How The Women Got Plastered and Patrick Got Busted

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Chapter 4

Nobody said a word about my project for the rest of the next week, until Friday morning, when Mom sat down across the breakfast table from me.

"You can take the rest of your pictures tonight. They'll all be here." She took a sip of coffee and looked at me.

"Okay," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"You should wear some shorts or something," she said.

I felt my face get hot. "Okay," I said again.

"Do you have a jock strap?" she asked.

"Somewhere," I said. It had been required for gym class, but you only had to take Gym in your Freshman and Sophomore years, so I hadn't seen it for a couple of years.

"I don't want you to feel bad about what happened," said my mother.

Great. She wanted to have a mother-son discussion about my erections.

"Okay," I tried.

That wasn't enough, for her.

"I know you're embarrassed about it," she said. "I just want you to know that it happens to all boys."

"I know that, Mom," I said. There was an edge to my voice that I hadn't intended to put there. "I just hope Grandma sees it that way."

"You hope your grandmother sees your erection?" My mom looked shocked.

"No!" I yelped. "I mean I hope she understands ... that's all."

"You think you'll get ... hard ... when you take my mother's pictures?" suggested my mother.

"I don't know!" I gasped. "Do we have to talk about this?"

"I think we should, dear," said my very pragmatic mother. "I'm just worried that you'll start acting like a man."

"What else am I supposed to act like?" I was getting really frustrated by now. "You want me to start wearing a dress?"

"Of course not, darling," she said, reaching out to touch my hand. I jerked mine away.

"You don't have to worry about me jumping Grandma's bones!" I said, my voice sulky.

She laughed, and then saw the look on my face. Her face got serious.

"Don't be mad at me, Pat," she said, somewhat stiffly. "I'm not used to having a man around the house."

I rolled my eyes. "Danny's over here every other day," I reminded her.

"Danny's different," she said, immediately. "Danny wouldn't do anything with any of us even if we asked him to."

I don't know why I did it. Maybe I just wanted to needle her, like I thought she was needling me. She wasn't needling me, but I felt like she was. Anyway, I said it.

"Don't be too sure about that," I said. "He thinks you're all hotties. He even said so, the other night."

The shock on her face made me wish I hadn't said it, but, like most things you say in the heat of passion, it couldn't be taken back. I was about to try, though, when Randi came into the kitchen.

"Morning, Mom," she said. "Hi, Sport." She stopped, looking at the expression on our mother's face. "What's wrong?" she asked.

My mother looked nervous and sat back. "Nothing," she said.

Randi looked at me and I shrugged. My mom got up and started fiddling around, cleaning up the kitchen, doing busy work.

I wasn't about to get into the same discussion with Randi, so I gulped down the rest of my cereal and got up and left. I looked around, in my room, for my jock strap, but never found it. I did find a pair of last year's jeans shorts, which I knew were really tight on me, and laid them aside, for later that night.

My plan to wear tight shorts didn't quite work out. That's because habit kicked in, and I didn't think about it. I thought about the pictures and all that, but not specifically how to plan for them.

What happened was that, after supper, I took my shower, like usual, and put on jockey's, like usual. I wasn't aware that Grandma had arrived early, while I was in the shower. She was waiting for me, like Randi had been, in my room, when I got back there.

"You ready?" she asked, her voice perky. She didn't have to tell me what she was talking about. She had put on makeup and everything.

Grandma Mona was fifty-four. She was seventeen when she had my mother. She married the man, and had Aunt Vanessa three years later. Then, when her marriage started falling apart, her husband, who was technically my grandfather, but whom I had never met, apparently started spending a lot of time away from home. I got the impression all that time away from home was in the same town they lived in, but I never got any details. Anyway, that led to her divorce.

Aunt Christy was mixed up in that story somewhere. She was six years younger than Aunt Vanessa, and nine years younger than my mother, and the divorce from my grandfather happened about the same time she was born. Nobody really talked about it much, but a curious genius finds ways to get threads of information, that can be woven into a tapestry, that will eventually give at least a partial picture of things.

