I drove my uncle, a widower and old tin can (destroyer) sailor, to his annual checkup with his dermatologist the other day. He could have driven over by himself but I didn't want it to seem that he had no one to care about him. Chauffeuring him is always a bit...um...interesting. When we approach a stop sign he visibly braces and pushes down on a nonexistent brake pedal and if he thinks I'm not slowing down quickly enough exclaims, "Throw out the anchor!" When we arrived at our destination and I stopped, he remarked dryly, "And so we come to another screeching halt." In this case, this was in a street lined with parked cars and only one tight space available for parallel parking if you were adroit enough to manage it, which I did in one smooth move. My uncle looked both astonished and impressed.
The dermatologist's office was in the old renovated hotel I mentioned in an earlier post. No one was wearing masks outside, but when we entered the lobby a sign said wear a mask. There was a mask dispenser beside it, but it was empty. I had brought along a couple in my purse, just in case, though, so we dutifully put them on and climbed the broad stairway up to the second floor and the doctor's reception.
When we signed in, I noticed the receptionist was not wearing a mask so I ask if we needed to and she said it was optional. We took them off. She was a cutie pie and my uncle began flirting jocularly with her. She was good-natured about it but said she had work to do so I collared him, shaking my head at her, saying, "My husband can be such a handful!" as I steered him to a chair.
After we sat down, he looked me over, squinting one eye and raising the eyebrow of the other, and said, "So, you wish you were my wife, do you? I wonder what Dr. Freud would say about that!" I crossed my eyes, opened my mouth and stuck my index finger in it making gagging motions. "Oh, you can't fool me," he said. I punched him in the ribs. "Do that one more time and I'll take you across my knee and give you a good spanking!" he threatened, so I poked him again, saying, "I dare you! You know how spanking me affects you. Do you really want the doctor to see you in that condition?"
At this juncture, I noticed that the physician's assistant had come out and was watching us. When she caught my eye, she motioned us in, saying if I was the wife I could come in, too. I really did not want to be present while my uncle got a full-body skin exam, so I declined. After they went into the examining room and I sat back down, the receptionist said, "Your husband seems really spry for his age." I nodded but said, "He's not really my husband. I was just joking around with him because he was nervous about the exam and I wanted to take his mind off it. I'm his niece." "He didn't seem nervous at all, to me," she said. "I was about to tell you two to get a room before you collected an audience."
My uncle came out of the examination room beaming. Everything was fine, and as we walked down the stairs he proudly informed me that the doctor had told him he had the best pair of feet for a man his age that he had ever seen. I told him he should set up an OnlyFans site for female foot fetishists. "A what?" he asked, then wondered aloud if there really was such a thing as female foot fetishists. I don't think there are, foot fascination being pretty much a guy thing, but I assured him that there were doubtless legions of randy women obsessed with old men's feet. He gave me the fish eye again.
We had lunch at the hotel restaurant. My uncle ordered prime rib with a baked potato the size of the K-T meteorite smothered in sour cream and chives, and I had a pineapple salad. Afterward, he wanted to go into the bar and say hello to "his girl," by which he meant the nude painting behind the bar. We sat on stools and chatted with the bartender while he drank his house steam beer and I sipped a sparkling water with a lemon slice. He informed the bar keep that the model for the painting was my great-grandmother and she was only 16 years old when she posed. "Don't you think my wife here" -- gesturing at me -- "resembles her?" The bartender looked at the painting, then at me and said, "From what little I can see, she might, but I'd have to inspect a lot more of her to really form an opinion." I said, "Dream on, sport!" and he responded, "Oh, I can do that all right! Want me to tell you my dreams?"
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Emerging from the bar into the glare of sunlight, my uncle spotted a barbershop across the street and decided he needed a haircut. I started to go in with him, then realized that he wanted some man time with other men, so I told him to give me a call when he was ready to go, and I went window shopping.
There was a lot of foot traffic along the sidewalks and all the stores seemed to be open and busy. No one was wearing a mask. Down toward the edge of the business district, where there began to appear some empty storefronts and thrift shops and pedestrians became scarce, I spotted a lingerie shop with several expensive cars parked in front that had some nice things on display in the window and decided to go in and see if I could find something I liked. I love browsing lingerie shops even if I don't buy anything, and I had time to kill.
