Chapter 9

Lillian slept fitfully that night, awakening periodically with her mind whirling from the emotional maelstrom of the past few days. An emerging sense of a novel and distinct connection with Paul, born of their shared suffering, mingled confusingly with moral concerns about what they had done and with emotions of sorrow and anger at their betrayal by Jennifer and Art.

As dawn broke, she stirred from sleep, her mind still entangled in a web of contradictory thoughts and emotions. She knew she had to talk to Paul — to work through what had happened between them the previous evening, to discuss what it meant and what it didn’t mean, and to find the right path forward. But he was so young! How could he possibly be expected to grasp all the complexities of their current situation, to sift deliberatively through its implications and to decide on the best course of action? She knew she would have to shoulder most of the decision-making responsibility and to guide him gently, as her father had guided her, always with love. Paul was her charge now, her responsibility.

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Investment banking was easy compared with this!

She realized she had to pee. She got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. As she passed Paul’s door, which was slightly ajar, she noticed that his light was on. On her return from the bathroom, as she walked by his door, she heard his voice:

“Aunt Lillian?”

She opened the door and leaned in.

“Hi, honey,” she said. He was sitting up in bed, bare-chested, a sheet pulled up to his waist.

Paul said, “Can we talk today about ... well, about everything?”

“Of course, honey!” Lillian replied, walking in and sitting on the side of the bed next to him. “You know you can always talk to me.”

Paul smiled at her and nodded.

Leaning in, she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. As she did, she caught his gaze trailing down to her chest and suddenly realized she was wearing only her diaphanous nightgown — the one she wore during Art’s nocturnal visits; the one that clung to her form and left virtually nothing to the imagination. I should go get my robe, she thought.

Then, as on the previous evening, she almost laughed out loud at her sudden concern about modesty and propriety — this was the man she had performed fellatio on just hours earlier, after they’d watched a shameless scene of sodomy, that she had brought to orgasm in her mouth, whose semen she had swallowed! Worrying about accidental glimpses now seemed absurd. That ship had sailed!

“How are you, honey?” Lillian asked. “How did you sleep?

“Not great,” Paul replied. “A lot going on in my head.”

“Oh, boy, do I understand that! And I’m responsible for a lot of it, honey. I’ve put you in a very difficult situation. I wish ... well, I don’t wish I hadn’t told you about Art and Jennifer. It was something I had to do. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t. And I’m hoping you agree?”

Paul nodded. “Of course, yeah! I needed to know that.”

“I wish hadn’t had to know that because it hadn’t happened. But we know it did. We saw it with our own eyes.”

“Yeah,” Paul replied. “It’s fucked up!”

“That’s a great description,” Lillian nodded. “It’s fucked up!”

Paul laughed, hearing those words from his aunt’s mouth. She’d always been so proper! He couldn’t remember a single instance of her ever swearing. On the other hand, he remembered multiple sharp corrections from her, both to him and occasionally to Art whenever their language deviated from the polite.

Paul looked at his aunt, struggling to reconcile memories from his youth — of Aunt Lillian, always moral, decorous, modest — with the woman last night.

As if reading his thoughts, Lillian said “Honey, about last night. About what we did. About what I did...”

Paul interrupted her.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” Lillian said, her brows creasing.

“For what you did. If you hadn’t ... I just don’t know what I would have done.” He looked down and shook his head. “I was going crazy. I was having these crazy, insane thoughts. I could have done anything. Gone out and driven a hundred miles an hour through town. Gone to her house and killed her. I was going crazy! You brought me down. You made me sane again.”

“Oh, honey!” Lillian said.

“I love you,” Paul said.

“Aww, honey,” Lillian said, leaning toward him, her arms outstretched.

As they embraced. Lillian found herself reveling in the sensation of her young nephew’s strong arms around her, his contoured chest against hers, the reaffirmation of their love for one another. They would get through this together!

Her moral sense quickly intervened. You can’t do this! it said. You’re practically naked! This is your own nephew your breasts are pressing against, not Art or some handsome stranger!

Lillian ignored it. They were together navigating the hell of betrayal, seeking and finding resilience from each other. There could be no harm in a comforting and supportive hug. As they embraced, Lillian experienced powerful feelings of love, security, and a deep sense of connection with her young, handsome nephew.

Lillian felt Paul’s arms relax. Her arms were still around him and she began to open them but felt his hands move to her upper back, gently urging her to remain nestled against his chest. He turned his head and planted a kiss on her cheek. She turned to plant a reciprocal kiss but he turned at the same time, bringing them face to face, their breaths mingling just inches apart. His hands traced a delicate path down back, caressing her.

Lillian wrestled with her emotions, now gazing into Paul’s sensitive, deep-blue eyes that seemed to radiate love and desire in equal measure. She found her head moving instinctively toward him, felt his warm lips against hers, felt his mouth beginning to open...

She drew back.

“Honey, we should talk. About what...”

He pulled her back against him, not kissing her, leaning his head to the side so that they were cheek-to-cheek as their bodies pressed against each other. His lips descended, finding the curve of her neck, a soft nuzzle that turned into a trail of delicate kisses, igniting little sparks of pleasure starting just above her collarbone and moving to the exquisitely sensitive spot beneath her ear. Her felt her body beginning to react...

“Honey,” she said.

He lifted his lips to her ear.

“I love you,” he whispered again.

“Oh, I love you, too, honey,” she said, melting into his embrace, the warmth of his breath against her ear sending chills down her spine.

She knew she should not be doing this, should instead be returning to the subject of what they had done together, sorting things out, delineating clear boundaries. But it felt so good, his arms around her, her body pressing against his solid chest, the scent of him enveloping her in a heady mix of closeness and need. His lips were on cheek, next to her ear, and she felt a delightful shiver run through her as his tongue darted briefly into her ear.