Prick Van Winkle by Lubrican

Prick Van Winkle

Chapters : 1-2 | 3-4 | 5-6 | 7-8 | 9-10 | 11-12 | 13-14 | 15-16 | 17-18
19-20 | 21-22 | 23-24 | 25-26 | 27-28 | 29-30 | 31-32 | 33-Epilogue

Chapter 13

Since Betty was gone taking Bob up into the mountains, Becca told her cousins to meet her in Betty's kitchen. She was sitting there waiting for them when Val arrived.

"What's up?" she asked.

"We have to wait for Fran," said Becca mysteriously.

Fran arrived ten minutes later.

"You're not going to believe what I'm going to tell you!" Becca started excitedly.

Bob called Gus back from Sally's cabin. The man was pathetically thankful. Bob arranged to meet with him the next day, after he was supposed to be back at the hospital for a follow-up exam. Then he called Zack and told him that he had an appointment with a lawyer and would make his decision about pressing charges or not after that. Then he put the phone away and talked to Sally as she made sandwiches at the kitchen counter. They talked until Sally lifted her head at the sound of tires on gravel. She went to the window and looked out.

"There's a silver car at your cabin." she announced.

"That's Betty, my youngest daughter." he said. "She went to town to get food and things like that. I should go help her."

"I'll come too," said Sally. "I can't wait to meet more of your family."

Betty was suspicious at first and then horrified as Bob introduced the sister of the man who had put his hands all over her naked thighs and almost naked breasts. She turned beet red when Sally asked if she remembered Denny.

Bob chuckled and said "I think she'll remember Denny for a long time."

"Oh!" yipped Sally. "He searched you! Oh, Betty, I'm so sorry. You must be embarrassed. But don't worry about it. I'll tell you a secret. He used to practice on me when he first got out of the academy. He's got really good hands."

"You can say that again." muttered Betty.

"Well, he was very enthusiastic about it when he practiced on me. I didn't find out until two years later that he wasn't even supposed to search a female. He was using it as an excuse to cop a feel! I was so mad at him. You know, he told me about what happened at the hospital. He thinks a lot of all of you women."

"Really?" asked Betty. This woman was so engaging it was hard to stay upset around her.

"Really! One of you, I don't know which, wasn't wearing any undergarments, and Denny said she took it like a trooper. He said he hadn't seen such a brave woman in years."

Betty flushed deeper red and turned around.

"Oh! It was you!" said Sally. "Oh boy, I've gone and stuck my foot in my mouth again. I'm sorry."

Betty waved her hand but didn't turn around. She was embarrassed primarily because she was remembering the feel of Denny's hands on her thighs. When he'd done with the search she'd been horrified to feel a drip of liquid run down her inner thigh. She'd gotten turned on by the whole thing. She began digging things out of sacks as she tried to calm down.

"He also said she was one of the best looking mature women he'd seen in years too," said Sally hopefully, trying to lessen Betty's embarrassment.

"Oh, that helps a lot." groaned Betty. But she did feel better for some reason.

Then Sally began asking Betty all kinds of questions about what it was like to have a sleeping father, and what kind of problems it caused. She didn't pry, but seemed genuinely interested in what life had been like for Betty and the others who were associated with Bob. Soon Betty was chatting away as the two women worked together to put things on shelves and neaten up the cabin. Bob tried to help, but was ignored for the most part, and sat down to start one of the books Betty had picked up on her trip.

"You're lying!" accused Val when Becca finally stopped talking.

Becca had told them everything, including that she knew they had "done things with Grandpa" and that he had full sexual intercourse with their grandmothers. Then she announced that she was no longer a virgin, because Grandpa had taught her how to be a woman. She had thought that the other girls would squeal and giggle and maybe tell jokes and even be happy for her.

She hadn't thought it through very well.

All the cousins had grown up doing everything together. They played together, went to school together, got in trouble together, even found and explored Rip's diary together. True, Val had gone off to college without the other two, but she came back home the next summer and everything was like it had been.

But now, it seemed like Becca had gone off and done something all by herself. She had broken the tradition. And Val was upset about that. She got so mad that, after calling her cousin a liar, which she knew wasn't factual - Becca had never lied to her in her life - she then yelled at her for doing what she had just accused her of lying about. Becca looked at her stunned until, as she wound down, the words "what about us?" came out of her mouth. She was referring, of course, to herself and Fran, who sat wide eyed through the whole thing.

Becca blinked. "You're mad because I didn't take you along to get deflowered with me?" Becca was slow to anger, but when it got there it was impressive. "You started ... doing things ... with Grandpa before we did. Did you tell us about that? No, you did not! And you went off to college and probably got your cherry popped there, but did you tell us about it? No! Who in their right mind would invite their cousins along to watch ... or take turns or whatever when they're being made into a woman?"

"I'm still a virgin, you slut!" screamed Val, her face almost purple. Her purple face suddenly looked stricken as she realized exactly what she had shouted. Becca looked like she'd been kicked in the stomach by a mule. "Ohhh Becca honey I'm sorry ... I didn't mean it ... you know I didn't mean it. I'm just so jealous. Oh Becca please forgive me. You know I love you."

Becca, who had lived in Val's shadow all her life, and who, to tell the truth, looked up to her cousin as the pinnacle of femininity, was both crushed by Val's outburst and hurtful epithet, and strangely relieved to see that Val wasn't perfect. And, as girls do, they crashed together bawling, telling each other they were sorry and pledging never to do it again.

