It's always strange to sleep in the room you occupied as a kid. You look back and wonder: it's so familiar and yet it feels like a stranger's room. Aunt Patty lived with Grandmother Lucinda when I was a teenager, so when I bailed out of St. George's Convent on this trip home, she put me up in my old room. She meant well; she always means well, even when her taste is in clever crap rich people without taste buy thinking they're cultured when they're basically ignorant. When I was a kid, I loved the smell of lavender and someone made sure the room was permeated with it. Pink lace used to be a favorite of mine: it was covering the four poster bed I slept in, the windows, even the lampshades, and if they'd made a rug out of the stuff, a sample would be on the floor. Aunt Patty meant well; she always did. I'm glad it doesn't drive me as crazy now as it did when I was young.
I was sleeping in my old room because I was back in England for Amanda Sterns' wedding. Mandy and I'd been best friends growing up, and La Rossa gave me permission to attend the nuptials back at St. Dunstan's parish where we all grew up. I'd known her grandmother Mary my entire life, she was a surrogate grandparent to go along with my flesh and blood grandmother (I never knew my father's mother, or my father, as far as that goes), and Mary was the solicitor for St George's convent as well as a dear friend of La Rossa's, so it something I couldn't miss. La Rossa herself was going to come to the festivities, but a last minute emergency required her personal attention, so Sister Lucia took her place, bringing my friend Sister Juliana with her. We'd gotten into Heathrow on an early flight, but there were far too many snickers at the convent refectory, pointed remarks and dirty looks about a relationship I'm supposed to be having with a Cardinal in Rome, so I was able to convince them my adoptive mother and I needed some quality time while I was home. My Aunt was delighted I was staying with her, and treated me like a princess after I crossed her threshhold.
Aunt Patty was someone I grew up calling Mom: she adopted me as a baby just before she divorced her husband. Later on I discovered La Rossa gave birth to me after an affair with a red headed Irish missionary, and childless Patty offered to raise me so La Rossa could stay in the convent. Aunt Patty and I had our clashes, but she was kind and I am grateful for all she's done for me. And I love her dearly, usually from a distance.
Grandmother Lucinda Parkhurst-Frazelton's mansion is a grand old English manor, but like many old buildings, the ductwork and the wiring are afterthoughts. That night I discovered how oddly the ductwork connected when distant voices came through the vent:
"What is Madame's desire this evening?" It was the voice of Willikins, the old family butler. He'd worked for Grandmother forever and now he was evidently working for Aunt Patty; like most loyal retainers he was formal with the adults and delightfully informal and charming with any children in the household. When it was just us in the playroom or the grounds, I called him Uncle Jerry and he called me Helena of Troy.
"I think I would like to be rogered from behind again, with your authoritative hand chastising my naughty backside, Willikins." I shook under the covers at the sound of Aunt Patty's voice; my God, this must be like walking in on one's parents having sex.
"Very good, Madame, but I fear I am temporarily unable to comply with your request."
"Oh, Willikins? How can that be?"
"Yes, Madame. I am afraid after last night's exertions, my ability to provide you with the tumescence you are accustomed to is compromised. My hand is also somewhat sore after throughly chastising your naughty backside from last night as well."
"Be not afraid, dearest Willikins. I have brought my riding crop up from the stable in anticipation of this very circumstance, and I would be happy to provide some oral stimulation to restore your remarkable tumescent capability."
"That would be very good, Madame."
"One caveat: if you should appreciate my performance of fellatio to the extent you should ejaculate your semen prematurely, I shall chastise you appropriately for not waiting until my orgasmic needs are met before relinquishing your most delicious offering."
"Understood, Madame. I place my humble member in your care, and trust your discretion to advise me when to commence my penetration of your vagina from behind as you requested."
Willikins had always been a thin man in excellent shape, but Aunt Patty was another story. Our family genes gave my mother an excellent figure that she has kept up thanks to the austerity of religious life, but Aunt Patty had allowed her body to get seriously out of shape. I saw her in her nightgown just before she went to bed that night: she had a pot belly and her breasts hung down over it, with her nipples hovering around her waistline. Thinking of the two of the together strengthened my commitment to chastity.
"Thank you, Madame. Your skills are undiminished. If you would do me the kindness of licking your way down the shaft of my penis to spend some time sucking my testicles, it would improve my ability to provide the 'Rock Hard Erection' you so earnestly desire."
It was an unusually hot June night, and I was already sweating under the covers in spite of the fact I slept in the nude. For once, I wished my deafness hadn't been cured two years earlier, and I marveled for a moment at the thought they may have been having this kind of sex throughout my entire childhood. Then I shuddered, threw off the covers and went down to the Library to find a book to read.
The Library was a little cooler than my bedroom, but the sounds of my Aunt's lovemaking were audible there as well, so I gave up on finding a book and sat on the couch to see what was on the Telly. One of the satellite channels was having a marathon rebroadcast of early "Who's Line Is It Anyway?" episodes, so I put one foot on the seat, one knee in the air, hugged my leg and laughed at the antics of Josie Lawrence, Tony Slattery and Michael McShane again.
An hour later, the Library door opened to reveal Willikins in a dignified robe and pajamas. "Good evening, Miss Helen. Is there anything you would require before I retire? Some warm milk perhaps, with cinnamon and vanilla?"
I smiled: he'd offered me my favorite bedtime drink when I was a kid. "No, Uncle Jerry, I'm fine. I'll be turning in soon. And by the way, you don't have to sign to me any more; after the operation I can hear just fine."
He gave me a sad nod of his head, realizing his mistake, "Very good, Helena of Troy. I see you are still covered in freckles."
Willikins had bathed me when I was little, and it didn't startle him to find me sitting naked on the couch. My body had filled out modestly since childhood, and I'm sure my cropped red hair looked awful. The way I sat on the couch, with my foot next to my crotch on the seat, gave him a fairly good view of my red pubic hair and lower lips. I decided to brazen it out in the grand British aristocratic tradition and act as if nothing were wrong. "Yes, I guess I can't outgrow them Uncle Jerry." For a moment, I spotted a strange glint in his eye, but I remembered he had spent his libido on Aunt Patty and felt I was safe with him. "In some ways we never change, do we, Uncle Jerry?"
He nodded gravely, with a subtle smile on his lips. "Indeed, Helena. Good evening to you, then."
"Good evening, Uncle Jerry. Sleep well."
He gave me a knowing smirk and closed the door without a sound.
The next morning I slept in, and spent a delightful morning sitting with Aunt Patty on the back balcony enjoying croissants, orange marmalade and Earl Grey Tea. She gave no indication of her exertions of the evening before, although her robe was open farther down her sternum than I was comfortable with. Willikins served us with his usual grace as though nothing were amiss. Just before noon, Amanda Sterns dropped in and I met her in a drawing room near the front door. She is my age, well built like her older sister Agnes, only with long dark hair and sapphire blue eyes. Wearing a flowered sun dress, she almost crushed my ribs with her welcoming hug. "Hey, Helen, how's it going? Just like old times, what?"
"Yeah, Mandy. Sorry to hear about Agnes."
Her smile faded for a moment. "Yeah. Took us all aback, so sudden. Don't seem like nine months ago. I don't think Aggie really got the hang of America."
"Why do you say that?"
