Accident
by Mat Twassel
Copyright© 2021 by Mat Twassel
Fiction Sex Story: Two of his sister's friends are quite curious about his "accident" and whether it's affected his sex life. He says he's not sure. The girls decide to find out. Illustrated.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Caution .
I was sitting on a couch watching TV and there were three girls sitting with me. One of them was my sister, or so she said, and she was explaining to the others about me, that I’d been in an accident but I was getting better. She made those quote marks around “accident.” On the TV a squirrel was industriously scraping at the gap between bricks in the base of a wall. Maybe it was a chipmunk. He had pried loose a lot of the grout and managed to get inside the wall almost all the way, and he’d wiggle in there, and then he’d come out and scrape more grout. A chipmunk, I’m pretty sure.
“But you know who you are?” one of the girls asked.
“He does, sometimes,” my sister said. “Don’t you Andrew?”
I nodded.
“He’s cute,” one of the girls said. She had her hand on my knee.
“He had lots of girlfriends,” my sister said.
“Where are they now?” the girl asked.
“Good question,” my sister said.
“Well, I could be his girlfriend,” the other girl said. “Right, Andrew?” she said to me. “I mean who’s to say?”
“I guess so,” I said.
“Do you remember anything?” she asked.
I tried to think. Gray. Battleship gray? But it was an aircraft carrier. The deck of an aircraft carrier. The sky was gray, but I knew I shouldn’t look up. The sea was gray. I shouldn’t look down. I shouldn’t look up or down. How could planes land with all that gray. I had my paw on the—no, not my paw, my hand—on the surface. Not smooth, not rough. Some rubber or something like rubber, probably from the wheels, the tires, of the planes, scaped off when they landed. All the way to the end. And over. “Not really,” I said to the girl. Her hand was making circles on my knee. “That’s sad,” she said. “But I’m glad you’re getting better.” I nodded.
Now the squirrel, I mean chipmunk, had hollowed out sufficient space behind the bricks that he could get in all the way, but he kept coming back out, then going back in again. In and out, in and out.
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