Double Take
Chapter 3
“Ever since I could remember, She was all that mattered.”
—James J. Caterino, She
GRAPPLING WITH THE IMPLICATION that in this new reality I was not back in my own timeline nearly sent me back into a coma. Yes, I was fourteen again. But nothing that I knew of life when V1 was fourteen had any relevance to my life as V3. I knew absolutely nothing about being a teen in 2018. My memories were ancient history.
No wonder things had seemed catawampus. I made my first conscious effort to search the memories of V2. Some of them were fogged over like he’d already forgotten. Present memories were mostly there. I compared them to my V1 memories. My mother looked different, sharper, and more professional. My sisters, while identifiable, dressed differently, had better teeth, clearer complexions, and in the case of Em, a smoking hot body. My father still worked on an automobile assembly line, but it wasn’t Studebaker. The house that looked so familiar to me in the memories of V2, wasn’t in South Bend, but was in Fort Wayne. Dad assembled trucks in the Chevy and GM lines at the plant in Roanoke.
Everything was just the same but different. No wonder V2 had been suicidal. I was near it myself.
This meant that I was a freshman in high school, missing the first semester, in a reality that I had no idea how to function in. For the first time, I was thankful for being in a hospital where I could have time to adjust to the new world I lived in. I needed to pay more attention to the droning news shows on television. Who knew what else was different?
I could practically hear the mysterious voice that sent me here laughing.
Fuckers!
Somehow, the little things that were the same as when I was a kid or an adult in V1 were almost more disorienting than the things that were different. My Kindle password was the same. My street address was the same, but in a different town. Names of people my parents or sisters mentioned were the same as I remembered from 1952—what few I actually remembered. It’s funny how after sixty-six years, how many of my ‘old friends’ I’d forgotten as I moved away from the homelands after college. Occasionally, a name would ring a bell, but trying to put a face to it was difficult. And I had no idea what to do about it.
“Bruce Sandusky asked about you,” Mom said when she came in to visit after work. “You know a lot of kids are concerned about you, but they don’t really know how to relate. It’s not like they can come up here and have a party. When we get you home, why don’t you plan to invite your friends over and we’ll do something for your birthday.”
My birthday was the same day of the month. Just a month away. I’d be fifteen. I was panicked thinking that I didn’t know who my friends were. I focused on trying to sift through V2’s memories for something useful. I didn’t want to start telling people I didn’t remember things. Mom had already mentioned wanting me to talk to a counselor. If I had memory loss issues… I didn’t dare talk to a psychologist about being an old man in a young kid’s body. They’d lock me away.
Well, one thing I remembered well enough was that kids talk on Facebook. My grandkids were on Facebook so I had an account just to keep track of them and their kids. I logged on and was happy to see that V2 had the same password as V1. Perhaps I’d find out who my friends were here.
The stream was packed with condolences. Early on, it seems, word had gotten out that I was dead. Classmates put messages on my stream saying they were sorry I was gone and I’d been mostly a pretty decent guy. Nobody was talking about me as their best friend in the world or as their worst enemy. I searched out my school friends first. About twenty were on my friends list. Of course, a lot of others that I wasn’t friends with had posted comments on their threads. I went through the process of sifting through all the pages and trying to put names and faces together. Many looked familiar but out of place. Still, if I saw them, there was at least a chance that I’d recognize them. I read through their timelines and moaned. What did I have in common with any of these privileged little brats?
I posted a quick message: “Looks like I’m not dead after all. Bunch of broken bones. Missing this semester. Good luck, everyone.”
Almost immediately, I started getting comments back. “Too bad. Better luck next time.” “You’d have been better off dead. Ms. Perkins is a bitch.” “Let’s do it together next time.”
Everyone believed I’d attempted suicide and were more upset that it failed than they’d been when they thought I was dead. What a screwed-up bunch of little…
I had to get past thinking like this. I had to try to figure out how my V2 thought or I’d be toast when I got out of here. I checked his groups and found that the one he was most active in was called ‘Watch List’. Most of the conversation was about how miserable life was and how they were going to commit suicide. V2 had told his friends that he thought walking in front of a bus would be easiest. I guess that’s what got me here.
I shut down Facebook and decided I needed to figure out what other groups he was involved in on social media. Fuck! I hardly knew what social media was. The only times I’d logged on in the past were to see pictures of my great-grandchildren. Great-grandchildren who would be the same age I am in this other reality.
I got to thinking about my books. It surprised me that we had a few different titles in our library but there was a huge overlap in our interests. I was fourteen. I wondered if V2 knew about SOL. I opened the browser again and started to type in the address. That answered that question. It auto-filled. Again, the password was the same. If I’d found out one of my great grandchildren was reading this smut, he’d have had a firm talking to. Right. I was thinking this as I was checking his library… my library of stories. I could justify it because I was really eighty. Only I was only fourteen and it was definitely illegal for me to access these stories.
