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So my friend Paul’s Uncle Enos just died and he wanted me to go to the funeral. Normally I’d have said no because it’s on a Sunday and the LA Rams were playing the St. Louis Cardinals (although no one can even compete with my Cowboys) and I really want to watch it. Plus, I knew I was going to be hungover because I’d had plans to go to this groovy new disco on Saturday night to meet this foxy chick named Harmony. As a result, I told him “no,” but as fate would have it, Harmony OD’ed on a bad batch of coke and wasn’t going to be able to make it. Plus, some dude named Jaworski was going to start for the Rams and I didn’t know anything about him, so I figured that game would be a total drag anyway. So, suddenly, I was available (as I still am, ladies).
I still can’t say that I was digging the idea of going to a funeral on a Sunday, but as I was talking to my compadre Miguel about the possible chicks that may be there, I got a little wiggle in my pants. While Miguel was talking about Paul’s sisters Rita (whom I’ve already had twice), Betty (whom I’ve also had twice – once with Rita), Susan (who walked in on me and Rita but wouldn’t join in no matter how groovy I looked because it was her sister), and all of his cousins (who Paul asked me not to touch because they were family), all I could think about was his great-aunt Rhoda.
Let me make one thing clear: I dig older chicks. Sure, I like the young ones with their hot bodies and their ability to go all night long (if you know what I mean), but there’s just something about an older chick’s experience that turns me on. See, I’ve been with a lot of girls (mostly my friend’s sisters and girls who may or may not have been guys and that I may or may not have paid for). I’ve been with white girls, Mexican girls, black girls, conscious girls, unconscious girls, girls who like the lights on, girls who want to keep the van door closed, and girls who like to leave the bathroom door at the gas station unlocked because the excitement of getting walked in on really gets them hot and bothered. But as many women as I’ve been with, I’ve never had an older chick.
That was all gonna change at Paul’s Uncle Enos’ Funeral
I called Paul back to tell him that I was going to go and also to get some info about his Great Aunt Rhoda. I remember back when we were little kids growing up and Aunt Rhoda would watch us while Paul’s parents were out of the house, but I hadn’t seen her in a long time. Back then, she just wanted us to call her Rhodie as Great Aunt Rhoda made her feel old. Let me tell you what, she was some kind of wonderful. I remember one time when she took us to the swimming pool she was drying us off prior to leaving and I caught sight of one of her nipples. Being about 8 at the time, I didn’t really know why I liked it, but I did. I liked it so much, in fact, that I began to feel a little tightness in my swim trunks which Rhodie, being totally unaware, brushed over while drying me off. She didn’t say anything, but I know that she noticed and had to feel flattered. From that moment on Rhodie was on my list.
While talking to Paul, I asked him if certain family members were going to be there, purposely leaving Rhodie’s name for the middle of the pack so that he didn’t know that this wolf was on the prowl. Once he said that she was gonna be there, I casually asked what she’d been up to as she was always a lot of fun when we were growing up. Paul told me that in the 25 years or so since I’d last seen her, her husband Robert had died and she’d moved to Arizona to live with her sister Bernice. He said that they were driving in and should make it just in time for the services and the luncheon afterwards at his house. I couldn’t help but notice that Paul hadn’t asked me to the luncheon yet, and figuring that a funeral was no place to make my move - again (*wink-wink*), I knew that an invite would be crucial.
“Paul,” I said “if people are driving in from all over the south for this thing, they’re going to be good and tired and ready to relax. Let me bring over some liquor for the luncheon. Really, it’s the least I could do.” It didn’t take long for Paul to agree to this so in the blink of an eye, my plan was set in motion. This fair lass was going to be mine.
On the day of funeral, I woke up extra early to iron my best shirt, comb my hair back in the way that I knew the ladies liked it, put on my my my my my boogie shoes, and stop by the liquor store to get enough lady-killer elixir for the afternoon (and hopefully early evening into the next morning). As I zipped my wallet up in my front pocket (so as not to obstruct the fine ass that the good lord had blessed me with), I headed out the door, got in my van, and peeled out of my trailer park parking lot. It was gonna be a good day.
