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Doris and Grace had not crossed paths, expect 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’s 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 cancelled 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 guest house facing the ocean.

After her very long, transatlantic flight, Doris arrived in sunny Spain and checked in. Her private and spacious guest house, 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; further supplementing her recovery with a restorative shower. Afterwards, standing in just 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, preternatural, 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 Proust books and the mind of a pointy-headed intellectual, and you begin to form an accurate 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, at fifty-eight, the 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 late fifties, she now shopped in specialty lingerie shops for bras size 34GG.

Refreshed, she met and double-kissed Grace and her family in the restaurant a little while later. Having married a Frenchman and raised several children in France, Doris’s younger sister had long since fully acclimated to her adopted country across the Channel. Grace was a fluent Parisienne now, and France was her home. Like her older sister, she exuded an understated sophistication in style, manners, and carriage.

Having not 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 Easter Europe when he was a baby. Now eighteen, he had morphed from a shy, gangly pubescent boy into a conspicuously illegal bahis 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’s sister offered up her young son as her own private tour guide during her two week stay. Doris took pity on the young man and said it wasn’t necessary — that he likely had a lot more fun 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 were abuzz with the excitement of Amelie and her fiancé’s big event. Amelie looked absolutely beautiful in an understated white wedding dress and 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 cut 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. But having already been formidable in her forties, her sex drive now seemed only to be increasing in intensity into her late fifties. That being the case, take a fifty-eight 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 comments. This only succeeded illegal bahis siteleri 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, Tristan escorted Doris out onto the patio for some fresh air. 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 jewellery, 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 Lambretta 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 — that 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. Looking back after admiring 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 how he had looked at her. When she realized how much it had 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 only 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 maternalistic softness.

Tristan answered that he had — just once — and Doris was curious to hear what was doubtless a touching story of canlı bahis siteleri the girl 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!

Absolutely stunned by the revelation, Doris felt compelled to press further. Did his parents know about it — no. Who was she — the wife of a friend of his mother (my god, she thought to herself, married no less as well)! How long did it last — several months, was his reply. 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 so 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 he had been so shyly reluctant to reveal. “Is it … quite, um … big?” she asked quietly.

He nodded yes, 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 much, much younger … 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 — she was the first woman I could … she was the first one I could fit quite a bit of it inside; and 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. She felt 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 … ex-TREME-ly 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 off and on 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 off limits) — far younger than all her 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 genuine feelings for him; feelings that went beyond what was appropriate between an Aunt and a nephew; not to mention one with a forty year gap between them.

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