Prick Van Winkle

by Lubrican

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 3

Over the next six years, the girls matured and their relationship with their great grandfather deepened in a way that, to an outsider would have been fascinating and strange. It would have been strange to their mothers too, who had basically ignored the sleeping man in the bed, since their mothers did all the taking care of him... in more ways than one.

Martha, June and Betty, knew that the day would come when they could no longer care for their father, and they knew that their daughters had no real connection to the man. They also knew that, had Sunny, Gidget and Polly known the facts, they might have felt a lot more connection to their grandfather... who was actually their father... and the father of all their brothers too. But that was a family secret, and though telling Sunny, Gidget and Polly the actual identity of their father was discussed on more than a few occasions, it was always agreed that no good could come of that. Their daughters had enough problems with men as it was, and didn't need anything else to upset their worlds.

But, some day, someone would have to take over the care of Bob Winkle.

And so the grandmothers chose their granddaughters as the persons to eventually pass that particular torch to. They planned on waiting until the girls had finished college. Then, perhaps, they would be mature enough to take over. There were hot debates between Martha and her sisters about just how much would be told to the three young women. Those debates had never resulted in a clear decision as to exactly what... care... would be described... and prescribed. They all knew that if the man didn't wake up soon, it would be taken out of their hands. Once he went over a hundred, someone such as the insurance people would take notice of his history, and they would no longer be able to keep a lid on things.

Val, Becca and Fran had no grandfathers, in the normal sense of the word. Only Fran had a father she knew and talked to, but his dad was dead. Sunny had no contact with her ex-husband's family. It would have been confusing to an outsider, or even an insider who hadn't grown up knowing the situation. Bob, on the surface, was their great grandfather, when in reality he was their grandfather. Or maybe he was both. It was easy to get confused. But it was also easy to encourage everyone in the family to just call him Grandpa. Everyone knew exactly who you were referring to if you just said "Grandpa".

So they taught the girls to read to him, and encouraged them to talk to him as if he could hear them, like any grandpa would listen. It was a mission of mercy and love, which was easy for the girls to understand when they were under ten years of age, if a bit harder to believe as they grew older and began to doubt.

But the finding of Rip's journal changed all of that. Now the girls knew that he would wake up some day... just like Rip had. And, since Rip had slept only twenty years, it stood to reason that Bob would wake up soon. He was, at the time of the finding of the journal, already twenty-four years overdue to come out of his slumber.

Rip had talked at some length about his theory of why things had happened to him the way they had. His level of scientific knowledge was severely limited, and a lot of his rambling had to do with overtones of divine punishment, or the winds of fate, or maybe even witchcraft... all unscientific explanations for what had happened to him. But he also predicted that, whatever it was that had happened to him, it might happen to another member in the family. It was for this reason, he said, that he wrote the journal.

The girls, as they decoded and read about his life, had the benefit of a good American education, though, and as time went on they postulated a genetic flaw, or capability, depending on how you looked at it, that was recessive, and so didn't repeat itself very often, and which caused the sleeping "sickness" they witnessed. They had no idea how close to the truth they were in that hypothesis.

It was the deepening of this bond between three young girls and a man who had never said a word to them that caused them to begin to confide in him their most secret feelings. He suddenly had a magical quality about him, and being with him made them feel like some of that magic might just rub off. In a strangely familiar way - one could argue about their genetics - they reacted to him in much the same way as their great grandmother had when she gave him that sponge bath that had such a profound impact on her and her daughter's lives.

Not that they were taught to give him sponge baths. Their grandmothers still reserved that right for themselves.

But they were growing adolescent girls...

And they were curious about men.

As such, when they were alone with him, they had an opportunity that few girls have to assuage that curiosity. They explored. All of them lifted the sheet and stared for long minutes at his manly equipment. And all of them eventually touched that wrinkled worm that they had been told - at least so far as the ones on boys - would get long and hard and was supposed to go in a girl's vagina.

Val and Becca touched it longer than little Fran did, and discovered, almost as their great grandmother did, that there was life in that odd looking lump of flesh.

As she began to date Val... practiced... on the sleeping man the things she felt the urge, or was requested to do with the boys she went out with. This, she kept secret, even from her cousins, but as she tried each new thing, she talked to her sleeping relative, telling him what she wanted to do... asking him if it would be okay for her to try it on him... telling him she hoped it was as much fun for him as it was for her, and wondering why his penis seemed to be so much longer and larger than any of the ones she saw on boys her own age.

Her specialty, as it turned out, was masturbation. She soon learned that it was messy, but a girl at school told her the solution was to catch it in a towel or washcloth. You could then fold it up and the mess was controlled. It also kept you from having to fight the boy off in case he wanted to do other things with his penis. Val perfected it on great grandpa who produced a lot more sperm than the boys on her dates. That, for the most part, was all she ever did, either in the bedroom with the sleeping man, or on those dates.

Becca did virtually the same thing, also keeping it secret, except that the girl she talked to said to take it in your mouth. Then you could either swallow or spit to control the mess, and the boys just loved it. The first time she tried it, she handled Bob's cock until it was long and hard and then tentatively put her lips over the sheath-covered head. She pulled off quickly, making a face and trying to taste something that, it turned out, just wasn't there. It felt strange in her mouth, but there was no bad taste, like she had expected. She skinned the foreskin down and tried it again. This time everything that touched her mouth was smooth and hard, and she liked it much better. So she kept licking and sucking the thing, finding that it was very exciting to do so. She was only sixteen at the time, and the sudden rush of salty/sweet fluid in her mouth not only surprised her, but it completely unnerved her as well.

While she knew that something came out of that amazing thing, she hadn't ever been able to tell when it was going to happen. Usually it happened after she stroked it a lot, maybe fifteen minutes. When she put her mouth on it, it exploded in less than five. Then her mouth was full of something she suddenly didn't want to taste. But, by the time she got to the bathroom, her stomach heaving and her hand keeping her mouth closed, the emergency seemed to have passed.

She did spit, but she didn't upchuck, and the lingering taste of his spunk didn't seem so bad as it first had. By the time she got back to clean him up, she decided it hadn't been bad at all. The next time she got some time alone with him, she repeated her experiment and this time she savored his offering, swirling it in her mouth and swallowing it down.

She had done so countless times since, making that a special little ceremony she did with him. She learned the hard way that the spunk of different men has different tastes, some of it not so good, and while she eagerly drank her great grandfather's spend, most of the other, when she was aware it was about to come out, she let fly into the air, watching in glee as the boy groaned and cried out and promised her anything at all if she'd just leave her mouth on him.

For Fran, the discovery that Great Grandpa Winkle had what she secretly called... his winkle... was a thing of more innocence. Curiosity led her to look, and touch, and look a lot of times in the future. She had no idea how that was supposed to go inside a girl. It just lay there like an old, soft banana. But she knew where it was supposed to go. And she played with that part of herself while she stared at his winkle, squeezing an amazing number of orgasms out of her young clitty as she told her ancestor what she was doing. In her mind, the thing she stared at, and which gave her so much pleasure, would someday go inside of her and she would magically understand all the things she wasn't sure about now.

