Part 1 - Marcy

My parents didn't have much contact with Uncle Howard, my father’s brother. They didn’t get along quite well as kids, and contact had turned into trickles later on, before losing touch altogether. We knew the name of the town he lived in, and there was a saucy story in the family that he had made a fortune going short in the 2008 bank crisis. Even though no one knew if that was actually true, it gave him a kind of cool odor when I was a kid. We had also heard that he had divorced and remarried about two years ago, but her name (Marcy) was all we knew about her.

It was all the more surprising that I got an invitation for a visit to his house for my 18th birthday. It sounded like an adventure to me, and I liked the idea. I discussed it with my parents, and they didn't really have any objections; in fact, I suspect they were curious to hear my stories about this mysterious man as well. They just stressed that I should be careful, before waving me out at the station for the journey.

There was almost a full day of trains and stations. When I was at the last one, Howard texted that something had come up and he couldn’t pick me up at the station, but that his wife would greet me. He also sent money for the final part of my trip, a 40 minute taxi ride. I watched through the window as the dense urban landscape gave way to the rural width of the countryside. Cows and trees drifted by. Finally the cab left the public road and turned into a gravelled driveway, then the contours of a ranch started to appear: pastures filled with horses, stables, maintenance machines, and finally the main mansion itself: a place of obvious grandeur, a stately three storeys tall, in white stone, with a large pillared porch and flowerbeds in the front.

It was a shock when the door opened and my aunt welcomed me. I had expected a middle-aged woman, but she was obviously only a few years older than myself; and even if she wasn't a ravishing beauty, her appearance oozed of suggested sleaze. She hadn’t closed her dressing gown with a girdle or something; it hung open, and hints of pale skin and lacey undergarments snoozed within (though I didn't dare examine in detail what exactly was on display). As she led the way to show me into the house, she had absolutely no trouble keeping her balance on the six-inch stilettos she was wearing, probably expressing the extensive training to master the agility, and making it look like natural grace. I couldn't help but notice her ass wiggling as she walked - a very attractive wiggle, I might add.

As she offered me a seat in the living room, she walked to a cabinet to fix me a drink, saying: "It is really good to have you here, Jason. I really enjoy finally meeting one of Harold's kin; he's always so secretive about anything that has to do with his family! So tell me, what do you do?"

"Well, I'm in my last year of high school... I'm hoping to graduate in June. "

"Ah, high school, such a great time! I remember it so clearly... all the flirting and dating and exploring... you're a good looking guy, surely you get a lot of attention from the girls?"

"Erm... I don't know... yeah, I guess..." I had only met her a few minutes ago, and I was hardly ready to discuss the complicated relationship I had with my girlfriend, Emily.

She didn't seem to notice any and continued cheerfully: "Oh man, I remember it like yesterday! I was horny all day, the classes were such an obstacle to the after-school rendezvouses with all the hunks, celebrating our youth and virility for hours on end! We had this shed where they kept sports equipment, and a few of the guys had brought a mattress from somewhere… "

She gave me a concealed glance before she added: "Oh my dear, I was already horny before you arrived, and thinking back to those days surely doesn't help much! "

When she noticed the startled expression on my face, she smiled all her teeth clear as she looked at me in triumph, and said: "I'm such a slut, you know! Don't you think I'm a slut?"

She kept looking at me, and it seemed like she was really expecting an answer to that question; something that was very deep down on my priority list at that moment. I realized painfully well that a blush was rushing across my face. Did my aunt and hostess, whose dressing gown had opened up even more since she sat down and clearly revealed a black lace set of slip and bra underneath now, really expect a confirmation from me that she was, indeed, a slut?

But I couldn't really ignore the question either, the clear expression of requesting an answer on her face made it hang around in the air like the strong scent of musky perfume. I turned my head down, avoiding her glance, and said: "No, of course not... you are a respectable woman, and no one would dare call you that..."

It sounded half-hearted even in my own ears, and it evoked a chattering laugh from her.

"Don't be silly... ALL my husband's friends call me a slut, and so does he! I consider it a compliment when they do... but hey, maybe we have confusion about definition here... tell me, what does the word ‘slut’ mean, in your book?"

The ground was slightly more stable here, taking out the direct personal angle for the moment, discussing a generic subject in a contemplative way instead... but yeah, that relief was low, indeed. She had still asked me to explain to her what a “slut” was, and again her posture clearly revealed that she was waiting for an answer, that she was expecting us to start a conversation on this topic, just as polite people have conversations when they meet. I weighed my words one by one as I replied: "A slut is a promiscuous woman, willing to have sex with any available man."

"Yes, that's exactly right, that's it, that’s who I am! But you view that in a bad light, don’t you? Why is it as such a bad thing? Why would that be something to condemn me for?"

I shrugged. I really didn't know. I just knew that a slut was condemned for being one, in the small-town world I grew up in. For the first time in my life, I truly realized how small-town that world might actually have been. The room was quiet as I pondered for half a minute; then I said: "Maybe it is because... it implies that she is loyal to no one?"

"Ah, now you are confusing two things! Opening your legs for any man doesn't mean you can't be loyal to one man... of course I'm loyal to Howard. He is my husband, and I respect and obey him, and I wouldn't dream of betraying him in any way. "

She paused for a second, thinking about her own sentence, pursuing her train of thought. Then she continued: "Well, maybe I know what you mean. For vanilla women, it is unusual to have their husband's approval of playing around with other men... these husbands think like you; that their woman betrays them by thinking of other men. This is a self-fullfilling thing; if such a woman really is a slut, she will pursue her quest for sex in secret, thereby indeed becoming the traitor. That’s how the word got such a bad ring. I'm so fortunate with my man though! He realizes that sex and loyalty aren’t the same thing, and he offers me to his friends quite often. Or to any man, really. I’m a pretty young thing, and they don’t refuse me often."

I was completely baffled and speechless. These ideas were so remote to me, that I had no idea how to frame them into something familiar. As she explained it now, it sounded almost logical and healthy... but if it was, why was my mind shrieking back from the concept? Could I ever consider “offering” Emily to have sex with another man? Heck i had only gotten to second base with her just a few weeks ago myself... and by the way, what about her own consent? Marcy didn’t even hint that it might be relevant at all.

The room was quiet as we were both following our own lines of thought. They had apparently diverged a bit, since she broke the silence by saying: "I'm guessing you are a virgin, right? "

I nodded in a reflex, and immediately regretted it.

"Ah wow... that's really cool. I haven't been the first slit for a man in such a long time... virgin boys are so naive, yet so enthousiast. When a virgin boy unlocks his first pussy, his loins are like steel. I'm so glad Howard invited you here!"

With a brainwave that felt like an electric shock, I suddenly realized that I was also a part of the equation she had just told me about... a member of the "any man" group. And my dick realized the implications as well; I felt him harden within a second to red alert level, almost bursting the zipper from my pants. Would this adorable creature, this self-declared slut, this hot ass of lust and desire, really become my "first slit", as she put it?

She noticed it as well, as she took a glance at my crotch, and then produced a wide grin. "Patience, boy. Howard isn't home yet, and as I just explained, I wouldn't dream of fucking you without his permission. But he will be home in a few hours, and to be honest, I can't imagine he invited you here to play bridge. So let me show you your room, you can freshen up a bit, and he’ll be home before you know it!"