I was getting a headache.
My library had the same active stories I’d been reading when my Kindle died in the nursing home and they’d stolen my charger. I might have been suckered but the nurses in the hospital didn’t appear to be interested in the Kindle or the charger. One even helped me get it plugged in. I checked the reading history as well as the library. I always deleted stories from the reading list when I finished them, but I kept them in the library.
I was only a little surprised to find a pretty big selection of brother-sister incest stories. Most of the stories were coming of age type stories with a few of the military and time travel stories that I’d enjoyed. What was missing from V2’s list that had been in V1’s list were do-over stories. Well, why would a fourteen-year-old be thinking about a do-over. I guess it made sense.
I was a few weeks behind on some of my favorite serials and set about catching up. Some of them I had to search for because they weren’t in V2’s library. A few, it appeared, hadn’t been written in this reality. That sucked. Now I’d never know how Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain ended. I still found a couple of good ones and as I was reading, I got hard. Then, damn it, I couldn’t do anything about it. I still couldn’t reach my cock with my fingers. I was going into a permanent state of blue balls.
“So, Francine managed to get herself pregnant over the summer and Colin is being an ass about it. Everyone knows he’s the daddy. But, of course, he’s not stepping up and claiming it,” Em said when she visited me Friday after school. She was pretty good at keeping me updated on all the gossip, even though I didn’t know half the people she was talking about.
“Are they going to kick her out of school?”
“Why would they do that? She’s not due until like April and she’ll get teen pregnancy leave with a tutor so she’ll graduate. She’ll probably have to sit in the back of the classroom so she can breastfeed without everyone staring at her when she gets back, but she’ll only need the daycare center during PE.”
I stared at my sister. Our high school had daycare? And single moms sat in the back of the classroom breastfeeding? What next? Did they allow conjugal visits? Old Faithful was getting chubby just thinking about it. I shifted around as much as I could.
“You okay?”
“I just need to piss. I’ll call a nurse.”
“Oh. Don’t bother, I’ll do it. Let me get the pan.”
“Huh? I have to, like…”
“We already got instructions,” she said. “The whole family. We can’t spring you from this joint unless we are all trained and willing to participate in your care. It’s just a little urine. I can hold my nose. You don’t need the poop pan, do you?”
“No, but… um…”
“Let me get the gloves.”
Em snapped on a pair of disposable latex gloves, just like the nurses did. I’d almost gotten to the point where I could piss without getting an automatic hard-on when a nurse shoved my cock in the spout. But…
She unsnapped my diaper and pulled it down enough to expose my growing cock. Then she took hold of it and shoved it in the hole.
“Go ahead.”
“Um… uh… this might take a minute or two. I need to relax and I’m a little… uh… nervous with you doing this.”
“J, baby. I’m your sister. I helped Mom change your diapers when I was four years old.”
“Yeah, but… I got bigger.”
“Yeah, like… OMG! I never even thought about you getting hard. You’re like… You can’t even touch it, can you? You poor baby!”
“Just… um… let me relax so I can piss, okay? Don’t talk about it. I get embarrassed and then I get… harder.”
“Okay. I’ll… um… just go to the bathroom and tinkle myself while you… relax.”
She left and eventually I did relax enough to let go of a full load. Damn it! I couldn’t even give it a shake. But at least I went limp. I could hear Em running water in the bathroom. A minute later she approached the bed with a wet washcloth.
“The instructions say we have to clean you each time,” she said, pulling the urinal away and capping it. “They made us recite each step in the homecare class.” She lifted my cock and washed it with warm water. My sister… my hot as a rocket sister… was holding my cock and washing it. I relaxed enough to piss but now I was on a fast climb to rock hard. “The rubber dummy they had us practice on stayed limp. Geez, J. How long’s it been since you got off?”
“Em,” I moaned. She hadn’t stopped stroking it when she dried it. “I don’t know. Before any of this.”
“Four weeks? Damn it, J. You should have said something. You must be in pain. I’ll… I mean if you want… I don’t suppose it will take long, will it?”
“No. A little more. Oh, God, Em.”
She leaned over and for a moment I thought she was going to take me right into her mouth. Instead, she spit on me and that slicked up the latex. Oh, fuck! She was right there, stroking me, with her breasts jiggling with each stroke. I was ready to chip the casts off my arms just so I could reach out and hold one of those magnificent tits hanging just beyond my reach. It only took about three more strokes and I came. It might have been four weeks for V2 but it was a lot longer for V1. V3 nearly passed out.
Em caught almost everything with the washcloth and wiped me off. She quickly re-snapped my diaper. She took the urinal and washcloth to the bathroom. I could hear her flush and rinse the equipment. She stayed in there a long time afterward and I just lay there flushed and sated. That was the best come I could remember. I suppose V2 was used to such things, but I thought that might have been extraordinary for him, too. I couldn’t remember anyone else having done the stroking. And the past fifteen years of V1 took all my energy just to get a dribble. I felt drained, exhausted, and happy.
