Then I heard my mother’s voice from across the room: “MICHAEL! Michael, I told you to keep moving. People need tending. NOW!”
Michael, my full name. Mom only used my full name when she meant business, which usually meant I was in trouble for something. The other time she said “Michael” was when she was in one of her rare moods: a sad one or a happy one or a mushy one … you know.
I got up and turned to leave. Uncle Zack took hold of my arm, got up and whispered, “I want you to fuck your Auntie Lee.”
*******************************
I did my “tending” so Mom stayed off my back. And while I tended, I tried to keep my eyes off my Auntie Lee. After what my uncle had said, it was hard to not think of her.
But, I didn’t know what to think. Sure I had thought about fucking her, just like I thought about fucking a million other pretty woman. All while jerking off over the years.
But it was kind of a shock to have your uncle request it. Maybe he was just kidding—seeing how I would react. I think I reacted by looking like when you have to take a dump real bad: kind of worried and uncomfortable without wanting to tell anybody why.
“You’re neglecting me,” Lori said. “Just like you always do.”
Lori always needed lots of attention. She pouted when I didn’t give her enough. The trouble was that my definition of “enough” and hers were a lot different. I thought my definition was the sane one.
“Kinda busy,” I said. “My mother wants me to keep everyone happy.”
“I should be the one you want to keep happy. Remember that. And your mother’s a pain. Remember THAT!”
I started to get mad, but because of being in the middle of a party that was supposed to be happy and fun, I took a couple big breaths instead. Lori was being … well, Lori. I gave her a lot of room for stinky behavior because of her dad. He had died twelve years ago, and I thought it must be tough not to have a good dad around, like I was lucky enough to have.
The other reason I didn’t get mad was because of Lori’s mother. She had walked up at that second and said, “Everything okay here? I’m watching how you treat my daughter.”
Mrs. Branch was NOT a woman any guy could call pretty. Not any guy who didn’t have a white cane and a guide dog, that is. But, for a fifty-two year old widow, she had a body that would have said “twenty-five year old fitness model” to that white-caned guy if he Brailled her. She owned the local dance studio and all that dance teaching must have worked her into Olympian shape. Especially her legs, which were always showing in leotards or dresses (or skirts?). Her calves were just on the right side of being overdeveloped.
And—not that I had noticed over the years—but she had big tits.
I had met Lori when Mom made me take dance classes for three years. I goofed off a lot, and I think that was the start of Mrs. Branch not liking me. Dating her daughter was the other reason she didn’t like me. I secretly thought not having a husband to take care of her in the bedroom didn’t add to her sunny disposition. Lori said she would never date, that her dad was the only man in her life forever.