There was a hard-eyed woman in a tight miniskirt standing outside beside the door smoking a cigarette who gave me a glance as I went inside. The display racks had a dusty, neglected look, and, unlike the alluring items in the window, the things they held appeared to be stuff Goodwill rejected. I was about to leave when a woman came out of a back room wearing a silk robe and mules and, spotting me, came over and asked if I would like to fill out an application. An aroma trailed her that was familiar but that I couldn't quite place. Lilac...? Talcum powder...? Ah! Baby oil! Why would she have that smell about her? Curious, I followed her over to the counter where she clicked open a computer and said, "We only need a contact number, a name, when you are available and your specialties. We take 50 percent for the first referral and a third after that, which covers use of a room, the lounge and refreshments." I looked at her puzzled and not quite comprehending for about two heartbeats before it came to me. The lingerie store was a front and this was actually a place of professional assignation -- a bordello!
While I was standing there processing this revelation, an older man wearing a camel hair sport coat over a tee shirt came in and said a woman's name to the receptionist. Mandy or Candy or Brandy or Sandy...something like that, but probably spelled with an "i." She picked up the house phone and spoke to someone. While she was, the man glanced my way and let his gaze slide over me from toe to topknot. I gazed back, noticing the Pi Kappa Alpha pin in his lapel, his well-polished, expensive shoes and Omega Speedmaster watch, the wedding band on his finger.... Just as he started to say something, the receptionist hung up the phone and, excusing herself to me, led him through a door marked "No admittance." I took this as my cue to make my exit. Outside, the air smelled fresh and clean. The smoking woman was still there. I wondered if she were some kind of lookout. I examined the row of parked cars on the otherwise empty street and wondered which was Mr. Pi Kappa Alpha's. I spotted an older BMW Z4 that hadn't been there before and thought that he would drive something like that. Why do such people always drive BMWs?
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As I walked back up the street toward the hotel, I glanced at my cell phone to see if I had missed a call from my uncle. I hadn't, but noticed it had been an hour since I left him and I was getting tired so when I got back to where there was plenty of pedestrian traffic and I spotted a cafe, I went inside to sit down at a booth and wait for him to call me. The place was jammed with customers, all the booths seemed occupied and only a couple of stools were open at the counter. I didn't want to sit at the counter so I turned to leave, but as I did the man sitting at the booth I was standing next to caught my eye and motioned me to have a seat. He had a lot of papers spread out across the table and he moved some to give me space for the ice tea I ordered. We began to chat and he told me he was on the staff of the county planning commission. We had an enjoyable conversation and I learned a number things about the county I would otherwise never have known, including some amusing anecdotes about local personalities.
I was laughing at one of these when a shadow loomed over me and, glancing up, I saw a scowling woman glaring from me to my booth mate and back. "So!" she said. "So!" He tried to stand up but, being in a booth, needed to slide out first, which she blocked him from doing, so he sat back down heavily. He started to speak but she cut him off. "Don't say anything! Don't you dare! I've heard enough of your lies!" Seeing her focus on him I seized my chance to escape. As I did so she looked at me and seemed about to say something when, apparently, she saw that all the customers within earshot had turned to see what was going on. Her mouth snapped shut and she sat down where I had been, beginning an earnest but much quieter conversation with the guy. I sought out my waitress and gave her a ten, apologizing for the ruckus. She asked me if everything was all right and I said, "Apparently not," as I headed for the door.
Once outside, I looked at my phone hoping my uncle had finally called me. He had not. I uttered a rude word and called him. He did not pick up. I said something blasphemous loud enough for a passer-by to glance askance at me. I sighed. Then I walked back to the hotel, deciding to wait for him there. When I got into the lobby I hesitated, not knowing where to go. It was either stand in the foyer, go into the restaurant or head for the bar. And suddenly I realized I needed to visit a restroom. Ice tea does that to me. So bar it was.
I asked the bartender where the ladies lounge was, even though I knew from previous visits. What I really wanted to do was have an excuse to ask him if my uncle had left a message for me with him. He had been there, the bartender said, but had not left a message for me, although he had mentioned me and let a grin flicker across his face. A man standing at the bar listening interrupted us, saying, "Lady, I bet you have to squat to pee!" I only half heard him, wondering what on earth my uncle had said and why, and, believing I had misheard him, said, "What?" He repeated in a loud voice, "You have to squat to pee!" I walked away hearing the bartender informing the lout that this was a class joint and he would have to ask him to leave if he didn't mind his manners. As I passed a table full of well-dressed town swells, I heard one of them say, "She can squat to pee on me anytime!" and they all laughed. I didn't return through the bar but followed a hallway that led me past the restaurant and back to the lobby.
