Summer Incest: My Lost Virginity

I realized I had been turned on by the scantily dressed Casino waitresses. My cock, like a compass, seemed to point in their direction. I had not yet been personally indoctrinated into what the kids on the playground called "pussy." It was a mysterious object that appeared spontaneously but invisibly in my wet dreams. Probably the result of midnight sessions with my brothers old Playboy magazines hidden in the back of the closet.

Let me digress for a few moments to further explain my conundrum. I might as well have been an only child. My older siblings, were gone from the house before I was seven years old. My two brothers, Lou and Alf, from Dad's first marriage, were fourteen years my senior. They were out of the house and working while I was learning to pedal a bicycle.

My brother Louis Butterworth was an investment banker on Wall Street. He was married to a Chinese girl, Feng Shi. Her father was a Hong Kong tycoon. In private Lou referred to her as Little Feng Shit. I told him she might hear him, but he said there was little chance. She was practically deaf. He revealed that she was great at sex, an acrobat, but a lousy cook. They ate out often in a fancy Chinese noodle shops. She only liked sex in the morning he said, with her on top. Lou was often late to work and surly in the evenings.

When I was in high school I spent a few days with them. Feng encouraged me to watch her nude yoga workout after my brother left for work. I noticed a little dampness between her legs and that made me nervous. Then there was also the swelling in my shorts. I imagined Feng had been morning fucked by my brother and my face turned red. I tried to change the subject by shouting at her that her I was planning on being a priest.

"Hold on, let me put on my hearing aid. Yes, that's better. Did you say a priest? A Butterworth priest," she stammered convulsing in laughter.

I figured my gaff put the kibosh on participating in the nude yoga lessons, although I was fascinated by her contortions on that little green mat.

"You're not much of a Butterworth," she said with her legs spread wide apart, at which point a bit of my brother's cum leaked out. She discreetly scooped it up in her fingers and slipped it in her mouth.

"Have you been fucked yet?"

"I'm a virgin," I stated proudly.

"I'd say it is about time you talk to your Mom about that," said Feng, "after she breaks you in, drop by one morning when your brother is out of town and I'll give you a graduate course in Tantric Yoga."

I didn't know what that was, but I thanked her. I watched as she assumed extreme positions, twisting her nude body, amazed she was able to put her feet over her shoulders. They dangled over her elegant small nude breasts.

Alfred Butterworth was my other brother. Al was a high end Real Estate Broker who specialized in the sale and transfer of shopping malls. These properties were traded in 1023 exchanges so there were little or no taxes on the transactions. He was named for our famed dynamite cousin, Alfred Nobel.

Al had a mansion in Tarrytown, New York and was married to a snobby WASPy girl, Harrington Van Plass. Her father had hired Alfred right out of Harvard. Their wedding was held at the fashionable Plaza Hotel. (Sadly no longer a hotel, now remodeled into condos.) Harrington's father was the best man at the wedding and accompanied them on their honeymoon.

If he was a Butterworth, I wouldn't have thought twice. Although in our family we generally fuck our mothers, but daughters are not "forbotten." At the wedding I wore a light blue suit. I recall that Mr. Van Plass approached me after he'd consumed a few glasses of champagne and said,

"Young Butterworth, keep away from my daughter. Go fuck your sister."

I thought that was rather rude. Then he reached into his pocket and handed me a crisp $100 bill.

As for my sister, Alice was the black sheep of the family. She was a fanatic for hygiene and when I was a baby she would wash and oil me for hours. My nanny thought the care she gave my penis was unnatural and complained to my mother who fired the nanny. Even when I was a teenager, Alice was still offering to bath me. Knowing what that meant, like a dog awaiting a bath, I always disappeared.

Alice was a fraternal twin to Alfred. Alice ran away from home at the age of 16 and worked as a nude artist's model in New York City. She met an Albanian Street peddler one night when his cart was parked under a tree on 47th Street. They were soon married. He had a cart with a sign saying, "Hot Nuts for Sale." The marriage lasted only 7 months. Alice was fond of saying, "I have missed his hot nuts ever since." That was her idea of a little joke.

