Nephew No More?

Micky finished smoothing the frosting on the cake, making sure it was perfect. It didn't really need to be a culinary work of art, but it was a way of delaying heading out to the dreaded annual family reunion and cook-out.

It was especially dreaded when you had been divorced since the last one. She knew she'd see the sad eyes that went with "How are you doing, Michelle?" Poor fifty-something-year-old Michelle, who lost her rich husband to a secretary. A secretary who was now an assistant manager.

Yes, she was Michelle, who lost her husband. A clichéd soap opera character now. Only she wasn't Michelle now. She was Micky. It didn't matter if she hadn't quite figured out who Micky was. And the bastard she lost was so guilty that she got the house, the Land Rover, and a sizable alimony check each month that would keep her quite comfortable, thank you. She'd love to snap off that line to her nosy Aunt Sheila, the Gossip Queen.

Micky wished her daughter, Audrey, was with her, but she was in Africa with the Peace Corps. That, of course, had her father fuming because after that overly expensive college education, she should be raking in the money in some firm. Well, the girl had absorbed more of mommy's values. After the reunion, Micky and Audrey would have been in hysterics, mimicking the foibles of their relatives.

She was glad that this year's gathering was at her youngest sister's place. She got along much better with Susan even though she was 12 years younger, definitely a surprise child who arrived 9 months after Mom's and Dad's 25th anniversary cruise. Liz might be one year older than Micky, but she was from another planet and her husband was a pompous ass.

Micky deposited her cake in the kitchen, did a round of obligatory hugs and kisses on the cheek, and minimized small talk as much as possible.

She'd deliberately wore a skirt that was a little too short, and a top that cut a little too low for her aunts' approval. She imagined cartoon balloons over their heads. "A woman at her age." "The trip from divorcee to slut is a short one."

She was smiling as she picked up a Margarita and headed off to pretend to be interesting in her niece and nephew, Sue's teenagers, playing soccer with a pretty good looking young man. Maybe Liz's daughter's boyfriend?

Micky found that she couldn't take her eyes off the stranger though she didn't get to close. While he certainly wasn't a body builder, but his body looked toned, maybe a cyclist or runner. She liked the blonde hair; she wondered if his eyes were blue. Wondered if he was one of those guys who found older women alluring. Well, it was probably just the Margarita giving her frisky thoughts. They always seemed to, especially by the second or third.

When the stranger made a kick that slammed into the net of the goal, he raised his hands in triumph, and the expression on his face told Micky that he just had to be her nephew AJ. She hadn't seen him in a few years. He'd been off at graduate school. Liz had mentioned that he'd just finished up his Ph.d. dissertation in American Literature at Brown. Yes, that had to be AJ.

When AJ saw her standing by the fence, he trotted over.

"Aunt Michelle, so good to see you," he called with a big smile and picked her up for a hug that spilled the last last two inches of her drink.

"Good to see you, too, AJ," Mindy responded, genuinely pleased. She always thought AJ was a really neat kid.

"I go by Jerry now," he said with a smile. "AJ is kind of a kid name. Anthony could be Tony, but we already have too many Tony's in this family. So Jerry it is."

"Sounds good," Micky said, giving him a thumbs up. "I'm thinking of myself more as Micky than Michelle these days."

"Then Aunt Micky it is." His face took on a serious look. "Uncle Dave must be a real dick for leaving an attractive, witty, intelligent woman like you."

He hesitated a little before continuing. "I see you dressed to get the old hens in the family flapping their wings and clucking away. I always thought of you as my 'cool aunt,' kind of spunky and in tune with things. My dad always referred to you as "Your aunt, the hippie,' though hippies have passed into history. He didn't like you carrying signs in demonstations. Or maybe it just turned him on to imagine you baring your breasts for the camera at Woodstock. By the way, you look fantastic even if you just dressed to piss off the hens. Anyway, I've got to get back to the game."

Micky wasn't quite sure of what to make of the way he rambled on. That this attractive young man found her witty, intelligent, attractive, and cool was a lot to take in all at once. She wondered it was perhaps AJ who had the image of her baring her breasts at Woodstock.

But he wasn't AJ, was he. He was Jerry now.

Micky wanted to have more time to chat with him, but her relatives kept getting in the way. They all wanted to know "How are you," probably hoping that she was on the verge of taking an overdose of sleeping pills, so there would be stories to whisper over at the next reunion.

