Doris and Grace had not crossed paths, except for telephone and email exchanges, for almost half a decade. That said, as sisters, they remained close. It had been that way since their earliest childhood days in England. The two women had both ‘married well’ and settled into their lives on opposite sides of the Atlantic – Doris in Los Angeles, Grace in Paris. They had both managed successful careers and the demands of being both wives and mothers. When Doris’ marriage had ended in divorce several years ago, it was Grace who first reached out to make sure her older sister was alright. So, when Doris received the silver embossed invitation to Grace’s daughter’s wedding that summer in Europe, it genuinely lifted her spirits. For Doris, it would be a welcome excuse, after too many canceled or deferred plans, to spend some happy times with her sister and her sister’s family.
True to Grace’s penchant for opulence, the wedding was to be a very tasteful but expensive affair. Rather than settling on Paris as a setting for her daughter Amelie’s wedding, the family had arranged for the ceremony and reception to take place on the sunny Mediterranean coast of southeastern Spain, in the pretty, sun-soaked city of Vera. Although sparing no expense on the wedding itself, the relatively small guest list ensured that it would also be a pleasantly intimate one. As event planner extraordinaire, Grace had arranged for all the wedding guests to be housed in the same gorgeous resort hotel right on the coast, each guesthouse facing the ocean.
After her very long transatlantic flight, Doris arrived in sunny Spain and checked in. Her private and spacious guesthouse, with its elegant decor and spa-like amenities, was a welcome oasis of calm after numerous connections and time-zone changes. She called her sister from her room, announced her arrival, and arranged to have dinner with the family that evening in one of the resort’s restaurants. After unpacking, she slipped under the luxurious sheets of her king-size bed for a delicious midday nap.
She awoke an hour later feeling refreshed, supplementing her recovery with a restorative shower. Afterwards, standing in just her semi-sheer bra and panties, and while gently applying moisturizer to her legs, Doris eyed her reflection in the floor-length bathroom mirror. Doris had always been the brainy beauty of the family, combining a formidable intellect with an equally formidable figure. She had always struggled with having to reconcile a bookish shyness with a body that drove men to distraction. Even as a young girl, she possessed a very large bust for her age; a fact that no number of baggy sweaters could obscure. With her then raven-coloured hair, cantilevered chest, womanly hips, and fecund, pillowy lips, she never quite knew what to do with all the male attention she received. The black-rimmed glasses and standoffish demeanour only succeeded in exacerbating her predicament and the air of mystery she evoked in the eyes of the opposite sex. Imagine a young, very top-heavy Page Three Girl with a satchel full of books of French Literature and the mind of a pointy-headed intellectual, and you begin to form a picture of her younger self. Admirers from behind never failed to notice her almost rudely sexualized gait; the natural and unaffected result of a narrow waist, relatively wide hips, and a curvy, fleshy behind.
Now fifty-four, Doris’s hair had graduated to a rather chic salt-and-pepper, though admittedly more salt than pepper; the hips and derriere were decidedly larger – post birthing of her now three adult children – and though the tummy was relatively trim, there were beachheads of cellulite she could no longer deny. Good genes and the combination of swimming and Pilates had kept the worst of gravity’s effects at bay. Most mercifully of all, considering her bra size, Doris’s heavy bust remained relatively buoyant. Requiring a size 30D bra by the time she was fifteen, Doris had continued to blossom well into her late twenties. Post pregnancies, and now in her fifties, she shopped in specialty lingerie shops for bras size 34J.
A little while later, feeling revivified, she met and exchanged double-kisses with Grace and her family in the restaurant.
Having married a Frenchman and raised several children in France, Doris’ younger sister had long since fully acclimated to her adopted country across the Channel. Grace was an integrated and fluent Parisienne now, and France was her home. Like her older sister, she exuded an understated sophistication in style, manners, and carriage.