Fran sat quietly and watched. All she had done was touch Bob's penis a few times and play with it hard twice. She couldn't figure out what all the hoopla was all about.

"What kind of things did you do with Grandpa?" she asked when it got quiet.

Both girls looked at her. They wiped their eyes.

"You know," said Becca.

"No, I do not know," said Fran. "I peeked under the sheet and played with his penis a few times. It got hard twice and it squirted once. Is that what you did?" Playing with herself didn't count, as far as Fran was concerned. She did that with herself, not Bob.

Val said "Yes." at the same time Becca said "No." They looked at each other.

"So you both had sex with our great grandfather?" asked Fran.

"No!" said Val heatedly. "I did the same things you did ... I think. You said it spurted once. Did you taste it?"

"Eeewwww" said Fran. She'd heard of that, but thought it was gross and maybe even that girls were lying when they said they did that.

Well, neither cousin would stand for that attitude, and their confab resulted in sharing all the details that they had never shared before. It was during that conversation that Val admitted she had been tempted to try sitting on that long hard thing, but hadn't. She hadn't met any boys at college she was tempted to do that with either, and had been content to wait. But now that Becca had sat on that long hard prick, Val was suddenly horny in a way she had never been horny before.

"Do you think he'd do it with me?" she asked Becca.

"I don't know. He tried and tried to keep from doing it with me. And then, when he did it the first time it hurt so much I wished I'd listened to him." Becca frowned. "But then it stopped hurting and it was so cool I almost couldn't stand it. I want to do it again right now."

"What about me?" asked Fran.

"Aren't you a little young?" said Val.

"I don't know a single girl my age who says she's still a virgin," said Fran firmly. "Of course some of them may be lying, because I say the same thing ... I mean that I've done it and everything. It's so confusing to decide what to do."

"I know what you mean," said Becca. "Except that I'm not confused any more. I'll do it with Grandpa any time he lets me."

"How 'bout with other men?" asked Fran.

Becca frowned. "I don't know. If I really liked one I might. It's too special to just do with anybody. It's hard to explain."

Val looked at her watch. "I have to go. I have a date with Zack tonight. I want to look beautiful."

"You always look beautiful," said Becca.

"I know" said Val, taking her cousin's statement for granted. "But I want to look especially beautiful tonight. He's so interesting and he makes me feel all tingly."

"Like playing with Grandpa made me feel tingly?" asked Fran.

"I don't know. Maybe. Yes, I think maybe so. I know I used to get so horny playing with him that I had to go rub off."

"Me too!" said Fran, happy that her experience was like that of her older cousin.

"Me too," said Becca. "But not any more. The real thing is way better than doing it yourself."

With that the meeting broke up and the girls went their separate ways.

Betty and Sally, it turned out, were both quilters, and when that discussion got going, it was obvious that it would keep going for hours. Not only did they discuss techniques, but they talked about and compared various quilting shops that were scattered all over central and northern California. After a light supper, further talk was interrupted by the sound of more tires on gravel. It was Sally's husband. She was taking vacation to work on her book, but he was still working. He came up to the cabin at nights to be with her. She excused herself to go meet him, saying it was late enough that she'd resist the urge to bring him over to meet them.

"Maybe this weekend we can get together." she said.

Betty waved goodbye and started unbuttoning her dress.

"It's bedtime." she said through lowered lashes.

Bob laughed. "It looked to me like sex was the last thing on your mind for the last three hours."

"I was saving up." she said, baring her breasts to him. "Are you coming to bed old man or not? You geezers need extra sleep, you know."

"So all I'm going to do is sleep?" he teased.

"Eventually," said his daughter.

The next day Betty drove Bob to meet Gus Gunderson. Bob didn't call ahead, figuring, correctly, that Gus would be in the office rather than out making cases, or whatever lawyers did. Betty dropped him off, saying she wanted to check out a sale at a quilting shop Sally had told her about the evening before.

When Bob walked into the offices (to put it euphemistically) of Gus Gunderson, Attorney at law, he was a little disappointed. It was basically one room in a row of tired looking businesses making up what had been, at one time, a strip mall. Commerce had left this little backwater behind, chasing the newer and flashier malls that had sprung up. Other than Gus, there was a donut shop, a liquor store, two empty storefronts with 'For Lease' signs in their windows, and the Guiding Light Rescue Mission. Even that looked deserted from the outside. Maybe no one needed rescuing at the moment.

There were two desks in Gus' office. A woman in maybe her thirties was sitting at one desk staring with great concentration at a tiny television set on one corner of her desk. As Bob opened the door and walked in she said to the TV set "Don't do it Vanessa! He's a snake!" The sound of the door opening dragged her eyes to Bob. They widened and she looked shocked.

"Um hello." she said uncertainly. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Bob Winkle."

If her eyes had been wide before, they were saucers now.

"Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, it's really you!" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well," said Bob smiling, "When I woke up this morning it was. I never know if I'm going to wake up when I go to bed. You know how it is."

"Gus said you were our client, but I didn't believe him. Good things just don't happen to us." she said helplessly. "Oh! Please come in. Gus isn't here. He went down to get ... lunch."

Bob glanced at his watch. It was nine-thirty.

"Coffee!" the woman blurted. "Do you want coffee?" she asked hopefully.

"That would be nice," said Bob. One thing he liked about the year 2000 was that coffee making had come a long long way. He almost always got pretty good coffee these days.

She bounded up out of her chair, Vanessa and the villain on TV forgotten. Their tinny voices were audible to Bob as Vanessa found out that "he", whoever he was, was in fact a snake. He had gotten some woman pregnant and Vanessa was crying because she'd begged him for a child but he wouldn't give her one.