In high school Alice's nickname was "Butty." I assumed it was a school nickname for Butterworth but perhaps it was a reference to her big butt. Alice was a natural mechanic. According to Yotzef, the nut cart guy, she had repaired his cart many times. After the marriage dissolution, Alice discovered that Yotzef was wanted in Albania on charges of selling defective condoms and soon after was deported. The marriage concluded, Alice wasted no time restarting her life. Her second husband was Hershel Butterworth, a second cousin.

Hershel was one of the Montauk Butterworth's involved in speedboat racing. With "Butty" tuning the speedboat engine, he won the coveted speed boat regatta three years in a row. I remember when Dad gave me his old Aston Martin roadster, Butty came out to synch the carburetors. Not an easy job. She offered to synch me as well so I hid in the back of the garage and witnessed she and Dad in a sacred Butterworth moment. Their tryst was not easy in the small front seats of that car, but their drippings were excellent leather conditioners.

Before returning to New York, "Butty" spent a few years in Miami where Madonna and Sandra B were her close friends. At the singing diva's insistence, "Butty" was introduced to Jeffery Eps, the famous sexual predator. He invited Butty to his mansion for a nude massage and a jerk. When Butty realized that she was one of three young women waiting their turn, she began a conversation with one, who said she'd been raped an hour earlier by Jeffery. Butty, a me-tooer, played along with the massage long enough to twist Jeff's penis so forcefully that even three urologist surgeries later he can only piss in a clockwise angle. Hooray for Butty!

I'm proud to say that Alice has become a listed artist and now lives in Soho in NYC. Her specialty is pornographic action art. One of her projects won first prize at the Greenwich Village Spring Art Show. It was a montage of thin photographic slices of her vagina intersected with a 3 dimensional sculpture of an enormous black penis moving rapidly back and forth in front of the montage. If you stood in the front the effect was stupendous. The penis was propelled by a perpetual motion engine. If they started it moving in the morning, it would swing back and forth for almost 24hours.

This exciting work was now hung proudly in our library, with the attached blue 1st prize ribbon. Alice Butterworth's current art exhibit, at the Pace Gallery, is lauded by the art critic of "The New Yorker Magazine." They are describing her as the "Women's Mapplethorpe." I guess that is a strong complement?

Alice was always generous towards me, although a bit inappropriate. For my birthday one time she sent me a rubber vagina, cast live from that famous porno actress Jenna Jamison. Included in the plain paper wrapped gift, underneath the mold, was a large tube of Astroglide. I hung the mold on the wall thinking it was some sort of art object and used the lube to slick back my hair. When my Mother explained what the mold's purpose was, I removed it from the wall and now I keep it in a drawer near my bed, with the lube.

I shouldn't admit that Anastasius Butterworth, a distant Russian member of the family, is a relation. But I will. He is currently out on $100,000 bail while awaiting trial for a fortune telling scam that got him in a sack of trouble. He advertised in Craigslist and on a sign in front of his little house in Weehawken, New Jersey, as a fortune teller, but only for females.

When asked to tell the fortune of a male, Anastasius refused. This led to an unfortunate but famous case that ended up at the Supreme Court when the man sued for equal protection under the law. Anastasius said it had nothing to do with the fact the man was gay, and besides he had a sign on the door saying he reserved the right to refuse service to anyone.

The Justice, Clarence Thomas, in one of the only cases where he actually spoke, stated that the sign was a sticking point. He ruled against Anastasius. Anastasius was ordered to remove the small sign from the front of his home and thereafter to do male readings. The case is now under appeal based on Anastasius' claim of religious freedom.

Anastasius fortune telling technique was unique. It was not based on tea leaves or coffee grounds, it was his own invention. Anastasius called it "Anal Fortune Readings." He tried three times to copyright it but was refused. One critic said it was a "shitty technique." Several years earlier he had been refused a patent on a remarkable time machine (more about that invention later).

What is an Anal Fortune Reading? In brief, Anastasius would take the female client into a dark room where he would ask her to disrobe and to discard her panties. He would then ask her to get in a comfortable position on all fours. He would place pads with memory foam under her knees and arms and then insert his well lubed third finger into her rectum. From that lengthy probing he was able to successfully predict her future life and health with great accuracy. Not just of his subject's future, but even of her friends and pets.

You might say that is an odd way to tell a person's fortune, but scientific innovation is often the ticket to success. Thousands of his clients were amazed at his accuracy and have testified to his predictions coming true. I heard this in my own ears when Aunt Finn said the fortune telling probe was extensive but revealing. She was surprised by the girth of his finger that required extra lube. She also claimed the probing cured her of chronic constipation.