My grandmother didn't look fifty-four. I remembered her arriving at the house, when I was little, in sweat-stained running clothes, wearing a sweat band around her head and stuff like that. She didn't run any more, but she walked a lot, and attended exercise classes at the gym, along with a bunch of her friends. She was in pretty good shape. She was also the most masculine of all of the man-haters. She was the one who tossed a baseball with me, and threw footballs more or less at me, when I was ten or eleven, like she was trying to make up for the father I didn't have. She knew her way around a tool box too, having been independent for twenty some odd years without a man around the house. Danny still went over to her house when something needed fixing, but they usually worked on whatever it was together. Of them all, my grandmother was the closest to being my buddy. She never yelled at me. She always supported me, and reminded the others how smart I was. My sisters were ... well ... my sisters. I loved my mother, but it was possible that I loved my grandmother even more. That's not fair to Mom. Maybe I loved her in a different way. I love Mom more than anyone else on the planet.

I'd never seen my grandmother in anything other than street clothes, for the most part, and most boys don't think of their grandmother as a "woman" in the first place, so I had no idea what to expect. She was wearing jeans, and a flowered silk blouse. She looked like those women in the Oil of Olay commercials, who are supposed to be in their forties and fifties, but look more like they're in their thirties. To say I was surprised, is like saying eating raw Jalapeno peppers will make your mouth warm.

She also knew that the pictures would be taken in my mother's bedroom. She seemed to be in a hurry, so my jeans shorts were left lying on the dresser, where I'd set them aside, and I followed her to Mom's room. Without any fanfare at all, she unbuttoned the blouse and shrugged it off, to reveal a white, functional bra, just like my mother's. She didn't undo it herself, though.

Instead, she turned her back to me and said, "Unhook me, sweetie?"

Like I knew how to unhook a bra.

I fumbled with it for ten or fifteen seconds.

"You've never done this before, have you?" she commented.

"Uh ... no," I said, using the same voice some people use when they say, "Well Duh!"

"Good," she said. "You're too young to be fooling around with bras."

Then she gave me a primer on how to unhook a bra, telling me it had to be pulled, to loosen the catch, which could then be unhooked. It worked, but as soon as it was undone, the ends snapped out of my fingers and disappeared under her armpits.

"Sorry," I said.

She turned around, and I just naturally looked at her cleavage. There was a lot of cleavage there, with that bra sagging in the front.

There was a frown on her face, when I made my eyes drift upwards.

"You may not want to include me in your project," she said. "I'm old and saggy."

She did the same thing my mother had, giving her shoulders a little shrug, and the bra straps slid off her shoulders. She caught the bra in her hands, and pulled it away from her breasts. My eyes flitted between what she had uncovered, and her face, which was looking nervous.

My grandmother's breasts didn't look fifty-four either. Of course I had never seen any fifty-four-year-old breasts before, but they didn't look like I expected them to, after what she said. I'd expected them to look like the breasts on those women in the old National Geographic magazines, out in the garage ... empty, sagging bags, that lay flat on the chest, drooping down around the belly button area.

They didn't look like that at all. The first thing I noticed was that she had freckles all over her chest, tons of them. Her breasts did hang down, but I wouldn't have called it "sagging". To put it in the same basic description as my mother's, the fruits that were in the panty hose of her breast skin were more the size of soft balls, but they stretched the skin just as tightly. Her nipples weren't on the ends, though. It was like the skin under them had been stretched by those soft balls, making the nipples look like they were higher. They sat on top, pointing up, at about a forty-five degree angle. They were pointier too, somehow. The effect was like a miniature ski slope, with a ski jump at the end. Her nipples weren't brown, either. They were more maroon, except it was a lighter color than that. Other than that, they were carbon copies of my mothers, with thick, long nipples.

My mouth wasn't dry, this time. There was so much saliva in it that I had to swallow.

"Are they all right?" My grandmother's voice trembled a little.

"They're great," I said, staring at them. "I definitely want them in the project."

Her whole body sagged, just a little, and she smiled.

"Well aren't you the charmer," she said. I swear she stuck her chest out at me ... just a little. Her hands came up and lifted her breasts. The nipples slid down, to the ends, where they "should" have been, and she looked down at them. "They aren't much, but I've had them for a long time. I've kind of gotten attached to them."

I watched, astonished, as she squeezed both of those fat nipples between a thumb and forefinger. She looked up at me, and blushed as she saw my mouth hanging open.