The door opened behind Bob and had turned to see a thin balding man about the same age as the un-introduced woman. She looked over her shoulder.

"Gus!" she said excitedly. "This is Mister Winkle!"

Gus, who was in the act of chewing about half a donut, waved his right hand, which held the other half of the donut, and then waved his left hand, which had a greasy stained bag in it that said "Dippy Doo Donuts" on it. He chewed frantically and Bob was afraid he was going to inhale the half-chewed donut in his attempts to say something.

"Bahn I'n gwad tu thee youff" said the man, spewing fragments of glaze and mashed dough about a foot. He pointed to a chair and then looked at the half donut he was pointing with. He looked around for some place to set it down and, apparently not finding a suitable place, crammed the rest of it into his mouth while he waved and made incomprehensible noises. He scurried to his desk and set the bag down, brushing flakes of glaze off his Hawaiian shirt and tan slacks. Pointing at the chair beside his desk with his now empty hand, he sat and gave a convulsive and obviously painful swallow.

Luckily, the woman appeared with two cups of coffee, setting one in front of Bob, and the other in front of Gus. Gus gratefully picked his up and took a goodly mouthful, almost spitting it back into the cup due to the steaming heat.

After another painful swallow that caused him to have to put his hand on the desk like a fifteen year old kid taking his first shot of rotgut whiskey, Gus Gunderson, Attorney at law, fell back in his desk chair and stared at Bob.

"I didn't know you were coming this early." he rasped, his vocal chords still burning from the coffee. He cleared his throat painfully.

"I thought I'd just drop in and see if you had time to see me," said Bob.

"Thank you," said Gus, standing up and thrusting his hand at Bob. Bob took it, feeling the sticky residue of sugar transfer to his hand. Gus sat back down. "I mean it. Thanks for giving me this chance. I know this place doesn't look like much and all, but I know the law. It's pretty hard getting started if you don't go with one of the big houses."

"How long have you been practicing?" asked Bob, more out of curiosity than to gauge Gus' expertise.

"Six months." came the voice of the woman. She was sitting in her chair again, which had been swiveled to face Gus' desk. She was sitting on the edge of her seat, a slight look of worry on her face. "He had a good job, with regular pay and all, and like an idiot I let him talk me into letting him go to law school. Now we're in debt up to our eyeballs. You're the first person to walk in that door in three weeks." she said heavily.

"Margie, hush up now," said Gus mildly. "Mister Winkle has problems of his own. He doesn't want to hear about ours."

Oddly enough, they chatted about things in general instead of immediately diving into the "facts of the case". Gus had been a delivery driver for a uniform company, making stops in various places to deliver clean uniforms and pick up soiled ones. In the process he heard lots people complain about a variety of legal problems they had, and complain that they either couldn't find a lawyer, or couldn't afford one. When Gus had suggested the phone book for the first problem, several people said they tried calling lawyers cold, but were told that that office didn't practice that kind of law, or that an initial consultation would require four or five hundred dollars. Most people gave up, frustrated.

So Gus had decided to become what he called a "people's lawyer". He went to school while Margie supported them both, working two jobs. When he got his diploma and passed the bar, he set up shop after announcing everywhere on his delivery route that he was going to be in business. He was sure that all those people would call him.

But they didn't.

Basically he and Margie weren't starving, but if business didn't pick up soon, they wouldn't be able to afford the rent on the office, cheap as it was. Margie had quit her other jobs to work for her husband, since that would hold down overhead. She was thinking of going back out into the work force soon if things didn't improve.

"Well," said Bob. "From what I understand, it shouldn't be too hard to get some kind of settlement from the company. I just have no idea how to go about that. My great granddaughter had your card from the day of the incident, so I figured I'd see what it took to get things done through a lawyer."

"I can do this," said Gus earnestly. "You leave everything to me. There could be a lot of money in this."

"We'll see," said Bob. "This company has been pretty good to me for the last fifty years," said Bob.

"If you'd call trying to get the policy declared non-binding when they initially had to pay off "pretty good", then I suppose you're right," said Gus. He opened a file. "And then, in 1959 they tried it again, this time dragging one Valerie E. Winkle, guardian of the defendant, into court." Gus grinned. "It seems that your fingerprints confirmed that Valerie E. Winkle was not, in fact, lying, as the company claimed, and that you were, in fact, who she claimed you were. Yeah, I'd say they've been saints about the whole thing," said Gus. "According to the records I got from the California Insurance Commission - on your behalf, of course - it turns out that what the company has been paying to you for fifty years was short by what amounts to thirty percent because they never adjusted the payout for inflation. That company already owes you three hundred and thirty thousand dollars by my count. Did they mention that to you when you were there?"

"Really?" asked Bob.

"Yeah," said Gus. "And the most interesting thing of all is that when I called their legal department and asked for detailed records of the payments to you - on your behalf as your lawyer, of course - I got the runaround. Now I may not have been in business for years and years, but I know they have to report that to the Insurance Commission, which is a State agency - the records are public - which means they have no reason whatsoever to withhold them from us."

"So what does that mean?" asked Bob.

"They're lying about something," said Gus firmly. "They've reported to the commission that they paid you X amount. I'll need to see your banking records to track the deposits. They didn't adjust for inflation. So where did that three hundred and thirty thousand dollars go? They had to account for it somehow. I mean the tables are adjusted for inflation automatically. Computers do that nowadays. So that money went somewhere. What I want to find out is where. Somebody in that company got over a quarter million dollars that belongs to you. This company has not been as nice to you as you think."