Well, perhaps not this winkle, but one like it, most certainly.

She found that highly erotic and immensely satisfying, and couldn't wait for her sixteenth birthday, when she would be able to go on dates and explore men, like the stories she heard from her cousins. Until then, she'd just have to make do with Great Grandpa Winkle while he slept. She had only recently tried what she had heard all boys liked a girl to do, stroking her hand up and down the sleeping man's penis until, just like she had heard, it stiffened and lengthened and then erupted in streams of thick silvery stuff that made a horrible mess. She'd had to run and get a washcloth to clean him up, terrified that someone would come in and find out what she'd done. Though she didn't yet know it, she had done something that came as naturally to her, if a bit later in life, as it had come to her two older cousins.

Which was why, on that lovely morning in the spring of 2000, when Fran walked into her Great Aunt Martha's house to collect her Grandmother Betty, so they could go shopping for her sixteenth birthday present, she was, shall we say, overcome by the sight of the man she knew to be Great Grandfather Winkle, walking upright, stark naked, down the hallway directly toward her.

She knew it was him, because she had gazed at his face for hours on end. She knew it was him because of the thing dangling between his legs. It was as recognizable to her as her own hand, because she had gazed at it for hours on end as well.

But she had never seen him either awake or walking, and because he was both of those things at the present, her brain, being suddenly under great pressure, instructed her vocal chords to relieve the pressure instantly.

She screamed.

Then, perhaps because of another genetic similarity between her and her grandmother, she fainted.

Bob was having a rough day, and that day, at least the part he was awake for, had only been five or six minutes long. First he had awakened from his nap, in his Barca Lounger, to find himself in bed instead, with a woman who reminded him of what his lovely wife Valerie might look like at some point in the future. Not only that, but this lovely woman had just ridden him to ejaculation. Then, before he could ask her who the hell she was, and what the hell she was doing, she promptly fainted on him.

Now, when faced with a much younger woman who was the spitting image of his lovely wife Valerie when they had first met, she had screamed and fainted as well. He hadn't even had time to draw breath to ask her who the hell she was, and what the hell she was doing in his house.

He stood, looking down at the girl on the floor. She was a cute little thing. He noticed that she was wearing an oddly designed top that, while it covered her breasts, had no shoulders, and didn't cover anything else. It had a strap that went from one side of the front up and around her neck to the other side. As he moved her from her crumpled and uncomfortable looking position, he saw that there were buttons on the front, like a shirt might have. It was as if someone had taken a shirt, cut most of it off, added the neck strap, and called it... something.

The girl moaned softly and Bob looked at her face. The resemblance between her and Valerie was astonishing. But this girl was only in her mid teens, and his wife was twenty-one.

He felt sudden pain in his bladder, the insistent kind that suggests that if you don't find a urinal or handy bush, you'd better plan on changing your pants. Since he wasn't wearing any pants, he stood up and turned for the bathroom.

It was right where it was supposed to be, and it was exactly as he remembered it... except it was totally different.

The walls had wallpaper on them, whereas when he'd gone to sleep there was only white paint. The stool was exactly the same, but the bathtub, with its clawed feet was gone completely. In its place was a gleaming white thing that formed not only a tub, but ran up the walls as high as he was tall. There was a nozzle sticking out of the wall, about the height of his head, obviously a shower head, but it was like no shower head he'd ever seen. It was a monstrosity of plastic and metal, with images on it of different kinds of water drops.

He felt his penis leaking as his bladder screamed and found that he had to go so badly that he was erect. He sat down on the toilet and, when he finally got a stream going, held his cock down so he wouldn't pee between the seat and the porcelain of the toilet.

He looked around.

Gone was the white metal cabinet that had been on the wall where he had stared into the mirror while shaving. It had been mysteriously replaced with something made of beautiful wood, with a line of large round light bulbs projecting from the wall above it. It had two doors on it, rather than the one on the old cabinet, and each door had a mirror. There were cubby holes on either side of it that had all manner of things sticking out from them. He noticed something that looked like a gun lying on the counter, which was also new, along with the sink installed in it. The gun was made of plastic, and had a muzzle as big as a golf ball. It also had a cord coming out of the handle. He blinked, trying to figure out what such a gun would shoot, and how it could be powered by electricity. There were tubes, and bottles of all sorts sitting on the counter top. He reached to pick one up and read the label: "Vaseline Ultimate Care".

Vaseline he was acquainted with, but it came in a glass jar, not a plastic bottle. It took him two full minutes to figure out how to get anything out of the bottle. There was a cunningly hidden cap that flipped up, revealing a small hole in the top. How was someone supposed to scoop out any Vaseline through such a small hole? He tipped the bottle and a greenish fluid squirted out of the hole as his fingers accidentally squeezed to hold the bottle up. The stuff went everywhere and he dropped the bottle in his attempt to stop it.

His head hurt. Everything was so similar, but so completely strange. He got up and opened the door of the new cabinet. He saw what he recognized as pill bottles, brown, but not the right color of brown, and made of plastic, instead of glass. He sifted through them, reading words he'd never heard of before, with directions on how to take the medicine inside.

Aspirin! Bayer Aspirin! He knew that name. He took the bottle down and stared at it. Plastic. Everything seemed to be made of plastic! He turned the cap, but nothing happened. He turned it again, and again, unconsciously growling. He could see it turning, but it wasn't coming off. Where was he? This was his house... but it wasn't his house! Everything looked different.

He felt fear for the first time.

Betty came to, her mind swimming and off balance, but it cleared quickly. She raised her head to find herself lying on the bed. Her father was nowhere to be seen.

She experienced panic, and then blinked. Why was she so upset that her father had awakened? Wasn't that what all of them had dreamed about all these years? She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, having to scoot to reach it. She left a trail of Bob's semen as she did so and remembered why she was so embarrassed. While she was quite used to having sex with her father, she doubted that it would make a positive impression on him.

She jumped up off the bed, ambivalent about what to do. She spied her clothing lying on the floor where she'd abandoned it in her haste to get her father's long, thick prick in her pussy. Bending she quickly dressed and then went looking for the man she didn't know if she could face or not. Half of her was overjoyed that he was awake. The other half was terrified of what he'd say when he saw her again.

Francine's eyes popped open and intelligence flooded her mind at once. She sat up and was dizzy for a moment as her heart tried to compensate for her sudden consciousness and the blood it seemed to demand. Her great grandfather was gone. She looked behind her and saw the door still open, the beautiful day drifting inside on the air. She had a sudden vision of the man stumbling down the street, stark naked, while neighbors called 911 to report the "crazy naked man" on the sidewalk, or in the street.

She giggled, but then sobered quickly.

"Grandma?" she called.

Bob raised his head at the sound of a girl's voice calling "Grandma?" That didn't make any sense. Where was he? It had to be the girl who'd come crashing through the front door... his front door... though, now that he thought about it, it had looked different somehow.

Glass.