When Micky found herself cornered by two aunts, she tried to move the conversation from herself, by mentioning how good Jerry looked.

Aunt Edith looked confused for a moment before replying, "Oh, you mean AJ. Kind of silly, renaming himself, isn't it?" Then she tossed in a bit of gossip that caught Micky's attention. "Liz is devastated that he's broken off his engagement with Sarah. It was such a perfect match."

This topic clearly engrossed the aunts, and gave Micky the opportunity to slip away.

Unfortunately, she was still in demand. Uncle Rick walked beside her. As he elaborated on what a fool her ex-husband was, his eyes keep wandering to her boobs. His comforting hand on her back, Micky suspected, was his attempt to discover if she was wearing a bra.

Micky feared that she wouldn't get an opportunity to talk to Jerry again. Her eyes were following him though.

She did manage to engage him in a brief conversation. He was relaxing with a beer in a lawn chair. She hopped up on one of the tables that had been cleared from the early food fest that she had chosen not to partake in. She scooted back so that her already short skirt revealed a few more inches of her thighs. Her shapely tanned legs dangled from the edge. She slowly swung them back and forth. She leaned toward him, her hands grasping the edge of the table. She was well aware that her position said two things. One, that she was listening intently to what he had to say. Two, that she was offering him the opportunity to take in more of her cleavage and the swell of her breasts.

Perhaps the third Margarita had made her flirty, but she realized her new self, Micky, wanted to see if she could capture the attentions of a much younger man. That he was her nephew made it seem especially naughty, weird, and thrilling at the same time.

She learned that he was working in the factory on the third shift from midnight to 8:00 A.M. He had worked there in summer during college. Now he was materials handler, getting to drive a fork lift and getting a chance to use his muscles. His parents, of course, were miffed that he didn't immediately take a teaching job, but he needed a break after the ordeal of the dissertation. He wanted to be sure that he picked the right situation for him.

She also learned that though he was very sly about it, he was managing to check her out. As he talked, he would make gestures that covered a quick glimpse of her cleavage. Would he wonder if the tan on what he could see of her breasts meant she sunbathed topless? Michelle wouldn't have, but Micky did. When he dropped his beer can and bent over to retrieve it, she sensed that he was hoping to discover the color of her panties, or if she was wearing any.

Micky's thoughts were exciting her, but she listened carefully to everything he said. He liked working the late shift because he could sleep while his friends were working. They could still hang out until he turned into Cinderfella and headed for work. The only negative, he claimed, was that sometimes he didn't feel like going to sleep when he got off work.

Micky was also checking him out. Well, he didn't have a hard-on, but there just might have been a little swelling in his pants.

"Hey, drop by for coffee some morning. Maybe a little breakfast." Micky hoped that sounded casual and not a come-on. Or did she hope he took it as a come-on?

"Sounds like a plan," he said.

"Hey, Jerry, how about some cards?" one of the multitude of Uncle Tonys called.

"Guess I have to do my family duty," he said, rolling his eyes. "See, yah."

Getting up, Jerry leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, a kiss that lingered a little longer than a goodbye peck.

Micky went in search of her cake carrier and headed to her car. No more reunions for another year.

Micky eased into the Land Rover's leather seat, buckled up, and started the engine. She noticed her panties felt a little damp. If it was the onset of female incontinence that came as the years piled up, that would be one concern. But she knew it wasn't, and that brought another concern that left her troubled, confused, and a little aroused as she drove home.

#

Her friend, and former psychologist, Teri showed up a few hours later, wanting to hear all the gruesome details of the reunion. While a psychologist befriending a former patient wasn't exactly kosher, they had hit it off so well that it seemed natural. Plus Teri loved Micky's hot tub.

Teri was about 10 years younger than Micky. She was an attractive woman, the kind men would drool over, and frequently did, if Micky believed all the stories Teri told. Teri's stories were raunchy and filled with humor; they left Micky laughing like crazy and sometimes more than a little aroused. Micky wished she could talk so freely and be so funny. Jerry, though, had called her witty. And cool. And attractive.

Teri had brought two bottles of chilled white wine. She and Micky, both naked, were lounging in the hot tub. Teri had claimed Micky needed something to get her to loosen up.