"But they paid all that time," said Bob.

"They're in the risk business. Admittedly you were an odd case, but when they couldn't just dump their risk, I think somebody set things up so that they could profit personally off of your tragic circumstances. I think that's why they quit trying to get the claim thrown out. There's somebody at that company who doesn't want all this brought out in the open. Maybe they even set that security guard on you on purpose!" Gus shrugged.

"All right," said Bob. "Do whatever you think needs to be done. Tell me what you need from me and I'll get it for you. Here's the number of the phone I'm using. I'm staying in a cabin up in the mountains where nobody can find me."

"I'd like to get you in front of their legal department as soon as possible," said Gus. "Your face looks positively horrible." he said, unaware of how strange that sounded to a complete stranger. "I want them to see what the pictures will look like if they let this go to court. Have you filed charges with the police yet?"

"No, I told them I was going to wait until I talked to you."

"I'll take care of that. It happens all the time. I know the cops hate it, but we'll have more leverage if there are criminal charges pending. There's no way in the world they'll want this to go into criminal court. Even if they deny any culpability in their employee's actions, he was on duty, on the payroll and doing his job at the time of the assault. They'll know they're toast."

They went over everything Bob could remember. Gus had already gathered news reports and talked to people named in the papers as witnesses. He had Bob sign a release for medical records, and some other documents confirming they had a business relationship. When Bob asked how much he had to pay up front, Gus waved his hand and said "You raise your offer to me to twenty percent of what we recover and all I want right now is one dollar." Margie groaned, but didn't say anything. She happened to know that was something Gus had been wanting to do for six months. He read about it in a John Grisham book, and had wanted to get a one dollar retainer from somebody ever since.

Betty arrived a little later. Margie promptly took her deposition. Then they all went out for supper ... Bob's treat.

Gus said he needed to do a little more research and then he'd arrange a meeting with Amalgamated to start negotiations.

Before he left, Bob whispered in Betty's ear. She dug in her purse and brought out a wrinkled one dollar bill. Bob took it and handed it to Gus, who beamed.

Chapter 14

Forty-five minutes after they left Gus and Margie, Betty dropped Bob off at the entrance to the hospital and said she'd be in after she parked. He walked up to the doors, looking for a handle, when the door suddenly moved by itself, sliding aside for him. He looked at it curiously and it started to close while he was still in the doorway. He jumped inside and stared as the door opened again. Shaking his head he went to the information desk, where he explained that the doctor who had treated him had asked him to come back for a follow-up examination. She took his name and her fingers flickered across her computer keyboard.

"We don't do that here," said the woman smugly.

"I don't understand," said Bob.

"You had routine emergency room treatment. Follow-ups are supposed to be done by your own doctor." she said firmly.

"But he told me to come back," said Bob helplessly.

"I don't know about that," said the woman, making it obvious she doubted the doctor had actually said that, "but Doctor Adams is a very busy man. You need to go see your regular doctor."

"I don't have a regular doctor," said Bob. "Doctor Adams is the first doctor I've had in fifty years."

The woman looked at him strangely.

"Am I being punked?" she asked, beginning to get excited. "That's it, isn't it?" She looked around wildly. "Where are the cameras? I'm being punked aren't I?!" She began patting her hairdo.

"Ma'am," said Bob, confused, "I certainly didn't call you a punk. I'm just here to see the doctor, because he told me to come back."

When the woman realized she wasn't going to be on television, her mood changed back to that of a dour bureaucrat.

"I already told you that's impossible. Do I need to call security?"

Bob's hands were out palms toward her instantly. "No!" he almost shouted. "You do not need security. I'll leave!"

He turned about and fled as the woman picked up her phone anyway. As he ran toward the door he heard her say "Security?" Remembering that the door would open for him, he didn't slow.

Except that the door didn't exactly open for him. He was looking over his shoulder and, in fact, it started to open, but he was moving much too fast. Just as he faced front again, he slammed into the door, hitting the edge of it with his face and sternum. Bob bounced off and sat down hard, his chest muscles paralyzed by the blow to his xiphoid process. The door, designed to be pushed open in emergencies or power failures, attempted to swing out, but it was a foot along on its sliding track and jammed instead. An alarm went off. Bob, unable to breathe, looked around frantically. Two people outside were standing and staring at him as if he were some madman. He saw Betty's shocked face behind them as she ran toward him. He got in a little piece of breath, that just taunted him, letting him know there was a world full of oxygen out there, but he could only access the barest sniff of it. He wavered drunkenly as he tried to get to his knees and a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He looked up to see a security guard and immediately crumpled into a fetal position, his hands covering his face.

Bob was in a dreamland for a few seconds. His hands had covered his face automatically, thanks to the last incident he'd had with a security guard. While he couldn't see anything, he could hear Betty's frantic screams, which set off a couple of other women who screamed in sympathy with her, apparently. The security guard was shouting too, attempting to restore order, and the door alarm beeped insistently. The babble of voices and sounds overwhelmed Bob and his hands moved from his eyes to his ears as his lungs were finally able to drag in a complete breath. He concentrated on breathing for five more breaths until he was convinced he could breathe again without thinking about it.

"He's bleeding, you bastard!" Betty's voice broke through to his conscious mind and he opened his eyes. Through one of them the world looked fuzzy and red. He looked at his hands and saw they were bloody. He tried to wipe his bloody eye and hands stopped him.