Not having seen them in almost five years, Doris almost felt like she was meeting Grace’s children for the first time, such was the degree to which they had grown up and matured. Amelie, the eldest, with her fiancé by her side, was a beautiful woman in her own right; Margot, the middle child, and in her mid-twenties, was equally lovely. But it was their youngest, Tristan, who truly caught Doris’s eye. Tristan had been adopted from Eastern Europe when he was a baby. Now eighteen, he had morphed from a shy, gangly pubescent boy into a conspicuously handsome and well-spoken young man. With his native Romanian colouring – jet black hair, angular features, brooding green eyes, and sensuous lips – and the heavily French-accented (albeit fluent) English, he was clearly going to cause a great number of women to swoon in the years to come.
The group of them enjoyed a lovely dinner together and the wine flowed freely. Grace and her family had often holidayed in the area, knew it well, and the conversation turned to the sites worth seeing and the surrounding areas. Doris’ sister offered up her young son as her own private tour guide during her two weeks’ stay. Doris took pity on the young man and said it wasn’t necessary – that he likely had a lot better things to occupy his time than to tour around with an old lady – but Grace would have no part of it.
“I would love to show you around, Auntie Doris,” offered Tristan, with a slightly shy but disarming smile. “Yesterday, I rented a scooter for the week. Tomorrow’s the wedding, but after that, we can explore the area together. It’s so beautiful, and I know all the best places.”
Doris was flattered, and happily accepted her handsome nephew’s kind offer.
The next day, the family was abuzz with the excitement of the wedding. Amelie looked absolutely beautiful in an understated white wedding dress, with delicate baby’s breath flowers in her hair. Doris had chosen a simple, tasteful A-Line dress in a summery, mauve chiffon. She worried that the synched belt and slightly lower neckline drew too much attention to her bust, but the dress was mercifully cool to wear in the Spanish heat, and it made her feel attractive. The flowy hem made her less conscious about what she perceived to be a larger behind.
The ceremony felt intimate and was as beautiful as the blushing bride. Afterwards, the thirty or so guests congregated in a lovely reception room with an expansive patio overlooking the ocean. Once again, the champagne flowed freely, and everyone in attendance seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Doris loved weddings because they were such happy events. People looked their best and everyone was in a good mood.
Music was provided, and people soon began to take advantage of the dance floor. In deference to the older members of the group, the music began with was an assortment of jazz and Latin tunes suitable for pairs. Doris was happily chatting with her sister when she felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She turned around in her chair to face a beaming Tristan.
“May I have this dance, Auntie Doris?” he asked, ever the polite gentleman.
Doris had found herself admiring her young nephew from the moment he first appeared that morning in his slim-fitting black suit. He really was a gorgeous young boy, and in addition to being fairly tall, he looked like a young movie star in that well-tailored suit. For some women, a man in a suit holds the same level of appeal as a woman in lingerie does for a man, and Doris counted herself in that number. So, when Tristan offered Doris his hand, she smiled and accepted.
Doris loved to dance, and it had always been a source of frustration that her ex-husband so obviously did not. On occasions such as this, she would have normally spent the night sitting at her table, so it was a welcome and genuine pleasure that she found herself with such an eager young dance partner. Tristan was quite adept, too. So much the better. They danced together for several songs, and Doris enjoyed the closeness and her nephew’s lovely-smelling cologne.
In truth, it wasn’t just dancing that Doris missed. Since her divorce, there had been only intermittent dating, and nowhere near the amount of affection, romance, or zesty lovemaking that she craved. She had always been somewhat frustrated in that regard since her husband’s sex drive never came close to matching her own. Having already been formidable in her forties, her sex drive now seemed only to be increasing in intensity into her mid-fifties. That being the case, take a fifty-four-year-old, sexually ravenous older woman, dress her up and make her feel sexy, add a few too many glasses of champagne, and put her in the arms of a handsome young man on the dance floor – albeit an adopted nephew young enough to be her grandchild – and you have a recipe for some inappropriately flirtatious comments.
“You look so beautiful, Auntie Doris,” gushed Tristan, with innocent, disarming sincerity.
“Well, young man,” countered Doris, with a mischievous smile, “I thank you for your lovely compliment. Let me tell you, if I were forty years younger, you would be in a great deal of danger!”
“Oh?” he said smiling, his face going a bit flush. “What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s just say that if I were your age, the chances of you getting inside my panties tonight would be very, very good.”
