Categories > Original > Humor > A Visit to Aunt LaVerne

A Visit to Aunt LaVerne

by Scribbles05 0 reviews

Dean leaves North Carolina for New York to perform an audition, leaving his French lover, Quincey, all alone to go visit Dean's great-aunt, Aunt LaVerne in Mississippi. It would be a trip Quincey ...

Category: Humor - Rating: R - Genres: Humor, Romance - Warnings: [!!] - Published: 2006-04-16 - Updated: 2006-04-16 - 4168 words - Complete

Quincey's POV.....

I was dreading this day to come. My best friend, my lover, Dean Mitchell had to catch an early flight to New York for a casting call. You see, Dean is an aspiring actor. He loves to act. Even when we were in middle school, high school, and college together, he acted in mini plays and wowed the crowd with his divine talent. He's very diverse in his roles as well. You never see him playing the same type of character in every play. Dean loves comedy, angst, romance, shakespearian, drama, horror, you name it. He's forever changing and improving his skills and that's what makes me love him the more. Dean's a great actor and I'm not saying that because I'm his boyfriend OR his #1 fan. He really is outstanding.

I kept looking at him as I drove to the airport. Trying to take in his appearance to think back on when he's finally away from me. The short brunette hair that gleams in the sunlight, big almond eyes that can look straight through me and into my very soul, full luscious lips that speak with a slight southern accent as smooth as freshly poured honey, a body half my size that keeps me warm at night better than any king size blanket, and a personality bigger than The Appalachian Mountains. I guess I don't need to tell you I'm whipped, right?

"Quincey, you're gonna send this car into a tree if you don't keep your eyes on the road." Dean said to me, his eyes never leaving the road.

"I can't help it. I don't think I'll be able to make it without you with me."

He smiled at me. "Baby, three days?"

"Yes, three days. We've always been within reach of each other ever since we were kids. Now you're going to be thousands of miles away. I'll have to go see your great-aunt LaVerne -whom I've never met before in my life by the way- in Mississippi by myself."

"You'll be with her by yourself for one day, Quincey Butor. Honestly, don't pout so." He giggled. Dean's giggle was very distinct. It was throaty and when he does it, he shakes his head slightly from left to right. It's usually finished with a soft sigh.

We finally reached Greensboro's airport and I parked the car. "Let me walk in with you." I said to Dean as I helped him get his bags out from the trunk of the car.

"You know how I feel 'bout those long, dramatic goodbyes. I can't handle that type stuff." He set his luggage on the ground and we hugged. "I love you." He whispered in my ear.

"I love you too." I buried my head in his shoulder and breathed in his scent. His cologne was intoxicating and it always aroused me. Last night, he surprised me and wore nothing but the eau de toilette when we went to bed and I spent all night ravishing him. "Have fun. And good luck on getting the part in the movie."

"Thanks. I'll see you in three days then." We kissed for a while -me not wanting him to leave- until Dean pulled away from me. "Are you trying to make me miss my flight?"

"Is it working?"

He giggled again. I LOVE that giggle. "It's tempting, but's not working." He tossed one luggage bag on his shoulder and dragged the other behind him on it's wheels. His walk was always so graceful. Like he may have been a dancer instead of an actor.

I watch him walk away with my hands in my pockets and I sigh. Have I mentioned that I'm whipped? I have? Dean has got me wrapped around his little bohemian finger and doesn't even know it.


LaVerne Mitchell is -as I've mentioned earlier- Dean's sixty something great-aunt from Wherever-ville, Mississippi. I moved here with my parents from Saint‑Étienne, France years ago, and I still don't know some of these places. Our plan was to go and see Dean's deceased mother's only sister and visit with her for a while. But right after we got the tickets, Dean's agent calls him and tells him about a movie casting call in New York.

So of course he left for New York a day before we were to leave. He says his agent paid for the ticket and he rescheduled his flight to Mississippi to the day after I arrive there.

