I put my other holiday travel alternatives on hold. Flying to San Francisco to meet my doctor lover Mark seemed too depressing under the circumstances. How could I face him? I had just been sexually victimized and sodomized by a black football team. And I didn't want to fly to Orlando and give the players a return engagement. Not one of them had kissed me. Not on the lips under my nose anyway. I'm definitely a romantic at heart.
Having sex without tenderness and caring didn't appeal to me. I needed to be loved not just used as a sexual plaything. And it couldn't be Mark. I had to get my head together before I saw him again. He was extremely disappointed when I told him the made up story that I had a serious battle with strep throat. Fever, prostration, toxemia, and all that bad stuff. I hated to lie but I had to. I certainly couldn't tell him the real reason my throat hurt. We postponed our reunion and planned on Valentine's Day.
I decided to visit my estranged uncle and his family a few days after Christmas. My father would have nothing to do with his brother and he would not tell me why. It had been about eight years seen I had seen my uncle and his daughter. My grandfather told me that Uncle Tom, who lived about five hundred miles away, had reserved a cabin at a local ski lodge for the holidays. Grandpa had cancer and only a few months to live. My guess was Uncle Tom wanted to spend one last Christmas with his father. My own father wouldn't tell my grandfather either why he refused to talk to Uncle Tom. I knew it had to be something very serious.
My cousin Emily and I had been very close during our early years. She taught me how to masturbate. We progressed from playing with Barbie dolls to playing with each other. I still remembered fondly those days when we tasted each other's budding breasts as we fingered one another. Emily had gotten herself into a lot of trouble in the last few years so I heard. Very unfortunate because she had a flourishing career as a top runway model but she trashed it all with the drugs.
My other cousin Kathleen kept me posted on Emily's sordid affairs. Her latest brush with the law involved an arrest for attempting to fill a prescription for a tranquilizer, Xanax, often used to prolong a high from other drugs, or soften the crash that ultimately followed. As a condition of her probation Emily entered a Christian rehabilitation program for ninety days and had just been released. Her first arrest occurred while in college for possession of marijuana. She didn't graduate but instead left after her sophomore year and headed for New York City and the modeling. But the big money ended up being snorted and smoked away.
Emily had gained huge notoriety but not just because of the modeling and magazine covers. Of all the outrageous vignettes the most newsworthy, because it occurred on live television, involved a star outfielder. She ran onto the field very stoned and wearing nothing but panties and shoes and embraced him. Unfortunately for the team he embraced her back and before play could be stopped a batted ball, which could have been easily caught under normal circumstances, flew lazily over his head and the winning run scored. Naturally it caused a huge controversy and gave new connotation to fan interference. But that incident and her arriving for modeling gigs wired on cocaine ended her career in the big time.
The cabins of course are advertised as chalets but look like cabins to me. But they were built in the style of a Swiss cottage with a wide roof overhang. Basically just one large room with a knotty pine interior and maple floors. The bathroom facilities, consisting of a shower, sink, and toilet could be made a little private by closing a curtain. A wood burning stove provided the heat. The cabins were furnished with three bunk beds, rustic wood chairs, a queen sized futon, and a picnic table. No stove but a microwave and a small refrigerator. There was a grill on the deck outside. The accommodations may have seemed to be economy class at first but I had heard these cabins rented for more than a hundred dollars a day.
Uncle Tom and Emily greeted me warmly at the door. We hugged and cried.
"Annie," Uncle Tom mused, "you have turned into a beautiful young woman. And your hair is as red as ever. But the freckles have disappeared." I didn't want to tell him he looked much older since his hair had grayed. But he still was very handsome and almost the spitting image of my father. They could always pass for twins although my father was a year younger.
We sat and talked for hours. Emily and I held hands and she stared at me and I stared at her. So beautiful. No wonder she had graced the cover of so many magazines. Jet black hair and milky white skin. Deep blue eyes like mine. She is even taller than I am and has legs that don't quit. When we embraced I could feel that sexual tension between us again as we pressed up against one another. My pubescent experimentation with Emily had been my only experience with someone of the same sex.
Emily had traveled all over the world when she had money and wealthy lovers. She told of her trips to Israel and Egypt. A deputy assistant secretary of State for international energy policy had financed her Mid East trip in return for services rendered she reported with a wink. And an Israeli high government official, during pillow talk, had told her that her eyes were the color of an ancient dye only recently rediscovered. The deep blue pigment is made by crushing a certain deep water snail the Israelis thought to be extinct.
"Your lover told you your eyes are the color of a dead snail? How romantic!" I joked.
Emily, at my insistence, continued reminiscing about some of her favorite assignments as one of the most in demand models in the world. She told of romantic adventures in London and Paris. But her most memorable experience involved modeling lingerie at the Explora Lodge in Chilean Patagonia. She claimed to have earned $100,000 for a few night's extra-curricular activities.
I simply could not believe that Emily talked about her sexual liaisons so frankly in front of her father. Mine would certainly never hear about my unscheduled ball game in the locker room with that rather well-known football team.
"Well, let's go ski!" I eventually suggested, becoming a little embarrassed by Emily's explicit accounts of her erotic adventures... "Mine are on top of Daddy's white Lincoln Navigator. He finally let me drive it. I wrecked his black one a little over a year ago. Now there's a story I really have to tell you. Of course I didn't tell him about visiting you or he would have locked me in my room. Uncle Tom, perhaps we can talk about that later. I'd like to know what the problem is with you and Daddy. You two haven't spoken for years. We need to do something about that."
"No more skiing for me," Uncle Tom responded firmly. "I've been out on the slopes for a couple hours already. That's the limit for this old man. But you two girls go ahead. I think I just might take a nap."
Emily and I chatted incessantly on the ride. I couldn't help myself from asking how she got hooked on cocaine.
"Well, Annie, I couldn't keep losing enough weight to suit the modeling agencies. Diet pills, laxatives, Dexatrim and starving myself no longer did the trick. My agent suggested the cocaine. It does really help burn it off. When you smoke crack, food is the last thing on your mind. You could almost make the grade--top runway model. Lose about five pounds. Want to smoke a pipe?"
"No thank you, Emily. I don't do drugs. I thought you just got out of a rehab."
"I did, Annie. No, I don't have any drugs. But I could obtain some easily around here. There is a big fraternity reunion going on at the lodge. None of the dudes brought their significant others. I already got hit on repeatedly and offered everything from Crank to Blue Heaven for sex. One guy offered me an entire bottle of Stacy pills if I gave him a blow job. I'm frigging tired of being treated as a sex object so I declined quite rudely. What I need now is someone who loves me unconditionally. That's why I'm spending time with Daddy. And now you, Annie."
Emily's talk of drugs brought back vividly my own involuntary experience with the Roofies and Special K and what I had done in the locker room while under the influence. "Please don't do any drugs, Emily. Relationships are so much more emotionally satisfying when you are sober. I know that from my own personal experience, but I don't really want to talk about it. When you are stoned you sometimes can't even remember what you did." Yes, I thought, unless someone made a video and showed it to you. I still couldn't believe how those black football players had ravished me. It never would have happened if they hadn't drugged me. "Emily, please tell me about the rehab."
"It's a Christian camp secluded in the country on about thirty acres of land. About twenty women reside in the dorm. Six hours of Bible study every day. The inmates aren't even furnished with vibrators." Emily laughed and I smirked. "Daddy got me in. He's an ordained minister now, you know."
"I didn't know Uncle Tom is a preacher. My father told me your father always had some very unique ideas about religion."
.... There is more of this story ...