A broad, bashful smile formed across Tristan’s mouth, and he blushed conspicuously in reaction to her rather forward, champagne-induced comment. This only succeeded in endearing him to her even more.
“So, in summary,” added Doris in mock thought. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous, tall, charming, mature beyond your years, you’re a wonderful dancer, and you seem to have a way of making women say things they shouldn’t. I can only hope for your poor parents’ sake that you have a penis the size of my ex-husband’s, as in rather small. Otherwise, women will be breaking into your house in the middle of the night just to get at you.”
Tristan could only smile at his Aunt’s comment.
Afterwards, and feeling a little light-headed, Doris stepped out onto the patio for some fresh air, with Tristan in tow. Doris thanked him for the dances and gently kissed him on the cheek, wiping a little lipstick smear from his cheek like a mother.
For Doris, the excess of champagne meant the rest of the night was all a bit of a blur to her the next day. Indeed, she did not remember returning to her guest house at all that night; yet awoke to find herself under the sheets of her own bed in just her lacy bra and panties; her heels, dress, and jewelry, all neatly assembled across the loveseat by her bed.
Coffee and croissant restored her. Yet despite her foggy head, she was not so wanting, in terms of memory, to forget saying some naughty and inappropriate things to her nephew. Slightly horrified upon reflection, she sighed and committed herself to making amends later that day. She only hoped that she hadn’t embarrassed herself too greatly and that no one else had heard. Hopefully, young Tristan would take pity on his poor, horny Aunt and say nothing to his mother.
She had just exited her suite, dressed in sandals, Capri pants, and a relatively low-cut blouse, when she heard a honk from the steps below. It was a smiling Tristan, perched atop his shiny Italian scooter.
Oh dear, thought Doris. But before she could offer a word of apology for the night before, Tristan launched into his plans to take her along the coast to a lovely seaside restaurant for lunch. Grace and the rest of the family would be busy getting Amelie and her new husband ready for their honeymoon departure the next day, and Tristan’s mother had asked him to take his aunt to see a bit of the beautiful coastline. Ready for her morning adventure, Doris straddled the scooter behind her young charge and off they went.
The coastline was indeed stunning, and the feeling of the salty breeze in her hair was exhilarating. She indulged herself in a quiet little tease by pressing her large bosom firmly against Tristan’s warm, strong back. After touring around all morning, they found a lovely little spot for lunch. The restaurant was in an old stone house that overlooked the ocean, and it was impossible to overlook the understated romance of the setting. The smell of flowers and citrus permeated the inside of the house.
Sitting across from each other, Doris finally offered a heartfelt apology for her behaviour from the night before. Again, ever the gentleman, Tristan assured her there was no need; that he’d had so much fun dancing with her. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, and she couldn’t help but admire the suggestion of his strong, hairless chest. Truth be told, she had practically drooled at the view of his sculpted behind in his tight white jeans as they’d entered the restaurant together. An underlying horniness had returned.
They enjoyed their lunch of sangria and tapas, and Doris genuinely delighted in her nephew’s gracious company and charming conversation. It reminded her of the enjoyable lunch dates she often spent with her own son.
Later, and looking back after turning to admire the ocean view, she caught him looking at her in a way that was not like she had been looked at in some time. Above her low-cut neckline, a healthy amount of deep cleavage and the top of her bra had become visible. Although he quickly averted his eyes, there was something incredibly and transparently sexual about his gaze. Realizing how much it excited her, she tried her best to suppress the feeling. There was no harm in thinking it, she thought to herself, but feelings could be dangerous, and she did everything she could to put the moment behind her.
Perhaps to overcome the awkwardness of the moment, and to lighten the mood, Grace began quizzing Tristan about his teenage romantic endeavours and his youthful experiences with members of the fairer sex. Tristan was slightly chagrinned by her motherly inquisition and blushed, which Doris found all the more endearing, and made her want to hug him.
When pressed, he confessed to having had very little success with girls his age, at least beyond the initial crush stage. Doris found this difficult to believe, but he was clearly being genuine, even a little melancholic. He claimed not to be able to relate very well to girls his own age, and that he found them immature and superficial.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asked with maternal softness.
