Why Didn't I Just...
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Time Travel, Historical, DoOver,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Jimmy Gordon has spent his life drinking, smoking and making money. Now, his lifestyle has caught up with him and he has no time left. At home, drinking and feeling sorry for himself, he finds the one thing he really needs, a second chance.
I sat in my Doctor's reception area, waiting patiently for the final lab test results to be looked over by him. From the looks that the young receptionist and one of the nurses were giving me, I had a feeling that it wasn't going to be good news that the doctor would be discussing with me. My body had already given me a lot of warnings over the past few years. Most of my health problems were probably caused by a combination of the effects from all the years that I'd spent smoking two packs of cigarettes a day, drinking half a quart of booze or more, and eating mostly greasy fast foods when I even bothered to take the time to eat. I had reached the point where I had to drink two ounces of vodka in the morning before I could make my hands stop shaking enough for me to shave. I knew that I'd find out soon enough.
"Dr. Barry will see you now Mr. Gordon." She was a pretty little receptionist, but my mind had only enough room for me and my problems right then. Not that a twenty something cutie would give even a first thought to someone who looked like me. I lifted myself up from the chair and walked back to an examining office. Even that little bit of physical exertion had left me spent and gasping for air. I didn't really need a Doctor to tell me that I was in trouble. The nurse took my blood pressure, pulse and temperature. She wrote her readings on my chart and left, telling me that the Doctor would be right in to see me.
"Jimmy, let's go over to my office, we'll be able to relax and talk better over there." Frank Barry was a long time friend, as well as my personal physician for the past thirty five years. He had been telling me for all of that time that my life style choices were going to kill me. From the way he looked at me, and the expression of his face, I knew that he was taking no pleasure in the fact that his warnings were approaching reality. It was another fifty foot walk to his office, but I managed it all right. I sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk and he quickly moved around and sat down behind the desk. He touched my medical chart, a thick sheath of papers that he had just sat down in front of him, and then he looked up at my face. There were the beginnings of tears in both of his eyes, and I was touched by his obvious concern. "How about we both have a little drink, Jimmy? It will make it easier for me to tell you what I need to say, and it might make it easier for you to hear."
"Sure Frank, it can't hurt." He pulled a bottle of scotch out of his desk drawer and a couple of plastic cups. Slowly, precisely, he poured a couple of inches of the hooch into the two cups, placed the cap on the bottle, and put it back inside his drawer. He handed me my drink. I raised it up to make a toast. "Long life, Frank." I drank the drink down with a single, welcoming, swallow. I didn't want to taste it, it was medicine for what was surely coming. Frank didn't touch his drink at all.
"Jimmy, there's no easy way for me to say this, so I'm just going to say it. You've got a malignant tumor in your brain, more cancer in your bones, and it has spread to your liver and pancreas. It is somewhat surprising to me that you even managed to drive over here today, given the results we've gotten from all of our testing. I've consulted with two other good men, and all three of us concur that you have from two weeks to a month longer to live. No more than a month. I'm sorry." He then picked up his drink and drained the cup.
"No possibility of a treatment Frank?" I asked just because I didn't want to let the question fester in my mind, spoiling any of the precious time that I had left.
"There's nothing Jimmy. I'd have mentioned it to you if there was. I can help you to manage the pain, but you should really be in a hospice where they have expertise in taking care of terminal patients. In a hospice setting, we'd be able to make you comfortable at least." I stood up, waving his suggestion of a hospice away. I waved at him as I left, half expecting him to get up and make a further attempt to convince me to check myself in somewhere for an antiseptic death. I hadn't lived an antiseptic life, and I'd be damned if I'd let myself die that way, all doped up and unaware of my surroundings. I made it to my Cadillac and got behind the wheel. It was a fifteen minute drive to my house, but I don't remember making it. When I was parked in my own driveway, I let myself go and allowed my feelings of self pity to fully emerge. I still wanted more. A lot more. But, right now, I needed to get inside and pour myself a drink, and light up another cigarette. Two weeks! Two fucking weeks! Jesus Christ, I couldn't get all my shit ready in two weeks.
Once I had a drink and a smoke, I calmed down and started being able to think again. I needed to make a thorough inventory, and I needed to do it fast. Who would I leave everything to? I had a lot to leave too. In the last forty years I'd managed to build myself a nice list of assets, in spite of all of the drinking, and the unhealthy lifestyle. I had invested in California real estate since the early sixties, accumulating properties and renting them out, then buying even more. I speculated in small land parcels, but I mainly invested in rental property. Over the years, the returns had been exceptional. And, I thought, for what? What had I built it all up for? I had no wife, no kids, no family at all. I was sixty five years old, and had never even been in love.
That didn't mean that I'd been lonely, no, far from it. Financial success brought some social acceptance. I got myself laid fairly regularly. Some of it was with pros, but most of it was with people wanting access to some part of my money, or hoping to persuade me to invest in one project or another. Sex was a commodity. The girl that I'd bought my Cadillac from had given me a nice blow job as a bonus, to seal the deal. My insurance agent stopped by the house two or three times a year, and took me into my bedroom and thanked me for giving her all of my insurance business. That part of my life had been fine, better than most, I was sure, but there was no family, few friends, not many people who would even notice my dying. Before I knew I was dying, I hadn't cared about any of that. Now, suddenly, I did. I didn't want to die all alone. I tried praying, but even I knew that it was too little too late. Until I heard the voice in my head.