"Relax sir." came a deep male voice. "Help is on the way."

"I don't need help." he croaked. "I just need to get out of here."

"You're not going anywhere, sir," said the voice. "You people back off. Give this man room to breathe. Ma'am, calm down, he'll be taken care of in a few minutes."

"Let me through, dammit!" screeched Betty. "That's my father!"

By now a crowd had gathered, mostly gawkers, trying to see what the fuss was about. Comments began to fly ... things like "Did she say father?" ... and "Sounds like she's the one who needs treatment." Then one enterprising person said "Hey, he looks like that guy they've had on TV ... you know, the one who slept for fifty years ... that Rip Van Winkle guy?" That, plus Betty's rash statement about Bob being her father broke the dam and soon there was almost a riot as people babbled and pushed to get a better look at Bob. The security guard tried to push them back and then grabbed for the radio at his waist, talking into it urgently.

It took only four and a half more minutes and five more security guards to get Bob out of the foyer of the hospital and into a room they could secure. It seemed to Bob like it was an hour. Everyone else, including Betty, was denied entry. Tearfully she tried to explain, but she was mobbed by the ... well ... mob. Bob found himself facing three security guards, while the other two stood outside the door trying to restore order.

"My daughter's out there," said Bob, holding a hand to his bleeding forehead. "Would somebody get her please?"

It took him two more minutes to convince the three men that he was telling the truth. Since they didn't know what else to do anyway, they left one man with Bob and the other two went outside. A few more minutes passed in tense silence until Betty was brought through the door. Her dress was torn halfway open, three buttons missing, and her ample breasts were almost on full display. Her hair was a mess and she was still crying. When she saw Bob she almost attacked him and two security guards started to pull her off of him when he batted at their hands and said it was all right.

Bureaucracy being what it is, it took another half hour before things got straightened out. Doctor Adams appeared and began barking orders as if he were a king, rather than one of a hundred doctors at the hospital. His word appeared to be law, though, and soon Bob was in a treatment room.

"I'm so sorry about this," said Adams, as he cleaned Bob's split forehead.

Bob explained what had happened and Adams growled.

"All she had to do was call me and I'd have explained." he said.

"I just didn't want any trouble," said Bob.

"I'd hate to see what happened if you did want trouble." snorted Adams. "I'm going to put a couple of staples in this." he said, inspecting the wound.

"Staples?" responded Bob incredulously. "Doc, I'm really sorry I caused so much trouble, but come on ... staples?"

Doctor Adams looked confused and then stepped back and chuckled.

"Mr. Winkle, these are medical staples. They've replaced sutures in certain situations. It makes the wound heal with less scarring and they're a snap to take out once healing is well along. I'm not torturing you.

Bob sighed and relaxed. "Staples!" he muttered. "Maybe I should have just stayed asleep."

Doctor Adams looked thoughtful for a few seconds. "Look, I know this is the wrong time to talk about this, but the reason I wanted to see you again wasn't actually about the pepper spray. I mean I'm interested in that too, but the real reason is that you need to be studied."

Bob held up his hands. "No." he said firmly. "I do not need to be studied. I know what happened to me is strange and all that, but I'll not become some guinea pig for the medical establishment."

Adams crossed his arms. Then he unfolded them and ticked off his fingers as he talked. "First, you slept longer than any human known to science. Second, it wasn't a coma - your initial examinations showed that. I looked them up. Third, you suffered no ill effects to your musculature, which every bedridden patient in all of history has suffered. Fourth, you did not age, mister Winkle. You didn't age one minute. All your tests, your appearance, your biology - all those things suggest you are exactly what you appear to be, a twenty-five year old male. But you're not, mister Winkle. You're a seventy-five year old male in a twenty-five year old body. And last, you survived those entire fifty years without a feeding tube. You had no food or water for fifty years!, and yet you survived in perfect health. Mister Winkle, this is bigger than penicillin. This is bigger than the polio vaccine. Mr. Winkle, you very well could be the eighth wonder of the fricking world!"

He stopped for a dramatic pause, and then went on.

"You don't have to let anybody do anything, but I wouldn't be surprised if the fricking government decides you're a matter of national fricking security and locks you up if you don't! Please! I'm not trying to threaten you. All I want you to do is enter into a formal agreement with me to let me do some research. We'll listen to your demands, and try to do this with as little upset to your life as possible. But you have to understand that somebody is going to look into this. Wouldn't you rather it be someone you already know? Please?"

Bob stared at the man.

"Could the Government really lock me up?" he asked.

"This is America," sighed the doctor. "The Government seems to do pretty much whatever it feels is necessary, whether people get hurt or not."

"That's not the Government I remember," said Bob. "Well, except for World War two ... and Korea. But that was different. We needed to do those things."

"I haven't the faintest idea whether studying you will result in new cures to old problems or not," said Adams. "But I know that somebody will think that you have the answer to aging, or some other problem we've been trying to deal with, and they'll do whatever it takes to get access to you. I mean look at the mob we just got you out of, and all THEY were, were curiosity seekers. Look what they did to your daughter, for pity's sake."

"And if I sign some kind of agreement with you then the rest will leave me alone?" asked Bob.

Doctor Adams' face went tight. "I won't lie to you. I can't promise that. But if you enter into an agreement with me, then at least we can fight in court to keep others away from you. And that I can promise. This is a teaching hospital, and you, sir, are a coup - I won't lie to you about that either. Our lawyers will defy hell itself to keep you for themselves.

"What would I have to do?" asked Bob.

