Different Perspectives Ch. 01

I don't think you realised I was so close, I wondered if your mind was elsewhere as you bent down in front of me, your thighs, taught, tanned and nicely muscled from the gym were stretched perfectly.

My eyes wandered down for a brief moment to your calf muscles before I realised your bottom was presented like a red rag inches before the bull's nose. The cotton stretched tightly across each nicely filled globe. Biting lightly into the tops of your thighs where the muscles had taken up any space to the hem. I knew from magazines I had seen that if you were naked I would have seen the lips of your cunt, as it was I could see the material tight across that area. There was nothing, not even a Ferrari or a career as a top soccer player that I wanted more at that moment than to grab your hips and pull your arse against me so that my hard on slid between those awesome cheeks.

From the oh so brief view I had and the knowledge of what was beneath that millimetre of fabric, I got an immediate erection, spontaneous and full! My jeans felt so tight and it was obvious I was hard, very hard. An overwhelming sense of panic flowed through me, I felt hot, claustrophobic and just damned scared you would see. And then, straightening then bending back down, then having fumbled for a lock, then being inches, simply a few fucking inches from me, whilst bent down, your eyes locked onto it. I knew you could see I was hard by the sudden look of alarm on your face. The redness that came to your cheeks, the silence that followed, I hoped it would go down, I prayed it would but it didn't, it twitched and got harder under your gaze. Here I was, eighteen years old, trying to be an adult in front of Cat, my aunt Cat, my mother's sister and with your face less than a foot away from my denim encased cock I was erect, very erect and every inch of it was obvious to your gaze.

"Sorry!" was all I could mumble as I frantically pushed past you and ran to my room.

I almost sobbed as I sat on my bed, I'd been at yours for just three days and I was about to be sent home in disgrace. My heart was pounding, my face burning and my fists were clenched. I was so embarrassed, I felt as if I had been caught like a pervert, that I couldn't control myself. In the minutes or what could have been an hour that followed my mind was awash with thoughts and words whirling and crashing through my head.

It was with dread and a slight start that I was brought from my thoughts with a call from you.

"Matt, dinner."

****

Your blurted, "Sorry" confirmed it. Your headlong flight told me I was correct. Your seclusion in your bedroom turned my suspicion into a certainty. You had got a hard on, and a full, big one at that.

Before you 'lost your bottle' and pushed past me on your flight to your room, there had been one moment, one defining moment, a seminal moment. Yes, a moment when my eyes focused, inadvertently I swear, just beneath your waist. A time when my gaze locked on that nine inches or so between your groins and your waist. A short, but so meaningful period when they saw that patch of rough denim, that bloated and swollen length of material. Yes a moment when I stared at the outline of my nephew's erection. The moment when it struck me that you really were not just a big boy, but also a big man.

But then you were gone. I stayed bent down for a moment or two pondering what to do. Thoughts rushed through my mind at such an amazing pace. It hardly seemed possible, but in just a few seconds, I considered so many alternatives. And that also shocked, surprised and worried me. Not just the speed with which they went through my mind and the range and variation of thoughts, but also the content.

At one level, my heart went out to you. I could, just about, realise the agony and embarrassment you were going through. I wanted to tell you not to worry, to accept it was normal and that really I was flattered. I thought of trying to turn it into something light-hearted.

At another level, I thought it was probably best to ignore it, make no mention and pretend I hadn't noticed anything. Just act as if nothing had happened, adopt the typically British, 'brush it under the carpet' attitude; something I didn't really like doing and tried to avoid with my daughter.

A little of me thought maybe we should talk about it. Responsible aunt counselling worried nephew. It would be the grown up way, the proper way, the way that mature people went about such things. But I was not grown up, mature or even, really responsible. I was your naughty aunt, your fun loving aunt and that brought home to me the worrying aspects of my analysis of the situation as I stayed almost kneeling by the patio doors. For fleetingly, I thought maybe I should go into my bedroom, remove my clothes and go to your room naked. I, just about, managed to turn off that line of thought before thinking of what I might do when you saw me walk into your room nude.

Instead of doing any of those things I went and prepared dinner. It was a simple meal, but then mine always are, I hate cooking, so I just did some pasta with a creamy sauce, out of a packet, some salad and bread. Easy but nice.

I had also thought of one other possible action, and that was changing into something slightly more suitable. I had even considered just slipping a bra on under the top. But wasn't that a little too obvious I thought? Wouldn't that just accentuate the obvious and bring attention to my tits, which were, I guessed at the root of the problem?

As I laid the table in the kitchen, I mulled over what to do. I had to do something, didn't I? But what?

I still hadn't resolved what to do when I found myself calling out that dinner was ready.

My heart really did go out to you when I saw the look on your face. You looked so sad, so worried, embarrassed, distraught almost and, I guess lost, yes lost was the most apt description. But then I guess, as a mixed up teenager, with your hormones exploding all over the place that was to be expected. After all, how often would someone like that be alone with someone like me, albeit a blood relative? No, most grown up, mature and responsible female blood relatives with big knockers would not flash them so blatantly at their randy, horny young nephews would they?

As you walked across the kitchen you kept your eyes down, you didn't meet my gaze. Hence, you didn't remark on the fact that I had changed. I had decided that discretion was the better part of valour and had slipped on a pair of grey trousers and a baggy black shirt, with a (very) supporting bra underneath.

You sat down without saying anything. I didn't know what to say. I'd had no experience with post pubescent boys other than seeing some creeping round S, so I was not sure what to do.

"You ok with pasta, Matt?"

"Yes aunt, that's fine."

"Another beer perhaps?"

"No thanks, one was fine."

"Ok," I said my back to you as I served up the food. "Just ask if you do, I'm having red wine if you would like that?"

"No, no thanks aunt C." You said as I stood alongside you placing the plate in front of you, my hip and outer leg brushing against your arm.

"Hey what's with the aunt C again?"

"Oh sorry, Cat."

Smiling, I said. "That's better," as I sat across the table from you. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a beer or some wine?"

At last you looked me in the eye. "Maybe a glass of red wine, dad lets me have that with Sunday dinner.

"Good old Rob, always the adventurous one," I said picking up the bottle of Merlot and leaning across the table to pour it. 'Oh fuck,' I thought to myself when I realised that the blouse would gape. 'He must think I'm trying to pull him, the number of times I've flashed my tits at him.

We ate in silence, but I couldn't stand it. Something had to be done, something had to be said. I plucked up courage, took a deep breath and said.

"Matt, I think we need to talk, don't you?"