Kinky Confessions

Christy’ll be home soon, and it’s our night to fix dinner.”

“What’re you having?”

“I dunno. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Doesn’t she cook?”

“She does, but I’m a little more organized than she is, so I usually plan things.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Mom,” I said. “She’s great in other ways.”

“I’m not disappointed. I just think—”

“That a woman should cook for her man.”

“Well, I do,” she said defensively. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I love you, Mom, but you’re a bit old-fashioned sometimes. It’s the eighties. Christy and I have a different relationship.”

“As long as you’re happy.”

“I am. Very. Now, I’d better get going.”

“Okay. I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, Mom. Bye.”

I hung up and grinned to myself. Sometimes Christy couldn’t be bothered to eat, much less cook. She’d have wasted away to nothing if Wren and I didn’t take care of her. As it was, she was hovering at ninety-six pounds, and Wren usually had to remind her to take the baggies of fruit and veggies she made for her.

But what Christy lacked in size and common sense, she made up for in energy and creativity. She was constantly looking over my shoulder and making little suggestions for my building. I’d already had to go back a half-dozen times to add things to my drawings or the model. I’d also had to admit that I was too logical and a little too predictable on my own, while Christy added something special to everything she touched, including yours truly.

So I didn’t really care that she didn’t cook, left her clothes on the floor, never balanced her checkbook, and only had a vague sense of time. Those things didn’t matter in the big picture. She made me happy in other ways, and that was fine by me.

Damon and Alexa were both waiting for us on Friday when we landed at the airport in Elkins. They’d just finished a flying lesson themselves, and they introduced us to their instructor, a thin, sour man in his sixties with a full head of snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes. He was an Air Force vet who’d flown cargo planes in China and India during World War II. We made small talk for a few minutes, and I told him I was working on my instructor’s rating.

“Well, you kindly taught ’em the basics,” he admitted, “but don’t interfere with my training otherwise.”

“I won’t,” I said as politely as I could. “For now I’ll give them time at the controls and let them build their confidence.”

He gave me a look that said I might not be capable of even that, so I forced a smile and told him we’d better get going. I asked the teens about him on the ride to the inn. Damon shrugged and kept his opinion to himself.

Alexa wasn’t as reserved.

“I think he’s mean,” she said. “And he stares at me.”

She had her mother’s beauty and the promise of a figure to match, but without the maturity to deal with men who ogled her.

“Do you want me to say something to your parents?” I asked.

“It won’t do any good,” she said. “He’s the best instructor around.

Everyone says so.”

“Well, ‘everyone’ isn’t a teenage girl who looks like you. Does he stare at your mother too?”

“No,” she said sullenly.

“Okay, so he only does it to someone who can’t do anything about it.

Right. He sounds like a first class lech.”

“She’s just overreacting,” Damon said. “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said firmly. “She has a right to feel comfortable around someone.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. So he stares? It isn’t like he touches her.”

“How would you feel if I stared at your crotch?” I shot back. “What if I did it all the time? So what? It isn’t like I’m touching you.”

He squirmed as he imagined it.

“See what I mean?” I said. “It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?

That’s how Alexa feels, but she has to live with it every day, and not just from guys like your instructor.”

Alexa nodded silently from the back seat.

“She shouldn’t have to put up with that crap,” I said to Damon. “And you shouldn’t make her feel like it’s her problem. It isn’t. It’s yours and mine, dude.”

He was too polite to come right out and disagree with me.

“You don’t think so? You think she wants guys to stare at her?”

“No. But so what? It’s flattering.”

“Oh, really? So it’s flattering when I stare at your crotch?”

“No. It’s gross. And rude.”

“Ah, I get it,” I said sarcastically. “Alexa doesn’t deserve the same respect you and I take for granted. So it’s all right to stare at her but not you.

I see.”

“I didn’t say that,” he protested.

“Yeah, you did, dude, when you said she’s overreacting.” I paused to let that sink in. “Fair is fair. Alexa has a right to feel comfortable, to not be stared at. The same as you do.”

In the back seat, Alexa was fighting back tears.

Christy touched her hand and squeezed. “I’ll say something to your mother and tell her he was staring at me.”

“No,” Alexa said. “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

Alexa shook her head and wiped her eyes. “I’ll tell her.”

I gave Damon a pointed, expectant look.

He hunched his shoulders and kept his eyes on the road.

I stared harder.

“Yeah, all right,” he said eventually. “I’ll back her up.”