do you want me to heat up your sandwich?” she asked Honey.

“Thank you,” Honey handed her plate to my aunt with a big smile. I heard them laughing and joking as I left to go explore the outside.

[jojo12026]

I like the start Eddie. I would like to see more, definitely.

[EddieDavidson]

I stepped out of the trailer and let the screen door slap shut behind me. The Florida heat hit me like a physical force as I stepped out. I expected beaches and tourist traps.

This was “old school” Florida -mostly untouched swamps. It was the kind of place that tourists don’t want to see, and you might think of it as backstage. There wasn’t jack shit for miles and miles – just saw palmettos and pine trees as far as the eye can see.

In Baltimore, you might get one perfect day a year – bright blue sky with no clouds. They took it for granted here, obviously.

The wooden deck outside of my Aunt’s single-wide mobile home was solid under my feet. It had been built with craftsmanship and pride. I didn’t know it at the time, but my Uncle Mike had cut the cypress trees and smoothed them himself in his own woodworking shed.

He took pride in the things he built by hand. I could tell they weren’t just slapped on by some contractor just by how smooth the wood was and how snugly it fit into the joints.

Beyond the steps, there was a patch of grass, but mostly, it was dry dirt, pale and cracked in places, but nothing approaching a traditional lawn. There were gopher mounds all over, and it was obvious to me that the tiny holes plagued my uncle because it looked like he had taken steps to fill them.

I liked gophers, and I would have encouraged them if I were him. I walked toward the highway. I could see the road from the deck. The next thing that I noticed were massive red ant hills.

These were not just ant colonies. These were mega ant colonies, and it looked like some of the ants were huge. I’d never seen anything like them in Baltimore. I made a special effort to avoid stepping in those.

My aunt’s old Buick sat under a makeshift carport to the right, baking in the sun. It had clearly seen better days. There were old tires and some random parts lying around it. There was a big oily pit where my Uncle used to pour the oil from the car out after he changed it. It was common back in the 1980s.

My uncle’s yard would be transformed into golf courses and million dollar houses in fifty years, but at the time it seemed like a desolate swamp. I had zero interest in exploring it. My thoughts went back to my cousin’s cute butt.

I visualized her standing in the corner, ass cheeks taught in her tiny denim skirt and how she had been punished for laughing about ‘floppy dicks’. It was a mundane reaction to a cuss word to my Aunt and cousin but there was something very naughty about the entire thing to me as I reflected upon it.

I wanted to jerk off. I contemplated finding a bush and just beating my meat behind it. However, I kept walking and anticipating a chance to blow my load later.

The gravel driveway crunched under my sneakers as I walked toward the highway. It wasn’t far—maybe a hundred yards—but it felt like a line between two worlds. The single-lane road ran arrow-straight in both directions, with nothing but heat haze and palmetto trees stretching into the distance. A semi roared by, kicking up a blast of hot wind and a swirl of dust. I felt weirdly exposed out there. My Aunt warned me not to walk along the highway. It seemed like it stretched to infinity and you could walk in any direction and still not find anything of interest.

I knew there was civilization in Florida, but it wasn’t near where I was. I saw some ducks in the ditch and eventually watched a baby alligator practicing remaining still. He was about a yard long and at first I thought it might be dead.

It was so exotic to see an alligator in a ditch, but out here I was certain it was a common sight. I wisely decided to keep my distance and keep walking. On the way back up the driveway, I wandered past copses of sawgrass and palmettos, brushing my hand against the sharp edges of the stalks.

I found a dried frond from one of the bushes. It was straight and sharp on the sides. I imagined it was a broadsword, and I was an Irish lord defending my land from invaders. I was a big dungeons and dragons nerd.

I wanted very much to play Ultima I - The First Age of Darkness. It was a game by a publisher named Lord British, who lived in California. I assumed he was British nobility and that he had a massive brain if he could program an entire world into a few floppy disks.

I couldn’t get the image of a floppy dick out of my head as I thought about computer games. I chuckled as I reflected upon how happy my cousin had been when she thought up the play on words. She said it like it was the funniest thing. Honey seemed naive and innocent, but the way she had said floppy dicks made it sound like she might have handled a lot of cocks.

I don’t know why that idea turned me on so much. I was taught that men should want virgins, but the prostitute in Georgia had been obviously sexually experienced, and that excited me as well. I regretted not asking her how much money she would charge me to take my virginity from me and teach me how to pleasure a woman.

I had no idea how to have sex. This was a time long before Internet porn, and I didn’t even know about Penthouse magazine. The only pictures of naked women I had seen were in Monty Python cartoons. I was heavily influenced by cheeky shows like Benny Hill, but I had very little idea of what sex or women’s bodies were actually going to be like.

The more I walked, the more I thought about sex and not nature. Birds chirped, squirrels dashed around, and before long, it all seemed like I had seen it already. I eventually stumbled upon sexual thoughts about my Aunt.

I felt guilty and didn’t want to even admit to myself that I found her attractive. However, she had a hot body, even if she hid it under her apron. Her tits reminded me of twin torpedoes jutting off her chest – even if they were under layers of cloth.

Aunt Rachel had a worldly, pragmatic outlook. She reminded me of a cross between the fictional witch Samantha Stevens on the TV show Bewitched and the actor Dennis Quaid from the movie Caveman. He had the same kind of grin that my Aunt frequently wore on her face.

Caveman was a sexy movie starring Ringo Starr, Shelly Long and Barbara Bach. Shelly was the quiet, bookish, flat-chested nerdy cave girl that just wanted love, and Barbara Bach played the sexy, vivacious trophy. I thought they were both hot in their own way.

There was something that my Aunt Rachel had said which particularly triggered my taboo thoughts about her. She made an observation about not understanding the motivation of peeping Toms. I understood their motivation well.

Movies like Porkys and Animal House at the time, made the case for peeping on pretty girls who were unaware they were being watched. However, she made it sound like you could just go up and ask them to show you their butthole and they would probably do it for the attention.

That didn’t sound like any girls I knew – not that I’d dare ask and find out. However, I wondered if she would be that casual and cavalier about her body.

The firm but casual way that Aunt Rachel told my cousin to remove her sister’s bra made it sound like she wouldn’t have cared if I somehow caught a glimpse of Honey’s bare nipples. The way that my Aunt didn’t seem nervous or worried that I was sharing the room with three girls reinforced those thoughts about her attitude.

She didn’t seem to care that I was in a room full of their undergarments, and my mom definitely would have freaked out about that.

I thought more about what she said about the difference in men and women’s roles. I was reminded of the television show “Leave it to Beaver” and how Ward was the breadwinner, while his gorgeous wife remained at home.

Ward was practical and solved problems, while his wife was empathetic and said things like “wait until your father gets home”.

The idyllic 1950s and 1960s, when that attitude was pervasive, may have made this distinction between men and women and their roles in a family and a relationship crystal clear. However, women’s lib and modern television shows no longer reinforced those ideals.

The pine needles under my foot gave a soft crunch, and I caught a whiff of cows in the distance. I could smell the sap oozing from tree bark and the unmistakable scent of Florida woods in the summertime. I can still smell that smell to this day and it takes me back to that summer.

I explored the woods. I might have taken more caution if I knew there were poisonous snakes all over the place, but I happily trod through the messy and tangled underbrush. Kudzu vines blocked my progress like invisible walls in a video game.

