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As we laughed over our seemingly identical taste in art and love of the Venice Biennale I leant forward (agreeing with her comment) and put my hand on her knee. Elaine's reaction was worrying. She audibly gasped and moved her legs away. I leant back and made conversation about the last time I'd visited the British Pavillion at the Biennale. Elaine seemed to compose herself and she leant forwards again - her dress riding further up her thighs. And there it was - her hand on my arm...a shared joke from The Fast Show...her high heel slipped off and her moist toes rubbing my leg. I was wearing one of my many pinstriped suits and my cock strained against the zipper. I am not normally a foot person but I leant down in a measured fashion and pulled Elaine's nylon foot to my crotch, my fingers tracing the bumps of her perfectly painted light blue toe nails. I ran my other hand up her exposed thigh and between her classy legs. She gasped again but opened herself up for me and leant closer. As. A sly smirk that made me gulp down on the chagrin. I’d been caught. She knew I’d been gawking at her.“Sorry,” I said through a croak.“That’s just it,” my aunt said. “This is why we need to be honest, why I said I won’t be talking to anyone at all about this, Mikey. You don’t have to be sorry.”Then something dark and primal tugged at me way down deep. I didn’t understand the meaning of her next sentence in any coherent, logical sense. All I got was the loose meaning on an instinctive level. A hint of something illicit and thrilling when Janet finished with a near whisper: “I don’t mind you looking. I actually like it.”***I boggled, mind unable to cope. I understood what Aunt Janet had said, but couldn’t reconcile her apparent meaning with my concept of reality. So I stared, the weight of my hanging jaw unrealised until my aunt blurted a laugh and said, “Your face, Mikey; God, that’s a picture.” I closed my mouth as my aunt moved in close against me, her arm pressed against mine, the.
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