Tristan answered that he had – just once – and Doris was curious to hear what was doubtless a touching story of the girl was who’d stolen his heart for the very first time. She expected it to be a young girl in her teens but was shocked in the extreme when he revealed that it had been a woman in her early fifties!
Stunned by the revelation, Doris felt compelled to press further. Did his parents know about it (no); who was she (a friend of his mother it was revealed, and a married woman no less!); how long did it last (several months); and did she break his heart (very much so). On that note, Tristan’s face appeared quite forlorn. Doris reached across the table and placed her hand gently against his cheek.
“Oh, darling, I’m very sorry.”
Finally, she had one last question. Had they been intimate?
“Yes,” he answered. “It was difficult at first, but then we made love so much.”
“Difficult?” asked Doris, not understanding what he meant.
Her nephew was clearly reluctant to say more and averted his eyes. Doris placed her hand on his, leaned forward, and looked up into his downcast eyes.
“You can tell me, darling. I’m your Auntie,” she said tenderly. “Please… don’t be shy.”
“My… penis,” he whispered bashfully.
Doris felt her own cheeks flush.
“Yes?
Again, Tristan seemed hesitant to speak.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t be shy, please,” she continued. “I’m older than your mother. You can tell me. What’s wrong? Is it… a little small?”
Tristan shook his head no, and Doris suppressed a sigh of excitement when she realized what it was that he had been so shy about and reluctant to reveal. “Is it… quite, um… big?” she asked quietly.
He nodded in the affirmative, eyes shyly downcast.
“Oh, darling, you needn’t be ashamed or embarrassed about that.”
Once again, she forced him to look into her eyes. “Sweetie, when two people love each other, they make adjustments and find ways to pleasure each other. I promise you everything will be okay. You needn’t worry about that. Besides, when girls get a little older, they begin to understand their bodies better. And by the time they’re grown women… like me for instance, or younger, of course… they, well, they often find a large penis very, very exciting and pleasurable.”
Tristan looked up.
“Really?”
“Oh yes, darling. You mustn’t worry,” replied Doris softly.
“Even when it doesn’t fit?” added Tristan.
“What do you mean?” asked Doris.
“It never fits… inside… inside the girl, I mean,” he answered earnestly, albeit with some exasperation for having to stumble a bit for the right words.
“The woman I loved,” he continued, “she was the first woman I could… she was the first one I could fit quite a bit of it inside. But even then, not at first, and only after I had to… force it. I really didn’t like hurting her.”
Doris was truly taken aback. This latest information genuinely shocked her. What was worse, it excited her, and she felt a bit flush all over.
“Tristan, darling, please don’t be embarrassed,” she said sweetly. “But… exactly how big… is it… I mean, when it’s fully aroused?”
Doris knew she was wrong to put the question to the boy, but she couldn’t restrain herself.
“Eleven inches long and seven inches around,” he admittedly sheepishly.
Despite wanting to remain stoic, Doris’s eyes widened, and she was forced to take in a deep breath.
“I beg your pardon?!” she gasped. “My god, sweetie!”
“It scares girls when they see it,” he added.
“I’m very sure that it does!” exclaimed Doris. “That’s… well that’s… extremely large.”
Then, sensing an absolute absence of ego on his part, and truly wanting to reassure the troubled young boy, she explained to him that despite being so well equipped, in time things would improve, and lovers would become better and better able to accommodate him. “It’s a good thing I’m your Auntie, and old!” she said with a playful smile. “Otherwise, it would be a very dangerous thing for you to tell me what you’ve told me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tristan innocently.
“Well…,” she continued, smiling. “It’s just that I happen to adore, um… a very large penis on a man. I hope I’m not embarrassing you by saying so, but it’s true. If you were forty years older and not my nephew, I would be trying my very best to seduce you!”
The next day, Doris was still buzzing from her conversation with Tristan from the day before. Indeed, it had been on her mind on and off ever since.
