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Ass

Introduction:

For the readers who know my work and have been commenting and emailing, I want to say thanks from the bottom of my heart. You make it so worthwhile. Sharing with you is so good for me! My life has been strange and at best, very unconventional.

My personal “Inside Candy” saga will carry on as well as this new collection of my memoirs. These updates are really my dear Auntie Rosie’s tale and thanks to her efforts I can share her computer diary notes she made for me in the years prior to her death. She also left me all her worldly goods which included an old steamer trunk full of her very unique secret erotic remembrances.

My aunt’s incestuous desires, for lack of a better English phrase, were essential in making my dad who was. She was a powerful force, this only sister, his senior by five years. Her lack of boundaries flew in the face of British ways and days of the 1920’s and 30’s and beyond. She was considered a deviant and “bad girl” by her parents. A father in the clergy did not help.

Dad, the golden child, was given all and Rosie could have hated him…but in fact, she loved him fiercely and with no remorse. I knew this innately from my earliest days. Anyone could see, Rosie had eyes for dad and those eyes were always on him all the time. Mum knew it too.

But the story of Rosie and this trunk of erotic secrets dates back to before mum and dad met. The trunk and contents carried on throughout her life, but began in these days of the late 40’s and dad’s arrival in Boston to assume his new duties in his UK companies’ US branch.

He was the new guy and rose up in the ranks of this company in the UK and soon found himself a rising young executive and heading for Boston. He was golden! Rosie managed to come along and lived with dad part time and had to leave and return to the UK regularly since she did not have the right visa to stay all year round. Dad footed this bill, as he would for all of Rosie’s life. He saw to her needs 80% of their adult life.

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The story of Aunt Rosie’s end of life is sad for me to recall. She saw my dad as often as she could and stayed with him from time to time in her last years. I did much of the interviewing during this period and she left all her computer memoirs to me as well as the contents of her small apartment. Upon cleaning it out after about a month of waiting and putting it off, I came upon a rather old style steamer trunk dating back to her youth. She always had it and covered it like a table. I thought it was a blanket chest.

I pulled it out from the wall and opened the top. It was full of items. Some I knew, many I did not. Based on our many chats I knew I’d find evidence of her sexual past and her connections to her dear brother and his wife, my parents. I was not prepared for the level to which I now travelled. My aunt was a much kinkier character than I had first believed. I knew she had a wonderful raunchy sexuality, but I did not know how much she coveted my parents. Her complete lust for them was almost beyond my wildest thoughts.

I closed the trunk and switched on her old PC, found the files containing her typed memoirs and searched for “trunk”. It came up near the end and it all was there. Her big confession loomed up before my eyes on the screen. And I thought we had covered all the so called, dirt, face to face before she died. No, the trunk was her big secret and the contents…mind blowing!

It opens the door to understanding her, my dad and mum in a whole new light. I knew and saw lots up to this point, loads really, but the trunk was a totally electrifying discovery for me. One that challenged me and also turned me on as a voyeur like nothing else so far.

I add this titbit here because of my enjoyment of my dad and mum’s intimate items like socks, panties, condoms, etc. I knew from my life at home that when Rosie was around, she took things from my dad bakırköy escort and mum. They were given, mostly, but some were obviously snatched in private when mum and dad were not looking. She often got my dad to give her any of his socks right off his feet with small holes, not for her to mend as I learned once discovering the trunk. Rosie did not get rid of any of those “soiled” socks all those years back, they along with others sat in a plastic sleeve labelled, Tony’s old socks.

The old wooden clothes peg sealed the top of the sleeve quite well and as I pulled the various socks out that once had graced my dad’s size 10’s, I found some in pairs and a few strays. All his usual nylon cotton silky variety in his normal choice of colours. The fact each sported a hole meant Rosie either had been given them or located them discarded in my parent’s little waste bin by the bed. And my shock at seeing these, lifting them to my face and realizing that they still did have a very, very slight aroma of my dad; it made me very aroused and I did not feel like the over 50 year-old I was anymore, it rolled back the years.

So many things caught my eye; most were explained in her memoirs. The several very dried and almost unrecognizable used condoms made me smile. She, too had seen the used condoms in my parent’s bedroom waste bin, but she had taken them home and I had left them after enjoying the contents in private! Rosie was truly bolder and more daring than I was ever but I knew that was true!