I imagined I was Pitfall Harry (Indiana Jones) in the Atari game Pitfall – jumping over pits and swinging on vines – blocked from moving forward by tall papery trees with white bark that peeled like sunburned skin, being strangled by vines growing so thick together that I simply could not move through them.

I encountered my first Palmetto bug that day. If you haven’t seen one, you aren’t prepared for the size. I freaked out when I saw this thing coming at me. It was like an alien, jumbo cockroach buzzing aggressively toward me. I nearly pissed my pants in terror.

I decided to leave the woods right after that – with quickness. I made my way to the barn area. There wasn’t a single barn. It was more like a complex of structures of varying sizes. My uncle’s woodworking shop was one of them.

It struck me as odd that my Uncle lived in a single wide trailer – a simple manufactured home that was slender and cramped. Yet, he had a number of structures on his property to store livestock, hay, supplies, and tools that were much bigger than his home.

He took good care of his stuff. I followed a worn path around the building that looked like it had been carved out by ATV tires. A drainage ditch had been constructed around the structures. I didn’t realize it at the time, but around 3 p.m., it was going to rain hard. The sun would continue to shine brightly, but it was entirely possible that parts of the property would flood out.

My uncle had created a series of drainage ditches that not only managed water retention but also helped to keep his cattle from wandering where they shouldn’t go without the need for much of a fence.

The chicken coop was just outside the barn—wooden slats and wire mesh, loud with clucks and the occasional squawk. Inside, a mean-looking rooster eyed me like I owed him money. He fluffed out his feathers, stomped once, and let out a croaky challenge. I feared the rooster much more than I had the baby alligator.

It exuded evil. I named him “Skeletor.” The He-Man cartoon had only recently come out, and while I took issue with how He-Man’s solution to most problems was to simply punch it into outer space (where it would ostensibly continue to grow/be someone else’s problem), I enjoyed watching anyway.

The Rooster seemed to be guarding “Castle Grey-Skull” and he clearly wanted to kick my ass.

I stepped back. Next to the coop was a smaller fenced-in pen, and inside was a strange bird I didn’t recognize. It was about the size of a chicken, maybe a little leaner, with gray, speckled feathers and a weird helmet-like bump on its head. It strutted in circles like it was on patrol. I would later learn this bird is called a “Guinea”.

I thought of them as pets – and not food. It never occurred to me that they ate these lovely birds. My Aunt and Uncle thought of them as food – not pets.

I peeked into the barn and instantly wished I hadn’t. Hanging from a hook was what used to be a deer. Its legs were tied, and its head hung low, tongue out. The hide had been halfway removed, and dark blood dripped slowly from the open chest cavity onto the dirt floor. A garden hose snaked across the barn and ended near a rusty bucket, stained red from being used one too many times. The smell hit me late—coppery, sweet, and a little like wet pennies. I backed out and walked fast until I couldn’t see the barn anymore.

There was probably a lot of cool stuff in there, but all I could think of was that Jason from Friday the Thirteenth was probably waiting inside there to ambush me.

I ended up near a patch of wild blackberries, little clusters of dark fruit hiding among thorns. I reached out, grabbed one, and yanked it loose—only to feel a sharp sting in my finger as a thorn bit me. A bead of blood welled up fast. I looked down at the berry in my palm and muttered to myself, “My Aunt would probably say something about anything worth eating that causes a little pain.”

I kept looking for the “Brown Eye Hole.” My Aunt told me not to go swimming there, and since I wasn’t wearing a swimming suit, I had no intention of swimming. I was intrigued by the name and wanted to find it. I must have walked for another hour trying to find it – trudging over ditches, across sand spurs (burrs that get stuck to socks), and through an endless maze of Florida pine and Palmetto bushes.

In my mind, I envisioned a swimming pool made of concrete with a diving board. The water was crystal clear and felt great, and there were other people there to hang out with – pretty girls.

I imagined myself a Spanish conquistador exploring Florida in the 1400s for El Dorado – the fabled seven cities of gold. I swung a dead palmetto branch like a machete at vines and chopped my way through the woods behind my Uncle’s trailer.

At first, it was haphazard and random, but as the reality that it was not easy to find set in – I became more methodical about my search and started to make a mental grid in my head of the places that I have explored.

I came upon a grass meadow that looked like a green verdant plain from the distance. Cows wandered aimlessly through the field. I was surprised they had no shelter or supervision and wondered who fed them. The field was pretty far from my Uncle’s house but well within the six square miles that my Aunt said made up the property.

I wanted to use it as a landmark for my search, but I couldn’t find it again after exploring for another thirty minutes. I assumed that the land in the Everglades periodically shifted like a mirage and refused to believe that I was terrible at navigating my way around.

I wasn’t a Boy Scout and had no idea what I was doing. I treated my exploration like a video game and tried to explore the woods like a grid. I found a blue tent in the woods, surrounded by beer cans, and assumed it belonged to my Uncle. It was about three in the afternoon and without warning – heavy rain came out of nowhere and drenched me.

I dashed back to the tent, which was little more than a tent, and discovered a bit too late that it wasn’t sealed from the elements. I kept the rain off of my head, but I ended up getting muddy and wet as I waited out the heavy rain.

I was so confused by the weather. As fast as it arrived, it dissipated. I crept out of the tent and observed with dismay as a literal wall of rain fell from the sky about twenty feet away while leaving me completely unaffected.

I decided to call off my search and head back to the trailer. My clothes were soaked, I was muddy, and I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had a sunburn that would soon “lobster” up and turn bright red on parts of my face and neck.

I was introduced to Florida mosquitos after the rain left the air hot and sticky. They were much like Palmetto bugs in that they were annoying, scary, and relentless. After I slapped a few, I began to run, but it didn’t matter because there were more when I got to where I was running. I started to feel ghost bites from mosquitos that weren’t even there.

Needless to say, my first day in the Florida woods had been miserable, hot, and fruitless. However, I did have a sense of accomplishment as I made my way back to the trailer. I managed to find it without much effort, and I felt tougher for having gone outside and done something that I wouldn’t have done back home in Baltimore.

My Aunt had said that girls had to cook and clean, and boys had to explore. I assumed they had the better end of the bargain as I rubbed my sore muscles and walked in my swampy, wet sneakers with nothing to show for my efforts except a sunburn across my nose.

When I first saw Uncle Mike, he was working outside near my Aunt’s car. He was a big bear of a man with a long gray beard and glasses. I didn’t know who Hank William’s Junior was, but if you do – that’s the best visual I can give you.

Uncle Mike was quick to anger but just as quick to laugh. He seemed to be doing both as he talked to himself and futzed around the carport.

“You must be the snowbird cherry that will be staying under my roof and eating my food all summer?” he asked when I came closer. He didn’t look up to acknowledge me. I didn’t know what the terms were he was using – but I assumed they were an insult.

“Hi, I am Cole,” I approached to extend my hand.

“Hands covered in oil,” he said as he stood up and showed me his calloused, greasy hands – his eyes flicked to me. “I met your sister,” he admitted. “Nice girl, but she washes and waxes a car like shit.”

He asked me to look at the Buick with him and inspect it. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be looking at. My experience with washing cars was limited to my parents pulling into one and riding through the automatic tunnel. He pointed out several missed spots and uneven waxing.