That evening, after sunset, the two of them went for a leisurely walk along the sandy beach, under the stars. Sandals in hand, the warm, moonlit sand felt exquisite under their bare feet. Despite his boyish looks, Doris had to keep reminding herself that the boy was only eighteen years old, and clearly off-limits – much younger than even her own children – such was his maturity and the degree to which she enjoyed his company. He was both a gentle spirit and an old soul. Indeed, their budding friendship made her anxious. For when completely honest with herself, she had to face the fact that she was beginning to have a bit of a crush on him; feelings that went beyond what was appropriate between an aunt and a nephew, not to mention one where there was almost a forty-year gap in age between them.
Earlier in the day, the bride and her new husband had left for their honeymoon, and they’d all made the trek to the airport together to say their goodbyes. Margot had left as well, heading back to France to be with her friends and to begin a summer course she needed before university began in the Fall.
When it was time for bed, they finished their walk in the cool night air and Tristan escorted Doris to her guest house just off the beach. They bid their goodnights, and Doris leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. An awkward, prolonged silence followed before Doris tenderly brushed his hair from his eyes, smiled, and walked away. Unbeknownst to her, Tristan never took his eyes from her until her door closed behind her. It may also have surprised her to know that she was now the recurring object of his conscious and unconscious thoughts.
Doris overslept the next morning and awoke to find a message waiting for her from her sister. Grace, her husband Michel, and Tristan would be spending the day at the beach, and she was invited to join them.
Despite the white sand beaches and turquoise waters just a short stroll from their suites, the offer gave Doris a brief pause. Vera was home to probably the most famous clothing-optional beaches in all of Europe, and their particular stretch of it was no exception. She knew Grace and her family had always been rather liberal-minded when it came to communal, nude-sunbathing, hence the appeal of a place like Vera where it was so common. And although the thought of an ‘unveiled’ Tristan was enough to render her a little short of breath, at fifty-four she didn’t know whether she herself could (or should) pull off toplessness with dignity.
Had she not been in Vera, or even Europe in general, Doris would have worn a more modest one-piece swimsuit, especially since a one-piece would draw slightly less attention to her large breasts. Instead, and as a compromise, she slipped on a relatively daring (for her, at least) white bikini, covered herself from the waist down in a semi-sheer sarong to draw attention away from her fleshy behind, put on a big, floppy hat, and headed off to join the group.
When she got there, she was somewhat chagrinned to discover her sister and her husband lying on a blanket under a large sun umbrella completely nude. Indeed, looking around, she was hard-pressed to spot anyone wearing more than a bikini bottom. Being late-Summer, like her, the pair of them were quite tanned already. Michael, also in his late fifties, and Grace a few years younger, had both retained attractive bodies. Grace was certainly smaller-chested than Doris, perhaps a D cup, but obviously quite fit. Doris observed that Michel was slightly larger than average in terms of endowment, and quite thick, and she thought her sister a lucky woman.
The two sisters began chatting under the intense but dry sun, and after not too much effort, Grace convinced Doris to remove her bikini top. She had to admit it felt deliciously freeing to be topless; and though she had planned to go no further and leave her string bikini bottoms on for modesty’s sake, she decided to throw caution and North American attitudes about nudity to the wind. She was grateful for having had the prescience to trim her bikini line before leaving for Europe, and the sun and warm air felt marvelous between her legs. Trying to appear disinterested, Doris asked Grace where Tristan was. Her sister pointed to the water. Squinting, Doris could just make out her nephew, shoulder-deep in the water. She also couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to be chatting amiably with two women who couldn’t have been much younger than she was.
Her nephew’s presence at the beach that day – and Grace and Michel’s, too – was both exciting and slightly unnerving. She was hardly a prude, but that kind of casual nudity, such an ordinary occurrence for them, did not come quite as naturally to her, and consequently, it all felt conspicuously sexual. With her nephew out in the water, Doris took advantage and used the moment to apply sun lotion to her breasts and body. The warmth of the sun made the tender, sensitive skin of her large areolas tingle and become puffy.
Doris was sitting cross-legged, resting on her hands behind her when she noticed Tristan heading towards shore. By the time he was waist-deep, Doris was grateful for her dark sunglasses, since they helped obscure her visual indulgence. Their conversation in the restaurant kept playing over in her mind. Could his self-assessment really be true? Dimensions like that would make even the least skeptical suspect hyperbole.