I don't want it to seem like I spend all my days praising Dean. I have a life. I co-own a motorcycle shop, that repairs bikes as well as makes our own from scratch. Me and the guys built Dean a bike a few months ago. It was candy apple red (his favorite color) and had Dean Machine written in black and silver along the tank. We added other little details to it and I finally revealed it to him when he came by the shop to drop me off some lunch -like he does every workday- when he has a break from working at Wal-Mart. He loved the bike but was and still is too scared to ride it by himself.

After a kinda long flight, I finally made it to Whatchamacallit, Mississippi. Using the address Dean wrote for me, I took a cab to LaVerne's house. The house was a bit out the way. I began to wonder if we were lost, when we kept passing nothing but trees, trees, maybe a creek, a few paint chipped 19th century homes, and trees.

We turned down a long dirt road and pulled up to a house. Like all the others I had passed, this house was also old, chipped, and established in the 19th century. But it DID look a bit more sturdier than the others and it DID have grass in the front yard and back yard. I paid the driver a rather large lump sum of money and made my way to the front door with my luggage. With a knock, I waited.

"Hold ya horses, I'm a comin'." I heard a woman say. There was the sound of slow walking and the tap of what could possibly be a cane. Me and her will have oodles of fun for a day while Dean is gone. Yay.

The first thing I noticed when she opened the door was her eyes. They looked just like Dean's. Were almond in shape and in color. The second thing I noticed was just how much she was looking me over. She wasn't terrible to look at; kinda tall, a bit on the heavy side, hair that was styled in curls and it was too brown to not be dyed, and her face contained the obvious wrinkles that come with being her age. She wore a long lilac skirt with white poka dots and a lilac blouse that had a drooping bow. I hadn't seen one of those type blouses since the 1980's. I was right earlier, she did carry a cane. An oak, stained, polished cane, that she was currently leaning over on -staring- with her free hand on her hip.

"Are you Miss LaVerne Mitchell?"

"Ya don't look like my nephya. What c'you want?" The slightly obese woman asked me in her heavy southern accent.

"Um, my name is Quincey Butor. I'm...."

"Butta? Yer las name is 'Butta'?"

"No. 'Butor'. I'm Dean's boyfriend."

"Oh yea. I forgot he's a 'lil sweet." She laughed, then stepped aside. "Well, come on inside 'ere, boy. Ya lettin' all da cool air out da 'ouse, standin like you ain't got no place ta go."

I walked in the house and she shut the door behind me. All of the house was made of stained and polished wood. We were standing in the small foyer and I could see all the pictures of different family members hanging on the walls. Some were of the grandchildren and the like, and others were dated back as far as the thirties with their black and white pictures. A slender rug led straight to the wooden stairs that were in front of the door. Next to the stairs, was the hallway that led back to the kitchen no doubt. The hallway also had two doorways; one led to the dining room and the other was the livingroom.

"Ya can rest yer bags in yer room upstairs. It's easy to find, 'cause it's da only doe I left open." She laughed and limped her feeble way down the hall.

I walked up the stairs and sure enough, my room's door was the only one open. I dropped my luggage off and prayed that I'll be able to make it alone with this woman.


"Boy?" I heard LaVerne yell to me. I looked in the livingroom and found her sitting in one of her plush arm chairs. Her arms folded up under her breasts and her cane resting against the chair.

"Yes, Mam." I said to her.

"Come on in 'ere and talk ta me for a minute. Sit yaself."

"Okay." I sat in a similar chair next to her.

"So, yer name is Quincey?"

"Yes, Mam."

"Oh cut tha formal ruckus, boy. A yes or a no suit me fine."

I smiled. "Okay."

"Ya sur do talk purty. Where you from, boy?"

"I'm originally from Saint‑Étienne, France. My parents moved us here when I was around nine or so."

She nodded her head. "So you live in da Carolinas with my nephya?"

"Yes, Ma.......Yes."

"Y'all shackin'?"

"What?" I asked shocked.