The door had glass in it... about three quarters of it was glass, with some kind of pattern on it. And to one side there was another long and narrow section that had glass in it too, with the same pattern. It was not the door to his house. He took a long breath, trying to get his heart to slow. It was thudding in his chest. His head still ached horribly.

He stood up and looked around. Seeing a bath towel hanging on a towel holder he didn't recognize, he pulled at it and wrapped it around his loins. He turned to the bathroom door, but couldn't make himself leave this little room.

Suddenly, so suddenly that it seemed like magic of some sort, the woman who had been riding him naked appeared in the doorway. She wasn't naked any longer, but was wearing shorts and a blouse.

"Daddy?" the woman said, question in her voice.

"Daddy!?" he croaked. He cleared his voice. Ignoring the woman he turned to the sink and tried to turn the water on. There was only one protrusion from the top, a large plastic (every damn thing around him was plastic!) knob. He turned it, but nothing happened. He swayed, and the knob took part of his weight and moved away from him, toward the wall. Water gushed from the tap and he jerked his hand away from the knob. Feeling thirst he knew would never be slaked, he leaned over and slurped at the running water with his lips, drinking as deeply as he could, for as long as he could hold his breath.

Remembering the woman he stopped and stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Daddy!" the woman said, this time with conviction in her voice.

"What's happening to me?" he asked, his voice clearer.

"It's all right." said the woman, her voice taking on a soothing tone you often hear when a young child is hurt, and his mother is reassuring him. "You've been sleeping." she said. Now her voice sounded uncertain, as if she might be telling him something not entirely true.

"I took a nap." he said, remembering.

"You took a long nap Daddy." said the woman.

"Who are you?" asked Bob.

Betty didn't know what to do. While all of them had talked about him waking up, no one had thought to have a plan of action for when he did. She knew he was confused and probably scared, and that somehow disturbed her. She had dreamed of what her father would be like, but that dream had only included smiles and hugs, and trips to places she wanted to go with him and... him making love to her with his eyes open. Betty had pursued a career as a Psychologist, and her training and routine empathy with her patients broke through her panic. She realized that right now, her father was simply a scared naked man who she suddenly realized had no idea who he was talking to. She had a sudden fear that he might go insane if she just blurted out who she really was.

"Come out of here." she said, her voice soothing again. "Come sit down. I have a lot to tell you. It's going to sound strange, but everything will be all right. I promise you everything will be all right. Now... please... come sit down."

"You called me Daddy." said Bob, frowning. His head still hurt. "My head hurts." he said.

The girl he'd seen appeared in the doorway beside the woman.

"It is him!" she squealed. "Grandma it's really him!"

"Hush Frannie!" barked Betty. "He just woke up. He's confused. Don't scare him!"

Bob felt as weak as a kitten. Part of his mind rebelled at the thought that he was afraid of these people. Wasn't he a man? Wasn't he in his own house? Well, it looked a lot like his house... but then again it didn't look like his house at all. Bob had never heard of alternate realities, though while he was sleeping numerous science fiction authors had written stories about them. Still, the concept came full blown into his mind as he stared at the two women. He could have written a book about parallel universes himself at that moment.

"Please." begged the woman. She held her hand out to him.

Bob looked at the hand... the same hand that had been on his chest when he woke. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew suddenly that he had nothing to fear from this woman. She had, after all, been having sex with him only a short time ago. That made his head hurt again and, in self defense, he looked at her as a woman instead of the stranger she was. He also looked at the Bayer aspirin bottle. He picked it up again, and again turned the cap endlessly.

The woman took it from his hand and with half a turn the top came off smoothly. He goggled. She shook two out into her hand and offered them to him. He took them and tried to swallow them, but his throat was dry. The water was still running in the sink and he bent over to get a mouthful of water to swallow the pills. When he was done she touched the knob and it moved forward. The water stopped. Bob looked at her.

She was probably in her mid to late forties, still shapely and beautiful in a mature way. She looked like she hiked a lot or did something to stay in shape. Her hair was brown and lustrous. She seemed to have on makeup, but not much. She was barefoot, and wore no visible jewelry. All in all, he had no trouble thinking that men might find her desirable. That led him to his last look at her, sitting atop him, her breasts swaying, thick-nippled, above his face. He pushed that out of his mind and looked at the young woman.

A teenager, no doubt, with that youthful bouncy look that was so attractive to all men. Her hair was in a pony tail, and was long and dark, but somehow had golden highlights or streaks in it too, as if her head grew two completely different colors of hair. She still looked like Valerie, but now he could see differences. His wife, when they'd met, wasn't flat chested, but she wasn't big either. This girl's breasts strained the strange garment she was wearing, and he could see a lot of the dark crease between her breasts, exposed as it was by her top. It would be scandalously revealing if she were outside the house.

He thought back to seeing her come through the front door. She had been outside. Her bare midriff exposed her belly button and flat stomach. Her jeans were well filled with wide hips. She had the body of a woman in her mid twenties, but her face and demeanor were those of a much younger woman. His groin ached as he looked at her, remembering the first time he'd coaxed Valerie into taking her shirt off. They were already engaged, and he had begged and pleaded for months during their long heated petting sessions to let him see her. She had refused over and over again, letting his hands wander, but not letting him see her charms.

Then one moonlit night, she had broken from a long hot kiss during which his hand had moved all over her breasts, her bra having been pushed up long ago.

"You're going to pop a button." she scolded him.

"You could take it off." he'd said hopefully, like he had a hundred times before.

"You're really going to marry me... aren't you?" Her voice had held a pleading note.

"Of course I am." he said firmly, taking his hand out of her blouse. "I love you. If I have to never touch you again before we're married to prove it to you I will!" He had pulled away from her.

"Wait!" she yelped. She stared at him in the dark, her eyes wide and white. "I know." she said. She reached for him. "I know you love me." she'd said.

And then, before his shocked eyes she'd taken off not only her blouse, but her Capris as well, and then her underwear until she was like something mythical that had pale skin that almost glowed in the dark.

Valerie didn't do things by halves. The first time he got to see her naked, she stripped him silently and then, without a word, pulled him down on top of her to surrender her virginity to him.

It had been glorious. It had been stupendous. There weren't enough superlatives in the dictionary to describe how perfect it had been.

And now, his wife's reincarnation, or whatever she was, stood before him, showing him more skin than he'd seen on his own wife in all the years before that night.

"Yes." he said suddenly. "I need to sit down."

Betty backed up and looked down the hall. The bedroom was closest, but she couldn't take him back there. She shepherded him to the living room, to the couch and patted the cushion. He sat, staring up at her as Fran came to stand beside her. For once the girl wasn't blathering.

Then Betty had to decide where to sit. She chose an easy chair that sat perpendicular to him. She sat, leaving Fran standing, staring at her great grandfather.

"Sit down Fran." said Betty.

Fran had other ideas. The most momentous thing in her whole life had happened, and she was bursting to tell someone about it.

"I have to go." she blurted.

"No... you don't." said Betty firmly. She intuitively knew what her granddaughter intended to do, and she needed time to prepare... Daddy... for the storm that was about to break. "Sit down, young lady." she ordered. "There will be time to blab about this later."