“What do you think I should do about it?” he asked me. It was clear this was a test and not a request for advice.

“Ask them to do it again?”

“Then they would just repeat the same half-ass mistakes. The girls need to learn what they did wrong and be motivated not to do it again,” he said. “Tomorrow, I want you to stand out here and make sure they wash and wax it properly. You know how to wash and wax a car, right?”

I could have lied and said I did. I wanted to lie and say that I did because I didn’t want my Uncle to think that I was a dummy. “I know about as much as they do, Uncle Mike.”

“Then that ain't Jack Shit,” he chuckled. “One thing you have going for you is you didn’t try to bullshit an old bullshitter. Do you want a beer, son?”

He opened an old, broken-down fridge that was plugged in outside without concern for how greasy his hands were. The fridge was so innocuous that I assumed it was an antique and didn’t work at all. My Uncle’s fridge was stocked with Pabst Blue Ribbon and some black-label beer from Canada.

“No thanks,” I shrugged. I didn’t drink and didn’t want my Uncle to think that I wanted one.

He shrugged, popped the top, and told me quite sincerely (but politely) that he would cut my dick off and feed it to me if he caught me drinking his beer. “I’ll tell your Aunt to come out here and supervise the girls. You stay and watch and learn as well. Let’s go inside and get washed up for supper.”

My Uncle was unusually tall, and he didn’t just walk places. He stomped so that the entire deck moved as he walked. He reminded me to take my shoes off at the door while he scraped his well-worn work boots.

Aunt Rachel was at the door when he opened up to hug him. He warned her that his hands were covered in oil while smiling as she embraced him.

“So? Is there ever a time that they aren’t covered in oil, Mike?” Rachel was thrilled to see him. She clearly loved my Uncle. “A little soap and it washes right off,” she gave him a big kiss.

I would soon discover that my Uncle Mike was a man of few words and that the conversation we had outside was quite rare. He used words sparingly as if he was charged by the letter. He could say a lot with an arch of his eyebrow or a facial expression, and even that he didn’t do often.

I felt like it was genius. Mike didn’t speak often, and that meant that when he did – people had a tendency to hang on to every word. He washed up and changed his clothes – taking his time.

My aunt looked at me and shook her head, expressing sympathy for my burn. She then made me wash my hands with Lava soap. I didn’t know what Pumice soap was until I used it. The best way I can describe it is to imagine that someone thought soap and sandpaper should be merged and turned black.

Once I was cleaned up, My Aunt took me in her arms and held me close to her chest – near her breasts. My face was right next to her cleavage as she applied a menthol-based gel to my nose and sunburned areas while lamenting that I was going to lobster up.

It was a little humiliating because my sister and cousin kept walking in and out of the kitchen and could clearly see me being cradled in my Aunt’s arms.

“Aunt Rachel, where is the Brown Eye Hole?” I asked as she ignored my squirms and applied the lotion to my face.

“The Brown Eye Hole?” my uncle said as he walked up and slapped Aunt Rachel hard on the ass. I heard the sound over my Aunt’s denim skirt. I had freaked out when a palmetto bug flew at my face—but getting caught with my head resting on her tits, even through her shirt, damn near stopped my heart. I thought my Uncle was going to be angry with me, and I started to pull away.

“Oh, stop,” my Aunt held me to her breast while chiding my Uncle for spanking her butt and teasing me. “Our swimming hole has a double meaning, Cole,” she explained. I didn’t understand. I had no idea that brown eye was another name for butt hole, but I was about to learn that.

“Naples has the swamp buggy races every year, and rednecks like your Uncle enter their swamp buggies to ride around a track filled with mud. The fastest swamp buggy is called Shagnasty – which is kind of a play on words. The biggest mud hole out there is called the sippy hole, which I guess has a double meaning, too,” she explained.

“Do you drive the Shagnasty, Uncle Mike?” I asked.

“Fuck no, I wouldn’t be caught dead in that piece of crap with David Sims,” my Uncle said. He came from old-school Florida when Swamp Buggies could drive through the Everglades. “They were originally practical. Now, people take airboats where they need to go, and Swamp Buggies are just a novelty.”

I didn’t want to explain to my Uncle that I didn’t know what an airboat was, either.

“Brown eye means also means butt hole,” my Aunt finally explained to me with a snicker on her face.

“Twelve years ago, I took a backhoe and dug out some dirt and found clay and limestone. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but people say it looks like an eye. You can’t fish for shit in it, alligators usually don’t go in it, and I am too cheap to buy a swimming pool, so we use it as a swimming hole,” Mike explained.

“Can we go swimming after dinner, Daddy?” Honey asked sweetly.

“After what you did to your mom’s car? I know you know how to wash and wax a car better than that!”

Honey glanced in the direction of my sister and then back at her father. She didn’t blame Tina, but it was obvious to me that Tina must have helped and not done a good job on her side of the car. “Sorry, Daddy!”

My Uncle Mike may have looked a little like a caveman, but he was exceptionally intelligent and observant. He probably came to the same conclusion that I had and cut his daughter some slack. “Tomorrow, I want the three of you out there to do it again – but do it right this time. Where is Sugar, anyway?” he asked as he looked around.

“She isn’t home yet, Mike. She went to the animal shelter today to volunteer,” my Aunt explained.

My Uncle only nodded. “That girl loves animals so much. We’ve got a whole mess of rabbits, guinea, chicken, and cows she can take care of,” he said with a half-grin. I could tell he was actually proud of Sugar, even though he sounded like he was complaining. “I want you out there with them tomorrow to show them how it’s done.”

My aunt didn’t seem happy about that, but she didn’t complain.

“You can bring Coal burner out there and teach him how it’s supposed to be done. If y’all do a good enough job, I’ll get you to wash the cow shit off of my truck, and you guys can go swimming down at the brown eye – that sounds good?”

My aunt and cousin happily agreed. Tina and I remained quiet.

“I don’t have a lot of rules,” Mike addressed me and my sister. “Everybody contributes in the way that they can, but if you aren’t worth a shit – you don’t get shit.”

That was his first rule, and he held up one finger to count them out.

“Nobody goes hungry, even if they aren’t worth a shit. Take all you want to eat, but eat all you take,” my Uncle held up a second finger.

“Don’t backtalk and get up to mischief, don’t lie and be dishonest, and if I catch any of you kids in my beer outside, I’ll snap a foot off in your ass,” he held up a third finger and asked if that was too many rules to remember.

I wasn’t particularly streetwise or equipped with a great deal of common sense at that time in my life. I didn’t understand that it was a rhetorical question. “I thought the fourth rule was that no cussing at the kitchen table, and the fifth rule was that nobody eats until everyone has food?”

My Uncle’s silence was like the oppressive Florida heat. It hit me hard in the face, and I started to blush as I looked up at his blank face. His bushy beard made it impossible to tell if he was frowning or smiling.

I was relieved when he let out a hearty laugh after an impossible amount of seconds had frozen time for me. “I guess you got me on that one, Coal Miner. Three rules sound a lot more official and simple. I am guessing one of the girls had to stand in the corner already?” he asked his wife.

“Honey,” Aunt Rachel answered. My Aunt seemed uncomfortable. “I handled it,” she said as if she wanted to let it go and not dwell on it.