"Ya know. Um.........what's tha word........'cohabitin'?"


"Three times ya tried ta answer my question, and ya couldn't git it. I take dat fa a yes." LaVerne laughed. I started to blush. "Ain't no need ta turn red on me, boy. Ain't nothin' wrong wit a little shackin' ev'ry now and den. I did it a few times in my day." She shook her head in remembrance. "I had all da boys on dis side of Mississippi hangin' on me by my skirt tails." She cocked an eyebrow at me. "Speakin' of tails......Have ya hit it, Quincey?"

"Hit what?"

"Come on now. Ya know what I'm talkin' 'bout."

Is she asking me have I had sex with Dean? What the hell? I started to blush again. "I can't believe you're asking me this."

She started to laugh. "Ya turnin' as red as a beet, boy. I take dat as a yes too." She started to rock from side to side in her seat. "I remember my first time. Harry Parker." She shook her head again. "Now dat was a man. There wasn't all dat a.......what'cha call it.........foreplay. When we had sex, we had SEX. Hell, and a lot of it too...." This woman is telling me about her sex life. I can't believe this. This woman is crazy. "....Ol' Harry was a breast man. Loved'em. Tha bigga, tha betta for 'im. And mine were big and perky back then. They may look deflated and pitiful now, but I caught all da 'ttention from the mens."

I had to chuckle at this. There was no other way to respond to such a loose comment. What made it more ridiculous was that LaVerne was serious. She may have smiled a few times while reflecting on those events, but she was serious. Dean never told me he had such a flamboyant aunt.

"Now let me tell ya 'bout Frank....."


LaVerne left to go to the store to get food for dinner and while she was gone, I decided to call Dean. "You never told me how crazy your aunt is, Dean."

"Yes I did. I told you she was......different."

"'Different' doesn't cut it when you try to characterize LaVerne. That woman is crazy."

"What do you mean?"

"First, she asked me we're me and you shacking. Second, she asked if we had sex." Dean started to giggle. "When she figured out we have, she started telling me all these stories about different men she's slept with over the years and what part of her body they like to squeeze the most." Dean was still laughing. "What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry......I'm sorry......It's just.......I can just imagine what your face looked like during all that!"

"Just hurry up and get here. LaVerne is too much for one person to handle."


I sucked on Dean's nipple as he straddled my lap. He wrapped his arms around my neck and head and pressed me closer to his chest. "Mmmm...." He moaned. My cock was buried hilt deep in his backside and I could feel him start to move, using my shoulders to grab on to as leverage. His bounces were slow and rhythmic on top of me and his moans started to get louder with every move he made. He gasped and whimpered when my cock brushed against his gland. "Yes, Quincey." He whispered.

I held his hips and groaned as I thrusted into him. I sucked on his neck, marking him with a bruise conceived out of my love. Before long, our bodies became overwhelmed with passion as well as speed. Dean grabbed his erection and stroked strongly while I bucked and used his hips to jounce him forcefully on top of me. Dean held me tightly so I'd stay close to him as I fucked him harder. "I'm.........I'm gonna......I'm gonna come." He panted.

No sooner he said it, I lost it. I came deep inside him at the same time he shuddered his along both our bellies.


I jumped awake in bed, sweating. Was that a dream? It seemed so real. Well, maybe it was real because it was. That actually happened our first night in our new home. It isn't a big house; only one story, but it was brand new and it was ours. Dean felt that we should be like all other couples who buy their first home; make love in every room of the house. That dream must've been the night we made love in the livingroom in the arm chair.

I decided to go to bed a little early my first night here. I figured, the faster I go to bed, the faster Dean will be here. Almost like how children do on Christmas Eve. I know I did. Another reason for going to bed early was LaVerne. She spent all of dinner telling me how she and one of her friends snuck into Frank Sinatra's hotel room and flashed him before he had to go to the lobby for a performance and how she met up with James Dean while he was in town doing a movie and he let her feel up his chest -and vice versa. I doubted if that stuff was true or not, but she swears by it.