Bob stared as the girl named Fran scrunched up her face in exactly the same way Valerie had used to pout. His jaw dropped at the eerie similarity. She went to the other end of the couch and plopped down. The couch shuddered and Bob unconsciously raised her estimated weight up ten pounds.

Betty fumbled mentally to decide what to say first.

"What do you remember about being asleep?" she asked, instead of telling him anything.

Bob, despite having been given no information that would explain what was going on, somehow felt relieved to be able to concentrate on something besides his strange surroundings. It made him quite willing to think about that.

"I had strange dreams." he said slowly, remembering hazy voices. "I heard voices." He looked up at the woman. "I couldn't see anything. It was like I was in a cloud."

"What do you remember about the voices?" asked Betty, her psychologist training automatically keeping him talking. She suddenly felt more relaxed. She could do this. She was sure now.

Bob thought. He closed his eyes. That helped.

"They were almost all women's voices." he started. "It's mostly bits and snatches that I can remember." He paused and was silent for a long time as memories began to flit around in his mind. "I remember someone, a male voice I think, saying I was sick. But most of what I remember are the women's voices." He opened his eyes and looked at the woman. "Stories. Women told me stories." he said.

Betty nodded and smiled. "Good. That's good." she said.

Bob was suddenly uncomfortable. This woman was examining him. She seemed almost distant, and that didn't make any sense, based on what she'd been doing with him earlier.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'll tell you who I am, but let's wait just a little bit longer." said Betty, smiling again. "I want to give this to you in bite sized pieces. I know you must feel very strange right now." She floundered, unwilling to start the process of telling him all that had happened. She was still wary of what effect that might have on him. "I promise you, though, all your questions will be answered and everything will be all right."

Bob frowned. He wanted to trust this woman for some reason. He realized that his heart rate had slowed. He wasn't feeling so panicky any more.

"All right." he said.

"Can you remember what the stories were about?" the woman asked him.

Bob leaned back and relaxed, closing his eyes again.

"It's all sorts of things." he said. "There was a lot. It's all jumbled up in my mind." He thought for a while. "Some of it was stories, like from a book I think. And some of it was people telling me things. I remember them saying I'd wake up." His eyes snapped open and he stared at the woman. "And that everything would be all right." he said, tightly.

He sat forward, tense again.

"Your voice." he said, staring at Betty. "Your voice was one of the voices I heard." He looked confused.

Betty leaned forward to indicate she was paying close attention.

"Yes, I spoke to you often while you slept."

"But why?" asked Bob. "Where's my wife? Where's Valerie?"

He started to get up and Betty leaned forward to put her hand on his chest. The feel of her hand was almost shocking and it took him back to what she was doing when he woke up.

"In the bedroom." he said, his chest pushing against her hand. "You were..."

"Please." she interrupted him, glancing meaningfully at the girl he had completely forgotten about. She lowered her voice. "Not now. She doesn't know."

Bob rocked back and bounced off the back of the couch. She didn't know? What about Valerie? What would Valerie say when she found out he'd had sex with this woman?!

"Please." begged the woman. "I'll explain... but later... please?"

"You mean you can explain... that?" Bob asked, dumfounded.

Betty blushed bright red, but nodded.

Bob turned his head toward the girl.

"Say something." he said.

"What?" asked Fran, suddenly uncomfortable that the man she'd never seen awake was paying attention to her.

Bob looked around. There was a magazine lying on an end table next to him. He picked it up. "Vogue" was the title. He'd never heard of that. The woman on the cover was both gorgeous and scantily clad to the point that he wondered what kind of pictures would be inside. He leafed through it, seeing women in scanty panties and bras, like in the Sears catalog. He saw a story with a picture of food and thrust the magazine toward the girl.

"Read that." he said.

Fran took the magazine gingerly, in two fingers, like she was afraid it would bite her. She looked at the article, and then back at her great grandfather. Slowly, she began to read. With the resilience of youth she was soon reading faster. She stopped half way through.

"This sounds pretty good!" she said brightly.

Bob was staring at her.

"Your voice too. I remember your voice in my dreams." he said.

"That's because I read you things all the time." she chirped.

Betty looked pained.

Bob paled. "That's not what I remember your voice doing." he said, thinking of the last time he'd heard that young voice. It was a recent dream, and he could remember it better. That voice had been talking about how, when she began to date, she hoped it would be a boy named Randy. She had said she was going to do something with the boy. His pale visage turned deep maroon as he remembered the rest of it. In his dream he had felt a cool hand on his prick, and then it had rubbed him most deliciously until he had been satisfied. He remembered another time she talked about a boy.

"Who's Thomas?" he blurted.

Now it was Fran who flamed bright red, right after her mouth opened and shut and she darted a look at her grandmother. Her hands went to cover her face. Thomas was a boy she hoped would ask her to dance at a school dance. She fantasized about touching him... down there... and she'd practiced on Bob while he was asleep, telling her sleeping great grandfather why she was doing it. She'd never actually touched Thomas that way, but had "practiced" several times after that anyway.

"You remember that?" she squeaked.

Bob frowned. It had been a most wonderful dream. Remembering that dream, he began to remember more like it... but with different voices. He ignored the embarrassed girl next to him as he concentrated. He realized that he had heard the voice of the woman sitting next to him a lot of times... a lot of times... and that during many of those times she had been doing the same thing to him that she had been doing when he woke up.

Then his mind was flooded with sounds of other female voices, and the feelings that went along with those voices as they told him intimate things, and did intimate things with him. There were a lot of voices... more than five that he could suddenly remember clearly.

Valerie's voice was one of them. He remembered her voice in his dreams. He had a sudden memory of a small, piping voice saying "What are you doing, Mommy?" and his wife's voice saying "I'm taking care of Daddy, sweetheart."

He reeled, actually swaying back and forth on the couch and moaned as the sounds filled his head.

Betty didn't know what was happening to him, but it was obviously traumatic. She tried to think what her sister had around the house that might calm him. She was both shocked and astonished when the man suddenly pulled at the towel wrapped around his waist, baring his groin, at which he stared in horrified fascination.

Bob's mind teetered right there, for just a few seconds, on the edge of insanity, as the images his brain had supplied while he heard all those voices surged through his brain. He knew he was on the brink of a bottomless pit and tried to find something to help him lean back from it. The images didn't go with the voices he now heard, which might be the small thing that preserved his sanity. He grasped that mentally and his brain denied that either of these women were actually the voices that went with his dreams. To admit that would be insanity.

He looked up to see the two women staring at his lap, and whipped the towel back over his privates.

"This is insane." he mumbled.

"You're not insane." blurted Betty, a little too loudly. She was still recovering from his actions.

He looked up. He felt tears in his eyes. The question his dreams forced upon him came bubbling out of his mouth.

"How long?"

The woman blanched. Her eyes darted to the girl and back to him.

"Fifty years." she said softly, her voice making it clear she didn't want to say it.

