2. MASTURBATING FOR MY UNCLE

Chapter 2

He picked up the tongs, adjusted the grates.

I should've said something. Anything. Acted normal.

"How's work?" I managed.

"Busy. Good busy, though. Just finished a house in Oakmont." His voice was lower than I remembered. Rougher. Or maybe I was just hearing it differently now.

"That's great."

He passed me the tongs to hold while he adjusted the temperature. His hand brushed mine.

The touch was electric.

I nearly dropped them.

He's your uncle, I thought. Your mother's brother. The man who taught you to ride a bike and helped you with algebra homework and has never, ever looked at you as anything other than his niece.

This is sick. You're sick. This is wrong.

But god, the way his forearms looked when he moved the charcoal. The flex of muscle under tan skin. The veins in his hands. I wanted those hands on me. Wanted them pushing my shorts down, spreading my legs, touching me where I was already getting wet.

Stop it. Stop.

"You okay?" he asked.

"What?"

"You seem quiet."

"Just tired. Long drive home." The lie came easily.

He nodded, didn't push it, and we stood there in silence that felt enormous. Like the space between us was screaming with everything I wasn't saying.

I needed to move. Get away from him before I did something stupid.

"I'm gonna go help Mom," I said.

"Sure."

I practically ran into the house.

---

By the time the sun started going down, I'd had two beers and was feeling loose. Dangerous.

Everyone was laughing, telling stories. My dad was doing his terrible impression of his boss, my mom was crying from laughing, and I was sitting in a lawn chair watching Uncle David across the patio.

He was smiling at something Aunt Lisa said. His head was thrown back, throat exposed, and I wanted to put my mouth there. Wanted to bite down and make him groan.

Jesus Christ.

I looked away fast, but not before I caught his eye.

Had he been looking at me?

No. I'd imagined it. He'd been looking in my direction, not at me specifically. Not at the way my sundress—I'd changed into a light blue one before dinner, thin straps, hem that hit mid-thigh—kept riding up because I couldn't stop crossing and uncrossing my legs.

I was making this up. Projecting my sick fantasies onto him because I wanted it so badly.

"Maya, grab me another beer?" my dad called.

I stood, grateful for the excuse to move, and headed to the cooler.

Uncle David was already there.

Of course he was.

"Beat you to it," he said, holding up his empty bottle.

We were standing too close. The cooler was between us but I could smell him again and it was making me dizzy. Making my thighs clench.

I reached for a beer. So did he. Our hands touched on the same bottle.

"Sorry," I said.

"No, you take it."

"It's fine—"

"Maya." His voice was lower. Different. "Take it."

I did.

Our fingers brushed as I pulled away and I swore—I fucking swore—I saw something flicker across his face. Something dark. Something that matched what I was feeling.

But then it was gone.

He grabbed another beer, walked away, and I was left standing there with my heart pounding and my panties soaked through.

I was going to hell.

---

Later, after everyone had left and my parents had gone to bed, I lay in my too-small childhood bed staring at the ceiling.

I couldn't stop thinking about him.

His hands. His voice. The way he'd looked at me—or hadn't, I still couldn't tell.

My hand slid down my stomach, under the waistband of my sleep shorts.

I shouldn't.

This was wrong.

He was my uncle. My mother's brother.

But my fingers were already there, sliding through wetness, circling my clit.

I thought about his hands instead of mine. Big hands, rough from construction work. Thought about them pushing my dress up, spreading my legs open.

I was already close.

I thought about his voice in my ear. Not "kiddo." Not uncle to niece. Something else. Something darker.

"You want this?"

Yes.

"You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Thinking about your uncle fucking you."

Yes, god, yes.

I came hard, biting my lip to stay quiet, his name almost slipping out.

Afterward, the guilt crashed down like it always did.

I lay there in the dark, fingers still wet, and hated myself.

But five minutes later, I was touching myself again.

Thinking about him again.

Coming again with his name in my head.

It was after midnight when my phone lit up on the nightstand.

A text.

From him.

Good to have you home, kiddo.

I stared at that word.

Kiddo.

I wanted to throw my phone across the room. Wanted to text back something that would make him see me differently. Make him see me as a woman, not a kid. Not his niece.

But I didn't.

I just lay there, staring at that word until my vision blurred, and wondered how the fuck I was going to survive this summer without doing something we'd both regret.

Or worse...something we wouldn't regret at all.