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After Rosie’s death I had to put all the notes together and also find references to what was in the trunk within her computer memoirs. It was like putting a huge, old puzzle back together.

Thank goodness she wrote loads and dad was still alive then to help fill in any gaps; that is, if he recalled the incident in question.

Besides the glorious sock collection of my dad’s used, worn out socks and the dried out, rather ancient condom fragments; I found many, many things of which I could only gasp and hope the memoirs filled me in on the story behind each.

The contents, once unloaded on the carpet, was a mishmash of items. The item that caught my eye first off in the pile was a reel of very old 16 mm film, a film of who knew what. I had no old reel to reel projector and the reel was not small, it was about the size of a luncheon plate.

I had seen, in movies & TV, folks holding up a film to the window and looking at the little frames to determine a bit about the film content.

I did this. My eyes caught sight of what looked like two clothed figures sitting on a couch or loveseat. The faces unrecognizable and strange in the negative image format. I pulled out more film as it spilled onto the floor and soon the two figures seemed to be on top of one another, I knew where this was headed. I rewound the film and sat down at the computer and looked for any notes my Auntie Rosie had made concerning the film. I soon found the story, very detailed and very revealing.

It is best told more or less from Rosie’s own memoirs and is truly hot. Lucky dad, lucky Rosie, lucky us! I have tried to not alter Rosie’s way of writing. It’s bold, brassy and raunchy. My Auntie Rosie! She is writing to me as if it were one long letter and confiding all her sexual secrets.

The remainder of this part of the memoir is mainly what Rosie recorded as she typed away on her computer for me about her life and sexual history. The part about the contents of the trunk came along many pages toward the end of the computer file. I skipped to the section called, “The Blue Movie”.

I got very hot as I sat there and knew my dad was in it! My cunt boiled as I read his big sister’s account of what happened way back when.

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The note to me (she fondly called me Carol Luv) at the very start of the whole set başakşehir escort of her fantastic memoirs read:

Carol Luv,

If you are reading all of my journals, then I am either dead or not doing that great. I hope I was over 100! Fat chance! I probably am dead! I hope you miss me! All my love to you and your daddy.

Now I skip well ahead to the section called, “The Blue Movie”

The old loop style film in the bottom of the trunk dates back, hell, maybe 1949 or early 1950. Your dad, Tony my sweet, was working in the US and we were living in Boston. Dad had a small place, as you know, in the Back Bay. I lived there when in the US from time to time and loved my life there. Your dad treated me like a queen. I love him so, always will! My younger only brother, always my hero.

Anyway, I was in my late 20’s and full of myself. My full figure and dark lush hair made me a tasty looker. Your dad, the tall, lean redhead with the fetching moustache was always out on dates. He made me so jealous. I wanted to be every girl he dated. But you my dear know that.

The building we lived in, cheap but cheerful before the Back Bay became chic had several floors and each floor was a flat (apartment). The basement, the ground floor and two above. All with various characters living in them. We were on the second floor and an older guy lived on the top. It was the biggest flat and had a roof garden of sorts. He had a table and chairs up there with a few potted plants; it was luxury in my mind!

Now your dad was always at work during the day Monday to Saturday, he worked too much. I, when around, was home at the flat. Reading fashion magazines and listening to radio. No TV. Too much a new fad, very expensive and rather crappy reception back then.

I soon met and chatted up the guy above us. He had lived there for years and was about 50 or so. He knew the owner well and he got all the perks. I found out that the rather bald, pudgy fellow was a New York based producer of former stage shows and travelling acts. He confessed over a morning cocktail served on the roof top that he made his American buckaroos doing other things. You know me, I quizzed him fully.

He sold drugs, very mild stuff by today’s standards, and produced cultural nature films. I asked if he filmed ducks on the Charles River and he laughed. I really did not know.

He invited me in to his place, set up a movie screen and lopped up a film on a rather antique looking projector. Shades down, lights off. The damn thing let off so much heat, the bulb must have been 500 watts. I sat there, with Mr. Pudgy’s arm around me and he showed me his latest filmed creation.

I watched, in glorious grey and white, some couple enter a bedroom and start to wrestle on the bed. Soon her dress was off, his trousers came off and then I was watching this rather frumpy bitch give head to a solid looking 30 something. Mr. Pudgy Film Producer’s fingers groped my tit as we watched. I found it somewhat sexy, but his breath stunk.

