Brice Catlow was just plain thrilled to drive Aunt Jane to Bismarck.
It was too bad Uncle Ed had killed himself. That sort of ruined it for everybody, but Brice didn’t get a chance to drive a car very often. Brice liked driving and wanted to be a race-car driver some day. He would take all the driving practice he could get.
Brice had always liked Uncle Ed, a cheerful wrasslin’ bear of a man. That’s what Ed had always said.
He’d always had the hots for Aunt Jane though.
Brice was sixteen, and he had his driver’s license. She needed help to clean the place up as it would have to be sold.
She was silent beside him.
Brice was only half enjoying the 1970 Duster, which he told her was a brick. It was good driving experience.
That’s what he told her. It had a slant six and bias-ply tires. Not like a real car. It actually belonged to Uncle Dave and Aunt Marcy.
Aunt Jane didn’t have a car.
She was the youngest, the most beautiful of his mother’s sisters.
The first time he saw her, he was about five or six years old and she was fourteen. Her legs were long, smooth and white. She was dressed for ballet practice. He dreamed about her all the time after that, even as a young kid.
In his dream she was a princess. She was being held in a dungeon and he had to rescue her. In his dream she would shower him with kisses after he had suitably proven his love for her, his bravery, hacking up scores of brutish oafs on the way in and out. She was his first real innocent crush. It was just a crush, with no sexual overtones back then.
The song on the radio faded as they motored through the night. He felt like a real man. He was driving on the I-94 at seventy miles per hour. He’d already driven right past a cop sitting at the side of the road. Brice was speeding a little bit, trying to save a little time. The cop ignored them. Brice was watching the mirror, aware of the traffic up ahead slowing and eddying as it caught up to two big-rigs, the one on the left attempting to pass. He eased off the throttle. The I-94 was a piece of cake.
“Ah.” Brice reached over.
He turned up the tune on the radio.
“This is my favourite song.” He told her all about it.
He told her all about Led Zeppelin. He told her all about Whole Lotta Love. He told her about the sort of musical orgasm during the solo, and turned up the volume when it came. No pun intended, he told her.
He thought she liked the song too, which was a good sign. She smiled tiredly.
He’d thought of her a few times as he masturbated, no more than any other woman though. She was in the rotation, along with half the girls at school and a smattering of older women, teachers, nuns, and a couple of his mother’s friends. Most of his female cousins were pretty good looking. Jane was babysitting the first time he ever did it. He’d been reading some book on anthropology. Hard to believe. She was in the house, downstairs watching TV. That was the first time he ever thought of it. She’d almost walked in on him, as if suspecting something. There was this look in her eye.
He had often wondered about that. What might have been…what if I had let her catch me?
She might have been looking for just the thing. She might have had sympathy. She might have helped me out, and taught me things. They could have kept it secret.
Stranger things had happened.
That first orgasm wasn’t very good. It just felt funny. It was only after a few more times that he got the hang of it. The first really good one was revelation.
He wondered what she was thinking as she turned to the side window again, her reflection pale and forlorn.
It was too bad. To lose your husband so young. She really was a beautiful woman. She had the worst luck, thought Brice.
They would be sleeping in the place overnight. Just the two of them. Uncle Ed’s ghost would be there, most likely, if there was such a thing. His skin prickled at the thought.
But surely Ed of all people would understand. They must have done it, thought Brice.
Of course they had, as thoughts of her naked tormented him. His pulse went up.
He had to be ready for anything tonight. They might just talk for a while. Surely she would cry…
He’d help her pack a bunch of junk out to the curb. They’d take what they could, anything of value, in the car. An auctioneer might come and have a look at some of the bigger items of furniture.
Brice figured this was it. It was the first time he’d ever been alone with a girl.
Why did she ask for me? She could have gotten Uncle Steve or Uncle Ted to go. But those guys were married to her sisters.
I can keep a secret, he thought.
I know she likes me, she always did.
Maybe tonight, he thought. His pants were bulging at the idea.
Her head twitched and the chin came up, staring down the road.
“Where are we?”
“We’ve got fifty miles yet.” He sounded confident, relaying such important information.
He was right up to date. Everything was under control.
She would need some comfort, needing simply to be held perhaps. It would begin there.
They were a hundred and forty miles from home and her husband had just blown his head off with a 12-guage.
You never know though.
That’s what he kept telling himself.
It was a nice dream, and she did say she liked the song and everything.