Perhaps the physical reaction to the stress of his awakening wasn't just a female trait after all. As Bob's mind tried to grasp the concept that her answer forced on him, his overstressed mind rebelled and shut down. His eyes went out of focus and drifted closed, as he slowly leaned and toppled, his head bouncing off the couch cushion right beside Fran's hip.

Again he appeared to sleep.

Chapter 4

"Shit!" yelled Betty. Her father appeared to have fainted... or gone back to sleep.

"Grandma!" squealed Fran, wriggling to try to get away from her great grandfather's head, and pressing up against the end of the couch. Things just weren't meeting her expectations at all, here. She had believed that, when Great Grandfather Bob woke up, he'd remember everything, and know who he was, and what had happened. Her fantasy hadn't included, however, him remembering what she'd done to him as he lay sleeping. Somehow that part of it he wouldn't remember. And he didn't know who she was either! It was all too creepy for her suddenly and her mind couldn't cope. So she seized on her grandmother's epithet, which was something she knew what to think about.

"Grandma!" she squealed again, horrified at the first vulgar word she had ever heard her grandmother speak.

"Oh hush!" ordered Betty sternly. "Take care of him. I've got to get some help!"

She practically leapt out of the chair and tried to remember where she'd left her purse. Her cell phone was in it. It was a brand new model, that allowed her to actually store phone numbers in it. She'd only had it a few months, but already phone numbers she'd known by memory for years had fled her mind. She had to call Martha and June immediately. She suddenly realized that she didn't know where Martha was... and that it wouldn't matter anyway, since Martha didn't have a cell phone. She dashed to the bedroom and saw her purse on the chair that sat beside her father's bed. She clutched at it and dug frantically for the phone. Finding it, she punched the numbers that would get her June's home phone.

Fran stood up. She stared at her great grandfather. Oddly the fact that he looked like he was sleeping again initially made her feel better. She naturally fell into her habit of talking to him as he slept, reaching to move him to what looked like a more comfortable position.

"It's okay, Great Grandpa." she murmured. "You just woke up, that's all. We were all surprised."

Quite suddenly she didn't want him to be asleep again, like he had been in the past. She hadn't gotten to say much to him, but he seemed like a nice man all the same.

"Don't go back to sleep." she implored him, running her hands over his chest in little fluttery movements. "We want you to stay awake."

She froze as the blue eyes opened and stared up at her again, like her hopes had suddenly come true. She dropped to her knees beside him and leaned closer to his face. She could hear her grandmother screaming dimly in another part of the house. It unnerved her and she clamped down on her own emotions.

"Don't be afraid." she said softly, staring into his eyes. Then, like her grandmother had said, "It's going to be okay."

"He's awake!" screamed Betty into the phone as soon as it stopped ringing, and before anyone could announce the ubiquitous "Hello?"

"What?" came the tinny voice of her sister.

"He's awake!" screamed Betty again, her emotions crashing. She began to sob.

"Betty?" came June's voice. "Betty what's wrong? Who's awake?"

There was a split second of a split second of silence as June's mind caught up.

"He's awake?!" June shouted at Betty through the phone.

"Yes!" moaned Betty. "And I don't know what to do!"

"I''ll be right there!" shouted June. "Don't do anything!"

"What do you mean don't do anything?" shouted Betty at her older sister. "He just fainted!" She took a breath. "I think..." she added.

"What?" shouted June. "What happened?" then, her voice dropped from a scream. "Never mind. I'll be right there. Did you call an ambulance?"

Her sister's modulated voice brought some control back to Betty and she dropped her voice too.

"No, I didn't call an ambulance. Do you think I'm crazy?" her voice rose. She clenched her teeth and took a breath. "He just fainted when I told him how long he's been sleeping. I have to get back to him. Frannie's with him. He may wake up any second. Bring some clothes with you. And hurry!" she finished, viciously punching at the button that cut the call off.

June stared at the phone in her hand, now dead. Clothes? Bring some clothes? It clicked in her mind. Clothes for their father! She didn't have anything for a man. She'd have to stop somewhere and get something. The idea of doing that was just unbearable. He was awake! She had to see him now! She ran for the sideboard where she knew her keys were lying, and then out the door, not stopping to lock it.

The first moment June realized something was wrong was when she felt the heat on the soles of her feet. She had been sunbathing on the patio out back, where she could wear the bikini that she wouldn't have even thought about wearing in public. She had bought it on impulse, one day when she was feeling like she was getting old. She sagged a little these days, despite the fact that she still ran a mile every day and did forty sit-ups every night, not counting Jazzercise classes she went to religiously. She wore spandex to those classes, and men looked at her as she walked to and from the parking lot. That made her feel good, but looking at her aging body in the mirror once she got home had made her feel ambivalent.

She had stood in front of the mirror, in the impossibly small "swim suit" she'd brought home. It was clearly incapable of supporting her breasts if she actually went into the water in the thing. The narrow strip of bright orange cloth that covered her pubis didn't cover the fluff of dark brown hair that sprouted from the sides. Still, as she stretched and turned, she didn't look anything like her fifty plus years. She had decided she didn't look a day over forty-five. But she wouldn't wear something like this in public. Oh no. Never. Still, she kept it, carefully shaving her mons so that she didn't look ridiculous. She loved wearing it on the patio, with its high, cedar privacy fence.

Her daughter, Gidget, had reacted like any daughter would the first time she saw her mother in the bikini.

"Mother!" she had snorted. "What in the world were you thinking?"

June had bristled. Gidget could wear something like this at the pool with no problem, and it rankled her.

"I was thinking," she said to her daughter, "that I might get a little sun in the back yard! But don't worry your pretty little head... dear... I won't go out in public and embarrass you!"

The hurt had been obvious in her voice, and Gidget had been contrite.

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just old fashioned or something." she said, trying to undo the hurt. Her own life was messed up enough that she had no call to criticize others.

"Or something." June had grumped.

On the other hand her granddaughter, Rebecca, had been like a bright light in a dark room when she saw June in the bikini.

"Wow Grandma, you look hot!" she had said.

"Thank you dear." said June. "Though you'd look much better in it than me."

"Well, I'm not bringing my boyfriend over here if you're going to be wearing that!" said the girl, who had just graduated High School and was spending her last summer at home before going to college.

"Oh?" asked June sweetly. "You have a boyfriend now? Tell me all about him."

Becca laughed. "Well if I did have a boyfriend, I sure wouldn't let him see you in that suit. He'd dump me in a heartbeat!"

"You're sweet." said her grandmother, beaming. "I'm going to have to get you another graduation present."

Becca had laughed and then gone on about her business, which was to lie out in the sun with her grandmother, in a swimsuit that was remarkably similar, at least in how little it covered.

Now, as June hopped across the hot concrete sidewalk toward her car, she realized she was wearing that very suit, and she was out in public... barefoot! She came to a jarring halt and, in a half second of indecision, almost turned to go back into the house. But the idea of waiting even a few more minutes to see her father... awake! She couldn't stand that thought, and darted for the car. She'd borrow something from Martha to put on.