Adams relaxed. After he stapled Bob's forehead, they talked for another hour, as Adams described the kinds of examinations and tests that would be needed. In the end, Bob agreed. Adams had already gotten a contract drawn up by the hospital legal staff and it took another hour to go through that while Betty leaned over his shoulder, asking questions and suggesting that they wait and talk it over with the family. By then, though, Bob wanted something on paper. His memories convinced him that the American courts were his best defense against abuse, either private or Governmental.

It didn't occur to him that they weren't the same courts he remembered, either.

The first thing the hospital had to do for Bob was when he tried to leave. Word had spread that the modern day Rip Van Winkle was at the hospital. Descriptions of the incident had, as these things will, been blown completely out of context. Part of the crowd waiting outside for Bob were the same four news teams that had waited for him at the incident at Amalgamated. They were already reporting that hospital personnel had attacked Bob, preventing him from leaving the hospital so they could do mad scientist experiments on him, perhaps even dissecting his living body to see what made him tick. About the time Bob walked out of the examination room with Doctor Adams, the police were arriving to quell the riot at the front of the hospital. Hospital security and a staff lawyer were waiting for them, having been told not to interrupt the "examination" on pain of dismissal. The hospital administrator came huffing up to the group as plans were being made to try to get Bob out of the hospital through a side entrance.

"Helicopter!" panted the top doc of the whole place. He was as out of shape as all the patients he continuously told to get in shape. The first thing he did, between gasps was to ask Bob if he had an attorney named Gunderson. When Bob nodded he looked relieved and said that Gus had been in contact with the hospital demanding they protect Bob. Then he explained, pausing for breath every once in a while, that there was a life flight coming in with an accident patient. When it left, Bob was to be on it. There was a hurried consultation as Bob demanded that Betty go with him. Then there was a short delay as telephone numbers were exchanged. Doctor Adams didn't want to know where Bob was staying.

"Somebody on the staff might leak it." he said. "I'll call you when we have something set up. Maybe we can use the chopper for that too."

Then Bob and Betty were on the roof of the hospital as the helicopter landed and the victim was whisked to the elevator on a gurney. The pilot, an old Viet Nam vet, grinned as things were explained to him and yelled "Hop in, strap in, let's go for a ride."

It was the first time either of them had been in a helicopter, and Bob himself had never been off the ground. He was fascinated by the whole experience. The nurse thrust a helmet at him and when he put it on, showed him how to press a button to speak. The pilot informed him that a news chopper was shadowing their flight.

"I think they suspect something," said the pilot. "So we're going to go back to the barn like normal. From there we'll figure out how to get you home. It's an honor to meet you."

"The honor's all mine!" shouted Bob. He lowered his voice when the pilot winced. By the time they got to the hanger Bob had a new friend. He was told to wait in the aircraft as everybody else got out and it was pushed into the hanger. The news chopper was still circling above them. Once the helicopter was inside, though, the other one peeled off and flew back toward the hospital.

Half an hour later Bob had six new friends. Betty gave her car keys to one of them, who went and got the car, driving it off right under the noses of the news crews that were still at the hospital waiting to get a statement from the hospital staff. Traffic was snarled for miles, the police completely overwhelmed by the situation. It wasn't under control until after Bob and Betty got back to the cabin.

Bob refused to let the public control his life. When he got back to the cabin he called Gus, who was completely incoherent for the first couple of minutes. He didn't know what to believe about the stories he'd heard on the news and his repeated attempts to convince the hospital legal staff that he really was Bob's attorney had only yielded their promise to "do the best we can under the circumstances." Not wanting to give him any fodder for a future lawsuit, they had decided only to call him back saying that Bob was off the hospital premises and safe, for now.

Once Gus settled down, Bob told him he wasn't about to let the public, the Government or anybody else make all the decisions about what his life would be like in the future. He needed money to insulate himself, and he asked Gus to move forward with Amalgamated as soon as possible.

Gus rang off and then, two hours later, called back. He'd had to go to Amalgamated himself, in person, to serve them with the papers before they'd believe he was who he claimed to be - Bob's attorney. He described how he'd informed them that, until the debacle at their headquarters, Bob's life had been more or less normal, and that now he was being hounded like an Oscar-winning starlet who was pregnant with an unknown father's baby. He threatened dire consequences unless they agreed to a meeting with Bob. Their lawyers had been less than helpful, but finally agreed to a "non-binding exploration of options" the next day. Now Gus, instead of being nervous, was eager to proceed.

"I've been waiting all my life to do something like this." he said excitedly. "I won't let you down."

Val almost didn't keep her date with Zack that night. That was because the women, like several million other people not only saw the news, but now had more news crews camped out in their yards as they tried, once again, to get an exclusive interview with some member of Bob's family about "the tragedy at the hospital", whatever that meant. Betty had been out of contact with them for the duration of the helicopter flight and wasn't able to call until they got back to the cabin. By then, the home phones were off the hook again (apparently employees of the phone company are destitute, as all of the unlisted numbers had been sold) and Betty had to call Fran's cell phone to get in contact with anybody. After that the word was spread by Fran, who simply got on her mother's mountain bike and pedaled over to each house. When news crews asked her who she was, she said she was collecting for the newspaper. She almost got caught when one reporter then asked her "What newspaper does Bob Winkle read?" She'd read things from the newspaper to Bob for years while he slept, but for the life of her couldn't remember the name of the paper. The reporter, from out of town though, bought it when she said "The Circleton newspaper, of course." She walked into the house as the excited reporter yelled "Did you get that?" to the crew.