"What in the world am I thinking?" she said, half gasping. She turned around and walked to the drapes. She also knew about them. Then she turned to face me again, and her face was straight. She dropped her arms. "How's this?"

"Fine," I gasped.

I took the pictures, forgetting all about the fact I was in jockeys.

My grandmother didn't. When I had taken the last one, she was staring at the lump being caused by that dowel rod. I announced we were done, blushing furiously.

"Pat?" she said.

"Yes?" I responded.

"Would you be kind enough to pull your underwear down for me?"

"What?" I choked.

"You got to see me," she said, her voice nervous again. "It's just been so long since I've seen a ..." Her eyes came up to my face. "A man, Pat. I'd just like to see what a man looks like again."

"You want to see my ... my ... " I couldn't say it. "You want to see it?" I said, instead.

"Yes, please?" she asked, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "I won't tell anybody you showed me."

I would hope not!

What would you do? I didn't know what to do. I wasn't scared or anything ... it was just ... weird, you know?

"Please, Pat?" she said. She sounded even more nervous now. The camera felt like it weighted fifty pounds in my hands, and I looked around for someplace to put it, before I dropped it on the floor.

She moved, and her hands came to cover her breasts.

"I'm sorry, Pat," she said, her voice sounding like it hurt. "I shouldn't have done that. I don't know what came over me. Please forgive me."

"No!" I almost shouted. Of all the people in the world, the one I wanted to hurt the least was my grandmother. Okay, maybe my mother, but it was close. I loved them both, and I didn't want either of them unhappy because of me. "It's okay! Honest!"

She stopped. When she looked at me I could see her eyes were wet.

"Don't cry, Grandma," I moaned. "It's okay, really. I was just surprised ... that's all."

"Of course you were." She smiled, tentatively. "You really don't mind?"

"Well, it's weird," I admitted. "But I don't mind ... not for you."

She looked happy again, and I felt great, all of a sudden. I was going to make my grandmother happy, and all I had to do was show her my boner.

See what these women did to me? As I look back on it all, it just blows me away.

I didn't delay. I pulled my underwear out, and then down, letting the waistband snap against my thighs, just below my balls. I could hear my grandmother's gasping intake of air, clear across the room.

How do you stand, when you're trying to show off your boner to your fifty-four-year-old grandmother? I had a sudden insight as to how the women felt, as they stepped up to stand next to the drapes, showing their breasts to their sixteen-year-old son/brother/nephew/grandson. Up to that point, it had all been some kind of hazy dream, which I was watching, but not actually in. Doing this changed everything. I realized how hard it must have been for my mother and sister to do what they had done, and how much courage my grandmother had. They'd done that for me!

My prick got harder, if anything, and my hips moved forward.

"It's beautiful," sighed my grandmother. "I'd forgotten how beautiful one of those things can be."

"Thanks," I said. I meant it. She was the first woman to make me feel like I had a handsome prick.

"So young, and strong," sighed my grandmother. "I remember when I could make one of those sing."

"I bet you still could," I said, trying to compliment her, in return for her compliment.

Her head jerked, and her eyes looked into mine. "Looking is one thing, young man. Don't you go asking me to do something like that."

"I wasn't asking you to!" I yipped. "All I was saying was that you probably still could!"

She looked at me speculatively. "Has any girl made yours sing yet?"

"No Ma'am!" I said, vociferously. "You're the only girl who's ever even seen it!"

Her eyes got all misty again, and her hands came up to her breasts again, but then dropped.

"If you aren't just the little charmer. I'm going to have to keep my eye on you, young man."

"Like this?" I tried to make a joke. I could feel tension in the air, and I didn't like it.

It worked. She laughed.

"No, not like this," she said, reaching for her blouse. She started to put it on, and then remembered her bra. She dropped the blouse and picked up the bra and shrugged into it. She turned her back to me again. "Do me up?" she asked.

It was easier to hook it, than unhook it. Her skin felt warm against my fingers. I don't know why, but I kissed her shoulder.

"Thanks," I said.

She shuddered, and turned around and pushed me away.

"Cover that thing up," she barked. Her face didn't match her tone of voice, though. She put on her blouse, while I pulled my shorts up and tried to make my erection look less prominent. Then she hugged me.