Betty went back to the bathroom and opened doors and drawers, looking for something like smelling salts, or even something strong smelling that wasn't intended for her purpose. There was some Vicks Vapo Rub around somewhere. Maybe that would do. What if he didn't wake up again!? What if the stress had put him back into whatever kind of sleep he had been in all these years? She had to settle for a bottle of Listerine. That would knock somebody out from three feet. Maybe it would wake him up. She heard her granddaughter's soprano voice speaking rapidly and intently, though she couldn't make out what she was saying. She hurried out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

"And you kept sleeping all the time, and Grandma and Great Aunt Martha - that's whose house this is - and Great Aunt June took care of you, and Becca and Val and I helped sometimes, and we read to you and told you stories and talked to you and stuff..." She broke off as Betty came into the room.

Bob was awake again, staring at the girl, rapt with attention, his mouth open, his head now lying on the couch arm as Fran has obviously been telling him all about his life as a terminally sleeping man.

Fran took a deep rasping breath. She had talked so much she was panting.

Bob's eyes broke away from the youthful face who had, in the space of perhaps five minutes, told him a significant portion of what had been going on for as long as she could remember. Those eyes went to Betty, who froze in mid step, the bottle of Listerine held helplessly in her hand.

"Frannie?" she gasped, wondering how much damage the girl had done with her outburst. Then her brain realized he was awake again.

"Daddy?" she gasped again, switching her attention to Bob.

Bob blinked. Contrary to Betty's fears, the machinegun delivery by this young woman next to him had so captivated his attention, as she rattled off her description of his physical condition for... apparently... fifty years, that he just listened, fascinated by the story. His mind grappled with the details, but the girl's delivery was so matter-of-fact that he couldn't doubt that she believed what she was telling him. His brain cramped a little at the concept that what she said was true, especially since that meant the woman standing across the room must be... Betty... his two year old daughter.

"Betty?" he whined.

Betty unfroze. Whatever the damage, she had to take action.

"Daddy?" she said soothingly. "I know this is hard for you to understand, but I can explain everything. You've been asleep for a long time Daddy."

Bob swallowed. This was too bizarre to contemplate. The analytical part of his mind nudged his consciousness and wanted to be heard. If true, what they were telling him would account for the changes he had seen. Things would change in the house over fifty years. Strangely, that comforted him. While the idea of sleeping for fifty years was pure insanity, it did explain some of the equally insane things he had seen, like the changes in his house.

His house.

His and Valerie's house.

"Where's Valerie?" he croaked, wishing he could drink something. His mouth was suddenly cotton dry.

Fran misunderstood. "Val? She's probably still in bed. She likes to sleep in on Saturdays and..."

"Frannie!" barked her grandmother.

Both of the other people in the room stared at her.

"He's not talking about your cousin." said Betty, again fearful that what she was going to have to tell her father would damage him terribly.

Fran still didn't understand. She wasn't used to thinking about her great grandmother, since she had never met the woman.

"Frannie," said Betty. "Go get your... go get him something to drink. Hurry up now!" she said urgently.

Fran bounced up like she had springs in her legs and loped off toward the kitchen, obeying her elder as she had been taught to. It was while she was pouring a glass of Coke that she puzzled out who he had been asking for. She almost dropped the glass as it hit her that his wife was gone.

Back in the living room Betty sat down next to her father. She put her free hand on his arm.

"Daddy, you were asleep for fifty years." She swallowed. "Mom... wasn't."

Sorrow crashed down on Bob. Her meaning was clear. His beautiful Valerie was gone... dead while he slept for some reason. His heart swelled to a throbbing lump in his throat and tears filled his eyes. Suddenly he was sobbing and grasped at the woman next to him... the woman who claimed to be his baby girl... the woman who had aged fifty years since he had last held her in his arms. She hugged him fiercely, putting little moaning kisses on the top of his head and murmuring sounds of sorrow along with him. He couldn't get the image of his young wife out of his mind. He remembered her telling him to sit in his new chair while she fixed his favorite dinner, her smiling face bright in his mind. The thought that he'd never see that face again was agony and it struck deep in his heart.

He slumped against his... daughter. She was his daughter... wasn't she? Her warm body pressed against him, her hands fluttering up and down his back and one arm as she made little sounds of consolation for his loss.

It was her loss too, and they grieved together.

Eventually the pain diminished slightly, and his mind came back to the present. Having his daughter's arms around him... despite the oddity that it was... was comforting. His mind suddenly returned to his awakening moment, with this woman in his arms sitting naked on top of him.

He jerked away from her, astonishment on his face.

"Betty?" he rasped.

Her smile was wry. "I know... it's hard to believe. I wanted to wait and give this to you in little bites, but Frannie let her mouth run as usual."

"You're my daughter?" he moaned.

She nodded, smiling wider now, glad that he seemed to be coping with the idea.

"But in there..." he waved a hand toward the upstairs, "when I woke up..."

Betty blanched and then flushed furiously as she realized he was remembering what they had been doing when he woke.

"We've... uh... well you see..." she stuttered. "Martha and June and I... we had to take care of you when Momma... went." She stopped, her throat tightening. "Momma took care of you that way." she finished in a blurt.

Bob closed his eyes, searching back in his memory for Valerie's voice, yearning for those memories to surface. Betty stayed still, unsure of whether to say anything or not. Fran walked into the room and Betty put one finger to her closed lips. Fran stopped where she was, uncertain what to do.

Bob's face took on a smile as the memories he searched for trickled into his mind at first, then surged as his wife's voice whispered in his mind. He did remember her voice. She had talked with him and he couldn't answer her for some reason. She had begged him to wake up. He remembered feeling her body against his in his dream... not a dream, he realized now, but a strange reality that he still didn't understand. But that meant that his dream had been real. She had stayed with him... all those years... loving him and talking to him. He remembered her hands on him... all over him... lovingly stroking his body. He remembered her picking up his hands and pressing them to her breasts as she rode him, like his daughter had been riding him when he woke.

That snapped him back to the present like a splash of cold water, and his eyes opened. He looked at this strange, but now familiar woman. He didn't have to close his eyes to remember her voice. This time hadn't been the first time she'd mounted him. Not by a long stretch.

And there had been others too. Martha and June. She had said they took care of him when Valerie died. Some of those other voices he remembered must be theirs. They had done the same things with him that their mother had, lovingly, and for year after year after year as he was helplessly asleep.

Part of his mind rebelled at the taboo acts they had performed. But another part realized that they had saved the spark of consciousness that had remained in his sleeping body. Their love and attention had kept him alive... sustained him like food and water would have.

Food and water.

He hadn't eaten in fifty years.

"I'm starving." he announced suddenly.

Betty looked shocked for a second.

"Yes! Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" She frowned. "We can't take you out like that." she said, glancing at the loose towel in his lap. "I called June and gave her the... um... news. I told her to bring some clothes for you."

"I don't have any clothes?" asked Bob, raising an eyebrow.

"Come on Daddy." said Betty. "You didn't wake up and didn't wake up and didn't wake up and you didn't need any clothes. Come to think of it I don't know what Mamma did with your clothes. Maybe they're in the attic."

"Nope." chimed Fran. "We've been through everything up there and I don't remember any clothes."