“I know you did. That’s your job, isn’t it?” Mike snickered playfully. His baritone voice made him seem a little dangerous when he laughed. “Honey, what did you say at the dinner table?”

“A dirty word, Daddy,” Honey blushed.

“I got that,” I could tell he was frowning from how he responded to her vague response. “What was the word?”

I wanted to point out that her mother instructed her not to be that explicit when she apologized, but I was a little cowardly to interject.

“Floppy dicks,” Honey explained. My Uncle arched an eyebrow, and she continued to explain that I was talking about the floppy disks that I brought and how she thought it was funny.

Mike didn’t continue to address what his daughter had done. He stood there for a long second and thought about it. “You are a computer man, huh?” he asked me.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I wasn’t sure how to respond to that question. I assumed he would find my hobby to be something only a pussy would be interested in and not real work.

“All I have is a rinky-dinky IBM 5160,” Uncle Mike replied. I was stunned. I didn’t expect him to say that at all. “640K of RAM, two floppy drives, and I slapped in a 10-megabyte hard disk in it. Running PC-DOS 2.1, Hercules graphics card for sharp lines, and a monochrome monitor. I use it for CAD work—AutoCAD 2.0, plots clean as a whistle,” he explained that he was an Engineer and he used it to design parts for tooling.

“I know all about the IBM XT, but I’ve never seen one. I’ve only read about them in magazines,” I said with awe.

“I would think a boy your age would be more interested in Playboy and Penthouse,” Mike laughed. I could hear his daughter’s breezy, natural laugh in his voice when he was relaxed. “I’ve got an IBM PC model 5150 that still works in my workshop. I’ve cannibalized it for parts, but I may be able to get that to work. Do any of your computer disks work on one of those?”

“Mine only work on Apple II e,” I explained. I didn’t even realize that my Uncle was offering to BUILD a PC for me to use – so I probably sounded ungrateful.

“Then you are shit out of luck, son,” Mike scratched his head. “Apple used the 6502 processor, while IBM used the Intel 8088, and their graphics and file systems were completely incompatible. I don’t think I can emulate ProDos 3.3, but I know a guy who made some Apple stuff run on a Franklin clone. I could ask him.”

It took me that long to realize that my Uncle was offering to help me play video games and no adult that I knew – even the teacher of the computer classes in my high school had ever done that. My teacher tolerated the nerdy boys coming into the computer lab during lunch and after school and playing games, but he didn’t facilitate it.

“I thought you were going to teach me to hunt, fish, and do that sort of thing?” I said. It was pretty obvious from my tone that I wasn’t ecstatic to do that.

“You seem like you’d talk too much and scare the deer away, and somehow, I think you’d cry for the worm, but we can do that too. If you like computers, I might be able to teach you a thing or two about how to build them,” he said. “I studied at Berkley and cut my teeth on PDP-11s and VAX machines, back when you had to toggle in your own boot loaders and debug with a hex printout. I worked on mainframes for a while, wrote COBOL and FORTRAN for banking software. Batch jobs that ran overnight, punched cards if you can believe it.”

He nodded like that was something worth being proud of. “Later on, I shifted into engineering systems—early CAD apps running off UNIX terminals. Stuff most folks couldn’t even dream of back then. Had to write custom device drivers just to get plotters to stop crashing. If you can handle DOS, I can show you what’s under the hood. Not just using the machine, but understanding it.”

He looked at me like he was sizing me up. “You wanna play games, that’s fine. You play stupid games; you win stupid prizes – it seems like a waste of time to me. If you wanna build 'em—or build the tools that build them—you’ll need to learn more than how to type in a few commands.”

It occurred to me that my Uncle looked nothing like what I thought someone who programmed looked like. I imagined Lord British in a bronze circlet dressed in medieval garb while he created games.

I wouldn’t say that I was awe-struck. My entire concept of my uncle as a redneck that liked beer and trucks had been blown. I had starry eyes and was developing hero worship for him.

“I worked at a few companies in the 1970s, made a little money, and bought this land out here so I could create my own little world – do what I want, when I want, how I want, to who I want, if I want. I’ve got my own generator, I can make my own fuel for it, and my goal is to be self-sustaining in case the entire shithouse blows up one day,” he admitted.

“That sounds like you, Cole. Didn’t you say you play video games so you can do whatever you want?” my Aunt reminded me.

“Virtual worlds pale in comparison to the real thing,” I admitted as I grappled with the realization that my Uncle was an iceberg and I had only seen the tip of him floating above water.

“Virtual worlds,” my Uncle said the word out loud and said that he liked that term. “I might use that. You are a smart kid. We’ll see how smart,” he promised. He asked his wife what was for dinner.

“I can whip something up, but you know that I hate planning meals, Mike. I don’t know what you are going to want until you get home,” she said. “I can make fried chicken!”

My Uncle Mike harumphed. “We had Fried chicken three times this week,” he sighed.

My Aunt apologized and said it was hard to keep track of the meals because her days all ran together.

“Maybe you could program some software that randomizes the meals based on preferences so that things you enjoy most have a higher priority and connect it to the inventory in your pantry so that the program only selects meals that Aunt Rachel can make while also allowing for meal prep time. If she queries it an hour before you get home, it wouldn’t select an option that takes more time than available,” I suggested.

“You two are computer men, I would be afraid to touch those things,” my Aunt huffed, and added that she didn’t think there would ever be a time that “normal” people used computers for routine things. “It’s not a bad idea, don’t get me wrong. I’d kill for a program that tells me what is in the pantry and fridge, and when to order more.”

“I saw your notes on the calendar,” I admitted as I nodded toward the calendar in the kitchen. “You were trying to calculate prices.”

“Yeah, sales and make a budget. I am hopeless at that,” my Aunt admitted.

“Can you help with it?” my Uncle asked.

“Help?”

“Software development lifecycles take years for something like you just dreamed up. The summer would be over before you got out of the requirements definition phase,” my Uncle said. “If I connected my grocery orders to a computer program that wasn’t thoroughly tested, I’d end up with three hundred pounds of hamburger,” he scratched his beard. “Let’s keep it simple – go through the food stores with your aunt tomorrow, and then make a budget plan. Go with her to the store and tell her what to buy and how to effectively stretch our grocery dollar. That’s your chore -if you are up to it.”

I was thrilled and flattered but apprehensive. My parents would never permit me to do something like that. I assumed that my mom would be insulted by the very idea that I knew what we needed better than she did.

“I would have to know what meals we are going to make for the week to be able to do that,” I said.

“Okay, you be my human-computer. You make the meal plan for the week, and ensure we don’t have the same thing day after day, and make the most use of our food.”

“I don’t know what you guys like to eat,” I felt nervous and out of my depth.

“I could help you,” My aunt seemed excited about the prospect of delegating these decisions to me, and I was just as excited to do something like that. “It would be a load off of my back. Today, I made you the last of the pork chops, but I hate having to be the one to think of stuff like that. I’d probably make grilled cheese for every lunch because I don’t want to think about it.”

“You’ll show me what your plan is, and if it works for me, then you’ll make sure your Aunt starts dinner on time so the food is ready about an hour after I get home from work,” he said.

I was thoroughly delighted to be asked to do this. “What about breakfast? Do I need to make sure she starts breakfast on time?”