With the water at his waist, it was now obvious that her young nephew had indeed been blessed with a slim, beautiful body: broad-shoulders, narrow-waist, and deliciously articulated abdominal muscles. But when he emerged from the water entirely, Doris, slack-jawed and wide-eyed in utter disbelief, discovered that Tristan was clearly a man of his word, and was conspicuously blessed in another way as well. Although he wore a brief, narrow-sided men’s speedo-style swimsuit, it did nothing to obscure the unmistakable largesse between his legs. The swimsuit was obviously made of a very thin, stretchy nylon-lycra, and the weighted front pouch appeared to be restraining a small, coiled arm. The thickness and size of the outline suggested a penis not out of place on a studding horse!
Indeed, she was so taken aback that, without thinking, she turned to look at her sister as if to say, ‘Are you seeing what I’m seeing?!’ But Grace was, for obvious reasons, non-plussed about it, and her young son’s ‘largesse’ was obviously not worthy of comment. That was not true, however, for a number of others that day, as Tristan’s obvious gift garnered surreptitious glances from sunbathers nearby. It was also quite understandable. The preternaturally large bulge in the front of her nephew’s swimsuit was truly noteworthy; enough to make even the most secure male wither from feelings of inadequacy. To say that the handsome young boy had a ‘big dick’ was obviously an understatement.
She smiled at Tristan as he approached.
“Hi, Auntie Doris,” he said cheerfully, sitting down on the towel next to his mother and drying himself off. Overcoming a flash of initial bashfulness, Doris resisted the urge to suddenly cover herself. And though they both tried to appear otherwise, she and Tristan were keenly aware of each other’s presence, smiling at each other several times. In truth, being completely nude in his company gave her a private thrill.
The fact that they all began to converse and drink wine together, as if sitting together in the nude (save and except for Tristan) was the most natural thing in the world, somehow only added to the strangeness of it all for her. Stranger still was the non-acknowledgment (albeit understandable) of Tristan’s swimsuit and his apparent reluctance to join in.
Despite her initial reservations about public nudity and a clothing-optional beach, especially with family, over the course of the afternoon and after enough wine, her natural reserve began to give way to a sort of happy and confident hedonism. Simply put, the group nudity began to turn her on. She took a special delight in feeling Tristan’s eyes upon her, catching him stealing a look at the dark, neatly-trimmed delta between her legs.
Though she was loathe to make assumptions, the thought that such a beautiful young boy might find her even remotely sexually attractive gave her an additional shiver of excitement. In truth, whether she knew it or not, despite her body’s imperfections and battles with age – the encroachment of cellulite, the slightly less buoyant breasts, the wide hips, bigger behind, and fleshier arms and thighs – the fact was, Doris was still a very voluptuous and desirable-looking woman. A fact that was not lost on the young man in her midst.
Looking around, Doris felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy whenever someone, usually a woman or a group of women, took notice of her handsome nephew. She decided to take her mind off it all and to clear her head a bit after the wine, by going for a walk along the beach. She got up and, brushing a bit of sand from her behind, announced to her prone, sunbathing companions that felt like a walk. She had just started off when she heard Tristan sidle up beside her.
“Auntie Doris, is it okay if I come with you?”
“Of course, sweetie,” she replied with a smile.
It was more than okay, though his presence was beginning to make her feel a little like a silly school girl. She sighed at the slightly humiliating thought that she might have developed a genuine crush on a mere boy. What was now clear was that she lusted mightily after his young body, not to mention what most women would surmise was – though still concealed by his swimsuit – a dangerous and prohibitively large sex.
Despite feeling more and more at ease at the beach that day, it still felt a little strange (albeit exhilaratingly so) to be brazenly walking along the beach in the nude. And they made quite a pair: she, with heavy breasts heaving and swaying as she made her way through the hot sand, her hips and ripe, fleshy behind rising and falling; he, with his brief, overtaxed swimsuit restraining a young male sex the size of a small, boneless arm.
After walking for a good fifteen minutes – far along down the beach – and feeling a little overwhelmed by the intense Spanish sun, the two of them took refuge under a canopied, outdoor stand-up shower that was right on the beach. There were half a dozen nozzles, in sets of two, and they gladly stepped into the shade under a couple to drench themselves in the cool, revivifying waters.
