01. Somewhere in the US, 2010.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” my daughter asks as I stare at the phone, stunned.
I hear her, but my mind is clouded by a haze of emotions: loss, pain, relief, and anger.
“Dad,” she pulls on my arm. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I reply, trying to compose my thoughts. “I… just got some bad news, is all.”
“What happened?”
“Uh… my aunt. She… she…” I lose my ability to speak as tears pour down my face. Sobbing, I let Eleni lead me to a chair.
“Which aunt?” she asks as she gives me water to settle me.
As I stare at the glass and raise it to my lips, I see her, my favorite aunt, just as she was back then. I will always picture her when she was young, vibrant and beautiful.
“Margo,” I utter, staring out to the garden and wiping my eyes. “Aunt Margo.”
“Oh! Her,” my daughter replies.
Her.
My daughter Eleni has heard all the rumors from the family women. My side of the family, that is. They never liked Margo.
I adored her.
“She has a name, Eleni, just as you do. It’s Margo.”
My daughter nods to me apologetically. She knows better than to give me grief at this solemn moment.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I know you and her… You were close.”
Close… That’s an understatement if there ever was one. We had been more than close. Margo had been my first. She had skillfully and lovingly taken my virginity and been my mentor and part-time lover from then on. Our association lasted for years. She made me a better man.
But this is her story, not mine. Margo was an exceptional woman beyond her time. And to those who had the privilege of knowing her, she is legendary.
I miss her. But when I think back on her, I can not help but smile.
***
02. Athens, Greece, early 70’s
I watched the lithe woman, naked on the bed, straining her hips at him in longing, wanting to be consumed by him. A man I do not recognize. Her expression was but a mask of total sexual immersion. She was not herself anymore. Or maybe this was her true self. The part of her she tried to hide when she was a neighbor, wife, mother, sister, or aunt.
My aunt Margo.
It was the first time I had seen her with a lover; honestly, it was both disturbing and predictably arousing. She was not my wife, so this was no cuckold thing for me to perv on. Only a voyeuristic indulgence I occasionally partake in. Still, Margo on her back with those lovely legs dangling in the air was something for the eyes to feast on as this unfamiliar man’s ass moved up and down between them. Having never seen her with someone else, I was captivated. Oh, please! You get turned on when you watch porn. The only difference was that, for me, it was real. As real as it gets.
I was at the door of Margo’s bedroom, staring at this unknown man between her legs, going at it a mile a minute. If I had leaned to the left a bit, I would have seen his member pumping in and out of her wet and familiar pussy. A woman’s intimate place, which, by this point, I was familiar with myself.
Any shock I had wore off quickly when Margo noticed me and smiled as if she was only doing the dishes.
“We’ll be done in a few minutes, sweetie,” she said, pointing her pretty head toward the other room. The hint was clear. Scram!
“No problem,” I replied.
“Who’s that?” Mr. Unknown Fucker asked. “I told you I don’t like anyone watching us.”
“It’s only my husband’s nephew,” Margo calmed him down. “He is not into watching.”
The way she said the last part, I knew better than to make another appearance until Unknown Man finished and left. I didn’t hear him reply as I closed their door. I guess he was preoccupied. So I walked to the spare room further back in the hallway and made myself scarce. I may have been young, but I knew better than to get on her wrong side. I liked being her favorite nephew. It had its perks.
So, that was my aunt Margo herself. To my defense, she was not an actual blood relative aunt. But an aunt nonetheless, whose lovenest apartment key I had to use as I pleased. Just as I did with her body, when it was not occupied, that is. I should have called. But then, I was young and, well, a bit immature. Margo would see to parts of my male upbringing that my parents could not teach me. To be a man, to be a lover, a gentleman and to be more discreet about life.
So yes. Young me and comely Margo. We were an item of sorts, while she had multiple things going on with men other than my uncle. Strange life we lived. But it was ours. Don’t worry, I’ll explain in due course. That is what this story is about.
Mostly Margo’s story. She would be the star if a studio would pick this story up. I wonder who would play her part. What would they call it?
Margo’s Lovers? The Way of Margo? Margo Untamed? She Did it Her Way?
Oh, you know Hollywood. The executives would probably change her name and the story’s location to make themselves feel useful. And probably write me out. But where were we? Oh yes. Margo was in the bedroom with some guy while I changed clothes. By this point, I could hear her moaning as she reached one of the many peaks she was naturally prone to. The woman was sexually insatiable and lucky to cum at the drop of a hat.