My Aunt glared at me – I guess I had overstepped.

“Were you planning on nudging her awake in the morning? On weekends, I like to sleep in. We have breakfast around 5 am.”

Clearly, I hadn’t thought that plan out very well, and I blushed.

“Rachel knows how long it takes to cook eggs, and we’ve got a sadistic Rooster that won’t let us sleep in, anyway,” Mike laughed that I wouldn’t need to help at breakfast.

“I saw that Rooster. I call him Skeletor,” I explained.

“One day, I am going to call that motherfucker dinner, but I am afraid eating anything that vile and cruel would be bad karma,” my Uncle laughed. I was glad that he recognized that Rooster was trouble as well. “We don’t name our food, but if I did, I’d call that little asshole, Chicken McNugget.”

[jojo12026]

Reminds me of my first computer- TRS-80 CO(lor)CO(mputer). it had a cassette tape as memory and the TV was the monitor..... There was no internal memory and I wrote simple BASIC programs. It had maybe 4K RAM......long time ago. I DO like the setup have have made so far. Anyway waiting for some ENF.....

[EddieDavidson]

My aunt tested me by showing me what she had available and letting me decide what was for dinner (with her guidance) based on what she knew my Uncle liked to eat. I would have chosen Fried Chicken, but I didn’t have the context of the meals they had eaten recently.

I asked questions while My aunt directed my sister and Honey to help her prepare a hearty beef roast with carrots and onion. She had some old cookbooks but maintained that most of the instructions were in her head.

I discovered that for breakfast, My aunt makes what she considers Southern comfort food – pretty much everything in the pantry from grits to eggs, bacon, something called “pit ham” and she rarely deviates from that. I asked about pancakes and waffles, but she said that Mike doesn’t ask for that.

“What about what Honey or Sugar likes? What about what you like?” I asked. I noticed my sister gave me a curious but approving look, but Honey didn’t turn around as she bent over to get some warmed biscuits from the oven.

“Cookers cook, and eaters eat what is put in front of them,” My aunt explained that her husband was the breadwinner and the head of the household – so it was usually up to him. The only time that it wasn’t was when he wasn’t at home during lunch and then she usually just made grilled cheese because it was easy.

I didn’t understand not wanting variety or choice at mealtime and I thought that My aunt was denying her daughters an opportunity to give feedback. I didn’t say that, but I implied it.

“I really don’t mind,” Honey interjected. “Daddy likes food that I like, and I’ve been eating all my life.”

“The girls learned to be happy with what they got,” My aunt explained. “I’ve never really thought much about the kind of question that you are asking, Cole. It proves you are really putting a lot of thought into it, but it’s kind of hard for me to concentrate on dinner. Can we do this later?” she asked as she got into making the food.

I was more than happy to leave her alone. I asked my sister if she wanted to help me with my new assignment in the future.

“Not particularly, but if you want my help, sure,” Tina replied. I felt bad because I got to make plans and she had to cook. However, Tina seemed content. She was never one to complain or rock the boat at home.

I made myself busy creating lists in a notebook and taking stock of everything while trying to keep out of the way. Once dinner was prepared, there was still no sign of Mike and Rachel’s eldest daughter, and they were worried about her.

“The animal shelter closed a few hours ago, and it’s already dark,” My aunt complained. She checked outside through the kitchen window another time.

“Don’t worry, I am sure she’ll be fine,” Uncle Mike remained calm. I had a feeling he was worried as well. He wasn’t apathetic or an ogre by any stretch of the imagination. He could be strict, stubborn, and unyielding, but he loved his daughters as much as he could love anything in the world.

“We’ll eat and save a plate for her,” Mike decided. “Depending her story, she can eat before or after I spank her ass for scaring the shit out of her mother.”

“We don’t know what’s going on,” My aunt said. This was long before cell phones could put you in instant communication, and the old-fashioned way of handling something like this was sitting your ass down and worrying about it.

Dinner started out quiet and solemn. My aunt served her husband first, and he started eating right away.

“What about not eating until everyone is seated and saying, Grace?” I asked.

Mike stared at me like I had just sprouted a third eye. “Son, that rule applies to everyone else -this is my house,” he explained. “I’ll eat when I am hungry. Don’t tell me you are a devout Christian?” he asked as he took another bite.

“Not particularly, but Aunt Rachel told me that was a rule,” I said.

“That’s a rule for girls but not for you and me,” he replied. I assumed he was joking and continued waiting for the others to be seated.

“I guess that’s true,” My aunt confirmed somberly. “I didn’t think that meant Cole, though.”

“Why shouldn’t it apply to Nat King Cole?” my Uncle playfully gave me another nickname. “He’s got a pecker, doesn’t he?”

I didn’t understand. The hackles on the back of my neck began to rise because I felt that was completely unfair.

“The girls used to chow down when I was little while I was setting the table,” My aunt explained that the rule was born out of a pragmatic need to slow them down. “They were halfway done eating by the time I sat down and said grace. They have to wait, but you and your Uncle can have a few bites if you are hungry. The girls usually help me in the kitchen anyway.”

“What about Tina?” I asked on behalf of my sister.

“I don’t mind waiting for everyone,” she said.

“I don’t either,” I continued waiting.

Mike pushed his food away and said he’d wait too, but dipped a finger playfully into the gravy and sucked it. It wasn’t long before we were all seated, and this time, I was prepared to say Grace. I didn’t even have to be asked.

I was thrilled to hold My aunt and cousin’s hand again – it was strangely arousing. I knew it was probably blasphemy to be turned on while giving a prayer, but I couldn’t help it – I loved touching their soft hands.

“God, we give thanks for the bounty of this food and pray that you bring Sugar home safely, Amen,” I said.

“Short and sweet,” Mike approved of my prayer and quickly began eating. We all dug into the delicious food. What Mike didn’t know was that I had spent a long time crafting and honing that prayer to make it short and sweet because I was nervous and wanted it to sound authentic.

I’ve never had authentic Southern food like My aunt made. She used bacon grease in the green beans and real butter and potatoes in the mashed potatoes. Aunt Rachel didn’t make everything the old-fashioned way, but she did for the important things.

I was too wet behind my ears to know just how good this food truly was. I had very limited experience to draw upon, and maybe I would have savored it instead of inhaling it. My aunt was pleased that I liked it, though.

“Hopefully, we put at least ten pounds of muscle on you by the end of the summer,” she said as she squeezed my bicep like she had earlier. I am sure it felt like a wet noodle to her, but when My aunt squeezed my arm – it was like she was squeezing my dick, and I felt it twitch in my shorts.

I finished my tea and was about to get up and get it for myself when My aunt stopped me and told me she’d get it.

“I’ll get it, Aunt Rachel,” my sister stood up immediately. She was closer to the fridge. My sister poured it for me. I didn’t expect her to be snarky or rude, but I felt a little guilty. At home, I would have been expected to fill my own glass at the table.

I finally noticed that she was wearing a short skirt – much like the denim one that My cousin was wearing. “That isn’t your skirt, is it?” I asked. Tina never wore short skirts back home in Baltimore.

“No, Honey loaned it to me,” Tina replied. She blushed when all the attention shifted to her. I noticed her long, pale legs and wondered how she felt in it.

