Epigraph

 

"I had affairs with a few girls of my own age, and they taught me that no girl, no matter however clever or warm-hearted, could possibly know or feel half as much at twenty as she would at age forty."

―Stephen Vizinczey, In Praise of Older Women: The Amorous Recollections of András Vajda, 1966

Book One: Minding Margery

Chapter One

In Need of a Firm Hand

 

After four years of home school, Miriam White decided to enroll her son Kenneth in a public junior college. Miriam sought to further Ken's education in business accounting.

"Kenneth, I know your ambition is to become a writer," Mrs. White said. "However, by developing your skills in accounting, you'll learn how to manage my investments. Handling money is a heavy responsibility, you know."

"Yes mother," Ken answered. He had long ago learned that deferring to his mother's stern but loving authority was not only proper, it also helped him avoid a whipping.

Still, Ken looked forward to at last being away from his mother's watchful eye. He hungered for freedom.

On the morning that he was to begin junior college, Ken carefully selected the outfit he planned to wear. He set his clothes out on the pastel blue chenille spread that covered his spartan single bed.

After much thought, Ken settled on a pair of neatly pressed tan slacks, a long-sleeved white cotton shirt, a gray cashmere V - neck sweater, and dark argyle socks to go inside a pair of burgundy colored penny loafers.

The collegiate look.

In the bathroom, Ken showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He splashed a lavender-scented cologne called Hardwood on his face and daubed liberal amounts of deodorant gel between his legs, on his chest, and under his armpits.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Ken saw an earnest young man with bright blond hair, handsome facial features and deep-set blue eyes, wearing only a t-shirt and underpants.

A bit under six feet tall, Ken was slender and well built, strong but not overdeveloped. Only a sparse tuft of pale hair adorned his otherwise bare chest, a collection of soft curls that nestled between his tiny pink nipples.

Ken's lean legs were long, his bottom rounded, and his manly parts firm, nicely formed, and exceptionally large. Unlike most young American males, Ken's penis remained uncircumcised, the elegant engine exactly as the Mother Goddess intended it.

Following his birth, Ken's mother Miriam rejected the circumcision procedure, declaring that she would not let a corrupt medical establishment mutilate her precious son.

"But it's necessary for good hygiene," the doctors and nurses assured her. "Besides, he'll be teased by the other boys in the school locker room if it isn't done," they added.

"That may be so," Miriam answered, "but I don't care. Leave my baby boy's penis alone!"

The interval of eighteen years from Ken's birth to the present had resulted in a manly organ of surpassing beauty. On the critical issues of size and symmetry, Ken's penis was a singular specimen. Indeed, the natural state of his equipment did nothing but enhance the appeal of his overall genital package. The hood of pink partially covering Ken's cock adorned the shapely head like a fleshy necklace.

Reaching into his underpants, Ken took his penis in hand, retracting the foreskin on the dangling column. He enjoyed playing with himself while completing his toilet. Snatching a rat - tailed comb from the dresser drawer with his right hand, Ken attacked his blond hair, working the comb from front to back.

Meanwhile, with his left hand, he idly pinched the head of his cock. There was a knock at the bathroom door.

"Kenneth-it's me. I'm coming in," said a Feminine voice. It came from his mother's partner, a woman Ken had known since childhood as "Aunt Margery." She opened the door and briskly entered. Ken hurriedly reached for a towel to cover up but Margery put her hand out to stop him.

"Don't bother covering yourself, Kenneth," Margery said. "I'm here to examine your body. Leave the towel on the rack."

Ken left the towel on the rack and turned to face her. His jaw fell open as he realized that Margery was wearing nothing besides a lacy white lingerie set and high heels. At age thirty one, Margery was thirteen years older than Ken, a remarkable woman at the peak of her physical allure.

Margery faced him directly, a statuesque golden-haired beauty who stood slightly taller than Ken at a full six feet in height. Ever since Margery had entered their lives, Ken had secretly adored his mother's lesbian lover.

Ken had many good reasons to adore her. Margery's dazzling figure was a classically sculpted wonder of lovely curves and soft, inviting crevices. Her gorgeous hair was cut in bangs straight across her forehead, medium length at the sides and slightly longer in the back. Her smooth, clear skin exuded robust health and Feminine sleekness beyond all concept.

Ken did not know it, but there was another woman she resembled closely, the 1950s magazine model, Betty Lake. The physical resemblance between blond Betty Lake and Margaret Ann DeGrange was positively uncanny.

"Kenneth, what have you been doing in here?" Margery asked, in a gentle tone.

"I was-uh-combing my hair," Ken said, showing Margery the rat-tailed comb. "See?"

Ken frequently became quite tongue - tied in Margery's presence. He never knew what to say to her or how to say it, generally stammering banalities to conceal his nervous excitement.

"Hmmm," Margery said, smiling as she looked him over. "Your ablutions this morning do seem above average. You are freshly showered, deodorized, and appropriately but not too heavily scented."

Ken continued to stare at Margery, his mouth agape. She wore a high-waisted satin panty accented with lacy side panels, a matching bra, a pair of white garter-less stockings, and a pair of white high heels that emphasized Ken's slight disadvantage in height.

Standing so close, Margery seemed like a vision in a dream, a pure fairy angel, hovering nearby in her ravishing underclothes. Because Ken rarely saw Margery in a state of undress, the sexiness of her intimate attire excited him all the more intensely.

Ken's mouth grew dry as he gazed at her. It took nearly all of his strength to keep his knees from buckling. As if it had a mind of its own, Ken's outsized penis began to rise and stiffen. Mortified, Ken blushed a scarlet red.

To an inexperienced youth like Ken, his Aunt Margery constituted an overpowering presence. She was fully in control and Ken never even considered the possibility of disobeying her.