"You're welcome." She pushed me back. "You'll have to do something about that before Vanessa comes in here. She'd have a heart attack if she saw that."

"You didn't," I said.

"I'm used to going without, you scamp!" said my grandmother. "She's only been without for four or five years. It would be cruel if she saw that."

"How do you know she's been going without?" I asked, grinning.

I got another one of those speculative looks.

"I know my daughters. I thought I knew my grandson, but I'm beginning to wonder about that. I'll give you ten minutes, and then send Vanessa up here. Don't tease her. Do you understand me?"

"I wasn't teasing anybody," I said, sounding hurt. "It just happened. I can't help it if all the women in this family are gorgeous."

I got a much longer hug, this time, but was pushed away just as hard too.

"You do what I say, boy! Now go on!"

Despite what my Grandma Mona thought, I didn't want to rush anything and only take ten minutes. I know, I know. It wouldn't have taken that long, but I kind of liked feeling all excited like this, now, and I already knew that Aunt Vanessa would bring it back to its current level of tuminescence, even if I beat it into submission. So I went to my room and put on my jeans shorts, instead. I was waiting when Aunt Vanessa peeked into my mother's bedroom, and saw me, sitting on the bed.

"Oh!" she said. Her voice sounded higher than usual. "There you are."

"This is where I take the pictures," I said.

"Yes, I know, but Mother said not to come up here too quickly." She sounded flustered.

When she came into the room, I knew why she was flustered. She was wearing a dress, for some reason. I didn't know it then, but she'd worn that dress on purpose.

"I'm ready," I said.

"Oh," she said again. Her cheeks started to turn pink.

Let me take a moment to go over some of the more important things I wasn't aware of, at that point.

One thing I didn't know then, was that all these women compared notes. Despite their warnings to me about not showing my reactions, they told each other ... or perhaps warned each other ... that I reacted, while I was taking the pictures.

For example, I didn't know about my mother's statement to the others: "When did he grow up so much?" I also didn't know about Randi, saying "He's definitely no little boy any more!" And I didn't know about Grandma, going back downstairs, and my mother saying "Well?" and my grandmother saying "You're right. He's all man, I'll tell you that!"

For you guys out there, who don't speak female, that all translates into, "He got a raging boner while he was looking at my boobs!"

So all of them, with the possible exception of Tabby, who might not have learned that language, just yet, knew that while they were posing for me, I'd get hard.

Probably.

Another thing I didn't know was that, completely unintentionally, I was giving each of these women validation that they were desirable to a young man. Man-haters, though I thought they were, they still wanted to feel desirable. When you push men away, you don't get much validation, and, when you're a man-hater, the validation you do get isn't trustworthy. If you don't understand what I'm talking about, just go find a man-hater and ask her about it. Anyway, part of why they all decided to go through with this crazy project idea, was that, on some level, they wanted a man to react to them ... a man who they trusted ... a man who they weren't afraid of ... a man they knew loved them. They looked at me as that man, even though none of them would admit it. Not then, anyway.

So basically, what this all meant, even though I didn't know it at that point, was that all these women wanted me to get an erection over them. They wouldn't have admitted it, and they might not have even been aware of it on a conscious level. That would change too, but that's later too.

That's why Aunt Vanessa was nervous. She was afraid, on an unconscious level, that I wouldn't respond to her, like I'd responded to the others.

And little old me, of course, was basically clueless to all this.

Aunt Vanessa had worn that dress on purpose, so that she'd have to take off the whole dress to have her pictures taken. Her eyes flitted to me a dozen times, while she was in the process of taking the dress off. It seemed to take some time, and a lot of bending over and standing up. I don't know if she meant to, but it was a little like she was doing a striptease.

After she expertly - and quickly - removed her matching bra, that left her in panties, like Randi had been, my jeans just weren't up to the challenge. Like I said, they were last year's jeans. That actually meant they were three or four years old. I reached my five-foot-eight-inch height when I was fourteen, and then just stopped growing taller. I filled out a lot, but my mom bought clothes large, so I could wear them for several years. Those shorts had been my favorites for a long time, and I'd worn them thin and pale.

