She had come to stay not long after, and when she went out with his parents, she wore a bright, flowery dress. It seemed all wrong that a nice-looking lady in a pretty dress should “fight men for a living”, and the small boy became obsessed with the idea. In a way he still was, now she was 40 and with the feared rank of sergeant major. The awkward coincidence was that Noah was to have his first mixed match the next day in his wrestling club.

Talking of which, he needed to work out. He just started doing press ups on the balcony when a car drew up. He watched as a smart woman got out. Beatrice still looked great, he thought. True, her hair was turning grey, but her body looked as slim and fit as he remembered it. As usual, she was “dressed for action” in tight black trousers, shiny black boots, and an equally tight camouflage top. He went down to greet her.

“Where have you flown from?” he asked, and she frowned.

“Now Noah, you should know better than to ask me that,” she gently scolded him. “Suffice to say it was several thousand miles away.”

“Oh, sorry, but you must be tired. Why don’t you go to your room and catch up on sleep? I’ve got to prepare for my match tomorrow – a mixed match, you’ll be interested to hear.”

“I certainly am,” she replied. “Plus, I’m not tired and I’d like to help you practice. Why don’t we go to your gym?”

“Done,” the young man said, and off they went.

Beatrice swiftly removed her trousers, and the camouflage top tuned out to be a leotard. Once they were in the ring, she got a stopwatch from a pocket and told Noah to start his training.

“Come on, come on, what’s up with you?” the sergeant major demanded. “Call that a press up? I’m not counting that one. Disqualified, start again. I want to see those shoulders come right up. Go! Faster! You look like a rice pudding!”

There were reasons behind this stereotypical military behaviour. Firstly, she correctly believed Noah expected it of her; secondly, after more than 20 years in the Army it came naturally; and thirdly, she wanted to wear him out. She planned to have a bout with him, and while she was a super fit 40-year-old woman, he was a super fit 22-year-old man. She wanted the bout to help him in his practice, and also because she was attracted to his young male body. We hear a lot about middle-aged men fancying younger women, but much less about the other way round.

“You’re out of breath,” she told him, laughing, as he got up. “You’re soft, that’s your trouble. “Oi, steady,” she said as she held him, ostensibly to “right” him after his exertions. “Right, I propose we have a bout. Take your shorts off, we don’t want them getting dirty or torn.”

“Eh? What about your leotard getting dirty or torn?”

“It won’t happen,” she answered in a tone of voice that told him not to question her again. He found himself obeying, just as he had done (so he heard) when she told him to put his arms in the air so she could take his top off before bathing him.

“Okay, ready?” she asked when he faced her again. They squared up, then, “What’s that behind you?” she asked urgently.

Noah turned round, but there was nothing. He turned back – and she kicked him hard in the balls. He seemed to freeze on the spot before dropping to his knees, clutching his injured manhood.

“Foul!” he exclaimed. “That was a dirty, stinking foul!”

“’Foul!’” Beatrice scoffed. “I train soldiers in unarmed combat. I train them to win, not to pussyfoot around niceties like fouls. You’re going to be up against a woman tomorrow. Do you think she won’t exploit such an obvious vulnerability?”

“But it’s the rules!” he whined.

“When did a woman last play by the rules?” she fired back. He couldn’t answer.

Noah got up, feeling aggrieved. They locked up, probing the other’s strength and stamina. He was confident he had the advantage of weight here. Beatrice knew he had, so she had better regain the balance of advantages. That was easy enough, and she slammed her left knee up into his balls. He sank down to one knee, feeling sick, still resisting her in a token way.

“Always try to anticipate what she’s going to do,” Beatrice rebuked him. You didn’t once look into my eyes while we locked up. You might have read that I had a trick ready if you had.” (The reason he hadn’t looked into her eyes was that he felt she had psychological dominance enough, without him being hypnotised by her eyes. But he had to concede to himself that she was right.)

“Even now you’ve got them closed!” she shouted, banging a right kick into his balls, having worn him down to both knees. Noah groaned. The young lady of his childhood – the happy, giggling girl in the pretty flowery dress – had grown into a nightmare aunt.

He collapsed onto his back. She went down with him, still gripping his wrists, and with her boot pressing against his tortured balls. (“Those boots will need polishing again after this,” she thought. “Yes, well he can do it as a punishment for losing.”)

“You see how I have you at my mercy?” she demanded. “All because you didn’t think! THINK! Plan two – three – moves ahead. If you fight like this tomorrow, and neglect to protect your balls from the outset, she’ll murder you!”

Beatrice folded her arms over his throat, choking him. She turned it into a headlock, using both arms, plus her left leg to trap his near, left arm. The nearest relative to this unconventional (but effective) hold was an arm triangle choke. Noah, traumatised after her assaults on his balls, now struggled to breathe. With one arm stuck under Beatrice’s left shoulder, and the other immobilised by her left leg, he could offer no resistance. “She’s going to tell me off about that as well,” he thought to himself. He was right. On the other hand, it was just possible she could be distracted into a mistake.

“It’s no use just being defensive,” she scolded him.

“But you took me unawares,” he replied, deliberately putting a whinge into his voice to invite a fiery response. (He had always been able to wind her up, he recalled.)

“Took you unawares! What have I been telling you about … hey!”

