Aunt Maureen is my mother's older sister. And I mean older. Apparently mom was a bit of an accident, and was ten years younger than her big sister. Maureen went to "The Cow College" In Minnesota, to be a veterinarian, and then went to help run their grandfather's ranch in Montana. We'd been to the ranch before, when we were smaller, and we both loved Aunt Maureen, who was as different from our mother as it was possible to be.
Aunt Maureen was rough, and somewhat foul-mouthed, at least around the men who worked for her. Her face was already crisscrossed with fine lines that we would later learn were the result of spending so much time out in the weather. She rode a horse like she was born on one, and she wasn't afraid of anything. I still remember her stalking a mouse in her kitchen and stomping on it with her boot as it tried, frantically, to get away. Most women (and a lot of men) would have jumped back when that mouse dashed across the floor. Not Aunt Maureen. She killed it, saying, "Damned vermin!" She didn't have a husband to kill the mice for her. She was divorced.
What we did not know the last time we'd been to the ranch, back when we were ten and eleven, was that Aunt Maureen was divorced because she couldn't keep her hands off the hired hands. Our mother knew her sister had a prodigious sexual appetite, but we didn't. And, truthfully, that may be why we hadn't visited more often than we had.
But events were driving decisions now, so to the ranch we were sent.
The ranch had a name, which we hadn't paid much attention to before this. It was called the "Broken B" and the brand they put on the horses was in the shape of the letter B, but with the bottom part not quite attached to the upright. It sort of looked like while someone was making the shape out of iron, they got to the bottom part and got the bend mostly made, but didn't quite finish. Aunt Maureen explained to us that the way the ranch got its name was that her great grandfather, whose name was Bernard, almost went bankrupt trying to make a go of things when he established the concern.
Of course our parents decided to give Aunt Maureen some pertinent details. It wouldn't have been fair for her to find out on her own, and they knew it was impossible for someone living with us to miss the fact that Addison was well and truly knocked up, and that we were crazy for each other. Crazy in a much-more-than-brother/sister kind of way.
By the way, that was one of the more humorous parts of this whole escapade. After they found out about Addie and me, our parents spent a lot of time with their heads together, and asking us questions, trying to work it all out in their minds. Apparently there was no history of incest in either of their families (big surprise?), and they were puzzled about how this could happen. Dad kept saying that he should have known something was up because of this or that thing he remembered seeing, but hadn't paid attention to at the time. Like the time when we all sat together on the couch to watch something on TV and she rested her hand on my knee. And there was a time when Addie had teased me and I slapped her on the ass and she had just laughed instead of getting mad. As for Mom, she said she felt something was different the minute she got home, but couldn't put her finger on it, and just assumed the natural change in us as we matured while she was gone, was the reason.
Anyway, when Aunt Maureen picked us up at the airport in a truck so old and beat up that I couldn't believe it actually still ran, she already knew who was responsible for Addison's swelling belly. We knew that, but that was all we knew about what our parents had shared with her.
Her reaction, shall we say, was not what we expected.
She slugged me on the shoulder, knocking me a good two feet.
"You rascal, you," she crowed, grinning from ear to ear.
Then she turned to Addie, and said, in the most caring voice, "We're gonna take good care of you, honey. When it comes time to drop that little filly, old Aunt Maureen is gonna make sure everything goes just fine."
There was no condemnation. No judgment. No harangue about moral failings. She just took us in like she was glad to see us.
When she helped us take our luggage into the house, she took us upstairs in the old farm house.
"The way I see it," she said, when she showed us our room, and told us it was our room, "the damage is already done, now ain't that so? You can't get her pregnant again. Not yet anyways. Not that I think you should try that later, mind you. I suspect this one has caused a mite of trouble. You wouldn't be here if it hadn't. Am I right? And knowin' how you got that way, Addison my sweet, I suspect if I didn't let you all live in sin, you'd be spendin' valuable work time sneakin' off to sate your lusts, now just wouldn't you? Your Aunt Maureen knows a thing or two about that. I do have to admit that. So you two just spend five minutes settling in here and then come downstairs. We got work to do."