"God," Teri began, "do you know how much money I'd be making if you brought this story of your nephew dampening your panties to my practice. But since you're a friend, a friend with a great hot tub, I'll let you have access to my expertise for free."

"What if he thinks I just some pathetic old broad trying to flash him her boobs as a come-on?" Micky was having difficulty processing her Margarita induced behavior of the afternoon. "You know how guys are. If my grandmother had sat on the table topless with her boobs hanging down to her waist, he couldn't have resisted checking her out."

"Why did you have to put that picture in my head?" Teri laughed. "I get your point. There's a big risk of rejection. Of course, there are guys who have a thing for older women. You know, MILFs."

Micky didn't know what a MILF was, but she'd look it up later.

"I've seen your bod slipping into this magnificent hot tub," Teri went on. "You've got the goods, Girl. Long shapely legs, attractively slender but still with those nice C-cups. Makes me with my fat ass and little B-Cups pretty jealous. One piece of advice though. That hairy bush that you've got is out of the 1970s. Granny stuff. Shaved is the way to go."

"And he's my nephew. My sister's son," Mindy said, thinking that would end the discussion.

"Do you know who a nephew is?" Teri started. "A nephew is an infant whose diapers you changed. You've got a head start. You've already seen his dick. A nephew is the kid whose cake you stuck different number shaped candles into each year. A nephew is someone you took out for ice cream. A nephew is a kid whose Little League games bored you to tears, but not as much as his graduation from high school did four years later. He's out of your life for years, and somewhere along the line the term nephew gets lost, and he's no longer AJ the nephew, he's Jerry, one very attractive man, who just happens to dampen your panties."

"Do you mean to tell me that as a licensed psychologist you're recommending that I start an incestuous relationship? Micky couldn't hide her shock.

"If you put it like that-well, let's not put it like that," Teri stumbled through her words. That wasn't like her. "I'm talking as your friend. I'm not saying you have to bed him. I'm just saying some flirtation, some seduction would do a lot for you. How far you want to take it is your business. If it doesn't work out, you have my card. I could use the $350 dollars an hour, or we could work out a deal for your hot tub."

Micky wasn't sure how much Teri said was just Teri being Teri out of the office or all those glasses of wine talking. Probably the wine.

Later that night as she was dozing off, Jerry on her mind, she was startled to find one hand cupping her breast and the other slipping into her panties.

"A nephew is a kid you took out for ice cream once upon a time," she mumbled.

#

Micky knew that Jerry's work week didn't start until Monday midnight. She awoke early on Tuesday, showered and fixed her hair. She thought about the underwire bra, but put it back in the drawer. She pulled a silky green top that showed a bit of cleavage. A top with spaghetti straps. Did it cling enough to her breasts? When his presence stirred her, would her nipples show? Did she want him to see her hard nipples pressing the silky fabric?

"What the hell are you doing?" she said to herself as she stepped into one of her only three pair of bikini panties. The rest were old lady panties. Her heart was fluttering as she applied just a little make-up. "What the hell are you doing?"

When she pulled on her shortest pair of shorts-"What the hell are you doing?"

Micky gazed into the mirror. "Slut," she said, "what the hell are you doing?" Nevertheless, she brushed her auburn hair again, arranging it on her shoulders. A small dab of perfume behind each ear. "What the hell are you thinking?"

She made her coffee in the kitchen. Waiting for it to brew, her mind was so addled, she was unaware of her fingertips brushing across her nipples. She poured coffee into her cup, headed out to the deck, sat down on the steps, and waited for him to arrive.

When the grandfather clock inside struck nine, she knew he wasn't coming.

Micky was confused by the flood of tears that flowed down her face. Why was she crying when she was feeling such relief? What kind of woman tries to seduce her nephew?

#

But a nephew is a young boy who you took out for ice cream. So Wednesday morning Micky went through the same ritual. Once again the grandfather clock struck nine, and he hadn't come. There were the same tears, but the relief was greater. He was only being polite. He never intended to come. She could put it all behind her now.

#

On Thursday, she rolled out of bed a few minutes before 8:00. She left on the nearly worn out, but extremely soft and comfortable, sweatshirt she often slept in. After she peed, she pulled up the baggy pajama bottoms. No need to change them.

