Long Time Coming

I gave a little laugh.

I had been silent for quite some time. Uncle John had asked me why I had run away. It was eight years ago and I couldn't remember why. But what I did remember made me tremble. I was glad he didn't notice. I took a deep breath; a second one.

"I guess I wasn't too grown up when I ran away," I said, quieter than I had wanted to.

Uncle John glanced at me and smiled, then turned his eyes back to the road.

"I reckon not, but you were sure achin' to grow up," he said, keeping his focus on the center line that stretched into the distance. "But it ended all right. We found you safe and sound."

He looked over at me and smiled, again. I looked back and my heart jumped as our eyes locked.

"And you're all grown up now!"

He whistled and shook his head, turned back to watch the road.

"A college graduate!"

I wasn't the first one in the family to go to college, but I became the first one to ever graduate. I was still looking at him when he glanced sideways at me. I could barely see the tip of that devilish grin of his, curling the corner of his mouth. Uncle John must be fifty now, but he looked just the same as he had all my life. His grin, tousled hair, and week-old prickly scruff had come to mean something different to me. I shivered.

I had been only 14 years old when I had run away. Uncle John had found me; knew where I would be hiding. I had hoped he would remember. Uncle John and I had recently started walking in the woods on Saturdays. I was experiencing a rapidly developing interest in boys. And I had wanted nothing more than to walk in the woods with Uncle John.

When he had found me, I was shaking. He had wrapped me in a blanket, given me a little kiss, and carried me back to his truck. I remember how safe I had felt in his arms, how close I felt to him, how tightly he had held me. I remember how he had smelled, all sweat and dirt. As he was driving me back, I sat beside him. When I had rested my hand on his leg, like I had done so often when I was a little girl, he took my hand. He had held it for the rest of the ride home. I remember how I had closed my eyes and felt how different his touch was as he rubbed his thumb gently over the back of my hand, so tender. I remember how I had jumped when he lifted our hands and settled them onto my leg.

We moved away soon after, to another state, where we were too far away for any more visits.

Now I was riding in his truck, again. It was the same truck. He had insisted on coming to get me at the airport. I had offered to take the bus, saving him the seven-hour round trip, but he said he wouldn't allow that. I was glad. As we drove along, I let my imagination run wild with why he had wanted to spend the time alone with me.

We passed the road sign saying we were only 28 miles from town. We would be getting to his and Aunt Jane's house in about half an hour. My heart sank as I realized I had wasted my precious time with him. I couldn't waste any more, or it would be too late.

I gathered up my resolve and slid across the seat until I was leaning against his side. He wrapped his arm around me. I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek into his shoulder. I took a slow, deep breath, drawing his strong fresh scent into my nose. I shivered. Uncle John pulled me closer. I wondered if he smelled me, like I smelled him, if he could tell how my body was screaming.

We drove a long minute in complete silence. Another minute passed.

"I've never told you...," I started, but he cut me off with a long, soft "shhhhhh."

Uncle John leaned his head against mine, gave me a squeeze. I shuddered. He straightened up, lifted his arm, and put it back on the steering wheel. What was wrong? What did I do?

"Uncle John?" I began.

"Shhhhh," he said again, this time lowering his hand, putting it on top of mine.

My heart beat faster as he opened his hand and let me weave my fingers into his. We both squeezed hard. I looked up, but he was staring straight ahead. I loosened my hand from his, letting his hand come to rest on my leg. It was only a couple seconds before his hand began to move. It shifted to wrap around my leg. I tried to slow my breathing but couldn't. His fingers slid down onto my inner thigh. He gave a squeeze. I stiffened, suddenly afraid. I was frozen. I kept my eyes on his face. He was still staring ahead.

Why did I feel like I was 14 again, a timid, scared little girl? I reminded myself that I was a college graduate, that I had learned a few things. I closed my eyes, and settled my hand onto his thigh.

The truck swerved. Uncle John yanked his arm up, knocking mine away. He grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. The truck straightened out. He turned his head to look at me. His face flashed from anxious to afraid. The tires thumped as the car drifted across the center line. He jerked his head back to the road. I gasped as we swerved back and forth a couple times, passing halfway into the other lane. I was terrified as I looked down the road, looked to see what was going to happen. But there was no oncoming car. And Uncle John guided the truck back to the right side of the road.

"Susan..." he said slowly, trying to keep his voice calm, his eyes never leaving the road.

I was coming down from my adrenaline rush. I just kept breathing hard until the pounding in my chest began to soften. I turned to Uncle John.

"Uncle John..." I whispered.

The realization swept over me that I could have died, or worse, that Uncle John could be dead and me seriously injured. I started to cry, which quickly turned into sobbing.

"Susan..." he repeated, his voice lower, this time more commanding.

