Double Take
Chapter 10
“If privacy had a gravestone it might read: ‘Don't Worry. This Was for Your Own Good.’”
—John Twelve Hawks, The Dark River
I FELT GUILTY. Really, really guilty.
I was having sex—I’m a good bit older than Clinton, so when I was raised oral sex was still sex—with two teenage girls, one of whom was my sister. I was only moderately upset about the incest angle. I suppose SOL was partly responsible for that. I’d enjoyed a lot of brother-sister incest stories on that site. I could almost always figure an erection was in the offing if the story was written halfway decently. I didn’t have a big fascination with getting girls pregnant. I’d done that and pregnant women can be a bitch. But the forbidden nature of the contact, the tension that came from a brother and sister near in age—especially twins—the subtle opportunities, all added up to build more tension in my mind than the standard boy meets girl/boy fucks girl scenario.
But not my sister. Yuck! Ish! Gag! In 1952, my sister was already the biggest bitch I knew and well on her way to becoming a pregnant bitch. When she left home the next year, she never returned. I visited her out of filial obligation at her home in Missouri about five years after I got out of college and she was still a bitch. The Em of V3 was so different from the Emily of V1 that I could barely register her as related.
But one thing I had avoided on SOL was anything that smacked of intergenerational incest. Mother/son, father/daughter, uncle/niece… They made me sick. I even had trouble with stories where a guy in his twenties, thirties, or forties landed a fourteen-year-old as the devoted love of his life. In the world I lived in, that was disgusting and abusive. Men went to jail for that. So did women.
And that is what had me feeling really, really guilty. In my head, I was eighty-one years old and I was having sex with not one but two seventeen-year-old girls. I had great-grandchildren almost that age! I should be in jail. Maybe if I’d been sent back to 1952 into my fourteen-year-old body, I wouldn’t have felt so guilty because I remembered myself and the girls in that era. A kid like me would never have had the opportunity to have sex with one of them. But this wasn’t 1952. This was 2018 and the kids I saw that year as V1 were children to me. What the fuck was I doing?
On the other hand, my fourteen-year-old body didn’t give a fuck about what the old fart was thinking. And, in fact, it was all too ready to take whatever opportunity was given to it to hump and come.
I was feeling really, really guilty.
The circumference of a circle is 2πr. The area of a circle is πr^2. Now, how do I find the volume of a sphere? It seemed like it should be the area of a circle times the circumference. So how did that come out to V=4/3 πr^3?
I’d been practicing and reviewing my math facts in my head ever since I first saw my textbook. Technically, I was enrolled in Algebra 1 and the problems I currently reviewed were geometry. But I’d had all these classes before. Granted, I’d been older when I took them. In the V1 timeframe, we had Algebra 1 as a freshman, geometry as a sophomore, algebra 2 and trigonometry as a junior, and ‘advanced math’ as a senior. We didn’t really get into pre-calculus or calculus until we were in college. My goal in this timeline was to test out of as much math as I could so I could focus on something else. The advanced curriculum for our high school said that I should be through calculus by the time I graduated. I’d finished the entire Algebra 1 workbook and was trying to review geometry while I could.
Mechanical engineering had been fine my first go-round. I’d done well and retired after forty-five years in my profession. But I had the opportunity to do something else this time around. I had a notion that I’d like to write books. To do that, I needed a heavier load of English than I’d taken the first time around. To get a heavier load of English, I needed to get clear of my math requirements.
It took me forever to find out what the requirements were for graduation. I didn’t intend to rush through my high school years and graduate early so I could be the youngest in my college classes. That just didn’t make sense. The first time through, there weren’t that many options. I just took the courses the school said I needed to take. The only choice I can remember was what language I needed to study and whether I’d take chemistry or physics as my second science requirement.
Mom and Dad had enrolled me for my freshman classes and wisely kept the load in the first semester to a minimum. Once they saw I was going to be out of school for at least two if not three months, they enrolled me in classes that they thought I could catch up on at home. I had Algebra 1, Freshman English, Human Geography, and Health and Wellness. I’d need to pick up additional credits in order to catch up with where I should be by the end of freshman year. If I could test out of Algebra 1 and move straight to Geometry, it would help.
I saw the school had a physical education requirement. Not likely that I’d get to that this year. I bet no one in gym class was working anywhere near as hard as I was in Physical Therapy.
V1 had complained that ‘they weren’t teaching kids’ in school these days. I was beginning to change my opinion about that. To my V3 mind, the curriculum was more advanced as a freshman than it had been the first time around. Molly was helping me. Francie was helping me. I was looking forward to going back to school and learning something new.
I had another thing on my mind that was causing me to lose sleep at night. Apparently, I was going to have plenty of nights alone to lose sleep during. Francie hadn’t come back after Monday afternoon. Em told me she was sick and the doctor was concerned about the baby. And Em didn’t stop by after her date Friday night. She’d proceeded to break up with Robbie and was out ‘with a group of friends’ for the evening on Friday.
