I set the framed picture of my mother on the center of the inset mantle. It was the first thing I unpacked, and the first thing I wanted to christen my new bedroom. Her radiant smile made me frown, as it'd just reminded me that she was no longer here. She wouldn't see me graduate High School, go to college, or get married. I reached up to take the picture down, but stopped myself. I was going to be stronger than that. I had to be. I'd just turned eighteen, after all. I was man. Time to start acting like one.
I was living with my aunt now, the eldest of my grandmother's children, and the most feared and hated. My aunt Valerie in California had offered to let me come stay with her and Uncle Vernon, I'd declined. I was going to be a senior in the forthcoming school year, and it just made sense to finish here in Boston.
"But are you sure you want to stay with Aunt Janet, though?" Aunt Val had asked, knowing full well the kind of hell I might be subject to.
"Yeah, I'm sure," I'd told her. I'll be fine. I promise."
I'd hurried her off the phone, because I knew she was going to attempt to talk me into moving out into sunny California. And while it was tempting, finishing school here just seemed like the smart thing to do, the better thing to do. Plus, there were other reasons I opted to stay with Aunt Janet...
"Boy, have you lost your everloving mind?" Aunt Janet screamed as she stomped into my bedroom, which was impressive in five inch heels, I thought. Aunt Janet is Hell In Heels. A certified super bitch from outer space. She's gorgeous as the sky is blue, but she's got the attitude of a agitated mountain lion. According to my grandmother, it was why she was forty-two years old without a man, which I think suits Aunt Janet just fine. She seemed to be more focused on her career as a business legal counsel.
She was holding a small wooden box in her hand with a Jimi Hendrix sticker plastered on the top of it. My fucking stash box. I'd forgotten that I told her it was okay to help me unpack. "Weed, Rome? Drugs?"
"Aunt Janet, I—"
Slap. The woman knocked the words, along the taste, right out of my mouth. I'd literally forgotten what I was going to say, not that it would have done me any fucking good. But about that other reason I'd decided to stay with Aunt Janet 'till I went off to college... she turned me on. Especially when she was full of rage like she was now. Her slap had gotten me hard as a fucking brick. I was half tempted to say something that would get me slapped again.
"No. No excuses, Rome. I know that your mother—God bless her soul—just died, but I'm not going to accept drugs a proper escape from that reality! Especially not in this house! I will not have my nephew being another one these black men smokin' weed and actin' a fool!"
"Aunt Janet, are you suggesting that all black men smoke marijuana and act foolish?"
I don't know what the hell came over me. I just said it. And in the most sarcastic way possible.
Slap.
I shivered, and felt my cock twitch behind my jeans. God, I was so turned on. If she hit me again, I was sure I'd make a mess of my boxers.
"I know your mother wouldn't have stood for this," she said, her pretty brown eyes narrow with anger, "so I don't know what the hell makes you think I would..." Her eyes drifted downward, catching the bulge throbbing in the front of my jeans. If she was disgusted or intrigued, it didn't show on her face, but she stared at me—my dick—for several long, silent moments. I felt my cock throb even more, and I realized my chest was heaving in anticipation. What was she going to do...? What was she thinking?
"Finish packing, boy," she said finally, making eye contact again, and then left me in the room.
* * * * *
I had finished unpacking in a matter of hours. Afters I'd called a couple of friends and informed them of the new address, browsed the internet for a little while, and punctuated my busy day by watching a some television on my aunt's gigantic HDTV in her living room. I'd tried to make the rest of the day feel normal. Like I hadn't shared an awkward moment with my aunt earlier that day. Like I wasn't some sick, perverted fruitcake that got turned on when said aunt slapped me around. I hadn't seen Aunt Janet since the incident, but she'd been home all day. Her car was in the driveway, at least. She was probably off crying somewhere or something, disgusted. No, that didn't seem exactly right. I couldn't imagine Janet crying in a million years.
"Rome," Aunt Janet called from her bedroom upstairs, "get in here this instant." Her words were clipped, commanding. Hot.
I shut off the television and made for her bedroom. I stepped through her half-open door and found Aunt Janet sitting on the edge of her bed, one smooth chocolate leg draped over the other, with a black riding crop in her hands. My heart suddenly started pounding. I didn't know what was going on, but all I knew was that I was probably about to be punished for my actions earlier that day, and that I'd been more turned on than anything in my life. She was still in her skirt and button-down top, but the topmost buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing her ample breasts supported by a black lace bra. Her long brown hair, normally in a bun, was free and falling down past her shoulders. She looked hot. She looked powerful.
I damn-near looked up at the ceiling and thanked God.
"Uh... yes ma'am?" I'd called to her.
Aunt Janet looked up from the Riding Crop in her hands, her eyes falling directly upon my middle. I was hard again. Very hard. Very obviously hard.