When my Aunt Vanessa laid that dress carefully on the bed, and tossed that bra on top of it, all that left were yellow, high rise bikini panties, that clearly showed there wasn't a hair within two feet of what those panties covered.

The zipper on those three year old shorts gave with a soft pop.

Aunt Vanessa had never had children. She married the High School football star right out of High School, where she was a cheerleader. I had never seen her with anything but honey-blond hair, which she let grow as long as it would grow, which meant to her shoulder blades. I had no way of knowing her real hair color was chestnut. Boys don't notice little things like dark roots. She was the most feminine, and the most helpless acting of the women too.

One of those other things I was unaware of was that her husband had tried to put the make on my Aunt Christy, at a New Year's Eve party. He had apparently been very forceful in dragging Aunt Christy into a bedroom, and she had screamed, which led to Uncle Danny, not yet married to Aunt Christy, punching him out, which led to Aunt Vanessa's divorce. That was something else I'd learn later, when I got to know Aunt Vanessa ... much better.

Aunt Vanessa's breasts were different from the others, but I could see similarities too. A difference was that her nipples were bright pink, with no brown in them at all. Her areolas, the same color, were bigger than Randi's, but smaller than my mother's. Their basic shape was like Grandma Mona's, except that they didn't sag at all. The ski slope was still there, and the up-thrust nipples, but she couldn't have kept a pencil under her breasts if somebody was paying her to. Her nipples weren't sharp, or pointed, either. Not then. They were just round bumps, on top of her areolas.

"You're staring," she said. Her voice didn't match the words. There was almost relief in her voice.

"Sorry," I said. Then, based on how my grandmother had reacted, I took a chance. "You're very beautiful."

"Oh!" she said. Her upper chest got as pink as those nipples. "Thank you."

I couldn't believe my Aunt had said, "Thank you" like that. I'd understand later, but first I had to figure out what to do about my shorts. I could see white, from my underwear, peeking through the broken zipper.

I couldn't think of anything to do.

So I started taking pictures instead. I took more than were necessary. In the process, I got some new information.

I smelled something.

It was something I had never smelled before, so I didn't know what it was. It smelled good, though. I'll tell you that. It wasn't perfume. I wasn't completely clueless about girls, even if I was inexperienced, and when I stood back to take the final picture, and saw that the crotch of those yellow high rise panties had gotten darker ... and more transparent ... I finally understood.

I have to admit, I stared. It was my first look at a pair of pussy lips, cradled by thin fabric, that wasn't doing much to obstruct my view. They were pressed tightly together, but were still well defined, and looked just like what they were ... pussy lips.

My zipper gave a little more, and the tip of my prick popped as far out as my shorts would allow, which was maybe an inch.

"Oh my!" said Aunt Vanessa, staring at my crotch.

"Sorry," I said, my voice husky. "It seems to happen a lot. I didn't do it on purpose."

"You broke your zipper!" she sighed.

I felt much more bold than I ever had before. All this was changing me, and I wasn't keeping up with the changes very well.

"I think you broke my zipper," I said.

Her hands came to her face and she waved them like fans, like she was hot.

"Oh my!" she sighed again.

"I'm really sorry," I said.

She got all perky. "Never mind that," she said. She almost jumped to the bed, where her dress was laid out. It did the most amazing things to her breasts, which swayed and wobbled. The rest of my zipper gave up the ghost, and my dick popped out another inch.

She shrugged into her bra, putting both arms so far behind her that for a second she looked like she didn't even have any arms. Then they appeared again and she used them to drop her dress down over her head. It floated into place around her hips, covering up what had been making that delicious smell.

"You can't let Christy see you like that!" she said, urgently. "She'd be horrified!"

All these women, who were all supposed to be horrified by my boner, sure seemed to worry about each other's reaction, even though their own wasn't at all what I expected it to be. Or what they all expected it to be, come to think of it.

While I went to find something else to wear over my boner, my Aunt went downstairs. Everyone looked at her. She waved her hands in front of her face again, like she had with me, and giggled.

Of course, I didn't know that then. Danny told me about all that later. He was there too. He also told me that Aunt Christy jumped up off the couch, where she had been sitting beside him. He said she jumped up with way more energy than he thought she should have, and he got a little jealous, about then, but he didn't hold it against me.

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