I couldn't get back to sleep no matter how much I wanted to, so I looked through one of the zipper compartments of my luggage and pulled out a small photo album. I cut on the small lamp by my bed and sat on the edge flipping through it. The cover said Our House and inside it contained pictures of our new red brick house, us posing outside our new house, and us living life in our new house. I like saying that -our new house.

I was looking at a picture of me with Dean riding piggyback. We were on the front lawn and the smiles on our faces was priceless. His arms were around my neck and his face was leaned in close to mine. I didn't notice he was looking so lovingly at me instead of the camera, until we got the pictures developed.

I heard the limp patter of feet and the soft tap of a cane. LaVerne. She peaked her head through my cracked open door. "What's tha matta, boy? Can't sleep?"

"No. Not used to sleeping alone."

"Ah." She said as she limped inside the room. "Used ta havin' a warm body next ta ya?" She sat down next to me. "Boy, if ya lookin' fa company, all ya had ta do is ask."

I choked back a nervous laugh. "Well, I........well....."

LaVerne laughed. "I's jus jokin' wit ya, boy. I know that left side of tha beds reserved fa my nephya." She was quiet for a moment. "Ya sur ya don't need no company? I may be ol', but I can still rock tha world of any youngbuck around 'ere."

I shyly moved my eyes back to my album. "I'm fine.......thanks." I could feel my cheeks turning red.

She started to smile. "Boy, ya must be somethin', if ya can still burn crimson this late at night." She tapped her cane lightly on the floor. "I like ya, boy. Ya alright by me." She touched a red nailed finger to the album. "Our House."

"It's me and Dean's photo album. We bought it the day we were approved to get the house. We've been filling it up ever since. All the pictures incorporate the house in some way."

"May I?" I slid her the book and she flipped through. "Ya house is beautiful. Cute enough fa tha two of ya." She stopped at one picture. It was of us planting flowers along the front of the house. Both of us had dirty gloves on and dirt on our faces. Dean was on his knees digging a small hole with a hand shovel and I was standing behind him with a planting flower in my hand. "Tha's sweet. Though, I neva pictured Dean ta havin' a green thumb. He was a bit indoorsy when he was a chil'."

"He's outside more than I am now. It's nothing for me to see him dressed in his gardening clothes and heading outside on an early Saturday morning."

She flipped more pages and stopped at another one. Her eyes that reminded me so much of my boyfriend's squinted and her head cocked to the side, puzzled. "Now, what 'bout dis one? Dis picture ain't got nothin' ta do wit tha house." I looked and blushed. It was a picture I had taken of Dean one afternoon. He was lying on his stomach, his head on the pillow facing me, and his arms were tucked under it. I was pretty close to him when I took the picture, so you could just barely see the white sheet over his waist at the end of the picture. Our large window was shown in the background and between our open curtains, it exposed an orange panorama of the setting sun. The scene gave Dean's smooth skin a luminous effect and made the light sweat on his skin sparkle. The serene expression on his face and the lazy grin he made to the camera, could only come after having a phenomenal orgasm. After the picture, he kept looking at me like that, and I put the camera away and we made love again.

"I couldn't help it." I told LaVerne. "Dean is so beautiful, I had to take the picture. I'd take a picture of him while he gave an orgasm if it didn't seem like such a weird thing to do." I smiled, but quickly looked away when I realized I'd been talking about sex with Dean to his aunt. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

LaVerne smiled. "Yes ya did, boy. It's alright. Ya in love. You ARE in love, ain't cha, boy?"

"I am. Very much."

"An does he love YOU?"

"......I think so."

"Ya know tha answer. Does he LOVE ya?"


She smiled. "Wonderful." With a grunt, LaVerne slowly got up from the bed with the help of her cane and started to walk to the door. "Love. In y'alls case, it ain't spoiled on the young. I'd tell ya 'bout my two first loves, but I'll save dat for in tha mornin'."