His method finally got him in trouble. On at least one occasion in the darkened room, Anastasius, wearing his turban with a small hidden camera, inserted his cock instead of his finger. The client never caught on until Anastasius came full blast inside her. Of course he used her panties to wipe her clean of his cum but made the mistake of returning the soiled panties to her in a small paper bag leftover from a McDonald's burger.

The client was completely satisfied, but her husband had the goo DNA analyzed. He was quite upset when it turned out that the goo was cum and matched Anastasius. The FBI sequestered the evidence, a treasure trove of anal reading photos that include a detailed probe of Kelly Anne Conway. Fox News said the FBI was only trying to pick up some political dirt on Kelly Anne. Anastasius's lawyer refused to comment.

The lawyer who is representing Roger Stone is currently defending Anastasius. His novel defense is that the fortune teller's penis was more sensitive than his finger and resulted in a more accurate reading. Of course the substitution of the probe was covered under the signed release required of each client before their fortune was told. We are all hoping he will receive a suspended sentence, that is, I am referring to Roger Stone.

As for Anastasius, we hope he and his dirty 3rd finger rots in jail. We don't need any more bad publicity for the Butterworth family. Of course, since the FBI has already lost the evidence they seized, our dear relation might soon getting his finger or whatever back in business.

Anastasius' lengthy anal reading of the first lady, "Trump's Rump," before his election predicted Trump's victory. Since Melania has put in a good word, there is already talk of a presidential pardon if Anastasius is convicted.

In the meantime, out on bail, Anastasius has disappeared as he had threatened. Years back, as noted earlier, he had invented a remarkable time machine that he tried to patent unsuccessfully. I believe that he has used this device to successfully avoid prosecution. No doubt he will appear again, sometime in the future or perhaps in the past.

Enough with this peripheral family history. I don't want to bore my readers. If some readers do not find sex in the first two literotica paragraph's they complain.

Let me focus now on the family members closest to me.

My beautiful mommy was a fashion model. She worked with all the famous Glamour Magazine photographers. Helmut Newton, Hilton Grodney and Chas. Campion. Jackie Kennedy, when she worked for Life Magazine, took some 4 x 5's of Mom as a child model.

There is a series of fashion photos with Mom and the iconic 90's model Zelda White, topless. They are seated in what I guess was a New York City Starbucks coffee bar, surrounded by people who don't seem to notice them. Examples of Mom's modeling pics fill the halls and staircases of our home. That bare titty pic was my favorite. I could rarely pass it without popping a boner. I remember my best friend Neal would stop in front of that photograph and say,

"That's your Mom? Right on. Nice tits," as he fingered his crotch.

"What is all this stuff stuck to the wall," said Neal, "oh my God Courtney, did you jerked-off?"

Then he'd pound on my back.

Mom has green eyes, dark mahogany hair, white skin that needed a bit of pink or red to set off her high cheekbones. When she was a model, her breasts were the standard 32 inches, any bigger would not fit into evening gowns. She was tall, 5'9" and had narrow shoulders. She looked a little like Grace Kelly but she was a better driver.

Her breasts have now matured to a bountiful 36 inch bra. I have examined her bras and her ripe undies in the laundry room. Sniffing panties is a behavior that both men and dogs have in common.

My mother's sister Finn is a very sexual woman. She is big busted and round assed with strong shapely shaved legs. Her lips were full and her cheeks round and those big eyes just grabbed you. She looks sexy, she even smells sexy. I'd ask her what perfume she was wearing, she'd reply, "None," and all the while I was ready to cum just from her smell.

Finn's wildness was accented by her curly hair that she kept dyed blond. She had it touched up so often you never saw her roots. Finn was 5'6 and wide shouldered. Her figure gave her the illusion of being powerful whereas mom was fragile. If they were both wrestlers, Finn would have won every time. Finn was always tanned from the ocean or her outdoor pool where she swam nude. She had no fear of skin cancer. I'd seen pictures of her where she looked so dark you would have taken her for one of our black Butterworth cousins from North Carolina. (More about them later)

After my upsetting experience with Father Tomas in Atlantic City, I returned home and cloistered myself in my room. The shades were drawn until my Auntie Finn and my Mom burst into my room uninvited. Mom kicked some dirty clothes I'd left on the floor out of the way.

