Holidays with Auntie Joan Part 1
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Holidays With "Auntie" Joan - Part 1 free porn video
There I was, face down across the bed, t-shirt pulled up to my chest, naked from there down, legs apart. A woman, in her forties, was kneeling between my legs, trying to extract grass ticks from my bottom and inner thighs. "Auntie" Joan was kneeling beside her, handing to her, tweezers, magnifying glass, disinfectant or Itchease, as requested. There were thirty to forty of the little blighters to remove, so I knew I would be there for quite a while.
What are grass ticks? They are the larva or nymph stage of the paralysis tick, ranging in size from a dot, to an asterisk, developed from the eggs of the tick. They attach to your skin, sucking sustenance, and depositing poison, then drop off after four to seven days, to develop into mature ticks. They are common to certain areas along Australia's east coast, nestled in low grass, scrub, and bush.
How come I had them? I had been walking along a rarely used track, towards a remote beach, two or three kilometers from "Auntie" Joan's home. Once there, I usually swam and caught waves, naked, as the beach was largely deserted, and any visitors did not seem to mind. This day, to add the pleasure of possible discovery, I decided to take off my costumes and shirt, along the way. I had almost reached a point where another path, from the same village, joined the path I was on. I heard voices from people close by, so to avoid being caught naked, I veered off my path, squatting low in the scrub so as not to be seen, until they had pased. The grass ticks obviously liked what they saw, and decided to get on board.
Who is "Auntie" Joan? Well, not really an aunt, so I'll call her Joan from now on. When my mother was in hospital, having me, Joan was there, giving birth to a daughter. Our families became close friends, until Joan's daughter died in a car accident, aged fifteen, and my father decided, at around the same time, to run off with a younger woman. Joan was devastated, and became something of a recluse, living in a one-room shack, about seven hours by car, up the coast from Sydney. She remained married, visiting her husband occasionally in Sydney for various functions, and he spent his holidays with her in the shack. He was a successful businessman. She was elegant, independent, artistic and a little off-beat, but loved to have me visit her during school holidays, treating me as she might a son. It also relieved my mother, who was happy to get me off her hands for a few weeks, over the summer vacation. She gave piano lessons to locals, as well as conducting a twice-weekly art class, in her shack.
On this occasion, I was with Joan immediately after my last year at school, until Uni started six weeks later. Her home was a single large shack, on the far outskirts of a regional town, close to the main road from Sydney that led north. She had electricity, but not town water, sewerage or gas. She had an external pit toilet, an external barbecue, an old-fashioned wood-fired stove, a few sheep and a goat, as well as a few fruit trees and a vegetable garden. She was a vegetarian, and tried to live self-sufficiently. She had no TV, so afternoons and evenings were spent talking, reading, listening to Mahler, Shostakovich, Robert Johnson, Miles Davis or Thelonious Monk. Often she would play the piano, or take to her easel to paint birds, flowers or animals.
I would do some chores in the morning, in the garden, picking fruit, or feeding the animals, before heading off to the beach, for an hour or two. On the night I returned with my load of grass ticks, I was terribly itchy all around where I had been squatting, unable to stop scratching. The scratching had drawn some blood, which found its way to the bed sheets. Joan discovered the blood, which led to the source, and then the explanation. She was horrified by what she saw. I was dreadfully embarrassed by what she saw. Thankfully, the pests had ignored my balls and cock, but the entire neighbouring anatomy was inundated. Even though reception from her home was "iffy", she managed to call a friend from town, who happened to be a trained nurse, and who was now between my legs, tending to my wounds.
From time to time, she needed to hold my dangly bits aside, with the back of her hand, while she operated on a specific nearby tick intrusion. On occasion, Joan would help keep these items aside, while her friend held the magnifying glass to search for tiny black dots close to the surface of my skin, and with the other hand, attempt to dig, and then extract, the little nuisances from their burrows. She then applied antiseptic, before moving on to the next black dot. No other female had ever touched this private area before. Embarrassing - yes. But eventually we all succumbed to the funny side, with the occasional snigger, or smutty remark.
Then I needed to turn over, to give the nurse easier access to the ticks that had buried into the upper front of my legs. I could now watch her eyes at work, just behind the cock that, unavoidably, was beginning to stiffen. With a gentle back-handed slap, it was told to behave. But the nurse told me, that the erection now made access a little easier, and for this she was grateful. Joan was now laughing hysterically. The nurse, also giggling, told us both that our behaviour was detracting from her concentration.
Eventually all ticks had been accounted for, and extracted. The nurse rubbed lotion around the area to relieve the itching. She then advised us that we should renew the lotion every few hours, and to keep the area uncovered, for the next three or four days, to allow full recovery.
The nurse returned the next day, and satisfied herself that things were improving. Over some fruit juice, we chatted about the experience. The nurse admitted that she had enjoyed working with me, and would never forget my predicament. She said I looked "pretty good" in the nude. Joan remarked that she had enjoyed having a naked young man around the house, but that we should keep the events secret from my mother. I admitted that I was loving my nakedness, and was not at all looking forward to being completely cured, and thus required to wear clothes again. The nurse said that, regretably, she would not need to see me again. I laughed, saying that she would always be welcome.
