And as it turns out, my uncle and aunt became missionaries and were sent to Benin, Africa. Crazy.Before they left I can remember talking to them, saying goodbyes and such. My aunt whispered in my ear her favorite memory, of me with my dick in my hand wacking to her and my uncle. Her and I laughed but I blushed. She said she would never forget, with the weirdest smile on her face.Every few years they would come back to the U.S. and visit friends and family. For a while they would stay in Florida with her family then come northward to see all of us on my uncle’s side. We always had a camping trip set up to stay at a friends cabin out near the lake and far from civilization.Always a good time. The family would come in and we’d play cards and have tents pitched for those of us who wouldn’t fit in the cabin, grill and smoke meat, chit chat, cut down trees for the fire, fish, play more cards, and catch up. Our last camping trip had been the best it could have ever been. Good. Her skin was the colour of coffee with a little too much cream; her auburn hair glowed in the candlelight like dry rust in the setting sun. Her eyes were dark and wide, and even from this distance they pulled at me like the gravity-well of some massive, distant star. She was standing there alone, and something about her stance suggested she was annoyed about something. A waiter went up to her and bowed so low that his mop of hair practically wiped the floor, then led her to a table set slightly apart from the rest, near to the tall windows which looked out onto the terrace and, beyond, to the glittering London skyline across the river. She was still, just, within my field of view. She ordered wine - red - and sat there taking small sips from a large glass. She looked right at me a couple of times, but I couldn’t read her expression. Each time I tried to hold her gaze I found my fingers drifting and had to turn back to the music. I made up my mind to walk as close as possible to her.
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