He was right. There had been too much of the instructor about Beatrice and not enough of the competitor, and she had lost her concentration of the hold. He used his superior weight, and strength in his arms, to force her off him. Hooking his left leg over her right shoulder from behind, and immobilising her left arm with his right hand on her shoulder, he locked her right arm over his right leg.

She resisted ferociously, angry with herself for her lapse of concentration, but in truth there wasn’t much she could do with her near arm locked. He hauled her above him, head locked her with his left arm, and mauled her breasts with his right hand, still firm as a testament to her fitness. Well, after what she had done to his balls, she was in no position to complain. Then he groped between her legs.

He was pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable and what was taboo within families. Was he doing this for wrestling advantage, or because he was grappling with a sexy, mature woman? On the other hand, had she not tried to wear him out at the start, because she fancied a bit of fun with him as well?

“Never allow yourself to be sidetracked by your opponent,” he chuckled in her ear while pawing away.

“Fuck off!” she replied, wincing, whether from pain or stimulation (or both) we just don’t know.

Certainly, Noah found the action exciting, and – talking of taboos – he had an erect penis to prove it. It didn’t put him off the wrestling though, and he forced Beatrice into a camel clutch. Yes, he had great strength in his arms, she was forced to admit to herself, as he hauled her body up by his hands under her chin, while pushing it down by sitting on the small of her back. It was a hold she had used herself countless times.

He turned the hold into a sleeper. Damn, Beatrice thought, he really did know his stuff. If she didn’t get out of it soon, she might well … she would …

Noah shouted in triumph and stood over her. He had won a fall against a sergeant major, and self-defence instructor! And didn’t he crow over her, just? He was unbearable, Beatrice remembered, whenever he won a game when he was growing up. He was even worse now, she thought as she got back up, humiliated at her defeat.

“That’s terrible!” she told him, pointing at his erection. “I’ve a good mind to make you have a cold shower!”

“Well you said I should take my shorts off,” he countered.

What she would have given to be able to put him under close arrest! Instead, she ignored his impudence and squared up. Professial pride told her she must win this next bout. They both fired exploratory blanks at each other, she with a kick, he with a punch. He then warded off a knee strike from her.

Beatrice leant back out of an attempted left cross, then was equally evasive with a right. Knowing her nephew of old, she could see the signs of frustration. Oh yes, he might be able to wind her up with cheap quips, but she knew how to torment him long term. (The trick was to look as if the tormenting was the last thing on your mind.)

Even so, honours remained stubbornly even in this fall. She escaped another punch, struck with her right leg, and he met it with his left leg, like stags locking horns. Their mutual defence was superb, and Beatrice next failed to break through with a left kick, thanks to a timely parry from Noah.

It was a game of patience, and very difficult to tell what was a feint and what was genuine. Finally the stalemate was broken when Noah seized Beatrice’s left leg in mid-high kick. Suddenly letting go, it almost put her off her balance, so he whipped his arms around her waist and lifted her in a bearhug. She thought those giant forearms of his would crush her ribs.

But in a brilliant piece of improvisation, knowing the ropes were behind her, she managed to swing backwards and grab the middle one. It forced him to release her to avoid falling, and she hooked her legs around his neck to draw him closer to her. She stared into his eyes; it was distracting enough for him without the fact that his erection was now rubbing against her thigh tops and sex.

Then, in a move or pure brilliance, she spun round 180 degrees and dropped, instantly swapping her hands over on the ropes. In a hold that was almost too complex, she had him trapped in an upside-down flying head scissor. More than that, the mature woman had the young man’s face pressed against her sex. (He wasn’t the only one pushing the boundaries.)

Beatrice had him staggering with her next move. Still agile as a cat at the age of 40, she heaved on the ropes to swing herself up in the air above Noah, for a proper flying head scissor. This was the Aunt Beatrice he knew as a child – the young woman who seemed to perform wonders showing him how to climb trees. Even though she had him tottering about the ring right now, he was pleased to see the old fire was still there.

But he couldn’t keep up with her pace and wild swings, both side to side and back and forth, and he went tumbling down onto his back. She had him where she wanted him, and spun so she faced upwards, supporting herself on her hands, while clamping her thighs shut around his neck. Just as he had admired her dexterity earlier, the way she had him imprisoned in her thighs, so he was forced to look up her body, he couldn’t help but marvel at the female strength of it. No wonder the soldiers were in such awe of her!

When does a head scissor become a face-sit? I would have thought it was when the woman’s pleasure was no longer incidental to the hold, but the reason for it. So when Beatrice knelt either side of Noah’s head, fixing his face against her sex, it would be difficult to claim it was purely competitive. (As for being military – well!) If anyone were still in doubt, they only had to look on the smile on her face.

First, she pushed his face further into her with her hand on the back of his head, then she pulled him by his right wrist until he passed out. An unconventional way to win it might have been. But the result was that she was on her feet celebrating, while he was still on his back, unconscious. When he came round and sat up, the first thing he saw was Beatrice, hands on hips, looking down severely at him. But even she couldn’t keep up the sternness, and she bent down and kissed him.

“Come on,” she spoke softly when he stood up. “You need to have a shower and get rid of this erection of yours.” He gulped as she wound her fingers around his cock.

“No, no,” she urged, releasing his cock, “we’re directly related, and it wouldn’t be right. You’ll have to do it.”

She went with him to the shower, then left him to (as she put it), “do whatever you need to do.”