"You've what?" asked Betty, looking concerned. "What were you girls doing up there?"

Fran wished she'd kept her mouth shut. She was the only person in the room who had a good idea of why Great Grandfather Bob had been sleeping all this time. But even at sixteen she couldn't break her vow of silence without talking to her cousins first. It had been a serious vow, with bloodletting and everything.

"We used to play up there." she said defensively. "You know... hide and seek? Stuff like that."

"Well you never told me about that." said her grandmother.

"Why would I Grandma? We were just playing." said the girl, her ponytail bobbing.

Bob felt suddenly woozy as the terms Mamma and Daddy and Grandma were thrown around. He looked at Fran.

"So you're related to me?" he asked.

"I'm your great granddaughter!" Fran said proudly, and too fast for her grandmother to shush her. "You have a whole bunch of other great grandchildren too!"

Bob's jaw sagged and his head swiveled towards Betty.

"You got married? Had children?"

Betty flushed. How did you tell your father that all your children... and those of his other two daughters for that matter... were sired by him? It would put him back to sleep for sure.

"We'll talk about that later, Daddy." she said standing up. "Right now we have to get you something to eat!" She said that excitedly, in an effort to get his mind off his unanswered question. "Come on." she urged. "I'm sure there's something in the fridge."

Both women herded him into the kitchen as he tried to re-fasten the towel around his waist. He felt distinctly odd about that. The memories, now that his mind wasn't completely taken up with trying to figure out what was going on, were coming back stronger and more clearly. He was uncomfortably aware that, had he dropped the towel completely, both of these women would only be seeing something they had been intimately in contact with... for years. Still, the inhibitions he'd had in 1950 were still in play. For that matter he still felt a little naked because his chest and legs were bare. He put that out of his mind when they entered what he remembered as his kitchen.

It wasn't anything like what he remembered, though.

First off, the floor was different. Instead of individual checkered tiles, there was a vast sheet of something that the bones in his feet told him was soft, and gave just a little. There was some kind of stone counter top, gleaming and slick in the late morning light. He looked up and saw that light coming through a large window in the ceiling. Next his attention was drawn to a huge thing that sat where the Frigidare used to be. He watched as Betty pulled the door open and saw that it was, indeed, an ice box. It was twice the size of the appliance he remembered buying his new wife on a proud day back in 1948. Betty pulled something out of the top portion of the big box.

"I'll just heat you up a Danish. You can eat that while I fix something else."

The package in her hand was frosted and obviously frozen and Bob watched as she went to a smaller box on the counter that looked like it might be a toaster oven perhaps. While she pushed buttons that made beeping noises, he examined the refrigerator. There were two depressions in the door, each of which had a little lever of some sort in them. He experimentally pushed one with a finger and ice cubes tumbled out, scattering all over the floor. He stepped on one as he danced to get away from them and ended up sitting on the floor on top of several more.

Fran was laughing as he scowled, but helped him up. There was a long beep from the toaster oven thing and Betty opened the door to pull a steaming pastry of some kind out of it. While Fran got him to the table and sat him down, Betty placed the plate in front of him. He touched the gooey looking thing. It had gone from frozen to steaming in the time it had taken him to spill the ice and get up off the floor. He was amazed.

"I'll make some coffee." said Fran brightly. She went to the counter and got a glass carafe from its storage place in some kind of plastic holder and filled it with water. Bob watched intently as she pulled a paper packet from a box and put it in a little drawer of the storage thing and then she poured the water in another opening. Flicking a switch that caused a little red light to go on, she put the empty carafe back in its storage place and came to sit down.

Nothing happened.

"I thought you said you were going to make coffee." Bob said hopefully. It didn't feel like he hadn't had a cup of coffee in fifty years, but his mind knew it, and he was already salivating, thinking about having a cup.

"I am." said Fran. "It'll be ready in a few minutes."

It was then that Bob saw brown liquid begin to drip magically into the empty carafe. He watched in awe as the pot filled up and the smell of fresh coffee assailed his nose.

Betty was at the ice box again. This time she got in the bottom and pulled out a can of some sort. It was long and thinner than usual.

"How about biscuits and gravy?" she asked.

Bob nodded and watched as she peeled the paper off the outside of the can. He was trying to figure out why she would want to do that when she apparently got frustrated and banged the can on the edge of the stone counter top. The can burst, making a popping sound and Bob jumped. She was side-on to him, and his eyes grew round as he realized that she suddenly had biscuit dough in her hands... biscuits already formed... that she was laying out on a pan. Fifteen seconds later she put that pan in an oven that was mounted in the wall of the room.

"So," said Fran, sitting across from him. "What was it like? Being asleep all that time I mean."

Bob looked at the young woman who looked achingly like his wife... his dead wife... and tears welled up in his eyes. He blinked and rubbed them. As he tried to frame an answer she reached over the table and touched his arm.

"Don't cry." she wheedled. "Everything's going to be fine."

He wanted to smile at her innocence, and her optimism. He realized he felt better.

"Well," he started. "I couldn't see anything. It was like I was inside a big cloud or something."

She smiled, nodding, urging him to go on. She had a beautiful smile.

"I could hear things. The voices, of course." he felt a slow blush making his upper chest and neck hot. "But now I remember hearing other things too. I think there was a radio on sometimes."

Betty looked over from the counter. She was behind Fran, so he could watch her at the same time he looked at the girl. He had been watching, as Betty reached into a cupboard and took out a paper packet of something.

Betty raised her head momentarily. "Mamma used to put the ball game on in your room. She said you loved baseball." She frowned. "And there were radio programs she said you liked. One of them was about some kind of crime fighter who nobody could see or something like that. It was scary to listen to when we were little."

"The Shadow." sighed Bob. He remembered hearing the episodes in his dreams... that weren't dreams.

Betty tore the paper packet open and dumped it into a bowl (plastic yet again!) and added water at the sink, which looked for all the world like it was made of steel. That was crazy, since steel rusted whenever it got wet. She stirred it and put the bowl into the toaster oven, punching more buttons and making more beeping noises. He heard a whir and noticed that a light went on inside the box. He could see the bowl turning inside. He started to warn her that a plastic bowl would melt inside a toaster oven, but was distracted by Fran, who reached out and touched his arm again.

"What should I call you?" she asked. "Great Grandfather Bob is awful complicated to say, don't you think? I don't have a grandpa. Sometimes we just call you Grandpa. Could I still call you Grandpa?"

Bob looked at her hand touching his arm. His arm was not that of an old man. He realized with a start that, technically, he was in his seventies. His eyes widened as he remember looking into the mirror in the bathroom. He didn't look any different than when he'd sat down to take a nap.

"Why didn't I age?" he asked helplessly.

Betty looked up again. "We don't know. Doctors looked at you and said you weren't in a coma, but they couldn't say what was wrong with you. I suppose that, after a while, we kind of got used to everything. We did have to shave you. You needed a haircut maybe twice a year."