Reaching out, she drew the waistband of his underpants down and took his penis in her strong right hand, slowly stroking him.

Ken gasped in surprise and cast his glance down and away. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, as he was too embarrassed. His penis, on the other hand, responded with enthusiasm.

"Look at me, Kenneth," Aunt Margery said, in a low, compelling voice. "I want you to look at me!"

Ken's eyes rose, pausing at the sharply pointed satin cups encasing Margery's breasts. Then, with one supreme effort, Ken brought his gaze level with Margery's.

The heady fragrance of Margery's magnificent breasts filled Ken's nostrils in the close confines of the bathroom. Sensory input invaded the complex contours of Ken's brain, swiftly encouraging reproductive readiness. In seconds, his swelling penis was at maximum pressure.

Ken had always been fascinated by Margery. One night after his mother took Margery as a lover, a twelve year old Ken stumbled into his mother's bedroom. A thunderstorm had frightened the timid lad from his bed.

Shocked but intrigued, Ken watched them making love, Margery and his mother Miriam, soundlessly but with great intensity. The two were locked in what is popularly known as the "69" position, with Margery below.

A bedside lamp on the nightstand revealed everything to the impressionable youth. Rubbing his eyes, Ken observed for several minutes, fascinated by what they were doing. His mother could not see Ken, as her silver-haired head faced away from him, her tongue busy in Margery's trim, blond gash.

Ken recalled with pleasure briefly seeing the triangle of golden hair surrounding the narrow slit at Margery's center. His mother's tongue circled it round and round, teasing Margery's clitoris. Ken remembered wishing it were he, not his mother, whose tongue was attending Margery's inviting bud. While he looked, Margery turned her head and saw Ken. For a brief, fleeting moment their eyes met. Margery smiled and winked, almost imperceptibly.

Suddenly feeling quite ashamed, Ken raced back to his room. There in the darkness, as the storm thundered outside, Ken feverishly frigged his juvenile penis until he fell into a restless, fitful slumber.

Since that memorable night, Margery bewitched Ken with her beauty and personal charisma. He often fantasized about marrying Margery when he grew up. The difference in their ages made no difference as far as he was concerned. After puberty arrived, Ken knew his dream was impossible but still he continued to adore her.

And right now the woman of his dreams, Aunt Margery, stood right in front of him, stroking his penis! Could it be happening? Could it really be happening?

"Tell me the truth, Kenneth," Margery said, "were you playing with yourself in here this morning?"

Ken's mouth fell open in alarm.

"No," he lied.

Margery raised her clipped blond eyebrows, obviously doubting his truthfulness. She put her left hand on her hip.

"Your mother asked me to supervise you this morning, to make sure you are properly settled before you leave for school."

"Properly settled?" Ken said. "What do you mean by that, Aunt Margery?"

Margery laughed merrily. "You're going to need regular sexual relief because you are going to be around young girls at college, Kenneth. Young girls. They can be tremendously promiscuous."

"Shoot, I don't go in much for girls," Ken said, bravely. "I try to avoid them."

Margery sighed. "Kenneth, it is one thing for you to be at home with us, your mother and myself, where we can keep an eye on you. It is an entirely different matter for you to go out in the world, exposed to heaven knows what. Your mother is concerned that you might end up in the clutches of some slutty college girl with low morals and substandard personal hygiene. It's been known to happen to sheltered young fellows like yourself."

"But Aunt Margery," Ken said, "must I masturbate right now, in front of you?"

"Really Kenneth," Margery said impatiently, "why do you think I'm dressed like this? I'm here to help you. Now turn around and face the sink."

Because he was accustomed to being told what to do, by a woman particularly, Ken did as Margery said. As he faced the sink, Margery moved behind him, still holding his penis. Her left hand went between his legs from behind, cupping and confining his testicles.

"It isn't morally right for a boy's mother to handle him in this manner," Margery said, as she caressed his genitals. "Under our state's laws, consenting adults, meaning anyone eighteen or older, are free to have sexual relations with each other. Of course, you may not marry anyone who is directly related to you in your primary family. The taboo forbidding incest is strong, and exists for good reasons. Many an idiot has been born of incest. You are very fortunate, my dear Kenneth, to have a woman in the home who can skillfully relieve your burgeoning sexual desires."

Margery tightly gripped his penis, bringing it over the sink. Slowly, she ran her sharp red fingernails up and down its length, a caress that sent Ken's pleasure sensors plunging headlong into the red zone.

"Oh, Aunt Margery!" Ken said. "Ooouuuuhh!"

Margery deftly retracted the foreskin, revealing the red, bulging head, corona, and frenum. Ken's organ reared up like a bucking bronco, the knob at top as big and shiny as a Yakima Valley plum.

"Your big stiffy is quite attractive, Kenneth," Margery said, releasing him momentarily. She smeared a dollop of lubricant on her hands before taking hold of him again. "You'll make some lucky woman an excellent husband."

The motion of the lotion on his penis was thrilling. Ken tried to say something, but no words came out. Margery quickly finished slathering him with a fragrant lube gel and again began fondling him with her strong right hand.

"Into the sink, Kenneth," Margery said. "I want you to ejaculate. Let's see you expel those male juices you've got stored up inside you."

Ken thrust his pelvis in a rhythm matching the caress of Margery's strong, long - fingered hand. Her brightly painted red nails slid up and down, up and down, as Ken's mouth went slack and his eyes closed in absolute rapture.

"Oooooooh..." Ken emitted a long, blissful groan.

As his climax neared, Margery forced Ken's legs apart, sending the well - lubed middle finger of her left hand into his rectum. Ken's body jerked as her middle digit wormed inside, pressing his prostate gland.