The funeral was pretty boring: Uncle Enos was in a casket, they said some prayers, some people cried, and then they went to the cemetery to drop him in his eternal home. I was beginning to get worried though because I didn’t see Rhodie anywhere. I saw the family section up front filled with Paul’s parents, his sisters (who kept looking at me because I looked THAT good), his cousins (who were also looking at me but I wouldn’t touch because they were Paul’s family) and a bunch of old people that I didn’t recognize, but I didn’t see Rhodie.
My plan had been to skip the burial at the cemetery and set up the bar at Paul’s house so that it was ready when everybody got there. As a result, I needed to get the key from Paul after the funeral. On his way out to the cemetery I pulled him aside, grabbed the key, and casually asked where his Great Aunt Rhoda and Bernice were. I told him that I was concerned that they had travel problems and wouldn’t be able to pay their final respects, but all I was really concerned about was me and Rhodie working up a sweat while doing the no-pants dance.
“Oh,” he said “they had some car trouble right outside of town. They’re going straight to the house and will be there for the luncheon. They’re probably going to get there before we do, so would you mind letting them in and making sure they’re comfortable?” My response was simple:
“Gladly.”
As I drove to the house I couldn’t help but think how perfectly this was all playing out. Sure, I’d have to do some comforting and all that shit, but in the end it really played into my hands. If I was there for her in her time of need, maybe she’d be there for me in my time of need. I started to get really excited and figured that I should calm down, so I reached into one of the bags from the liquor store, opened a bottle of whiskey, took a swig, and then shot-gunned a beer. That tasted so good that I decided to do it again. After that, I was feeling pretty groovy so I reached into my glove compartment for my Brut cologne and sprayed myself from head to toe. After all, everybody knows that a lady loves a good smelling man. Rhodie didn’t know what she had in store for her. If I had my way, within four hours of her walking in that door we were gonna do a little dance, make a little love, and get down tonight. Whoo!
As I was setting up the bar I began to think of Rhodie and how foxy she used to be. I knew that she was much older than me, but I dug chicks in their 40’s and 50’s. Like I said before, they had a certain experience about them, which was a super turn-on. I couldn’t wait to see her again and quickly ran around the house looking for an appropriate place to get it on should the immediate need arise. I found a storage closet that should do the trick, but while doing this, I got a little excited again and decided that another shot and another beer should do the trick. I was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol but figured that it would only loosen me up and make me that much more sexy to her.
Eventually the doorbell rang and, as much as I tried not to, I pretty much ran to the door to let in my lady for the evening. Upon opening it, however, all I encountered were two old bags who must have skipped the cemetery too and were over early for the luncheon. Needless to say, I was a little disappointed and began wondering if they were even coming at all. As I turned around to grab myself another beer, I heard one of them address me.
“Dickey, is that you?” said the voice.
“Actually, I go by Rick now, but yes it is. Do I know you?”
“Do you know me?” she said with disbelief, “I should sure hope so! Bernice, do you remember little Dickey? He grew up with Pauly and they were the best friends. In fact,” she said, “I remember a certain little boy getting a little chubby at the pool one day while I was drying him off. You were just the sweetest little thing with your little tallywacker all sprung up. Bernice, please tell me you remember little Dickey.”
“Rick,” I said in disbelief hoping that this was not really happening.
“What?” said Bernice.
“Little Dickey,” she said a little louder.
“Rick” I corrected her again.
“LITTLE DICKEY! THIS IS LITTLE DICKEY!” she screamed loud enough for the neighbors to hear while pointing, whether intentionally or not, at my crotch.
“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, Rhodie” said Bernice addressing her as the one thing that I hoped she would not.
“Oh, that’s right,” she said “you were already in Arizona.”
As I stared at was once a foxy 40-something year old lady, I was devastated that a) the years could be so unkind, and b) that I had miscalculated how old she’d actually be. For some reason, I was thinking that she’d be 50 something at the max, but then again, I was 30 years older so the chances of her only aging 10 years while I aged 30 were pretty improbable. I’ve gotta stop doing so much blow.