(Mom to Finn) "This room stinks, Courtney open a window."

"Yes," said Finn, "it smells like teen spirit."

"It might be Frida," said Mommy.

"The Saint Bernard got all wet under the lawn sprinklers earlier and when I opened the door to get a package from that cute Filipino who delivers the Amazon love toys. As I reached out to pinch his ass, Frieda ran back inside, right into Courtney's room. Before I could stop her she was drying herself on his pillow. I finally dragged her out to the backyard."

Mom looked exasperated with the shaggy dog story. Auntie Finn came closer to me and started stroking my head.

"Well, hello nephew, how was your trip to Atlantic Titty, oh, I mean Atlantic City. Are you still a virgin? Or did Father Tomas slip the old bible pointer right up your kazoo and strip you of that novelty?"

"You know about that?" I said embarrassed, "Could you stop petting my head, I'm not a dog."

"Our dear Father Tomas is known for breaking in a few students during break time for many years. Why do you think it is called, 'Summer Break?' He has always been especially fond of the Butterworth boys and Gloria's kid, what's his name. Oh yes, Anderson?"

I turned red and did not answer.

Mom was right at Finn's side,

"If Courtney's face turns red, the answer is yes," said Mom in baby talk, "then the boy's dickie wickie has not met pussy wussy."

That comment made me laugh.

"Well, I got away from Father Tomas before he could do whatever it was he was trying to do."

"I'm glad to hear that," said Auntie Finn, "a Butterworth boy's first experience should be closer to home."

"What do you mean?"

"Courtney, your Mom and I have decided that your days as a virgin are numbered. In fact yesterday was your last day. Today, on this warm summer day, you are going to lose that distinction for the rest of your life."

"What are you talking about Aunt Finn?"

Mom spoke up,

"Come with us Courtney. We want to explain some stuff to you that your dad should have explained. We intend to do it today. Right now. Come on."

Finn grabbed my left hand and Mom grabbed the other and they pulled me up out of my bed.

"You're right," I said, when I stood up, "the room does stink." I hoped they didn't notice my sweat socks next to the bed that I used last night when I choked the chicken. They partly dragged me down the hall to the master bedroom.

There was a large crystal chandelier hanging at the entrance to Mom's bedroom, it was rarely lit. For some reason today it was ablaze. The tall arched Italian windows inside, once the heavy red drapes were pulled back, shed just enough light to make the bedroom intimate and private.

"What is going on, Mommy?"

"Just take off your pajamas," said Finn.

"Where are the new ones with the teddy bears that I bought you?" said Mom.

I didn't answer knowing she'd be mad that I'd abandoned them in the Casino bathroom.

"Yes Courtney, take off those old PJ's. "

"Mom, I'm embarrassed to be nude in front of both of you?"

"Do as you are told," said Finn, raising her voice as she twisted my wrist.

"Ow." I let the pajamas drop to the floor as she released me. I tried to cover my privates with my hands. I realized immediately my hands were too small for the task.

"Oh my God," said Mom, "look at that mountain of pubic hair and the size of his dingle. You look like you are ready to play a part in the rock musical, 'Hair.'"

I knew just what she meant. We'd attended a revival of the long haired musical at the City Center in Philadelphia a year ago.

"Take him in the bathroom and give the boy a trim."

I protested weakly, but Finn pushed me into the bathroom. I was nude and when I tried to pull away, she grabbed me by my handle.

"Get into the shower, I'll adjust it for you," said Finn, releasing my dick and slapping my ass as I stepped into the tiled cubicle.

"It's still a little cold," I shouted out past the 'psst' of the water streaming down on top of me."

"Ok, I'll fix it," said Aunt Finn.

A hand came into the shower. The water got warmer.

"It's warm now," said Finn as she climbed into the shower. She was nude. Her tits were very large. My dick started to swell up.

"Oh I can see you like big tits. That's a good sign," said Finn.

She soaped me up from head to foot, taking an inordinate amount of time on my stiff cock and my bush of pubic hair. She even soaped up my butt and stuck her finger partially in.

"No, Father Tomas was not in this ass hole," she remarked happily. "If he had entered here with his big cockeroni, I'd be able to get my third finger in way past the knuckle."