“You can wear anything of mine,” Honey offered sweetly.

“We prefer girls to wear skirts unless it’s cold or they are out picking blackberries and need a little more protection,” My aunt explained why Tina was in the skirt. My sister shrunk a little in her chair and blushed.

“Really? It’s kind of short. You strike me as someone who is very conservative and wouldn’t approve of short skirts,” I replied to My aunt. I knew my sister didn’t like attention but I was curious about the logic.

“It doesn’t really matter for girls their age,” My aunt shrugged. “It’s Florida, and everyone down here understands it’s hot – so you wear as little clothes as possible, anyway. They can run around in next to nothing, and nobody cares. If I wore something that short out in public, I am sure I’d get some rude stares.”

My uncle said nothing, he continued to eat. His silence seemed like tacit approval to what My aunt was telling me.

“In Baltimore,” I cleared my throat and took a glass of tea. I was having doubts if I should make my next observation and took a moment to collect my thoughts. “Usually, girls who wear skirts that small are considered easy.”

“I am not responsible for what people think ,” My aunt countered dismissively. “I’ve been told Sugar and Honey are stripper names by rude people who want to pass judgment.”

“Why did you name the girls Sugar and Honey?” I asked. I was just curious and wanted to make conversation.

“I wanted the girls to be sweet, grow up nice and slow, like American Honey,” My aunt replied without hesitation. “I gave them normal middle names, so they can use those when they are older if they choose, but they will always be Sugar and Honey to me,” My aunt smiled.

“Good stripper names,” my Uncle joked playfully as he finished his beer. My aunt stood up, and immediately went outside to the fridge outdoors to fetch him another without asking if he wanted one.

“What if you didn’t want another beer?” I asked.

“I would have said that I didn’t want another,” my Uncle replied pragmatically.

“Should I make sure your beer fridge is stocked?” I asked.

“That would be excellent. Tomorrow, have the girls count them twice, and then you count them. I usually don’t keep that many beers in there. I’d like to keep just twenty four at a time. Can you make sure to rotate them so that I am always drinking the newest ones?”

I told him my plan to rotate them and ensure that he drank the oldest first, and my Uncle approved.

“A buddy of mine brought over some Black Label, and it tastes like shit, so that’s been clogging up my fridge for a while now,” he said.

“Why don’t you throw it away?” I asked.

Mike looked at me as if I was nuts. “I don’t throw away beer,” he grinned. “I am just waiting for a dumb asshole who likes Black Label to come over and drink it. Tell you what, if it’s not gone in a month, toss it.”

My aunt hurried back in the house and brought him an ice cold beer. Mike informed her that I’d be keeping up with the beer fridge.

“Usually, you handle your beer fridge. Can you increase my grocery allowance then?” My aunt asked sweetly.

Mike said that he’d try me out on it and make sure that I didn’t fuck things up. He warned me again not to drink his beers and then told his wife he’d increase her grocery allowance by twenty dollars a week.

“Mike gives me a weekly allowance of eighty bucks, and I try to make it stretch for groceries and what not. I am not exactly the best accountant and math isn’t my area – are you certain you want to take on coupon cutting and tracking how much we spend?” she asked me.

“I am not going to ask the boy to cut coupons. You keep going through the paper and cutting coupons, and he’ll keep track of what the best deal is and whether you need to go to Publix or Winn Dixie to shop. You don’t have to think, but you do have to clip,” he said.

“I hate cutting out coupons. I never know which ones we need,” My aunt pouted.

“I’ll help, Aunt Rachel,” Tina offered sweetly. Honey did as well. My aunt said she was thankful for the help and praised the two of them for offering. She described coupon cutting as a necessary but tedious part of how she spent Sunday mornings with the newspaper. “If I get a flyer, or paper through the week, we’ll do that as well. I’ll show you how,” she smiled.

After Dinner, Tina, Honey, and My aunt cleared away the dishes, and I was left to feel like a customer in a restaurant. I felt a little guilty as I watched the three of them hustle around the kitchen. I couldn’t help myself – I kept checking out Honey’s cute ass. She naturally wiggled it as she walked and it shook and jiggled.

My aunt prepared a plate for Sugar and announced that it was bath time. I took showers at home, and I never had to do it right after dinner. It felt a little restrictive and patronizing to be told to take a bath.

“Shouldn’t I wait for Sugar?” My cousin asked her mother. “I don’t want to waste bath water and it’ll be cold by the time she gets home.”

“The three of you can take a bath, and if your sister gets home while you are in there – you can swap out. If not, she’ll bathe in cold water unless she has a REALLY good excuse for being this late.”

I didn’t process right away that My aunt said that the three of us could take a bath “together.” The reason I didn’t process it right away is that it seems ludicrous that three people would be in the tub together, and that one would be a boy while the other two were girls.

“A shower will be fine,” Tina replied politely.

“We don’t have a shower, so you’ll take a bath, young lady—clean yourself everywhere,” My aunt countered firmly. She led us to the ONLY bathroom in the trailer. “Okay, off with your clothes; I’ll get the water started,” My aunt said.

I felt like this had to be some kind of a joke or that I misunderstood and shouldn’t be in the bathroom while my sister and cousin took a bath. I could see them taking one together but the tub itself hardly seemed like it would fit the three of us.

“Mom, I think Cole will be embarrassed. We should not be looking at his ding-a-ling,” Honey said while she pulled her shirt over her head. Her small puffy breasts were completely bare because she hadn’t been wearing a bra. They looked amazing but I tried to look anywhere else.

“Nonsense, he’s your cousin, and there is nothing dirty about it. It’s no different than bathing with me,” My aunt replied dismissively to Honey and told us to hurry up and strip. The warm water poured out of the faucet as My aunt drew us a bubble bath and made it sudsy. “I am sure he’s got as little between his legs as you do.”

I felt insulted by that, and I was reluctant to undress anyway. Tina was as well; she blushed and looked down while slowly unsnapping her skirt.

Honey had already stepped out of her skirt and was bending over, thumbs in her white cotton panties as she peeled them off of her milky white legs. I memorized every fold and crevice in her pussy lips as she bent over and showed me both her pussy and asshole – without even a trace of modesty.

She could have bent at the knee, but Honey didn’t bother. She bent over deeply at the waist, legs slightly apart – without a second thought for how wide open she was.

“Don’t just stand there and look at her brown eye hole,” My aunt teased playfully.

“MAW-AWM,” Honey blushed as she stood up.

“What? Everybody’s got one. You have a nice brown eye, Honey. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Aunt Rachel smirked. She wasn’t being sarcastic or patronizing – she truly meant it. My Sister took her shirt off and revealed the tiniest of bras around her chest.

“What is this for? a sling shot to hold acorns?” My aunt smirked as she examined the bra before deciding it was forbidden. “You don’t need this, Tina.”

Tina pouted as she removed it – revealing her flat chest.

“Your boobs will grow in naturally, don’t rush it,” My aunt offered encouragingly. She placed her hands on her hips and said, “Cole Davidson, I expect you to strip off and mind me. Just because I am going to let you tell me what to buy at the store – doesn’t mean you can ignore me.”

I took my shirt off, feeling like I was exposing my bare ribs to the others. I was blushing as hard as my sister as the two of us slowly removed our clothes.