Meanwhile, my eighty-year-old head was puzzling about the nature of traveling between realities. One of the things that always puzzled me when I read do-over stories was the butterfly effect. Supposedly, any change in a reality could affect—sometimes adversely—the entire world. A butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil or something and the eventual result is a typhoon in Japan. The stories I’d read all had protagonists who went back to their own timelines with the knowledge of everything that would happen in the next thirty to fifty years. I always wondered how Tom winning a longshot ticket on the Kentucky Derby would affect the lives of all the people who in his first time around had bet and won a small amount of money or even a large amount and now the result was significantly different. Person A never won a million dollars because the odds had changed so severely by Tom’s bet. Therefore, Person A could not pay off the mortgage and the family fell apart. Or perhaps Person B got a lot of money for the ‘Place’ bet that he made and left his family to run away with his mistress to Antarctica or some God-forsaken place.
Everything a person did affected what would follow, including a ripple of events changed by that one action. If I had not come back to become V3, V2 would have died. He’d never have made love with either Francie or his sister. Would Em have become Mrs. Robbie, forever bitter because he just couldn’t flip her switch on? Would Francie be sick and under doctor’s care with her baby if V3 hadn’t licked her to a delirious orgasm? Was I carrying some germ that affected her? It made my head hurt.
I suppose, though, that I couldn’t claim to affect the continuum. After all, V2 had not lived this life before. There was no future for me to change. My foreknowledge was non-existent, though I had excellent historical knowledge. I sure didn’t need to study history. I didn’t know who was going to win the next election, what team would win the world series, or when the stock market was going to spike or crash. The future was as unknown to me as it was to everyone else.
I guess that should have relaxed me, knowing that no one in this timeline had already had a life lived up to 2050 that I was going to change by licking Francie’s pussy. But in fact, I became more acutely aware that everything I did was going to have an effect on the future. Basically, I wasn’t supposed to be here. If there was such a thing as fate or a plan for this timeline, I screwed it up by living.
I didn’t have nightmares that week, but I didn’t sleep well, either.
Now that I was mobile, Molly’s hours had been reduced. I’d moved to crutches but had to have the kind which fit up in my armpits because I couldn’t support my weight on my hands yet. I was getting better at it. I had weights on my wrists and ankles all the time. I did my routine exercises before Molly got there in the morning and had even succeeded in doing a pushup. Sit-ups were no problem and I hammered twenty-five out easily. I was upping the number gradually but Molly didn’t want me to stress anything. She suggested doing my basic routine twice a day rather than doubling the number at once.
Molly worked with me on mobility and flexibility. I was amazed at how much harder it was to lift my arms over my head than it was to do bicep curls, for example. By the end of our ninety-minute session, I was a sweating mess. I needed a shower.
“That you do,” Molly said. “It smells like a boys’ locker room in here. Let’s go.”
“What?”
“I can’t let you get in and out of the shower by yourself until I know you won’t fall down. Let’s get you cleaned up, boyo.”
I swallowed hard. And got hard. I tried to get control of myself as I hobbled into the bathroom behind her. She reached into the shower and turned the water on to warm up.
“Strip, Jacob. Let’s get you clean.” I leaned my crutches against the door and pulled my T-shirt off. By the time my head was clear, Molly had her sweatshirt off. She was wearing a one-piece bathing suit! She pushed the sweatpants down and laughed at me as I struggled with my belt. “You didn’t think I’d get naked with you, did you? All right, now, sit on the toilet and I’ll help get the jeans off your legs.”
I was thankful Dad had installed grab bars all over the bathroom and in the shower. But, of course, when Molly pulled my briefs off, my cock sprang up hard in her face.
“Sorry,” I said weakly.
“Well, hello there. Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought maybe you didn’t like me any longer.”
“That will never happen, Molly. It… You’re beautiful.”
“Let’s not go overboard there. I’m five-feet-ten-inches and outweigh you by fifty pounds.”
“You’re solid. You aren’t overweight.”
“You aren’t the only clumsy boy I’ve had to lift and carry,” she said. “I used to be a firefighter. I might have overbuilt my body a little.”
“I think it’s amazing,” I said enthusiastically. She checked the water temperature and helped me stand up.
“I can see what you think. Now let’s see you stand on the weak leg while you lift the other over the tub.” She held me around the waist for stability while I lifted my leg over and set my foot down in the tub. Then she helped get the bad leg in. I leaned forward to grab the hand bars in the bathtub as she got in with me. She immediately grabbed the showerhead and started spraying me down.
“God, that feels good,” I said.
“This is the real test and you’ll see the sense in some of those exercises,” she said. She squirted shampoo in my hand. “Now lather up that head.”
