You’re now 18 years old, and your Aunt Shari starts becoming more than the irrepressible source of giggles and silliness she used to be. You start to see her the way most males do: 5’3″, with blond hair, green eyes, jiggly D-Cups, a short, tight frame, and a taut but shapely ass.
The idea of Aunt Shari has become erotically vexing, a confusing temptation, that is, until she bends over in front of you to pick up the remote. Then, something in you simply clicks.
She’s wearing tight gray sweat pants and a tight white t-shirt, and she bobs her delectable middle aged ass only inches firm your face. It’s an innocent, unknowing display of animal courtship.
That night you rumuge through the family albums to find a picture of her to jerk off to. You find one from a picnic that shows her ass in tight pocketless denim jeans, and hurry back to your bedroom.
There, waiting on your bed, is a short, fat, green goblin. He’s smilles widely.
“What the fuck,” you yell, picking up a nearby baseball bat for protection.