As such, when Zack drove up to Sunny's house, he groaned as he saw the Channel Five van sitting on the street. They'd know who he was, and start asking questions. When he had "No commented" his way inside, Val stood looking at him still dressed in shorts and a halter top.

"What do we do now?" she asked. Sunny stood uncertainly in the doorway to the kitchen."

"I could arrest you for suspicion of harboring a known subject of interest in an ongoing investigation." he joked. "But then you'd be world famous in about half an hour." He grinned. "If you're not already world famous."

"This is not funny." moaned Val.

"I know." he said, serious now. "You want a rain check?"

Val had been looking forward to this date for a number of reasons. In the first place she was attracted to Zack. In the second, she was an emotional whirlwind inside. The knowledge that Bob had slept with her grandmother and great aunts, and that her cousins had also been sexual with him in one way or another had resulted in a long session of introspection. She had decided that the reason she never could seem to find a boyfriend was because none of the men she'd met were as interesting as her great grandfather. Now, she realized, she had met a man almost as interesting. Her partially-explored sexuality was bursting at the seams, and she couldn't wait to find out what it was like to be out with an interesting man she was actually attracted to.

"No." she said. "I do not want a rain check."

"Be right back," said Zack and he walked out the front door.

Sunny and Val peeked out the windows and saw him go over to the news crew. He did most of the talking and eventually the cameraman got into the van and slid the door closed. Zack came back to the door and let himself in.

"I'm taking you into protective custody." he said, his voice serious. "There have been threats against you."

"There have?" gasped Sunny.

Zack rolled his eyes. "That's what I told them." he said patiently.

"Oh," said Sunny. She smiled tentatively. "But there haven't been threats, right?"

"Only aimed at her virtue," said Zack. "I'm one of the worst of those." he grinned.

Sunny didn't smile. Instead she walked up to Zack and said "She's my baby girl. You hurt her and I'll tear your throat out."

"Mother!" squealed Val. "I'm a grown woman. You're embarrassing me!"

"Ma'am," said Zack gravely. "I promise you I won't lay a finger on her unless she asks me to."

"This is a first date, young man," said Sunny, talking to a man only two years younger than herself. "You don't need to lay a finger on her no matter what she says."

"I understand perfectly," said Zack, his face straight.

"Let's go, please?" moaned Val.

"You'll need a bag," said Zack, smiling. "They think you're not coming back tonight." He nodded toward the front yard.

"When will you bring me back?" asked Val.

"If that van is gone, any time you want," said Zack.

Val exploded into action, running from the room. Sunny advanced on Zack again.

"Are you sure she needs to be gone a whole night?" she asked suspiciously.

"It was all I could think of off the top of my head," said Zack. "I'll be good, I promise."

"Men are never good," said Sunny grumpily. Then her eyes took on a pleading look. "She is my baby." she said. "And she doesn't have much experience with men. Please be good to her."

Looking her straight in the eye - and meaning it - Zack said "I promise. Your daughter will come back here happy with me, one way or the other." "Thank you," said Sunny, her eyes wet.

Zack actually had good intentions as they left and got in his car. He had gotten them tickets to the symphony, not really knowing what a young woman liked to do these days. Most of the women he dealt with that were Val's age were hookers, or dope addicts, or on one end or another of a knife or gun. Quite a few were beaten with fists. While he knew that Val wouldn't be like those women, he didn't really know what she would want to do. The symphony seemed safe.

Of course that was before she left the house in shorts and a halter top, with a small suitcase in her hand containing who knew what. He had second thoughts. He might not be a high brow kind of guy, but he knew you didn't go to the symphony dressed like that. Even if she didn't care, he knew how the other patrons would act toward her, and the last thing he wanted was for her to be embarrassed, or to draw undue attention.

Thankfully, the deal he'd made with the news crew to leave her alone as she left and not follow them, made their exit quick and easy. He'd have to come up with some juicy bit of info to give them later, but that was never hard.

Val turned in the bucket seat to face him. She leaned toward him and her cleavage screamed for his eyes to look there, but he kept them on her face.

"So," she said excitedly. "I've never been in protective custody before. Where are you taking me?"

"This is a date, remember?" he smiled. "I have tickets to the symphony."

"I love the symphony!" she squealed. Then she looked at the cleavage he had been so careful not to look at. "But I can't go like this." she moaned. "Why didn't you tell me before?" she said archly. "I'd have packed a nice outfit."

"I guess I had other things on my mind." he said. As he said it he looked her way and despite his attempt at self control, looked directly at the soft, dark split between her breasts. His eyes took in bumps at the tips where the cloth of the halter top was too thin to mask her nipples.

Val felt a thrill as she saw where he was looking. He really was handsome in a craggy, weather beaten sort of way. He was a real man, and being with him was exciting. That he noticed her as a woman was just icing on the cake. Still, she had to play hard to get. It was a rule.

"I guess you did!" she said bringing her hands up to cover her breasts. "And I thought you were a gentleman." She smiled a tiny smile.

"Oh, Valerie, I'm sorry." he felt heat on his face. "I'm not used to being around a beautiful ... I mean I didn't mean to look at ... Oh crap ... I'm just sorry."

Val giggled and took her hands down.

"Don't be silly. I knew you'd look. All men look. It's nice to know I'm attractive." she said. She turned and faced the front, leaning back.

"Oh, you're attractive, all right." Zack said half under his breath. "Why did you want to go out with an old goat like me anyway?"