It was almost worse than the physical therapy. All the exercise getting my hands above my head now came into play but I had to move them around and lather up as well. She kept her hands on my waist, but didn’t help with the shampoo or soaping up my body. Nonetheless, my cock stayed straight and seemed to bump into her a lot. I was thankful that she at least manipulated the detachable showerhead to rinse me off. That included making sure my ass was clean. I don’t think I’d ever actually used the showerhead to spray directly on my asshole. It didn’t do a thing to ease my erection. Molly noticed.
“Fifteen, eh? I suppose that your normal shower routine would include taking care of that, now wouldn’t it. Well, go ahead.”
What? She wanted me to masturbate? In the shower with her? While she was dripping wet and I could see her nipples popping out the bust of her swimsuit. I reflexively reached for my cock and gave a tentative stroke.
“Um… You could do it,” I suggested. She looked me in the eye and put the sprayer back in its holder.
“Hmm. I’ve felt it enough times. You like me enough to have me jerk you off?”
“Hell yeah!”
She grabbed the soap and lathered her hands.
“Don’t fall down!” she commanded. Then her hands wrapped around my cock. I leaned back against the shower bar and gripped it with both hands while I looked at her. This was no teen. She might be young by V1’s standard, but she wasn’t jailbait. Her hands were on my cock and I was determined not to rush to completion. That was difficult in this V3 body. I figured a normal shower could account for at least two pops and maybe three if no one was waiting to get into the bathroom.
I reached out and touched her breast with my right hand. Her eyes popped open and stared at me but she didn’t say anything. After all, she had my cock in her hands. It must be pretty natural to have your tits mauled when you’re giving a hand job. I traced her distended nipple with my thumb and squeezed. Then brought my left hand up to the other breast and repeated the action, hefting their weight in my hands. She caught a deep breath.
“You want the full treatment, don’t you,” she sighed. I noticed a little sway in her hips and considered heading south. Before I could, she let go of my cock and lifted her hands to pull the neck strap of her suit over her head and pull the front of her suit down below her breasts.
“Ever see a real woman’s breasts in front of you before?” she asked as she lathered a bit more and returned to stroking my cock. “Of course you have. That’s what that girl Francine was here for, wasn’t it? Haven’t seen her lately. Well, she might have tight perky tits now, but this is what happens to them with age. They don’t sit as high. They aren’t as firm. The nipples start to point downward. This is what you have to look forward to in the future, Jacob. Saggy tits and worn-out nipples.”
“I’m still hard,” I said as I stroked the bare flesh on her chest. She might call her nipples worn-out, but they sure responded when I rubbed them and caught them between my fingers. Molly moaned.
“You’ve a nice touch, Jacob. It would be easy to imagine you a grown and mature man. I wish I was of an age that was appropriate for you. I’d claim you and tie you up.” She’d moved closer and pressed her boobs against my chest. That brought my cock up against her crotch as she continued to stroke it there.
“Your age is perfect for me. I don’t want to have to wait around for teen girls to mature into real women. This is what I want.”
“Really? Then let me see how much come you squeeze out between my fingers.”
She must have felt the tension in my balls because I was exactly one stroke from spraying all over the front of her swimsuit. Some even got up on her bare skin.
“Mmm. If you had that much strength in your legs and arms, I wouldn’t need to shower with you.” She got the sprayer down again and rinsed us both off. I continued to touch and stroke her breasts. I wanted to crush her to me and kiss her. Instead, she stepped back away from me. I watched as she directed the water at herself and rinsed the semen off her chest and suit. Then she thumbed the sprayer to a different setting and it started pulsing. She kept looking at my eyes as she moved the sprayer down between her legs. I tried to hold her eyes but they tracked down to follow the spray of their own accord.
“I could help,” I whispered.
“No. Not… this time. Just watch.” She shifted her other hand down from her breast to her crotch. I was trying to figure out how she was going to use both her hand and the sprayer. But her hand moved to the leg hole of the suit and pulled the crotch aside. A matted tangle of red pubic hair was released into the spray and Molly leaned back, letting her eyes drift closed as she sprayed against her exposed pussy. It was erotic and sensual and raw as she rose in her excitement. I stroked my cock as I watched and when Molly stiffened with her hand vibrating the shower head slightly and a low moan coming from her throat, I shot my second load, right across her abdomen.
She looked at the second mess and sprayed it away, pulling the crotch of her suit back in place and rinsing me off one more time. Then she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.
“Okay, I have your towel. Let’s get you out and dried off. I’d guess you’re hungry about now and we need to get some lunch on the table.”
When I stepped out of the shower, Molly had pulled the top of her suit back up in place. In my mind’s eye, though, I could still see those soft pillows with their large areolae and fat nipples. Next time, I wanted to suck them. While I fucked that dark red bush.
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