I decided to go back to the car and wait for my uncle. And there he was, fast asleep in the fully reclined passenger seat. He woke up as I opened the door and got in, mumbling, "About time! Where have you been?" Then he apologized for having forgotten to bring his cell phone. He slurred his words slightly and his eyes were shining so I guessed that he had definitely had a few. I didn't say anything, just started the car and rocketed out of there. After a while, he began singing the Oscar Mayer wiener song with dirty lyrics:
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Oh, I wish I had a big gigantic wiener
That all the girls would want to come and see
Cause if I had a big gigantic wiener
I'd ball them till they came all over me.Then he switched to a dirty version of the Beatles song "All My Loving":
Close your eyes and I'll lay you
Tomorrow I'll pay you
I'll screw you right up your kazoo...
He followed that with a ditty the tune of which I didn't know:
Well, I railed Mary Lou
Tried Peggy Sue
Laid pipe with Donna
And Barbara Ann, too.
I screwed Runaround Sue
But she wasn't as good as Wanda,
No, she'll never be as good as Wanda.
'Cause Wanda always wanna, wanna wanna!
As he sang it, he placed his hand on my thigh, slid it under my dress and leered at me. His hand was warm, almost hot. I asked him how long it had been since he last hitch-hiked. He started saying, "I guess it's been a good 50 ye--..." and then he noticed the look I was giving him and withdrew his hand. He didn't say another word for the rest of the drive.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That evening before dinner, I talked with my mother about my uncle's behavior and she told me it was my fault for making that crack about being his wife. "You know how men are," she said. "I told you how they are all absolutely crazy about sex when you hit puberty and you've certainly learned from your own experience since. You can't make any kind of sexual banter with men other than your serious boyfriend or husband. They don't see it as banter. They see it as an invitation. They see it as you letting them know you are interested in sex and ready to be, depending on the man, propositioned or simply taken. Never forget that sex is always on a man's mind, especially with a good-looking woman such as yourself."
"Mom...."
"No false modesty. And you know you like making yourself look attractive. What did you wear today? I was giving you directions to the doctor's office as you were getting dressed -- remember? You put on a thin, button-up-the-front cotton summer frock, the top two buttons left undone, over a sheer lace push-up bra and panties and wore open-toed high-heel sandals."
"With closed backs and ankle straps! So you're telling me that I was asking for it by the way I dressed? Really? Really? You can't be saying that! -- I've seen photos of you at disco clubs in the Seventies. You weren't dressed like a nun! I like looking like a girl and I love wearing cute lingerie and I'm shoe crazy, you know that. When am I ever going to get to dress like that except when I am going in to the city? What? -- Am I supposed to wear an old set of blueberries or peanut butters? Or maybe some bib overalls over a plaid shirt and wear some old clodhopper boots?"
"Well ... you did look very attractive, even sexy in a pleasant sort of way, not overt, but self-confident. You do know how to dress to make yourself look your best. But, dear, didn't it occur to you that you would be spending the day with your uncle?"
"Oh, but he's in his seventies! And he's my uncle!"
"But still a man. And he has always been extremely fond of you, you know that. And you've always liked him. You've often said that he is your favorite uncle."
"I do like him a lot."
"And you teased him about spanking you and getting aroused --"
"That was just a joke!"
"-- and you called yourself his wife. Wives have sex with their husbands, often after they've been spanked as part of foreplay. You've done it haven't you?"
"Mom...!"
"Well?"
"Um...."
"You're lucky things didn't go farther than they did, and, after all, you did handle the situation. You should speak to your uncle though and let him know there are no hard feelings."
"Nice choice of words."
"Don't get smart! Chat with him over supper. Make light of the day's events so he knows you are not upset with him. If you act as if you are angry still, that tells him that what he did was important to you. But if you don't, that lets him know that to you he and whatever he does is of no consequence. And, after all, he's a widower and starved for female companionship."
"Speaking of that, I think I found a place where he can solve that problem."
"Some kind of golden years dating service?"
"Something like that."
"How nice! You could introduce him to the service yourself and help him get what he wants."
"Um.... So when's dinner?"
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Up until the Tailhook blowup in 1991, the Navy and all the armed forces are supposed to have been take-no-prisoners sexist. But my grandmother was a Navy nurse and my mother was an Army nurse and they never had any problems with sexism, at least that I have ever heard about. And both married naval
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Anybody who has been in the service has gotten a boatload of inoculations. When it is time to do medical evaluation the first week of boot camp, recruits line up with their sleeves rolled up. The injections are given in both arms and are often done simultaneously.
Oh, right, and the infamous bicillin shot in your rump which is injected with a monster needle and is so thick that it seems like forever to all go in, and then it leaves a painful lump that lasts for days. Many recruits pass out when they get this shot. So many, in fact, that the room where the shot is given has padded floors. And also these days the shot and boosters for Covid. So all the armed forces must be dead or dying, right? All those vaccinations. All at once. Has to be. Right?* (I've had them all and then some and I'm still here, stomping at the Savoy -- figuratively speaking!)
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