Honey was already in the sudsy water. She luxuriated and sighed with pleasure as she enjoyed the space and started scrubbing with soap.

“Tina Davidson, panties off,” My aunt insisted that my sister remove her panties. Tina was mortified and I felt bad for her. She pulled her panties all the way down, careful not to bend over deeply. The first thing that I noticed was that she had no pubic hair at all.

At that time, that was extremely rare. Most women in Playboy or Dirty movies had a thick mesh of curly black pubic hair.

“Have your pubes not come in?” My aunt asked politely –like it was no big deal.

“They have, but I shaved them off,” Tina said, lip quivering. Clearly nervous.

“Why?” My aunt helped her into the tub, and she sat in the middle.

“I don’t know,” Tina shrugged, clearly too humiliated to explain herself.

My aunt said that the water would be cold by the time I got my pants off. “Honey, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before. I was in the Navy, and you are going to be here an entire summer. You may as well get used to this because we aren’t going to waste our clean well water on four individual baths for the four of you.”

I was in my underwear at this point, and my dong was bulging. I knew once I took them off – there was no hiding my hard-on. It was kind of hard not to notice in the underwear. I took a deep breath to gather my confidence.

“Such a drama queen,” My aunt snickered.

I removed my underwear and set my boner free. It rose like a spring that had been pulled back and released in a “Boi-oi-oi-ng” motion. I might have avoided the attention if I had just complied and stripped like it was no big deal. I had barely had a chance to see Honey’s pussy – but the long reveal had only drawn all eyes to my cock.

“You do have a big one,” My aunt admired my erection.

“It’s hard!” Honey seemed excited – almost celebratory.

My sister looked away and didn’t comment on it.

“Go on and get in the water, stud,” My aunt patronized me, and I got into the front position – back to my sister. The hot water felt nice on my body, but it smelled a little funky. I wasn’t used to well water. The tub was cramped, and I had only a third of the space to myself – I did my best to avoid touching my sister and scooting back.

“See? Nothing exploded, the sky didn’t fall. You are in the tub, now scrub-a-dub-dub,” My aunt teased. I got the sense she used that rhyme a lot. I didn’t ask if Rachel was going to stay in there and watch us – because it was obvious she intended to do that.

She passed us soap and washcloths and instructed us to wash ourselves. Rachel began pouring warm water into a pan and preparing something while I did my best to scrub my body in this awkward seated position. I couldn’t see what My cousin and sister were doing – and that was for the best. All I could think about was grabbing my hard dick and plunging it up and down until cum shot out – along with the dirty, perverted mental images floating around in my mind of my naked sister and cousin.

An orgasm had a tendency to center me and help me focus my thoughts on non-sexual things. I wasn’t going to be doing that while My aunt was watching, and I was sharing a tub with the two of them.

My aunt poured water slowly on her daughter’s head and then rubbed shampoo into it. Honey giggled and luxuriated under the water while My aunt washed her hair. “This is special shampoo. It will make sure you don’t pick up ticks and lice while you work on the farm. Ticks can be a real problem out here. We wash our hair daily,” she informed us.

When she finished washing My cousin’s hair, she instructed Honey to wash my sister’s back, and my sister to wash my back. My aunt told me to wash my face.

I cringed and quivered the first time that Tina touched my back with a wet washcloth. The taboo nature of being naked in the tub with my sister – was forcing my cock to throb and giving me a lot of dirty thoughts because I genuinely enjoyed what she was doing.

“That’s it, massage the soap in. Your brother’s back is sunburned a little, but his shoulders got it the worst. Do your best and scrub a little harder – he won’t break,” she instructed.

When it was my turn to get my hair washed, I hated it. The suds went straight into my eyes and burned, and it was hard to concentrate. The only thing that I liked about the shampoo that My aunt gave me was that it was over quickly.

“Stand up,” My aunt told us. She instructed us to wash each other’s legs and “backside”. Although I had no one to wash, so I continued to wash my belly, arms and chest.

The door to the bathroom opened, and I nearly jumped out of the tub. I had been scared by the Palmetto bug, terrified by my uncle when he caught me resting my head in a very platonic way on My aunt’s chest – but the door opening was scarier than the deer I had seen earlier in the barn.

“Sorry, I am late, Mom,” My cousin Sugar said. She was tall – taller than me, medium-sized boobs, a smirky smile, long blonde hair, cute bubbly expression. I blushed even harder – she was mature and looked much older than she was. I tried not to even glance at Sugar.

“Where have you been? I was worried you were sick,” My aunt asked as she washed my hair.

“I got a ride with a boy, and he didn’t bring me back right away. I am sorry, Momma!” Sugar said – her voice was a little scratchy and it sounded kind of sexy.

“I am sure that’s not all you got,” My aunt implied her eldest daughter had sex. “Get your clothes off, we’ll talk about it after.”

“There isn’t any room for me,” My cousin Sugar observed.

“Exactly. You will wait right there, hands at your side, and you can bathe in cold water! What did you father tell you?”


“He told me twenty on my bottom for being late and worrying you both sick,” Sugar blushed.

“You got off lucky. If it were up to me, I’d make you cut a hickory switch and do fifty!” My aunt chided her. “This is your cousin Cole. I am sorry you have to meet Sugar like this, Cole – this is your cousin, Sugar.”

I awkwardly greeted her – pretending my erection was perfectly normal while my sister washed my butt cheeks.

“It’s a pleasure, Cole,” Sugar greeted me back – less awkwardly.

“This is Tina,” My aunt introduced my sister with slightly less fanfare than she gave me.

“Oh my! Where are your pubes, girl?” Sugar asked with amusement.

“I shaved them off,” Tina explained through pursed lips. I was certain Hope was washing her bottom.

“Crabs?” Sugar asked. I didn’t know what she was talking about, and Tina didn’t either.

“No, I just liked the way that it felt. I didn’t know anyone would see me without pants on,” Tina admitted- I could hear in her tone that she was way beyond normal mortified and had gone into overtime mortification.

“It’s kind of sexy. Can I shave mine, Mom?” Sugar asked boldly.

“Why would you want to look like a little girl with a bald pussy?” My aunt asked in a tone that made it sound like she thought it was depraved to remove your pubic hair.

“It just looks cool, and I bet it feels awesome,” Sugar theorized – clearly impressed and excited by my sister’s bald pussy. She was smiling broadly and so was Honey. Her little sister wisely kept her mouth shut though.

“Turn around and face the other way,” My aunt instructed us without replying to Sugar. I hesitated – now my dick was pointed straight at my sister’s cute little ass. Her butt cheeks were clenched tightly, and I couldn’t see anything between her legs. I knew I shouldn’t be looking at all, but I was curious to compare her pussy with that of My cousin Honey. She made us wash each other’s backs while we stood. I felt so awkward because my cock prevented me from getting very close to my sister – I kept about four inches between the tip and her ass.

“You aren’t in any position to ask for naughty stuff,” My aunt reminded her daughter. “You are getting too old to be bathed like this – I should make you shave your beaver, wear pigtails, and go back to saddle shoes and ankle socks when you weren’t such a wild child.”

My dick twitched and bounced when My aunt made the threat. I doubted she was serious, but the mental image of my hot cousin with a shaved pussy and braided pigtails was unexpectedly erotic.