What will you give me for a second chance? I discounted the voice in my head and poured myself another drink. I'm talking to you Jimmy, what are you offering? I drank the whiskey down, comforted by the numbing sensation in my throat. There are few things more calming than three or four ounces of good whiskey settling into your stomach all at once. It was calming enough that I was willing to play along with the voice.
"Whatever you want. Who is this?" I spoke out loud, making sure that the voice in my head could understand me. I quickly poured myself another drink.
Never mind who I am. I'm the one who can give you another chance. The deal is, you sign everything over to the Little Sister's of Mercy sanctuary in Caracas, Venezuela, and I take you back to your eighteenth birthday and let you start all over again.
"Do you have any idea of how much money we're talking about here? Eleven million dollars, that's how much. You just expect me to give it away to you on your so called promise? I don't think so. You've got to show me more than that."
All right Jimmy. I'll tell you what I can do. How about I send you back in time for an hour? I'll let you pick the date, and I'll send you back, and then you can decide whether it will be worth it to you or not? Does that sound fair? I drank down another two ounces. This was some good hooch, and I was starting to enjoy this drunken reverie all to hell. For the last minute or two, I had forgotten my real troubles and had let myself go with this hallucination or whatever it was.
"March fourth, 1957. I'd like to see you send me to that date in my past." One minute, I'm sitting drunk in my easy chair at home, and the next, I'm in our crummy apartment at 26 Flag Green, looking at my mother and father arguing back and forth on the sofa. I was seventeen years old again, and completely sober and healthy. Oh my God, was I ever healthy! Nothing hurt me. There was an absence of any pain or even lingering aches and twitches. I looked at my parents, both of them dead for many years. They were the same as they had been in 1957. I just stood there, listening to them arguing back and forth. They weren't even arguing about anything important. After a few minutes, I went back to my room and gathered up all of my baseball cards that I had stored in several milk boxes, and carried them out to the living room.
"Ma, shut up for a minute, I need to tell you something. See these cards? In thirty years, if you don't throw them away, I'll be able to sell them all and use the money to buy you a nice house and still have enough left over to live off of for the rest of my life. No matter what, don't throw these cards away, okay?" My mom and dad just looked at me. My dad was getting up from the sofa before I remembered how bad an idea it was to tell my father and mother to shut up. I dropped the three milk boxes with the cards and ran out of the apartment. Over my shoulder as I was putting distance between my father and I, I shouted. "Don't forget Ma, a new house. Just don't throw those baseball cards away."
In my life, having my mother throw away my baseball card collection, was a big regret. All through the mid eighties, right up until some time in eighty nine, I could have sold my baseball card collection for a lot of money. If only she hadn't thrown it all into the trash on March fifth of 1957. It was something I'd agonized about and regretted, for many years. Her argument was that I never told her that it was valuable. She said that she thought I'd outgrown it, and that was why she threw it all away. I felt myself being yanked out of my past, until I was once more sitting in my living room in the present, drunk, in pain, and very disoriented.
"That wasn't an hour."
I didn't say you could make any changes on this visit Jimmy. You were just there to get an idea about whether or not I could live up to my end of the bargain, if we even make one. I poured some more whiskey.
"I hurt too bad to be able to think straight. What do I call you by the way?" I felt the pain that had been pounding away at me simply vanish. One minute it was there, permeating every facet of my life, the next minute, it was gone.
I have no name that would concern you Jimmy. I don't have all day to mess around with you either. Do we have a deal or don't we? My head felt clearer just by the absence of the pain. I realized that I was drunk, but not too bad for me to think. What did I really have to lose? I didn't have anyone or anything in the now that I really wanted to leave my money to. It wasn't like I was going to be around long enough to get any good use out of it anyway.
"Sounds good to me. You give me my second chance, and I'll sign everything over to whatever you want me to."
You don't have any more questions?
"No, it sounds pretty good to me. How do we do this?"
It's done Jimmy. I just needed your agreement. The will is on file at the county courthouse, leaving everything to the Little Sister's of Mercy. You've been a big help to me Jimmy, and I appreciate it. Let me know when you're ready to get your second chance.
"I'm ready now."
I woke up in my bed, at the apartment over on Flag Green. One of the first things I checked on after getting out of bed, was to see if my baseball cards were in my closet. They were. That was a big relief to me. If this was my eighteenth birthday, then it was June seventh, 1957. I'd just graduated from high school the day before. I felt really good. All of my memories were still with me from my other lifetime. I hadn't asked about that, but it was certainly a nice little bonus for me. In September, my father would be transferred out to California. In my other lifetime, I'd stayed in Washington, D.C. for two more years before drifting out to California. This time, I'd be going along with my parents. There was a lot that I was going to change this time around.