After much gum work, the bitch achieved her aim. The guy came. At least it looked like cum. The film flickered off. I asked about the lack of fucking? He smiled. The female star was not in the mood that day. The film was called, “Oral Lady”. I said she needed lessons. He smiled again.

“So, you wanna be in one of my films?” He asked.

“Fuck you!” I answered. He thought I meant literally fuck him on film. He was happy. I shot him down. But, being the horny and ready to show off my hot younger brother, kinda lady I am. I said I’d have some weed; I did weed Carol Luv, and provide him with a new ultimate hot male star. He knew I meant Tony. He confessed he’d seen Tony and thought he’d be wonderful on film. I agreed and said he better find a better bitch than that used up looking broad he had just shown me.

Now my work was to convince Tony to do bayrampaşa escort it. The key was I was to assure him that the film was only for Mr. Pudgy and his fun. But I knew it would be copied and used at stag dos and smokers. I also insisted, much to his horror, I wanted a copy for safe keeping. He said each copy was very pricy.

I said, no Tony if I get no film. He agreed and he also promised to keep it between us. Carol Luv, your dad had no idea I had a copy. I bet he’d love it! And the other thing Mr. Pudgy agreed, besides the camera guy he hired off the books, I was to be his directorial assistant that day. And he smiled at that.

“You gotta a thing for that brother of yours!” He smirked.

“You are a class one asshole, play your cards right and we can both get a thing for him or from him!” I retorted and lit my long awaited special cig.

So that night when Tony crashed thru our door, I began my work. You should have seen his face as I said the words, blue movie. I saw both elation and terror strike into those handsome green eyes. And I loved it!

Carol Luv, you should have seen your dad’s face! This early 20’s handsome, no, godlike man standing there suited and ready to shed the whole outfit and then I said, “You are gonna be in blue movie, Tony”.

He had his hands up to undo the neck tie and just froze like a statue. Gawking at me, green eyes wide like saucers. His suave Dick Tracy good looks grabbed me apart from the fact he was a golden redhead with a rusty moustache and dear Dick was all dark. Carol dear, I got chills looking at him. The good kind of chills buzzed all thru me and were shooting around in my groin. I got moist, real moist!

I think he may have sworn a long streak of profane delights and called me, “dirty old cunt”. Which he said with love, believe it or not my dear. If he said it, he meant it with love for me.

I grabbed his arm and pushed him down on our rather new, far too expensive sofa. I said relax. I also said it was just what he needed and the guy upstairs was very discreet, I lied. Tony was still messing with tie, in the end I grabbed the damn thing and nearly choked him getting it off his neck.

He undid the first buttons of his tidy office shirt, pulled the suit coat free and looked annoyed at me for about 10 whole minutes. I tried to be sweet, calm; I said it was all in good fun. I made him a whisky on the rocks. He sipped it and still looked like I had hunted little Bambi the deer and sent the creature off to a fur factory. He really looked like thunder. His tousled reddish-gold locks looked even more like a mess than usual. He kept raking his sweaty hand thru them, over and over.

To say your dad was a pushover in 1950 is a joke. He was a bit of a stick in the mud at first. I was working on him and this little venture was the start to a whole new chapter in his sexual life, to be sure!

Anyway, I was always the hands-on sister. Always! I jumped to it, damn the stupid societal conventions of the times; I did as I pleased with your daddy! I had no shame! None! But we had to get there. I had to guide him!

I sauntered over in my, yet another new dress bought by your daddy, and knelt on my chubby nylon clad knees by those man feet of his. I slipped off each loafer; he wore brown loafers with his suits most days. Typical man! This shoe foot treatment had begun years before. The loving big sister calming brother down before the big test, the date, the football match; I knew my way around him! I knew every inch of your daddy by heart.

The shoes slid off those ever so yummy socked feet, the smell of his hard work rocketed up my nose. A smell I was used to and very, very turned on by. It always wetted my lower bits as I slowly rubbed those feet, making the day melt away. His tensions easing and his eyes shutting.

I rubbed his warm socked toes and high arches, meaty heels and slender ankles. I rubbed and rubbed. I was feeling rather horny as this process of calming him moved along. Big sister and queen bitch in heat. Sorry, but that was me.

Soon, he started asking questions and getting rather turned on by the whole idea of being filmed in a blue movie. Bingo! I had him hooked. Damn, I was good!

More from my Auntie Rosie’s memoirs very soon! CandyXX

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