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After the shower, my bed spun only modestly as I tried to get some sleep. But my alcohol level was past the point of being a seditive, and was actually keeping me from sleeping. My brain was active in a disjointed way. I kept seeing Aunt Celeste's face in the mirror. She had not had a look of horror on it; it was something else. Her's was an inquisitive look. Even a look of appreciation. And I found that I liked the feeling I got when I thought of her looking at me like that. I know it was only because I was drunk, but damn, it was exciting to think she saw me near nude. But the residual alcohol kept me from getting a full erection and I knew that I'd have to skip my near nightly ritual of wanking myself off. But still, I put it in the back of my mind that someday I'd have to wank off thinking about Aunt Celeste looking at me like that.And that night, I thought of Aunt Celeste in ways I'd never thought of her before. She was nearly ten years older than my mother, a divorcee, and her. I had attended a basketball game my freshman year when a guy sat next to me and ran his hand up my leg. Lucky for me, I wore a miniskirt. I put my jacket over my legs and let his fingers do the walking. I came just as my school's team made the game-winning three-point shot at the buzzer. I knew then I was hooked. The biggest rush came during my junior year at school. I was in the library when he came in. Rumor had it that he stood at about six-foot-two inches and packed a lot of heat down below. I didn’t know his real name, but everyone called him Linebacker for some reason. I spied on him while I pretended to write a research paper on my laptop. Linebacker was over by the periodicals when a group of bubble-headed chicks came up to him and asked him ridiculous questions. I eavesdropped on the conversation and rolled my eyes. He must've sensed someone was watching him and looked in my direction. I quickly looked down at my laptop, smiling. An hour later, I put my laptop in my rolling.
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