That was our introduction into the fact that we'd be staying in the same room while we were there. And there was only one bed, a big feather bed that must have been a hundred years old. We would come to love that bed, and in later times, be very thankful that it hadn't been tossed out when fancier, more scientific mattresses had been invented. Nothing can keep you as warm in a Montana winter as a good feather bed. Of course we were there during the summer, but we would still come to love that bed.
But what was most important was that we were welcome, despite the mistakes we had made. Like I said, she just acted like she was glad to see us.
Which I suspect she was, based on the list of chores we both got assigned. She had hands about the place, but they were always off doing the important work, which left stable cleaning and hay hauling and things like that to get done whenever somebody had time.
Or when two teenagers with nothing to do showed up.
It was hard work, but we didn't mind.
I think that's because we got to do it together.
And ... at Aunt Maureen's ranch ... we got to sleep together too.
So what else is there to tell you? Let's see.
We got there in the middle of March, so there was only two and a half months of school left. I can't say either of us was happy about going to a new school. Our cover story was that I was her step-brother, and that her mother and my father had been involved in a terrible accident that put them both in the hospital for what was going to be a long time. Maureen, being Addison's aunt, had agreed to take us in until our folks were finished with the operations and rehab and all that would be required before they could be effective parents again.
So the kids in our new school felt sorry for us. And, with Addison's pregnancy clearly showing, she wasn't besieged by guys trying to hit on her. Besides, we only had two months of school left, so we weren't under the same kinds of social pressure we'd have had to endure if we'd stayed back in Hastings.
As for the academic part of things, Addison had it easier than I did, sort of, because they had basically the same classes she'd been in. She was ahead of the game in some cases, and behind in others. But the teachers helped her catch up with some tutoring after school. For me the problem was that their requirements for graduation were slightly different than the school I had left. Montana required, for example, more credits in physical education than Hastings had. I also ran afoul of other requirements that could have required me to either take summer school, or extend my high school education by another semester.
But folks in Montana aren't as "wrapped around the axle", as they say it, as people are in more heavily populated states, when it comes to rules and regulations. They take a more pragmatic view of things. So they put me in a phys ed class when I got there, and the teacher ran me through a bunch of tests, to find out what kind of shape I was in, and by the end of the year he passed me in the course. They had a required class they called "Senior Literature", and I was told I had to pass that or take it in summer school. When they gave me the book, it looked familiar. When Addie saw it after school that day, she said, "What are you doing with my English book?" It turned out what was "Senior Lit" In Montana was Junior English where we had come from. I had already taken the class, or at least used that textbook. So they did some research and called back and forth, and decided I had, in fact, already passed "Senior Literature." But I had to have more credit in English, so they dropped me in Remedial English, where the teacher, who knew what was going on, had me help tutor the other kids and passed me based on that. Speech was similar. When the teacher found out about all my experience in plays and musicals, he agreed to give me the summer school course, but not make me wait until summer to start it. I started that in March, and was able to finish it up two weeks after graduation. They let me graduate, but didn't give me the diploma until I finished the Speech class.
Graduating from a school I'd only attended for a little more than two months wasn't something I'll call a highlight of my life. Not that I wanted to attend another year of high school just so I could feel some investment in my alma mater. Besides, the other things going on compensated for that. Our parents did come up for graduation. Of course they couldn't tell anybody who they were, because they were supposed to be in rehab. That's another one of those things you put in the box that holds "things we laugh about now, but didn't when it happened." We had a little party at the ranch, but then they had to get back home for work.
Looking back on that, it is only now that we can realize how hard this must have been on Mom and Dad. They never showed it. They always smiled and hugged us and supported us with nothing but love. But it had to have been a very dark time in their lives. Later that would change, thank goodness. But let's not get out of order.