I was still crying when I leaned over and buried my face into his arm. He hugged me with it and held me tight. I felt the truck pulling to the right and looked up as we bounced onto a gravel road. I knew the road. It led to a park just outside town, where my family had come to have picnics in the summer. The truck rolled past the lawn and the tables, past the pond, and under a stand of trees. Uncle John put on the parking brake and turned off the engine.

"We need to talk," he said, patting my hand in the same way he did when he would lecture me as a child.

"Susan," he started, "we..." But he never got to finish.

I grabbed his arm and pulled myself up until my lips pressed into his. The scratchy face surprised me and I hesitated. Instead of leaning away, he bent his head towards mine. His lips softened and he pressed them closer. I couldn't hold myself up any longer and started falling back. He followed, never letting our lips come apart. When my back came to rest on the seat, he continued to lean, pressing hard against me. I let my lips slide open. Suddenly he stopped, pulled away, and looked at me. The fire in his eyes made my body turn to rubber. My face must have answered his question because any remaining caution he might have had melted away as fast as mine did. We crashed back together, this time his tongue jabbing hungrily into mine. His arms wrapped around me as he crushed the air out of my lungs.

In college, I had slept with a few men, but they were timid lambs compared to Uncle John's ravaging assault. No longer hesitant, his hand was on my knee, then quickly up my leg and under my dress. Without even pausing to break his frantic kiss, he grabbed the top of my underwear and, with a single powerful yank, tore them off. I was still recovering from the shock when I heard him grunt, more bear than human, as he tugged his jeans down to his knees. Still unnerved by the near-death accident I had almost caused on the highway, I now became terrified when I didn't recognize the man who was on top of me. I felt paralyzed. Without any pretense, he shoved hard into me. I gasped as he easily sank to his full length. Nearly unconscious, I watched his crooked grin lower towards me until it was pressing against my lips. His vigorous pumping soon overrode all other feelings and a growing warmth radiated to fill my body. My eyes sank into my head as the pulsing rhythm made me hotter and hotter, until I exploded into a thousand lights.

"Oh, God," I heard the man rumble. "Oh my God..."

I was quivering as he, too, slipped away into the bliss of his climax. My eyes drifted open with a deep desire to see him. He slammed forward and groaned with relief. I watched as his face slowly returned to be my Uncle John. I smiled, knowing it was a goofy grin. He trembled then collapsed on top of me.

"I... love... you...," he mumbled, like a drunk, unable to lift his head from between my still clothed breasts.

We lay there for a long time. I synchronized my breathing with his and we dozed off together.

I woke as he was getting up. He quickly pulled up his pants, embarrassed I might see him naked. I grinned, but he wasn't looking at me. His face was turned down, and not because he was doing up his belt. I sensed his regret.

"Uncle John..." "I... I'm so sorry," he said, then opened his door and slipped outside.

I was having trouble thinking straight, still fuzzy with the aftereffects of our union. I tried to understand what he meant. I struggled to get myself up, my legs still shaking. I saw the remnants of my underwear and shuddered. I slipped them under the seat, for him to find later. Unless Aunt Jane found them first! The thought brought a wave of fear. What had she ever done to me? Uncle John's apology came back to me and a twinge of guilt slowly dampened my ecstasy.

I got out of the truck and looked for Uncle John. He had walked over to a big tree covered with carvings.

"See this heart," he said, his voice wavering. "This is the heart I made the night I made love to your aunt." He swept his hand towards the patch of grass under the tree.

I put my hand on his arm. He didn't say anything. I crouched my head until my eyes caught his. I straightened slowly, waiting for him to follow. He put his hand in mine. It was big and callused, strong and gentle, with thick fingers. I couldn't help but think of him probing between my legs. I bit my lip to keep focused.

"It wasn't..." Uncle John said, moving his hand to my shoulder and turning me until we were facing each other. "Jane isn't anything like making love to you."

I wanted to look away, embarrassed, but I couldn't. My eyes were trapped in his gaze. The longer he looked, the more the warmth flowed through my body, like hot tea through a straw. It filled every corner, from my fingers to my toes. The warmth burned as he brushed his lips over mine. We kissed long and slow, gentle and tender, enjoying what we had already learned about each other, while discovering new ways to dance together. This time his kiss, his embrace, the way his hands traveled over my back, curved down around my butt, this time he was loving me. His frantic lust faded into a distant memory. Soon, my knees were unable to support me, and I was melting to the ground. He lay me gently on my back, then kissed me.

We made love slowly this time, carefully, listening to each other, telling what we wanted, what we liked, what we needed, not with words, but with our touch. It wasn't until I had been satisfied twice, and him once, that I worried to see if anyone was watching. My concern broke the moment, letting in the intruder. I knew then, as we considered making love once more, that I would meet this intruder again. He would be there every time I made love with Uncle John. But I didn't care, and looked forward to meeting that intruder as often as possible during my short stay.