"TWO first loves? How did you have two first loves?"

"Anybody can juggle two lovers at tha same time. Jus as long as they don't know 'bout each otha." She winked at me and left.

I smiled at her. LaVerne is definitely crazy and 98% of her comments make me blush, but I like her. I laid back in bed and found myself back to sleep with ease.


"What time are ya expectin' Dean, boy?" LaVerne asked me from the kitchen. She was washing dishes from our breakfast she made that morning. I was sitting in the breakfast nook at a small table.

"Today sometime. I tried to call him and see if he had left New York yet, but I haven't been able to get in touch with him."

"He'll turn up soon." She finished and turned the water off. "So, what now?" She asked with a smile.

I shook my head. "I don't know. Up to you."

"Well," She leaned one side on her cane and placed her other hand on her hip. "I could take ya upstairs and make a man outta ya or I could tell that story I promised ya las night." She grinned.

Of course I blushed. "I'll take the story, thanks."

"Ya sure? Ya let me take my teeth out and I guarantee I'll have ya seein' stars in twenty minutes."

"The story please, LaVerne."

She shrugged. "Suit yerself. Lets go in da livin' room and sit down. These hard chairs in tha kitchen do a number on my ass." I followed LaVerne as we walked. Not wanting her to fall and hurt her feeble self, I held her arm. "I'm alright, boy." She said to me when we reached the living room. "Sit yerself and I'm gonna git myself comf'table." I sat in the arm chair I sat in yesterday and waited.

My eyes widened when I saw her take out her teeth and set them on the coffee table. What the hell is going on? "LaVerne, we talked about this, remember? I don't need you to make a man out of me."

LaVerne giggled. And when she did, she shook her head slightly from left to right and it ended in a sigh. That was odd. Only one person I know giggles like that. Suddenly, she reached for the sides of her face and pealed it off slowly. I couldn't see what was going on, because she had her back to me. I stood up nervous when I saw her pull her hair off her head to reveal short brown hair instead of the long curls I was used to seeing. "L-LaVerne?" I stuttered.

The figure turned around and it was........ "Dean?"

Dean smiled. "Hey, baby."

I started to laugh. "You bastard. That was you the whole time?"

He nodded. "I wanted you to meet LaVerne. My character in a movie I'm going to be starring in."

"LaVerne is a character? You mean there is no Aunt LeVerne?"

"Nope." He wrapped his arms around my neck and kissed me. When he pulled back, he wiped the lipstick on my lips away with his press-on nail thumb. "I wanted to try my new character out on you and see if you could recognize me. I guess I did pretty good."

"You have no idea how embarrassed you made me."

"As much blushing you did yesterday, I can imagine."

"So you didn't go to New York?"

"No. That's why I wanted us to say our goodbyes in the parking lot. After you left, my agent gave me my real flight ticket to Mississippi. That ticket you saw to New York was a prop."

I reached out to grab him and felt padding all around him. "Can you take this thing off?" Dean unzipped the dress he had on and pulled it, the shoes, stockings, and the body padding off. He stood there removing fingernails and wiping the lipstick off his lips in a tank and briefs. "That's better." I said as I helped him step out from all the items that were bundled at his feet. "Congratulations on getting the movie by the way. I'm very happy for you." I grabbed him in my arms and kissed him.

"Thank you. Did you really mean what you said?"

"What did I say?"

"All the stuff you said last night in your room."

I kissed him again. "I meant every word. I missed you so much."

"I missed ya too, boy." Dean said back giggling.

"Ahem." We heard a woman. We turned around and I saw both she and Dean exchange smiles. The woman had brown hair with streaks of gray in it. She was slender and didn't walk with a cane.

"Baby, this is my aunt, Flora Mitchell. SHE'S my real aunt, who we were to come and spend time with."

The woman walked to where we were and smacked Dean on the back of the head. "Ow!"

"Well, that's what ya git. Leadin' that boy on like that."

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