That summer we worked hard. Because we worked hard we got along well with all the hands. They knew we lived in "the big house" but as family members they didn't find that strange. Whether they knew we lived in the same room, I couldn't say. It's possible, because occasionally, a hand would show up "to talk to the boss" and then end up staying the night in her room. We thought that was funny, because Aunt Maureen was in her fifties, and the hands were in their twenties. Apparently she was a tiger in bed. The fact is that with that going on too, we didn't feel all that unconventional at all.
While we worked hard, we loved hard too, most nights in that feather bed. If you've never been in an old fashioned feather bed, the mattress, which is a foot thick, is supported by canvas webbing that is stretched across the frame. That webbing sags over time, and when you compress twelve inches of goose down in the middle, the sides kind of curl up to enfold you. If you have someone with you, the two of you are literally thrown together. You can't roll apart, even if you want to. Well, you can, I suppose, but as soon as you relax, the bed will roll you back to the center.
Of course, we didn't want to roll apart. Sleeping together again was such a treat, we loved it, even when we got sweaty in that bed. The only down side was that getting out of it took some effort. You had to get on all fours and crawl to the edge. But you get used to that, just like you get used to getting up when it's still dark and moving around right away. No lazing around in bed on a working ranch. Trust me on that.
I don't know whether it was all the work we did or not, but as Addie's pregnancy progressed, the changes in her body weren't quite what I'd expected. I'd seen pregnant women before, of course, but most of them looked like it was a lot of work to carry their baby. They looked heavy all over, sort of. I'm not saying they weren't attractive. Some were and some weren't. But their original looks didn't have anything to do with it. The ones I'd seen in the past just had that beached whale kind of appearance that women complain about when they're pregnant.
Not Addison. She was slim and trim everywhere except her baby bump, and as that grew to maturity, it simply looked like she'd swallowed a soccer ball. Oh, her belly was stretched. No doubt about that. But it didn't blow her up like some odd balloon, and she didn't have back aches and waddle and all that.
There was one accommodation we had to make. Vlad had taught us the doggy style position. She hadn't liked that much, because she had to do some of the work, paying attention to her clit while I paid attention to my cock. Doggy style was good for me, but not so much for her. At least not if she wanted to just lie there and soak it all in. But with her belly sticking out, doggy style was the best way for me to get off and squirt. Of course she still loved sitting on top of me impaled, and belly dancing, jerking her hips forward and back. And that worked well in the feather bed. But it wasn't as good for getting me to spurt. So we kind of got in the habit of letting me go first, sometime in the evening, or even during the day, depending on what was going on. Then, at night, in the bed, it was all about her.
They say time flies when you're having fun. The summer seemed to fly by. It got to be the middle of August, and school was about to start, both in Montana and back home. Obviously Addison couldn't go back home yet. But there had been some discussion about me going back. Our situation had messed up college for me, because there was no guarantee that I'd be able to graduate from high school on time, and that meant I couldn't really apply to any colleges. So Mom and Dad had been suggesting that at least I could enroll in the Tech college, and take some of the classes that would transfer credit to a university once I applied and was accepted. There had never been any talk about doing anything other than going to college, and that hadn't changed.
So I was trying to figure out what to do while I rode standing on the three point hitch of the tractor behind Addie, who was driving. We had gone out to take down a diseased tree, and rather than cutting it up there and hauling all the pieces, I just wrapped the end of a log chain around the trunk, and hooked the other end to the ball on the back of the tractor. Then Addie started dragging the whole thing back to the burn pile out beyond the barn. I had been watching the tree, but it was pulling fine. I admit I was unhappy about the thought of leaving Addison there to have the baby and finish high school without me.
When we got to the burn pile she stood up, kind of spraddle legged, and looked down at jeans that looked like she'd peed herself half a dozen times in a row.
"Unhook that fucking tree, Bobby," she said, calmly. "My water broke and I'm having contractions. I think it's time to go."
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TBC