K is for Kinky by Alison Tyler

Author:Alison Tyler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2012-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

MY FAVORITE UNCLE

TSAURAH LITZKY

KING OF THE TENOR SAXOPHONE” was how my favorite Uncle Irving was known during his long and illustrious career. He was world famous and worked with all the great old-time dance bands. Not really my uncle, he was my father’s best friend. Now he is over eighty, and I’m the only family he’s got.

For the past few years he has been confined to a wheelchair and living in the Home for Aged and Indigent Gentlemen Musicians in Sayreville, Long Island. Once a month, I ride out to visit him on the Long Island Railroad. I always bring him a bottle of Canadian Club secreted at the bottom of a big bag of popcorn because liquor is forbidden inside the home. If I have had a new erotic story anthologized, I bring him one of my author’s copies. Uncle Irv loves my stories. He says that since there are no women residents in the home and the nurses are foolishly impervious to his charms, my stories are all the sex he gets. This time I do have a new book for him; a collection titled Kinks and Winks just out from Make Nice Press.

It’s a beautiful summer day. I walk the few blocks from the station to the home in what was once a fine old Victorian mansion. I’m glad Uncle is spending his old age in such a serene setting.

The common room isn’t crowded. A few ancients are playing cards at a table near the door. Uncle Irving is seated in his wheelchair next to a big armchair. His smile when he sees me is huge. He is completely bald and is wearing an immaculate white shirt and one of the bow ties from his giant collection. Today it is a peach one with purple polka dots, maybe because he knows peach is my favorite color.

“Hi, Trixie,” my uncle greets me. He often calls me Trixie, after his longtime girlfriend, Trixie Coyle, now deceased nine years. She was a showgirl he met at the Copacabana. Sometimes I think Uncle may even think I am Trixie, because suddenly while we are talking he will put his hand above my knee on my thigh and leave it there. I don’t mind.

“You look so pretty,” Uncle says, “like a daffodil in that yellow dress. How is my niece, the famous writer?”

“I’m not famous yet,” I say. I kiss him on his shiny pate and sit down in the armchair.

“You will be famous if you keep writing those naughty stories. Did you bring me one today? Did you bring me my popcorn?”

“Absolutely,” I tell him. “Your popcorn is right here and I also have a new book.” I open my tote bag and pull out Kinks and Winks.

“What’s with this kinks?” Uncle Irving wants to know. “Kinky is hair, all frizzy, snarled up like steel wool.” I tell him that’s true, “But,” I continue, “kink is also what you do when you play let’s pretend while you are doing it. It’s a way of making it especially hot.

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