Eventually, she was done with the guy. He dressed, nodded to me not very politely as he passed me in the kitchen, and left. Margo, on the other hand, jumped in the shower and called to me.
“Niko, please be a love and make us some coffee.”
Who was I to refuse?
Where was her husband, you say? Well… My uncle was on some cargo ship in the Atlantic Ocean hauling Argentinean beef to Amsterdam. But then I’m getting ahead of Margo’s story.
Let’s go back to when it all began.
***
03. Greece, early 60’s
All the family women hated her because they knew all the family men wanted her. The men all wished they could have her or, better yet, possess her. Silly male relatives. I won’t mention names. But none of them would or could. Not even her husband, my Uncle George, had exclusive rights to her. He was my mother’s brother and the world’s most tormented husband.
Theirs was an arranged marriage. The type of union prevalent in the islands of Greece of the last century and the centuries before. My Uncle George had worked his tail off with his brothers to provide the dowry for the family sisters, including my mother. With that out of the way, it was time for the unmarried family men to take wives and make babies. Theirs was a tradition as old as ancient Greece itself. And still practiced in some areas.
The men of the islands went to sea, and the women stayed home to raise their children. Until the husbands came back on their trade ships to make their wives pregnant again, that is. One could document the husband’s work history by the arrival of each child. Go back nine months after the birth, and that was when he had returned from the sea.
My uncle had been no different. Nor were my other uncles nor my father. Sea, home, meet the baby from the last return, and get the wife pregnant again. I was one of those babies myself, and so were most in this story at one time or another. We lived near the sea and were tied to it like we were bound to each other — the extended family. Even though my father and mother moved to Athens from the islands, the capital on the mainland, the family was never far away.
The sea.
It is a thing of beauty, a source of food and income, yet the cause of sorrow and danger to many. It was and is the ever-present blue Mediterranean water that defines the modest nation of Greece and its culture. While a treat to the eye, a place for fun and travel for tourists, the sea also took our loved ones away. At best, they were gone for months or a year for work. But like the bitch she could be at times, the Sea sometimes took them forever. Beauty and danger.
Like most young men of our island family, Uncle George had followed our ancestors’ footsteps to the sea in ships. A way of life since the ancient days of rowing craft and sailing ships before steamboats and modern vesels. The sea was as familiar to him as it was to all the island people. They all knew how to swim and dive by the age of four. All most knew of their fathers was when they returned from a long voyage. The women left behind ran the families. It was a strange matriarchal society where their women allowed men to think they ran the world.
“It’s a symbiotic way of life,” Margo once said. “We each have our place and can not live without one another. We are but opposite sides of the same coin.”
When Uncle George returned from one of his ship trips, my grandmother and grand-aunts had done what older women on their island had done since ancient times: find wives for the unmarried men of the family — arranged marriages. Depending on the young man’s family status, the dowry was negotiated to marry a young single girl: A virgin.
Yes. In arranged marriages on the islands, each bride came with a dowery. It included a certain amount of money and things like her dishes, linen, and often a furnished home. And the future brides were expected to be untouched virgins, ready to breed children for the family. And so it was that my grandmother, through the grandma network, had found a likely candidate from another village for her son George. A young woman named Margo.
Her father had died at sea when his ship sank, so Margo’s brothers were obligated to build up her dowry chest. Being young and lower-ranking on their vessels, Margo’s brothers could only amass so much money before her family had to marry her off. I say, “had to,” because they “had to.”
Unlike other girls, Margo was either blessed or, some would say, cursed with an insatiable sexual appetite. A sex drive that “only a young and healthy husband could sate,” her family believed. Well, that was their hope anyway.
Her dowry may have been meager, but what she lacked in status and finances, Margo made up for in looks. To say she was a stunning young woman would be an understatement. She was probably the best-looking woman on her island.
Had Margo been born today, she would have been a supermodel or in the movies. She could easily have been an actress or at least a trophy wife of some rich man. But in those days and that place on earth, her looks only went so far. And as I said before, her family had to get her married as soon as possible. Because they knew that unmarried as she was, Margo was a time bomb.
Driven by her insatiable sex drive, there was no single man in her family to whom she had not offered her body. While tempted, none had taken her to bed. Not that they did not find her attractive and enticing, but the fear of discovery was too dangerous in a society where reputation ruled the lives of entire families. All had crossed themselves in Greek Orthodox fashion and walked away from the girl they thought was possessed by a demon.
But Margo, as I would learn later, was far from demonic. If anything, Margo had a heart of gold. She endured the derision of family women, the wonton stares of the men, and the disapproving looks of all with grace and understanding. More so than many women would have in her place.
