The overcoat glistened, the torrential rain pounding hard on the windows of the house. The man was completely wet from his shoes to his felt hat. The noise of thunder almost didn't let Monique be heard.
"What happened Patrick?"
"Monique, please. I need to talk to you."
"Then come in, come on man, quickly."
The young man passes by, and she closes the door. In the hallway the sound of drops falling on the marble floor.
"Take off the overcoat, take it off. Before you catch pneumonia."
The nephew removes his felt hat. Monique helps with the overcoat."
"Take it all off. I'll get a towel for you to dry off."
The young man obeys, awkwardly getting rid of his clothes. Monique returns with a blue terry towel. She laughs, admiring the large red polka-dotted panties. Jesus, she thinks, they don't have the slightest sense of the ridiculous.
"Take it all off."
The two of them stare at each other. Their gazes talk. Monique extends the towel, the young man gets rid of the last piece of clothing. He covers himself and dries off.
"You use the bathroom behind the stairs. I left a separate towel and robe for you."
Patrick mumbles a 'thank you', drying his chest and hair.
"Have you been drinking Patrick?"
"A little. I can't stop thinking about our conversation earlier today."
"I know. At this time, almost eleven o'clock at night? Go, we'll talk later."
He leaves, wrapping himself in his towel, and she goes to the playroom. She fills two glasses with Jack Daniel's, she knows he likes it. She puts ice in her glass and sits down on the sofa. She sips the whiskey wondering what she brought back her husband's nephew late at night after the fight earlier today.
Thunder explodes from time to time, and the lightning shines in the windows of the house. The rain is unrelenting. The sounds of war. Monique takes advantage of it and gets rid of her panties, she is left with only her bluish, semi-transparent sweater. She laughs at herself, it seems that the universe conspires when it has to. And she likes those surprises that life offers.
She never liked Patrick, and he never liked her. But Patrick deserves a lesson. A lesson he will never forget. Monique sits in the armchair crossing her legs over the sofa. She turns on the radio. A sensual, deep male voice speaks of Senator McCarthy's pronouncements from the floor of Congress in recent weeks.
That's when Patrick appears tying his gray robe. Monique offers him the glass, which he drinks in short sips, both staring at each Other and simultaneously listening to the announcer.
"This is a man this country needs to hear. Something must be done against these communists."
"A witch hunt? It won't be the first time in history. Your uncle doesn't like the man, the motives. Neither do I."
"You're all very innocent. What does Uncle Ethan think will happen to the firm when these 'bums' take over?"
"Why are you so afraid, Patrick? Don't we have the bombs? They are the ones who need to fear the power of American capitalists."
"They have been here, Monique, undercover for a long time. Everywhere, can't you see what's happening in Hollywood? Before long, these bastards will figure out how to make an atomic bomb."
Monique shakes her head dejectedly, taking a few sips of her glass with whiskey on the rocks.
"There is so much fear today that they will end up finding culprits that do not exist. Beware!"
"They're worse than the Nazis. Patton was right, we should have continued the war against these bastards."
"And kill more Americans? Wasn't that the justification for dropping the bomb on the Japanese, to save the lives of their of American children?"
The two study each other, look at each other and drink together what is still in their glasses. Monique turns off the radio. Patrick puts the glass on the small table beside the sofa.
"Where are the twins and the employees?"
"The twins have gone to summer camp. Albert and the housekeepers I dismissed. I like to be alone at the weekend."
The room stay silent. Monique still sitting on the brown leather couch like a sly cat, her legs folded over the seat highlighting her shapes. She knows her breasts and thighs are more exposed than they should be, but it's what she wants. She wants to provoke asshole Patrick.
She knows the boy has drunk too much, not enough to vomit on the Persian carpet, but sufficient to get the treatment she wants to give him, the treatment he deserves. Monique laughs savoring her thoughts.
"What brings you here so late at night, Patrick? Have you come to apologize to me?"
Ashamed, trying to control his feelings, the boy looks at the pool table next to him, then at the designs on the carpet, and walks up to look at his aunt's tanned legs.
"I still can't understand why you do that to those men. Why do you stoop so low, Monique? They are not your social status."
"That's your point of view, dear. I have fun, they are new experiences. New and very enjoyable. The Americans don't know what you are missing, at least your uncle is more open-minded than yours."
"You deserve better than that, Monique. They are underlings, small businessmen, people with no class. Even blacks, Monique!"
"You have no idea how great they are. You have never tried them? Only the rich ones, the ones from 'your' class?"
"At least be discreet and found more refined men. Imagine if the newspapers find out. Especially in this day and age."
Monique moves sensually and slowly stands up just to provoke the daring boy. She bites her lips and takes a few steps toward the boy and slightly bends one of her legs, the tips of her toes bent over the carpet. Just enough to make any silly man have indecent ideas.
"Refined, Patrick? Refined like you?"
"I don't understand, I don't! Give me a reason, just one reason, why you should do this with Ethan. Don't you think about your children, don't you feel remorse?"
"Remorse for what? One day they will be provoked by the same desires, it's the hormones, Patrick. Since the beginning of time, since humans were hunted on the African savannahs."
"And Uncle, why?"
"I don't do anything with your uncle."
Monique's green eyes bewitch her nephew's thoughts. She approaches without touching, he moves away. The conversation continues in an increasingly whispered tone of voice.
"Humiliate, making him a cuckold. Is that how you like it?"
"He likes it Patrick."
"Why, give me one reason, just one?"
Patrick stumbles against the wall, almost knocking over a bronze statue that is on a pedestal where he places the empty glass.
"Aaaahh! No! What is it, Monique? Don't do that."
The woman's delicate hand penetrates the fluffy robe, and skillfully and decisively she finds the still-flaccid member of the insolent young man. The wet scrotum, the balls full of creamy cum. Monique likes. Sassy, she savors the boy's startled expression. That's what he didn't expect, it's always like that with those who like to pass for bullies with her.
"TThis is good Patrick? Is that how you like it?"