Finally, she came out of the bathroom and started to gather her school things so she could go home. She avoided eye-contact, it seemed.
“Em, thank you. You’re the best.”
“Yeah, well, remember it. You owe me. I just figured, you know, if I had both arms in a cast and couldn’t get my fingers in the cookie jar, I’d want you to do it for me. It’s nothing.”
“Um… I’ll return the favor when I’m better.”
She snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure you would. Never touched one before, have you?” What could I say to that? “I might let you. Once. Study for a while and go to sleep. I need to get home.”
“Goodnight, Em.”
“’Night, J.”
I lay awake for a long time that night. I tried to remember my older sister from V1. She’d passed on ten years before me. Peyton only lasted another four. I was the last one. I tried to remember if I’d ever had such feelings of lust for Em as I felt right now. If my sister had offered to jack me off in 1952, I think I’d have run away from home and never looked back. We didn’t get along all that well in the first place and in high school, when I was a freshman and she was a senior, even worse. She moved in with my grandparents in Kansas after she graduated from high school, found a husband, and had her first kid a year later. I was still just a junior in high school.
What was different about this?
Well, to start with, I had a fourteen-year-old body, but I was still an eighty-year-old man inside, looking at an incredibly hot teenage goddess that I could hardly recognize as my sister but felt… strongly about. I still thought forty, fifty, and sixty-year-olds were attractive. Having a seventeen-year-old stroking my cock was like a dream in a strip club. And I’d never had a dream that good.
Then, she was nice. I wondered if the same thing that drove V2 to suicide was what made Em2 so damned nice to him. I had a feeling they were linked and that the hand job wasn’t the first sexy play they’d had together. I clearly remembered standing in a position where I could see her come out of the shower with a towel only mostly wrapped around her. She had to know I was there and seemed to have a lot of trouble getting the towel in the right position and tied. I never quite saw the naughty bits, but it was like she was teasing me.
Finally, in a way, I didn’t feel related to any of these people. I was sixty-three years old in V1 reality when Em2 was born! I was suddenly forty-two years older than the woman who said she was my mother and the man I knew as my father.
And somehow, I was going to have to convince myself that I was a kid and they were the adults. This was going to be really hard.
During the next week, I got and was trained in the operation of an electric wheelchair. I needed help to get in and out of it, but once I was in and my leg was properly elevated, I could move around by pressing an extension lever with my face. If I wasn’t locked into my casts, I could have operated it with my fingers, but like so many other things, I couldn’t bend my arm to touch that part. It was pretty ingenious and I wondered who had invented this. Even Renie could have gotten around with one of these. Damn it! I wondered if my little Renie had gotten a chance like this to do her life again. Or if she’d have taken it. She was never enthusiastic about living forever like I was.
The training, along with physical therapy, was part of my new routine and preparation for going home. They changed my casts and x-rayed me again and said I was still at least five weeks from being out of them and then I’d have some difficulty because my ribs would still be hurting when I tried to walk with crutches. Nor would my arms really hold my weight, though I’d lost several pounds. I was never that heavy to start with, I didn’t think. Maybe V2 was heavier than what V1 had been at that age. I’d been active in sports and physically fit in high school. I wasn’t sure V2 had ever exercised a day in his life. That was going to change.
My physical therapist was as impressed with my devotion to the painful therapy as I was with her. I wondered if I could seduce her into bed during one of my sessions. She had run her fifth marathon on Labor Day and had the slim hard body that often went with being a long-distance runner. Most of our work for now was limited to what she could manipulate. It amounted to exercising my joints. She spent time lifting and rotating my arms to exercise the shoulder joint. I wasn’t allowed to lift my arms yet because it would cause too much strain on the healing fractures. I could only move slightly from side to side. She did the same thing with my hip, raising the leg in its cast up almost perpendicular to my body. That really stretched things. Then she worked on strengthening the only two things I could exercise on my own—my good left leg and my neck. I was surprised and pleased when she stripped to her sports bra and running shorts to wash my sweaty parts after our workouts.
Yeah. Predictable response. I imagined her stripping out of the rest of her clothes and straddling my groin while I sucked on her perky little nipples.
Aside from my being a cripple, there were other problems with the idea of seducing her. She saw me as a teen boy driven entirely by hormones with no thought of a relationship. Yeah. Check that. And she considered me to be a disabled juvenile. She could go to jail for molesting me. That was going to be a problem for every woman I found attractive for the next three years. For now, I was limited to girls my age up to age eighteen.
Well, that wasn’t all bad. I thought about my sister some more. I couldn’t remember exactly when V1 had my first hand job. I was pretty sure it wasn’t when I was fourteen. I’d always said that if I’d known it was all going to end so soon, I’d have started earlier.
I just needed to get mobile.
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