The memory of feeling hands and lather and a razor on his face leapt into Bob's mind. Those hands that smoothed over his chin after a shave had almost invariably smoothed over other places on his body too. Then there had been the heat and wet surrounding his penis and the incredible orgasms he had thought were dreams. He flushed, remembering them. He remembered them with Betty's voice... many times. The hand touching his arm made him want to remember the same thing happening with this beautiful girl across from him, but he stopped thinking of that with shame. Instead he tried to answer her question.

"I think people would look at you funny if you called me Grandpaw." he said. "I look a little young to be a Grandpaw."

"Oh." said the girl. "Yeah, I forgot that." She frowned and her face was beautiful that way too.

"How about Uncle Bob?" he suggested.

"I already have six uncles." said the girl dismissively. "Well, they're actually great uncles, but I call them all Uncle." She smiled and Bob's heart ached for his lost wife. "I think it would be weird to call you Uncle Bob, even if I don't have an Uncle Bob yet."

The toaster oven gave out a long beep and Bob winced. He'd forgotten to tell his... daughter... that the bowl would melt. He was astonished when she casually opened the door of the oven and took the bowl out with her bare hand. It was steaming and she stirred the contents with a wooden spoon. A series of beeps came from the oven in the wall and Betty opened the door.

"Perfect." she announced in a satisfied voice.

Bob noticed that this time she used an oven mitt to handle the tray, which had twelve beautiful brown biscuits on it. His stomach growled. Abandoning the mitt, Betty snatched at biscuits with her bare fingers and let them fall on a plate. She used a fork to tear them open and then a coffee cup to dip into the obviously un-melted bowl that had been in the toaster oven. Bob stared as a plate of biscuits and gravy was placed in front of him. They had been in the kitchen less than fifteen minutes. A fork appeared beside the plate as he stared.

"Juice?" asked Betty. She pulled open the door to the big ice box again and leaned inside. Bob couldn't help but stare at her well shaped bottom.

"We've got grape juice, tomato juice... um, there's some cranapple in here too."

"Cranapple?" asked Bob.

"A mixture of cranberry and apple juice." said Betty looking at him oddly.

"Hmmm, never heard of that one." he commented. "Sounds good, though."

"Cranapple it is." said the woman, pulling a container from the box. He almost winced as he saw it was made of plastic.

But what she brought to the table was a glass (real glass!) of wine colored fluid. She set it on the table by his place and sat down between him and Fran. She looked at the now cooled Danish and the untouched biscuits and gravy.

"I thought you said you were hungry." she said.

Bob blinked. His stomach had been growling since the coffee smells. He picked up the fork and dug in. While he destroyed the biscuits and gravy Fran got up and poured him coffee. He waved away an offer of sugar and cream, his mouth full with deliciousness. He saved the pastry for last, and when he bit into it a heavy sweet taste exploded in his mouth.

A door he hadn't seen in one wall, and which hadn't been there when he took his nap in 1950, suddenly crashed open and a statuesque brunet burst into the room. She had a wild-eyed look to her, and her hair was flying loose all over the place in errant wisps. Bob almost choked as he saw she was almost naked, her body covered - if you could use that word - only with a few strips of bright orange cloth that did more to emphasize her large breasts than cover them, and which drew a man's eyes directly to the juncture of her legs. Her breasts were heaving as she panted. It was the smallest, oddest bra and panty set he had ever seen. Things sure must have changed in fifty years if a woman could run around outside in her underwear.

"Where is he?" she gasped.

Then her eyes fell on the apparently naked man sitting at the table, a fork suspended halfway between the plate and his mouth, which was chewing slowly. She froze.

"Daddy?" she screamed.

"June Winkle!" shouted Betty a split second later. "Calm down! And what do you think you're doing going out dressed like that?"

Fran put in her two cents. "Gee Auntie June, you look great in that suit!"

"doohne?" gasped Bob around a mouthful of Danish. He swallowed. "June?" he repeated.

"Daddy!" the almost naked woman screamed again, and she rushed to his seat. Rather than wait for him to stand, she more or less pushed the table out of the way and straddled him, sitting on his lap. Then she basically smothered him with warm brown flesh. Bob found his face crushed between her bounteous breasts and felt the insane urge to lick her skin there, which he somehow knew would taste salty since there was a sheen of sweat in the valley between her breasts. She pulled away to shower kisses on Bob's cheeks and lips.

"June Winkle you stop that this instant!" screeched Betty, standing up and waving her hands in the air.

Bob felt soft lips leave his and was confronted with deep green eyes staring into his. He saw adoration there, but his eyes slid down to the breasts that were now hanging, supported only by those few wisps of orange cloth. He could see clear through her cleavage to her slightly round belly below. He forced his eyes back up to find she had dipped her head to see what he was looking at. Her eyes returned to his wide and alarmed.

"Oh my gosh!" she yelped, standing up and trying to cover her breasts with her arms and hands. "I was sunbathing when you called and I was so excited I just couldn't wait to come over here!"

That voice hummed in Bob's memory. It went with a hot, wet mouth that had made love to his stiff prick on many occasions, and an even hotter, wetter pussy that she had sheathed his prick in, once it was "hard enough to do me some good, Daddy", as his memory recalled. He felt his prick lurch under the towel in his lap at the memories.

"His clothes, June. I asked you to bring clothes." said Betty steadily.

"Where would I get clothes for a grown man?" asked June, looking delicious in her shiny brown skin and almost nothing else. "Robby's been married for years, and I pitched the clothes he didn't take with him long ago. Sam went down to Arizona for a construction job and he's smaller than Daddy anyway." Sam was her other son, who had moved back in with her after a messy divorce. He kept making forays out into the real world. Arizona was one of those, but couldn't seem to actually untie the apron strings.

Betty sat back down and dropped her head into her hands with a groan.

Bob wanted to smile. June had been a rampaging vessel of emotions when he last saw her. At three she was into everything, running around, talking a mile a minute and exhausting both her mother and father. It didn't look like fifty years had changed all that much in her.

Except for her body, of course. Bob felt shame as his prick stiffened even more under the towel. Then the universe warped a little bit as memories of what this woman had done with him in bed over fifty years rushed back to the front of his conscious mind. He still didn't understand what was going on, but it was clear that, after he went to sleep, the mores of society had changed, allowing daughters to have sex with their sleeping father. His shame at lustful thoughts were a bit outdated, apparently. Still, now was not the time to have an erection, especially with her sitting right there on it. She didn't stay seated though. She hopped up and stood back.

"Stand up!" squealed June. "Let me see you!" She danced, her hands falling from covering her almost-nakedness in her excitement. Her breasts wobbled and jiggled deliciously as she moved.

"Maybe there's something around here you could... put on?" he directed toward his middle daughter.

June blushed. "Yes, of course. Martha will have something that would fit me."

Mention of his oldest daughter caused Bob to think of another voice from his dreams... a mature voice that went along with the same kinds of memories that June's and Betty's voices made race through his brain and blood. That other voice must be Martha's. His wife... and all three of his daughters... had made love to him repeatedly... almost regularly... while he slept.

His erection was complete. There wasn't anything he could do about it. He decided that he was very glad he was sitting down. He decided to stay that way.

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