“I am sorry that I am filling out and my body is maturing, but I can’t help it, Momma. I know you think I was giving hand jobs down at the Tastee-Freez, but after a grueling day at the Animal Shelter, a boy took me down to County Line Road and wouldn’t drop me back off. I already told him that he was getting me in trouble, and he didn’t care. I won’t get a ride from him again, I promise.”

My aunt nodded and accepted the answer. “Alright, is everyone good and clean? Do you need a little more time? Don’t be timid, Cole. Wash your sister’s ankles and really get everywhere – it’s just water and soap, not acid.”

We nodded, ready to get out. The water was tepid, the suds had started to dissipate, and I was so horny that I could have fucked a hole in a tree. My aunt poured water from the pan on our heads and let it flow down our bodies to wash off the soap and then, one by one, wrapped us in a towel as we stepped out.

She told us to get ready for bed and instructed Honey to give my sister a nightgown if she didn’t have one to wear. “No sleeping naked,” My aunt told us both.

“Who gets to sleep in what bed?” Honey asked.

“You guys’ figure that out, I don’t care – just don’t stay up talking and gossiping. You have an early morning tomorrow. Thanks to you – I have to stand outside and watch as you wash my car again,” Rachel sounded bitter.

She instructed her eldest daughter to get in the water. I heard Sugar complain about it being cold and dirty, and My aunt replied “Tough titty – so sad, too bad. Don’t like it? Don’t come home late.”

We walked a short distance from the bathroom to My cousins’ room wearing only towels. That was a new experience for me as well. I wasn’t used to going to bed this early, and I certainly wasn’t used to wearing a towel after I left the bathroom.

“You bathe like that every night?” I asked as we entered our room. I kept my towel wrapped around my waist. Honey dropped hers immediately and without a thought for her own modesty began to put on a nightgown.

“It’s my first time bathing with a boy.” You have a nice pecker, I hope you don’t mind me saying that,” she giggled and blushed. I didn’t mind that at all – it was VERY flattering. I knew because we were cousins, I shouldn’t flirt back with her, and I should act like it was an inappropriate comment.

Tina kept the towel around her body, as she stood there waiting for our cousin to find something for her to wear to bed.

“You have a lovely pussy too! I wouldn’t have the courage to shave my pussy, because I think mine is ugly,” Honey spread her legs slightly and gave us both a look at the indention and flaps around her labia. “You just did it for kicks? Did your mom notice?” she asked as she bent over and rifled through a pile of clothes.

“We don’t walk around naked in front of each other at home. My mom wouldn’t know that I shaved and neither did my brother,” Tina blushed.

“That’s weird – you guys are afraid to let each other see you naked? If you can’t trust your mom and your brother, I don’t understand that. Do you shower at school during gym class?” she asked.

I didn’t do that – I always wore my shorts under my jeans and dressed out that way.

“Sometimes,” Tina admitted.

“You’d clean your ass in front of other students you barely know, but you are worried about your mom seeing you? she made you! You came out of her naked,” Honey clearly had no issues with nudity around us.

“it’s just skin,” she giggled and then playfully dropped on her bed. She was completely naked and still a little damp. Honey spread her legs wide and exposed her entire pussy. “I pee from here,” she pointed to her pussy, “and I make fudge from here – my brown eye!”

I swallowed – looking away.

“Sorry, I don’t really see why you guys care so much about it. I can see if it was my mom in here flashing her fudge maker – but I am your age. I don’t get it,” Honey shrugged and tossed a nightgown and a pair of white cotton panties to my sister.

“Thanks,” she said as she started putting it on quickly. Tina rolled the panties up her legs first. The long white t-shirt that she wore as a night gown featured Tony the Tiger saying “Their Great” right under her boobs.

“I am glad there is a girl with boobs the same size as mine. I get very jealous of Sugar’s knockers,” Honey admitted as she started looking for an outfit to wear.

“What should I wear to sleep in?” I asked.

“I don’t know – we don’t get boys sleeping over,” she giggled. “I am sorry I keep staring at your dong. I am sure you think I am a perv,” Honey smiled and winked. I thought she was joking because I hadn’t noticed her staring. I thought Honey was implying that she knew I was staring at her.

“It’s just how you move it – it’s like sometimes you make it jump. Can I see you move it?”

“My dick?” I asked.

“Yeah, don’t make me say it out loud,” Honey giggled impishly and blushed. I was reluctant but she pled with me to show it to her.

I dropped my towel and then moved my dick for her – forcing it to twitch.

“That’s so cool, watch this,” Honey was clearly an extrovert. She laid down on her back, spread her legs, and then closed her eyes to concentrate. “Hello…” she said before stopping, opening her eyes and asking to reset. “Hang on…hang on…I can do it.”

I wasn’t sure what she was asking me to watch and I felt deeply perverted being nude, while I started at her open pussy.

That’s when she moved the lips like a clam opening its shell and made a funny voice in time with the flaps opening. “Hello….my….name….Is…MIS…TER…HAPPEEEEEEEE!”

She groaned after she finished, clearly exhausted by the effort, and her pussy was dripping. Then she started laughing hysterically. “Did you see what I did? I moved my pussy in time with my words!”

I nodded that I saw it.

“Can other girls do that? It’s not easy,” she bragged.

I had no idea, but I told her it was impressive.

My aunt opened the door without warning and caught us both naked – me standing there with a hard on and Honey on the bed with her legs spread.

“I told you to get some sleep, not walk around showing your little winkers to each other. You need to be up bright and early tomorrow. Your dad has some new chores for you girls, and he has some things he wants you to do as well, Cole.”

I nodded, and covered my cock with my hand.

“Where is Sugar?” Honey asked.

“Getting her fat little ass warmed up. Would you like to join her?” My aunt asked curtly – clearly rhetorically. “Get your panties and night gown on right this instant,” she said. Honey hopped out of bed and complied.

“What should I wear to sleep in?” I asked.

“What do you normally wear?” My aunt was confused by the question.

“Pajamas?” I said.

“That’s fine, underwear is fine, as long as you aren’t naked. Do you need to take care of that?” she looked at my pecker and implied that I could masturbate. I deeply and truly needed to jerk off but the last thing that I was going to do was ask My aunt for permission.

I quickly put on my underwear without answering and started to put on my Spiderman pajamas.

“Okay, Tina and Honey, hop in the bed, chop-chop,” My aunt hurried the girls into the bed, and turned her nose up in disgust over my choice of Pajamas. She flicked out the switch and told me to get in bed. “Sugar will be in directly,” she assured me as she shut the door – leaving us to see only by the moonlight trickling in through the curtainless window in the room.

[steam train]

This is building nicely.

[Bobmagn]

Going really good

[steam train]

Eddie, how old is Tina? Her lack of breasts but having pubes (albeit shaved off) suggests to me 11 years old but she could be 12 and a slightly late developer.

I note you have written in chapter 1 “ Tina is a year younger than me and shorter. “ The above quote would make Cole 12 or 13.

Can you clarify?

[steam train]

Eddie, how old is Tina? Her lack of breasts but having pubes (albeit shaved off) suggests to me 11 years old but she could be 12 and a slightly late developer.

I note you have written in chapter 1 “ Tina is a year younger than me and shorter. “ The above quote would make Cole 12 or 13.

Can you clarify?

Bump