Margo endured the pain and humiliation of rejection until one of her family members succumbed to her beauty. Being young, immature, and weak, her cousin Markos gave in to her advances and took her virginity. Under a thatched-roof hut on the beach near the Aegean Sea, Margo became a woman, and Markos would live in shame and be cast out from his family once they were found out.
Lucky for her, Margo did not get pregnant. Her family thanked God in church and looked for a husband for her in haste — any husband. And the man they found was my Uncle George.
Of course, Margo’s family never told our family that she was what she was. What could they say?
“Here. Our slut of a daughter has been broken in by her own cousin. Please take her as your wife?”
Hardly.
In their world, that was not done. And “such things” were not spoken of.
Her meager dowry was a problem as marriage negotiations began with the dowry-haggling. But then, Margo’s family was wise and knew well of Margo’s worth — not in cash, but in body and face value. So they asked for a meeting between Margo and George from the start, hoping to appeal to my uncle’s prurient interests.
Seeing Margo in all her glory was all it took — and George was hopelessly smitten by the potential bride. Her looks, actually, as he hardly knew her. If Georgie only did. But we’ll never know as he didn’t. And knowing my uncle, I think he could have taken her no matter what.
Any-who… George was so besotted by Margo that he didn’t care about her dowry size. Uncle George wanted the hot-looking young wife that no other man in our family had. He wanted that status and this stunning young beauty gracing his arm in public and bed in private. After Margo gave him an approving and alluring gaze, George’s dick was hard as a rock. Something Margo did not fail to notice.
Now, in defense of the women of our family, none were ugly. Not even close. My mother turned heads into her late fifties and then some — and so did my other aunts and assorted cousins. All were addicted to “French chic,” stylish, and trim. But Margo? Well, let’s say Margo was in a class all her own. And being women, all of my female relatives detested Margo’s looks.
And just as he had hoped, all the men were envious of Uncle George. So were the men of the village. Most of them looked at her but knew better than to try anything. In those days, family guarded their women and watched over them. Other families watched as knowledge of infidelity was power over another competing family. That, as well, went back centuries in their world. But no system is foolproof, and no woman could be watched twenty-four-seven.
“Mom, I want him,” Margo had said to her mother. “George is so handsome.”
“Don’t screw this up, Margo,” her mother replied. “He is the only young man we could find for you. The others are older like your father was when I married him. Maybe this one will satisfy you. Your father never did with me.”
“He tried, Mama,” Margo consoled her. “It was not his fault he got old.”
“He had no business marrying a girl half his age. I was lucky if he would perform once a night. Damn, this curse of our family women. Your grandmother, bless her soul, was the same as us. Eternally unsatisfied.”
Margo had wondered about her condition. Was it so bad she thought to want sex and enjoy it? Was it the family women’s fault that the gene was passed from generation to generation? The way she heard men want sex all the time, why did they resent women like her and her mother for liking and craving it?
But Margo was young and had much to learn about life and petty jealousy. And much to learn about the world that was about to change. And how, without meaning to, she would be part of the new world where women like her could find a place in life. Not on her island or village, but find it they could. Margo would be the first in her family to do so. And George would be her facilitator.
So the wedding took place as soon as possible. After all, George only had so much time at home between cruises on the ships. He had to get married and manage to get his new bride pregnant. Tradition and all that.
*****
An excerpt from the full coming story to be published soon.
In memory of my Aunt Margo. A woman with a sex drive of epic levels and magnitude but a heart of gold.
Margo was a remarkable woman. And most of what she experienced happened because my Uncle George, after a period of adjustment, allowed and encouraged it.
I hope you enjoy her adventures in the series. There is much to tell. Margo told her stories to me at different times and shared some letters to help document them. I recant most by memory or reference to her letters and her daughter’s memories for missing details. Sadly, Margo is no longer with us, so I can ask her for more. But what she shared is plenty — so much so that I am questioning if some of it should see the light of day.
Obviously, the names of principals have been changed, as family members are still alive and know Margo’s and George’s story to a point. Most do not know its full extent, and I plan to leave some events vague to not cause problems — especially for her children and grandchildren.
Some of Margo’s story takes place long ago, and some later. As such, I have included dates and general locations to clear up the when and where. Some of the events are stand-alone Margo adventures, which combined make up the life of my Aunt Margo.
This story is the property of the writer Kalimaxos. Any unauthorized reproduction or reprint without the author’s authorization is strictly prohibited.
