Eventually, he fell asleep. He couldn't handle the tension anymore, like the crawling of insects itching all over his body. Even then he slept uneasily, dreaming about loud noises in the night, screams of pleasure, and of pain. Once he woke up, with the same dreamlike feeling that he had had in the closet. He thought that he heard someone in the room with him. An erection pressed against his pajamas, the light fabric barely holding it in. As soon as he felt the presence in the room, without looking, he lifted the comforter over his head, bared his legs, and waited. He tried to move as little as possible, but his feet twitched with excitement.
He waited, prayed, but the presence silently left him, if it was ever there. When he opened his eyes again it was light outside. His cousins, all three of them, played on the bottom floor. She had picked them up then. He felt relief. This he was used to, lots of sounds, lots of getting out of the way. He looked at the watch. 10:30. He had slept late, but he didn't feel it. As he stood up, he almost fell over. His clothing lay everywhere, and before his aunt got a chance to see it, he cleared everything up, put on something clean, and took a deep breath before he opened the door to go downstairs.
Afterwards he wondered how he could have been so stupid. The same sights as usual met him at the ground floor. He barely evaded his youngest cousin as she ran headfirst though the living room, to the hallway, to the corridor and the kitchen, where her mother yelled at her to keep it down. It was still early.
"Good morning," she said to him. "Sleep well?"
"Well ..." he mumbled, and sat at his place, ready to eat even though he didn't feel like it. He felt sick, just looking at her. Not that she disgusted him, never that. She was as beautiful as ever in her green dressing gown, her hair in a thick ponytail that curled down her back.
He felt sick because of the feelings inside of him. He couldn't process them. A part of him wanted to run away, another to get closer to her. Most of all he couldn't ignore the rising feeling in his crotch, and he moved his chair closer to the table so that no one else would notice. Still, he blushed as she turned her eyes on him and asked if he wanted some juice.
"Yes, please," he answered.
But everything was not the same. Ever the stylish lady, his aunt had more of a Betty Draper expression this morning. Except to ask if he wanted anything she didn't look him in the eyes, and when he tried to look at her, she turned half her face away, showed her profile, started talking with one of her children. She was cold. He shivered. Maybe because of that he grew harder under the table, but he tried not to.
As soon as breakfast was over, he rushed upstairs to call his mother. He held the phone painfully close to his ear, begged it to connect the call.
Finally, he heard a click. "Mom!" he shouted. You need to control yourself, he thought. His hand felt slippery against the plastic. His mouth rushed to get everything out, or at least his general feelings, but he hadn't even gotten past the part where he begged her to pick him up when she interrupted him.
"I can't," she said. "We talked about this. You stay till next weekend, then I pick you up."
Two sisters, two single mothers, his own worked at a law firm, trying to get a promotion next month. That's why he was here, because she wouldn't be at home. She didn't like it, him being all alone all the time. Neither did he. But that didn't seem so bad right now.
"I can make my own food," he started.
Immediately she stopped him. "I'm not your driver, young man. I have things to do, and we agreed on this. I don't understand you. When I dropped you off you asked me if you could stay a whole month."
"I changed my mind."
"Listen ..." She sighed on the other end. "Listen, let me speak to your aunt for a second."
"She isn't here."
"Okay, well, ask her if there's something to do, around the house, I mean, if you're bored."
"I'm not bored, I--"
"I really don't have time right now. Call me anytime, I mean it, but not for this. When it's urgent."
"Okay ..."
"Love you, say hello to your aunt from me. Say ... We have stuff to talk about. Tell her that."
"Love you, mommy."
"All right," she said, in the official way that made him understand that someone else was in her office. "Take care now. Goodbye."
After she hung up, he sat there for a while. As he couldn't ignore the tension in his pants, he started to stroke himself, but had to abandon the effort as he heard his cousins organizing a manhunt for him through the house.
He half-hoped that they would tie him up again, leave everything to someone else.
The rest of the morning continued in the same way. Eventually he understood that he had done something wrong, but even though he tried to help her around the house she didn't change her expressions around him. She was the perfect single mom, noble and elegant, and didn't want anything to do with him.
As the day went on, he beat himself over the head with it. He had looked at her like sex-starved madman, as if something had happened between them, and maybe would again, begged with his eyes even, even though nothing had happened. It was impossible. The whole thing had been a dream. The most vivid dream he had ever had but to not think of it as a dream was too horrible, to imagine his aunt doing those things to him. Hard-on or not he was disgusted with himself just for thinking about it. It was wrong. She would never do any of those things to him, be that cruel.
Would she?
He could be mid-thought when she would turn around the corner, go through the room, still not looking, right next to him. He would feel himself swell at the flowery scent of her, the barest touch as she accidently rubbed against him, put a hand on him to move. She wanted something on the shelf, or in the living room. He tried to make himself absent, but it was her house. She went wherever. It was his stupid fault that he got in her way.
In the afternoon, as it was too early to start dinner, the children won over their mother and dug out their torn cover Monopoly from the closet. It was old, almost certainly from his mother and aunt's childhood. It had that yellow look to it, that dry feeling.
There would be two teams.
"I can play with you, James?" he asked his oldest cousin, and moved to sit next to him, as far away from his aunt as possible. But the kid pushed him away.
"No!" he said.
"Then, who should play with who? We should be one adult each."
"You're not an adult! You can play with mom. Then it will be three against two."
"Are you sure?" he asked, glancing at his aunt.