“You’ve got sand all over the back of your swimsuit, darling,” observed Doris aloud. She turned Tristan so that the water hit his back; brushing sand from the bright white material with her hands. His bum was a thing of sculpted beauty to her: taut and small and pleasingly-shaped. She then turned him to face her, ostensibly to see if he had sand elsewhere, but took the moment to watch the water cascade over his chest and down past his flat stomach.
She looked up and their eyes met. After a few seconds of intense eye contact, Tristan shyly looked away while his aunt softly brushed away sand from his chest.
“Wouldn’t you rather take off your swimsuit, Tristan,” she said. “It really does feel wonderful, and it can’t be comfortable having something so… big… tucked inside such a brief swimsuit.”
She sensed his reluctance, but pressed on, approaching him closely.
“Here, let me,” she said with a smile.
While her nephew stood in silence looking on, Doris placed her fingers inside the stretchy waistband and slipped it off. What she saw next genuinely took her breath away, as his massive sex fell out from its constraint and slapped heavily against his thigh.
Doris surmised that it was a good seven-plus inches long in its relaxed state; as thick as her wrist at its widest point, with a large vein running along its length and tapering down to a smooth, spongy-looking circumcised head. Miraculously, as big as the head was, the shaft was thicker and wider.
“Sweetie, I don’t mean to stare, and I really don’t want to embarrass you, but you really are an incredibly big boy,” she said eyeing his manhood with obvious awe and admiration. “Clearly, you weren’t exaggerating. I’ve never seen one anywhere near that large before. My goodness, you’d tear me in two!” Adding with a wink, “Oh, but what a way to go.”
“And I’ve never seen breasts as big or as beautiful as yours, Auntie Doris,” stammered Tristan.
“Oh, aren’t you a lovely boy? Why, thank you, sweetie,” she cooed.
Standing closer now, under Tristan’s shower, Doris turned and asked him to see if she had any sand on her behind. With a quick intake of breath, she closed her eyes momentarily as she felt his strong, warm hands softly brush against her naked bottom. It had been so long since she’d felt the touch of a man’s hands on her body, let alone those of such a winsome young boy.
She turned again to face him directly, meeting his eyes with her own while running her fingers through her wet hair under the shower. Affording him a purposeful and prolonged view of her matronly yet voluptuous figure, she took unspoken delight in his nervous but failed attempts to avoid gazing upon her large breasts or the trimmed pubic triangle between her legs. Even more delightful was the look of quiet panic on Tristan’s face when his huge organ began to thicken and lengthen noticeably. Before the situation got out of hand, Doris took pity on the poor boy, turned off their shower, and encouraged him to wade out into the water – ostensibly to determine whether that area of the beach had a sandy bottom or not – before they set off back towards where his parents were.
As they stepped out, Doris overheard a woman in the stall next to them giggle and whisper to her friend in English, “Pssst, Helen. Don’t be obvious about it, but look at the size of the thing between that boy’s legs!”
She lingered at the shoreline until sufficient time had passed for Tristan’s embarrassing ‘swelling’ to abate. Clearly relieved, he emerged a few minutes later and the two of them made their way back. At one point, Tristan briefly slipped his hand into hers. She didn’t know whether it was the European in him or a sign of deeper portent. Regardless, his gentle touch elicited a warm shiver, and she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it.
Later that evening came the news that Grace and her husband were planning a four-day excursion of their own to Malaga the next morning. Grace seemed a bit puzzled by her sister’s reaction to the news, that perhaps it wasn’t a very good idea. But she assured her that Tristan would be fine on his own in their guest house for a few days, and that they needed a little time on their own. In truth, Doris found the thought of her and her nephew left alone dangerously alluring. So much so that she had tried several times to convince her sister not to leave. But Doris’s argument made no sense to her sister and they persisted with their plans. When she bade Grace and Michel goodbye the next morning, Doris felt a mixture of wariness and excitement; like boarding a train not knowing what the final destination might be. The only thing she was sure of was that the thoughts and feelings she harboured for her nephew were both strictly forbidden… and deeply beguiling.