For the next few days, while still naked, I began to pose for Joan. She started with a few drawings, and sketches, before getting the paints and canvas out. The need to wear clothes again, seemed to evaporate. I was entirely comfortable, and Joan used my availability, to do what she loved doing - painting. Even when outside, doing my chores, I was usually naked. The shack was quite remote from town, with rarely a passer-by.
One day, while posing, June wandered into the shack, through the door that was never locked. Her surprised eyes took in me and my nakedness, before settling on Joan, busily sketching in front of me. I delighted in the fact that yet another lady was studying me. "What a beautiful young model," she exclaimed. "Where did you get him from?" she asked.
June owned a house on the near edge of town, which doubled as a coffee shop, and knicknack store. Locals would stock her shop with produce, jams, sauces, cakes, tapestries, and various artwork, from local residents, and take a commission from their sale. Joan earned some money participating in this trade, with her own artwork, and surplus vegetables and fruit. Without missing a beat, Joan introduced me, explained my presence and predicament, and continued with the part of her work, which she did not want to interrupt. June stood behind her, studying her work, and then inspecting her subject. My cock started to respond to this scrutiny, so Joan called a break, and suggested refreshments. After a few minutes, we were all sitting around Joan's table, consuming tea and biscuits, me still naked, and discussing the prospect of June displaying some of Joan's new works, when she had finished them.
June was a little older than Joan, divorced, and quite entrepreneurial. She had no doubt that the new subject matter would be of considerable interest to her customers, and she encouraged Joan to "get cracking". The remarkable thing for me, and with Joan as we later discussed, was the fact that I was now so completely comfortable with my nudity, even in front of new, and previously unknown ladies. I revelled in it.
And so I need to tell you a little about myself. At that time I was a virgin in almost every way. I had experimented with a little groping of friendly cocks, and had even sucked on one, and had been sucked in return. I was quite popular with the opposite sex, but only with the "good girls". The other girls were more interested in my more assertive mates. So I had still not "scored" with a girl. I was at, or near, the top of my classes, and quite good at swimming, tennis and cricket - very good in fact. But I shied away from "footie", the most popular, and alpha, sport. So I didn't quite fit in with the "experienced" guys, nor was I fully accepted as a nerd. I was quite fair, tallish, immature sexually and socially, with little or no body hair. I was told that my best features were my blue eyes and blond hair, my long, straight legs, and my cute bubble bum. I was not ruggedly handsome, I was boyishly pretty. But I was quite self-confident, happy in my own skin and easy-going.
Joan was like a mother to me, but a mother who I was able to confide in, and trust. I would never have admitted to my own mother, that I had been walking down that path to the beach, naked. Joan accepted that I meant no offence to anyone I might have come across. She understood that I enjoyed the freedom, and independence, of nudity. She even suggested that it might have been more honest to have continued walking, when I had heard the other people, and apologise for any unintended offence, when and if we met. I would never have spoken about my few, brief, experimental homosexual encounters, with my own mother. To Joan, it was easy, because she saw these episodes as a natural search for identity. She never criticised my continuing nudity around the house, when not posing, and when my tick wounds had healed. Nor did she encourage it. She accepted that I felt comfortable that way, and that I had no further sexual motive. She admired me for loving my body, and its appearance, and understood that I would never force my nudity on people who might be offended. She continued to remind me that I was "lovely to look at", and that there was no shame in that.
She never put her own body on display. I don't think I ever daydreamed about it. My fondness for Joan was as a mentor, a guardian, a friend and a teacher. I loved her lifestyle - eccentric as it was. She was happy in her own little world, independent, but still able to love her husband, enjoy some close female friends, and eager to educate others. I would dress whenever she expected piano or art students, and this she appreciated. Unexpected visitors needed to accept whatever they found, and no-one seemed offended, if I remained naked. There were only a handful of such visitations anyway. June became a more regular guest, keen to watch Joan draw me, and often suggesting variations in my positions. She clearly loved the sight of my naked body, and was not embarrassed to admit it. However she never flirted. I really believe she was motivated, purely by the commercial possibilities of Joan's art.
As for the art itself, I never actually saw a completed painting before I had to return to Sydney, and University. There were numerous sketches, and dabblings. She would complete them when I had gone. What was apparent to me, was that in most instances, my pose resembled that of famous renditions of naked women. June enthusiastically endorsed this concept.
I began to walk to the beach each day, completely naked, and without fallback clothes. I met others only rarely, with never a problem. In fact, each time greetings were exchanged, and a short discussion followed, either about the weather, the surf or directions to other venues. My nakedness was never mentioned, by either sex. Sometimes I met other nudists at the beach, and had friendly chats with them. In this environment, I became aware that I was attracted to beautiful bodies of either sex, seemingly without preference. These encounters, as pleasant as they were, never led anywhere, unfortunately. I always returned to the shack in plenty of time for the afternoon "sittings".
When the time came to go home, I daydreamed about being naked on the bus. Not possible, of course, but I satisfied myself with the memory of this most recent holiday with my "aunt". Thank goodness for those grass ticks!
Mei
- 18.03.2020
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