Val ticked the reasons off on her fingertips. "I've never been out with a detective; I've never been out with a real man; I think you're handsome; I think you're interesting; and I think I'll have fun."

"Well, I hope I don't let you down," said Zack.

"You won't. I can tell," said Val. "Now stop someplace so I can get a dress and some shoes. Target will do, or any place like that."

Zack pulled into the first mall they saw on the outskirts of Sacramento and let himself be dragged in by the hand. Her hand felt so small and cool and firm in his. He felt out of place immediately as she selected a store and pulled him in. Then she expertly reviewed the racks of clothing.

"Black would be good for the symphony." she said and pulled something from the rack. "Ooo and it's on sale too! Wait here." she said.

She took the dress into the dressing room and Zack waited. When the door opened and she stepped out she was barefoot. The dress had a modest scooped neckline. But that was the only modest thing about it. It clung to her like a second skin. He could count her ribs through it, so tightly did it hug her upper body. She was obviously braless, those nipples poking through the tight black cloth clearly. The waistline was tight too, but then the skirt flowed outward over her hips and ducked back in to form a tight black sheath in which her legs were wrapped. It looked like one of those dresses that would cause a woman to have to take smaller than usual steps. She whirled and he saw a slit along one hip that revealed her leg clear up to where he should have seen panties. Zack swallowed convulsively. With her raven black hair, the dress made her skin almost glow.

"Well?" she said, putting her hands on her hips.

"It's fu..." he started to use the language he was used to around the station house. "I'm astonished." he corrected himself.

Her smile made him realize that his prick was already half hard and was frantically sending signals for the heart to pump faster.

She ducked back into the booth and came out with her clothes folded up. She shoved them at him. "Hold these." she ordered. "I need shoes." The saleswoman looked at Zack and then Val. Val smiled. "We're going to the symphony. I'll just wear it out."

The woman shrugged and clipped off the tag, fastening it to a ticket. She handed that to Zack and told him to give it to the cashier up front. Zack followed Val, shifting things from one hand to another. A wisp of blue cloth peeked out between the folded halter top and the shorts underneath. He lifted the halter top and saw panties. Slapping the halter top down to cover them he swallowed and realized there were beads of sweat on his brow. He turned a corner just in time to see Val bent over, facing away from him, stepping into low heeled black shoes. She used her finger to lever her heels into them, making her butt seem to wag at him. It was so tight across her slim buttocks that Zack could see the small depression just above where her cheeks started.

She stood up and whirled, putting one foot forward and brushing her long straight hair out of her eyes.

"They'll do." she said simply. Her hand was still holding her hair back. "Now, for the hair." she said. She went towards another part of the store and when Zack caught up with her she was deep in conversation with a sales girl. The girl reached for something and showed an open box to Val. Val nodded and said something, turning around. The sales girl gathered her hair behind her and took a silver half round piece of metal out of the box. She laid that over the hank of Val's hair and brought a long, slim silver shaft out of the box. She slid that into one side of the clip, under the hair and then through the other side. Standing back she looked at it.

"Wait a minute," said the girl. "I think we can do better than that. Your hair is so straight and thick."

She pulled the clip off and with deft hand movements plaited Val's hair into a loose French braid, replacing the clip.

Handing Val a mirror and holding another one for her to look in, the girl said "How's that?"

Val looked critically into the mirror, turning this way and moving the mirror that way. "It's beautiful." she smiled.

"One more thing," said the sales girl. She hurried off around a corner and came back with a tube of lipstick. "Chantilly Lace" she announced, handing the tube to Val. "Trust me." she said.

Val opened the tube and applied some lipstick, moving her lips in ways that astounded Zack. She looked in the mirror again and smiled. She turned to look at Zack. Somehow the lipstick made her lips look pink, but not pink, and red, but not red, and they sparkled somehow. Zack wanted nothing more than to kiss those full soft lips at that instant.

"Well?" asked Val.

"We have to leave," said Zack, moving the clothing in his hands down to cover his bulging cock.

The sales girl laughed. "Good to go sister." she said. She waved her hand at the lipstick. "It's a trial sample." and handed Val the box that her hair clip had come in. "Have fun." she smiled.

Zack was reaching for his wallet when they got to the checkout, but Val put her hand on his arm.

"I have a credit card." she said, reaching for her shorts.

"I'll pay!" said Zack in a half strangled voice. If she took those clothes her panties would show and the tent in the front of his pants would show too. He clutched her covering clothing to his groin with one hand and fumbled out his billfold.

"You're so sweet," said Val.

By the time they got to the car he was in better control of himself. He even remembered to let her into her side of the car. When he got seated he fumbled with the keys.

"Thank you," said Val.

"Oh no," said Zack staring at the fuel gauge. "Thank you. You're just flat gorgeous Val." he said. He handed her her clothes and the halter top fell off in her lap to reveal her blue panties.

"Oops" she said lightly. Then she glanced sideways at him and smiled. "This dress is a little snug. I didn't want a panty line to show."

"A little snug," said Zack, starting the car. "I'm in big trouble here."

Val laughed. "You are the sweetest man!" she giggled.

They didn't have time to eat before the symphony, so they took the scenic route, arriving twenty minutes early. Zack felt rumpled and wrinkled as he escorted Val into the hall. She drew stares from all the men and not a few women as she walked quietly beside him. Once they were in the semi dark Zack relaxed a little. Then she put her hand on his arm and talked to him. Just that little touch fired him up again. He made a firm promise to himself that he'd keep her in only public places.

He didn't know how he was going to manage that, but that was his plan.

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