Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [39]
Consequently, for good or ill, I began to see Grandfather’s point, and it grated on me. My instincts in the closet were, somehow, correct. Cleary, someone as forward as Ms. Nuckeby had to be in it for something else.
“I think you’ve done all the damage you can do here, Cecil,” Aunt Helena said. “Why don’t you go and annoy someone else?”
Grandfather wanted to be angry with her, but he was obviously too pleased with his decisive victory over me.
“I should go see how Mindie Butterwycke is doing, anyway,” he said, and after a last parting smirk in my general direction, he moved to—and out of—the study door.
Mindie Butterwycke? See how she’s doing what?
Aunt Helena sat beside me, put a hand across my shoulders and pulled me, tightly, to her. She and I had always been very close, ever since my mother died all those years ago in that horrible chair-lift accident with her ski-instructor. We never did find their pants.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s just old and bitter.”
“No,” I said, sadly. “I’m afraid he might be right.”
I explained the situation in the closet, leaving out certain personally embarrassing details. The omissions shortened the story considerably. I described how Ms. Nuckeby had nearly left, then returned and become rather unexpectedly randy.
“But you said you two had made a connection in those previous few minutes. Made a date. Why shouldn’t she then feel more comfortable with you?”
“I don’t know. Something just felt strange about it.”
“Like she got greedy and was trying to score quickly?”
“Mmm.”
“I don’t think so. She didn’t seem the type to me. You don’t get in the face of the owner of the company if you’re just looking for a piece of his personal pie.”
She considered me a moment.
“I think you’re just being a man,” she said finally. “Men always want the horny slut until they either make some kind of personal connection or ejaculate. Then you want her to go home, or make you breakfast and go home, or have sex with you again, make you breakfast and go home. And once she’s gone, you decide you can’t have a ‘relationship’ with a horny slut so you run right out and find someone demure, boring, and utterly sexless because you need to impress your mother. Often not realizing that your own mother could set the standard for horny sluts.”
What an odd thing to say. Was she implying there might be more to that chair-lift accident?
“You’re the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever had,” I said.
“And look at what a horny slut I am,” she laughed.
I didn’t. She was old enough to be—well—Grandfather’s sister. And although she was eight or so years younger than he, worked out regularly and kept in shape, the image of her riding Pjuter roughshod, and enjoying it…
I suddenly flashed on Mr. And Mrs. Abrososa and shuddered violently.
“Oh,” Helena said. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to gross you out. But someday I’ll tell you the story of how I met Pjuter. That will really make you shudder.”
I said nothing, and she pulled me more tightly to her. “Oooooh, Corky. You’ve always been so sweet, and,” she paused, searching for the right word, “non-threatening. I’ve always felt a deep connection with you too. But you’re a tad too naïve sometimes to see the world as it really is—particularly in things amour. Don’t give up on the naked girl as yet.”
“Seems Ms. Nuckeby’s impressed you.”
“She certainly has. That doesn’t mean I don’t need more time to properly evaluate—maybe see how she looks in clothes. It is the family business after all. But I admired her courage in facing down your grandfather, and I have no problem with the fact that she found you instantly beddable.”
“So, it didn’t concern you then that in your first experience with her she was naked?”
“And proudly so, I noticed. With good reason too. Hell, if I looked as good as her, I’d never wear clothes—or make-up. I’d even love to see the world follow my example—in spite of what it might do to the family coffers. I’m more progressive than you think. Fashion