Uncle Tim came home with a dead deer in the back of his truck. There was already one hanging upside down in his barn, but it was his brother’s. Uncle Tim is the man when it comes to field dressing deer. I remember a few Thanksgivings back when he bagged a hermaphrodite deer. He called it “queer deer” (pronounced kwee’ yah dee’ yah around these parts). I took photos, asked questions, no judgement. Uncle Tim seemed to enjoy my company. He entertained my questions and didn’t mind me taking pictures. I’d been in the family a long time but I know I’ll always be foreign to him.
A 14-year-old niece asked my advice on modeling, photography, and how to get her swollen lip to go down. She had gotten a piercing above the left side of her lip. Last summer she also asked my advice on eyebrow issues; first when she had shaved them off, drawn them on with a pencil, and given her face a surprised look; then when she had drawn them so thick they looked sharpied on. She may have found a happy medium with the eyebrows since then. Or maybe I didn’t notice on account of her fat lip.
“I brought my homemade mini pumpkin pies. Gluten-free!” I offered her. I made a batch every year.
“Oh my god, I love you!” She hugged me as she stuffed one in her mouth.
16-year-old Dylan also came up for a hug. He had grown from a chubby boy with Freddie Mercury teeth to a young man with short blonde hair, braces, and a hot bod! Call me a perv, but his good looks are not lost on me. The hug felt good. I walked right into his arms. He wrapped them around my back and squeezed.
“Auntie May, would you like to see my football videos?” he asked.
I glanced at his mother, an overweight blonde woman a few years younger than me but looking haggard. She sat on the other side of the room, clutching at her yappy little pomeranian, while she sobbed about her dog that died last summer. Her pomeranian upchucked a piece of turkey right onto one of the guests. A ruckus of cleaning up and apologies ensued.
“Sure!” I sat on the couch next to him as he pulled up junior varsity football game videos on his laptop. I became self-conscious of my minidress being a tad too short. His fingers tapped on his muscled thighs, dangerously close to mine. We watched his videos together. I heaped praise on his moves and watched him blush.
I’m aware of my “sexy auntie” status. Being asian and married to a white man makes me an “other” in his family; a hot exotic creature they can fix their fantasies on without feeling incestuous. I kinda like it. It feels good to be desired. And when I’m alone with my man I tell him I’m going to hire Dylan to mow our lawn this summer. I’m going to watch him peel his sweaty shirt off as he pushes the lawnmower around our backyard. I tell him I’m going out in a sheer little sundress, no bra, no panties, to bring the boy an ice cold lemonade. I whisper all the many naughty things I’m going to do. Whether I actually do it or not is beside the point. It makes my man hard to hear about it. It’s our connection together on a fantasy so immediate and so naughty that matters.
Did you have a sexy auntie when you were growing up? What fantasies did you have of her? Tell Auntie May all about it.