She looked in the mirror. She looked like hell. But she wasn't a slut-or worse.

Walking to the kitchen, Micky pulled back her hair into a messy ponytail. She grabbed coffee and headed out to drink it on the steps of the deck. She always loved listening to the birds.

Micky jumped, spilling coffee down the front of the ratty sweatshirt, when she heard what sounded like a truck in the driveway, the creak of a door opening, and then slamming. And then Jerry appeared around the side of the house.

Oh, fuck, she thought. She didn't like to use that kind of language, but she was an absolute mess.

"Hey, Micky," he said. "I finally made it. Had to put in some overtime because the guy who does my job on first shift was sick." What she mostly heard was that he said, "Hey, Micky." Not "Aunt Micky." Maybe Jerry didn't think of her as Aunt Michelle, the woman who took a boy called AJ for ice cream.

"I had a late night and just rolled out of bed," Micky started. Perhaps she could salvage something from this disaster. "The coffee is on. Have a cup while I jump in the shower. I'll make you some breakfast."

"Sounds good," Jerry said. He seemed to say that a lot.

She was quick in the shower. She didn't want to take the time to dry her hair. Maybe wet hair looks sultry, she told herself, but she wasn't convinced. Now that he was actually here, she didn't have the courage to go braless. She slipped on a black underwire with almost sheer cups. That might give a her a little more cleavage. She chose a white tank top, not as revealing as the two she'd put on the last two days. The short shorts would accentuate her long, lovely legs.

Had he pictured her nude in the shower? Did she wish that he did? Of course, she did. Part of her, the part that frightened her, wished that he had stepped in the shower and wrapped her in a fierce embrace.

Her jaw almost dropped when she saw him sitting on a stool at the counter. He was sipping coffee and paging through one of her old, what she called her "trashy," novels. She'd been rereading it last night, needing something to shake off her disappointment of the previous two days. Why had she left it on the kitchen table?

He looked up and smiled. "This brings back memories. As a now certifiable but not yet hired professor of literature, I would say that the plot is strong, and the description of sex is direct and quite stimulating. Much better than the romance novels where maidens bodices are heaving with desire. I even remembered where the juicy parts are."

"Memories?" was all Micky could manage to say.

"I loved it when Mom and Dad travelled, and they insisted that I stay with you and he who shall not be named. From 8th grade on, I knew waiting for me was Auntie's library of a thousand and one delights. I'd either sneak down and read after you and the aforesaid unnamed person went to bed, or sneak one up to the guest room. Very, very educational. And, well, teenage boys will do what teenage boys do, if you know what I mean."

Micky didn't know if he was mocking her, or just being direct. She managed to turn around and lower her head before she let out a sob.

Jerry stood up and walked up to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "One of my problems is that I don't always think before I speak. I didn't mean to upset you."

Micky turned around and rested her head on his left shoulder and placed her hand on the the right one. She tried not to lean in to him, but her right breast was brushing against his chest. "You must have thought I was a sex maniac, or even worse, pathetic."

He stepped back. Keeping a hand on her left shoulder, he lifted her chin with his right hand.

"No way," he said. "It made you mysterious, exciting. Someone who wasn't afraid of sex. Someone who was passionate."

"A teenage boy's fantasy," Micky moaned.

"Not just teenagers, I imagine," he said, "Well, I hope you won't be offended, but I came away from the reunion thinking about how sexy you looked. Are you sure that you weren't one of those girls in the Woodstock photos? Probably not because you weren't born yet."

Jerry knew how to use humor to break the tension. He had Micky laughing, just like Teri often did. Maybe thinking she was sexy wasn't part of the joke. She had felt sexy sitting on that table.

"Scrambled eggs and sourdough toast?" she asked.

"Sounds good," he said.

While he ate, the conversation shifted to the horrors of the annual reunion. He joked that he went to graduate school just to get away from it. He spun some hilarious stories of the characters who populate the night shift in a small factory.

When his truck pulled out of the driveway, she already missed him.

#

Heading back inside, Micky saw that Jerry had turned her novel over, leaving it open to a pair of facing pages. She wondered if he had left them open to a certain passage. When she read the words, searingly hot words, a passage that had had her stroking herself to orgasm the night before, she couldn't decide if he meant to turn her on or he'd had randomly put the book down that way.