| Follow Ups | Post Followup | Dark Side Forum |
| Re: Story: ALL IN THE FAMILY- Part 1 | |
|---|---|
| Author: slimv | July 25, 2001 at 20:05:19 |
| in reply to: Story: ALL IN THE FAMILY- Part 1 posted by slimv on July 25, 2001 at 17:23:31 | |
|
Part 2 My wife and her father died in a car accident five months after Todd was born. I should have died too, but I was wearing my seat belt. My father in-law was driving. It wasn’t his fault. Bill was just driving through an intersection. He had a green light. A truck broad sided us and flipped the car three times. I thank God our son wasn’t with us. I woke up in the hospital. Both my wrists were shattered. I asked about Tammy and Bill. My father told me they didn’t make it. I wished I were dead. The doctor told my parents I would be in casts for at least four months and would need a great deal of home care. My parents wanted to take Todd and I home but both of them worked. It was Barbara who came to my rescue. Perhaps she didn’t want to lose her grandson or maybe she thought caring for me would ease her loss. I was released from the hospital the next morning and Barbara took me home. I was mentally fit to be tied. I had just lost my wife. I wanted a cigarette bad. I don’t know if I was addicted then or not. I was sneaking cigarettes sporadically, usually just one a day, but I enjoyed it and I wanted one. When I lived at home, I smoked my mom’s Winstons. After I moved in with Tammy and her family, I switched to Barbara’s Virginia Slims. They weren’t bad, besides beggars can’t be choosers. Have you ever tried to sneak a cigarette with some one doting over you? It’s hard. Have you ever tried to pick up a cigarette and light it with arm casts up to your fingers? It’s impossible. As a matter of fact, my hands were useless. I couldn’t feed my self. I couldn’t piss by my self. And needless to say, I couldn’t jack off and I had a sack full of sperm screaming to get out. Some of you might think I’m shallow for thinking of my sexual needs during a time like this, but give me a break. I was a married teenager and was used to having sex on a daily basis. And don’t forget Barbara. The woman smoked more than my mom! And there was this other little thing about her that wasn’t a little thing at all. I’m talking about her breasts. They were huge! Of course Barbara’s breasts weren’t real. She wasn’t born like that. They were implants. She got them for Bill. You see Bill had a little problem under his belt and she thought big breasts might help. Regardless of the reason, they looked great on her. Getting back to my incapacitation, my doctor had discussed my more intimate needs with Barbara and my parents. He suggested hiring a private duty nurse, but Barbara would have nothing to do with it. She insisted on caring for me. Barbara and my mother were already great friends but her devotion to my health endeared her to my mother. I spent a lot of time with Barbara and Mom and I recall those moments with great fondness. I saw it as an opportunity to study two masters at their craft. Rembrant painted his canvas with oils. My mother and Barbara painted the air with their smoke. Their secondhand smoke danced in my lungs as I discreetly inhaled their art. My mother with her Winstons, Barbara with her Virginia Slims- their brands were extensions of themselves. I studied their packs as they lay on the table. In one way they were so innocent, these packs of cigarettes. How could they be bad? These women, they handled them with such ease. If I so much as carried a pack of cigarettes to either of them, my hands would tremble with the weight of taboo. Can you understand? Am I making sense? Barbara doted on me. She took better care of me than any private nurse could. She was there when I needed her. We weren’t home for two hours before I heard nature’s call. I didn’t want to tell her but she could see I was uncomfortable. She asked if I needed any help going to the bathroom. I nodded reluctantly. She led me to the bathroom and unzipped my jeans. She held my penis so it wouldn’t spray the seat. She did this without laughing and I peed without getting an erection. I went to the bathroom three more times that night. My mother came by the next day after the funeral to see how I was doing. Barbara had run my bathwater and I had just gotten in the tub when the doorbell rang. I laid back and soaked while Barbara answered the door. I listened as Barbara invited her in. I heard her tell my mother that she was giving me a bath. I looked up to see both of them looking down on me. My cheeks burned. There were no bubbles to hide my nakedness. I felt vulnerable and exposed. Its one thing to have your dead wife’s melon breasted mother give you a bath but the situation leaps to another dimension when you’re own mother joins in. It was then that my mother understood the gravity of the situation. I know this because I saw her blush. The fact that they were both smoking wasn’t lost on me. It took all the mental strength I could muster to keep my penis from becoming a periscope. And then my mother volunteered to help. Mom placed a cigarette between her lips and knelt by the tub. She picked up a bar of soap and lathered a washcloth. The smoke from her cigarette stung my eyes but I didn’t blink as she rubbed the washcloth against my chest. And then she stopped, saying she couldn’t finish. She said she was sorry as she stood up and left the room. Barbara followed her out. My mother was obviously upset and I strained to hear their conversation. I hoped she wasn’t mad at Barbara for giving me a bath. After all, it wasn’t her fault. It was just something that had to be done. Barbara returned five minutes later. She told me every thing was OK as she lit a cigarette and took my mother’s place beside the tub. I noticed she was soaping her hands and not a washcloth. I immediately relaxed as her soapy hands caressed my chest. I asked her how my mother was. Barbara said my mom was uncomfortable with seeing me naked. What about you, I asked? Does it make you uncomfortable? She took my penis in her soapy hands and told me that she liked taking care of me. I couldn’t help but notice the attention she was giving my penis. It wasn’t that dirty. She washed it as if I had used it to dig holes. My face turned red as I surrendered to my erection. Barbara saw that I was embarrassed. She told me not to worry about it as she detailed every crevice of my scrotum. I didn’t cum in her hand. I wanted too, but I didn’t know if she wanted me too. Why would she tease me like that? She had to know what she was doing to me. End of Part 2 |
||
| Follow Ups | ||
|---|---|---|
| ||
| Post Followup | ||