While I so fondly remembered her wearing the nip-slipping swimsuit and other various hot outfits, she stood before me in an orange pant suit with Kleenex hanging out of the pocket. Instead of her hair being long and sexy, it was now permed and cut short. While I was mentally kicking myself for making such a horrible miscalculation and wondering if I could maybe talk Paul’s sisters into an orgy (somehow he never warned me about them. Maybe he thought I had more class that to screw his sisters.) I opened the door to let them into the house. It was at that moment that Rhodie leaned in, told me how handsome I’d become and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
It was on.
For some reason, that peck on the cheek carried more with it. The way she did it, she may as well have just reached down, grabbed my crotch, and said “bathroom – five minutes.” I may have been wrong with my interpretation, but maybe that’s because my head was filled with the intoxicating aroma of moth balls and Ben Gay. I knew I had a thing for older chicks, but did my libido really stretch this far? This was a 70 year old plus woman and I’m pretty sure that I had just gotten the same feeling in my pants that I had so many years ago at the swimming pool. I ran to the bar, took three big drinks off of the quickly disappearing bottle of whiskey and opened up another beer. I was 99% sure I wanted this, but it was going to take some intoxication – for both of us. After all, once this dog’s nose had caught a scent, there was no stopping me.
As they made their way into the living room, I offered them a seat and to get them a drink. Rhodie was the first to accept, and after a little prodding from me, Bernice soon followed. Apparently, Bernice wasn’t in the best of health and pretty much relied on Rhodie for everything. Rhodie had to help her walk, help her sit down, and wipe her mouth for her.
“I always keep a ton of napkins in my pocket because you just never know when Bernice is going to need her chin wiped,” Rhodie explained.
After some small talk in which I gazed through her thick glasses into her beautiful eyes, I saw that Bernice had finished her drink and Rhodie was almost done with hers. I quickly refilled both and took another shot and another beer for myself. I was really starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, but didn’t care. I was ready for love.
About a half an hour later, we began to wonder where everyone else was at. Bernice had finished her second drink, but decided to go with a beer after that as she said she was feeling a little light headed from the first. I was light headed too. I was light headed from looking at my elderly princess and envisioning the night we had in front of us. It was going to be pure magic.
That’s when the booze kicked in.
All of a sudden, I wasn’t feeling so hot. I tried to count the amount of shots I had done in my head but couldn’t figure it out. All I knew is that to calm my nerves I had been hitting the bottle pretty hard. I decided to look for the bottle and see how much was left, but all I saw was Rhodie walking to the bar to throw something away. It was my empty bottle of whiskey.
Apparently, in my attempt to loosen myself up, I had loosened the cap on that bottle one too many times and had managed to drink the entire thing. In addition, I had been drinking beer along with it. To make matters worse, I had done this all in the span of about an hour and a half. I guess drinking like this at the disco is much easier when you’re constantly doing lines in the bathroom, but without the coke, this stuff hits you pretty hard.
As I got up from my chair, it hit me like a ton of bricks and I knew I was in trouble. On top of that, Bernice was complaining that she wasn’t feeling good either and asked to be taken to the bathroom. As Rhodie went to help her up, Bernice mentioned that it was too late and screamed for me to bring her a trash can.
While I stood there listening to Bernice throw up in the middle of Paul’s living room, I could hear Rhodie say “I bet she didn’t take her damn pills again. She always gets sick when she drinks and doesn’t take her pills. Now we’ve got to go the hospital again.”
“What?” asked Bernice between heaves.
“THE HOSPITAL!” she said. “LITTLE DICKEY NEEDS TO TAKE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL!”
“Rick.”
At first I was going to object, but then I realized that my evening was shot anway. There was no way in hell that I was going to be able to recover from that drunken stupor to be of any use to either me or Rhodie that night. As beautiful as she looked in her orange polyester, I wouldn’t be able to give myself a memorable showing. I decided to let her go and maybe, someday, I’d be able to ride that geriatric express.
I was just about to leave Paul’s house (screw Uncle Enos. I never liked the bastard anyway and Bernice can find her own damn ride to the hospital), the front door opened and Paul’s Mom came in to take a candid picture of all of us. This is what she got.
Maybe at least Rhodie will be in town for another couple of days. There’s no way I’m gonna miss out on that action.
Thanks for reading.
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