Bob Prick Van Winkle: Family Date Time
Copyright© 2021 by Pete Fox
Epilogue
Erotica Sex Story: Epilogue - A new story line, with the author Lubrican permission, in the epic Prick Van Winkle twisted fairytale storyverse. Detective Zack, husband to Val, discovers some of the Van Winkle family incestuous secrets. He asks Bob to take care of his new wife Val's needs when he goes off to war but with a few conditions of his own.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Mult Teenagers Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Fairy Tale Historical Sharing Wife Watching Incest Father Daughter Grand Parent Spanking Group Sex Swinging Massage Oral Sex Pregnancy Big Breasts Illustrated
Memories
Late fall 2001
Bob woke with a start, the Playboy magazine on his chest falling to the floor. His heart raced, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He could remember. His fifty years of sleep had been peaceful, yet eventful, full of sex, conversations, stories, and more. It took time, but the memories had come back; he remembered it all, much to his daughters’ chagrin. For a while after waking from his long nap, his wounded psyche had not bothered him the way it had in the years following the war.
He looked at the TV and the videos playing silently on the cable news program, images of young men and women, like his own, in combat in Afghanistan. Along with the terrible events of September 11th, which they had all watched in real-time, this was the first war he was watching live as it happened; he’d slept through Vietnam, the first televised war. There were no delays of weeks or months to read war news or letters from home, and no need to go to the cinema to see a newsreel like when he was growing up in the 1930s and 40s.
The dream was always the same. A dark German Panzer swivels its big 88mm gun toward him. Bob can’t move. His bazooka is empty, his friends are dead, and he can do nothing but wait ... then he is at the concentration camp, dead bodies everywhere while the living dead plead for help. He feels that same helpless weight, followed by the white-hot anger he felt when they lined up the Nazi SS guards and machine-gunned them to death.
Bob knew in a clinical way that this new “War on Terror” had unearthed these old memories—memories that, to him, felt only a few years old rather than five decades in the past. In time, he would need to deal with them. Maybe I should try to contact some of my old Army buddies, if they are still alive, he thought. It was a depressing realization.
It was dark outside. The faint glow of the microwave clock in the kitchen told him it was after 3:00 am. He had fallen asleep on the couch and was restless. He retrieved the box from his room that he had pulled from the attic when the dreams started again, shortly after Zack was called up and disappeared to fight this new type of war. Clicking on a lamp, he looked at the small, meticulously crafted wooden box he had stored in his old army footlocker for all these years, tucked away next to boxes of old Playboy magazines.
Opening the lid, he let his eyes and then his fingers sort through the items. Colorful campaign and service ribbons from his time in the European Theatre ... the blue, white, and red striped piece of cloth holding the silver star ... the enameled blue of the musket and wreath of his CIB ... a black metal Iron Cross ... numerous black and white photos. Digging past the old pieces of uniform, like his Thunderbird 45th Infantry Division patch, worn from wear, his fingers found the heavy object wrapped in an oiled piece of silky cloth. He set it aside. He let his eyes stray over the photos, not lingering lest they bring back an unwanted memory ... nevertheless, he saw himself in uniform first in basic training, then dirtier and harder in Europe, posing with friends or with destroyed German machines of war. An image of him and his older brother Frank, a pilot, who found him in Munich after the war ended, for a short reunion. Another picture of a pretty German Fräulein who a uniformed Bob had his arm around, his Munich girlfriend who gave him the box. He set the stack of photos aside, his mind full of memories.
Each piece in the box represented a significant memory of his short time in uniform. He had turned eighteen in the summer of 1944. He enlisted before the draft got him. Even though he wanted to be in the Army Air Corps like his brother Frank, the Army needed infantry more than anything. The end of 1944 found him in the back of a cold truck being dropped off at his new unit as the German army’s winter offensive exploded through Allied lines. A lot of that first month was a blur, mostly trying not to freeze in the deep winter cold as he learned how to fight the Germans and live. His biggest test came months later as his division, the 45th, crossed into Germany. He earned a Purple Heart and the little piece of blue, red, and white cloth, knocking out a tank among other actions in close-quarters city fighting. But he did not want to go there to those memories because then his mind would fall to the end of the war and Munich and Dachau, the place of nightmares, even worse than the memories of the tough fight at Aschaffenburg.
He closed the box, leaving the heavy object wrapped in the oiled cloth out along with the picture of Laura, his German girl, and a second of Laura, a little older, smiling, holding their baby daughter Hanna. Good memories of a difficult time that he would soon revisit.
Bob climbed the stairs to Martha’s bedroom. He had the mind of a dirty old man and the body and sex drive of a much younger man. Martha would be willing, even at this time of the night, she never said no to her dad.
Three days after his evening with Valerie and Fran, Bob found himself relaxing in an antique armchair in his granddaughter Sunny’s home art studio. With a paperback book, First Blood by David Morrell, on his lap, he loved the story of John Rambo, but his eyes kept returning to the nearly finished painting on the easel in front of him. He read a lot, trying to catch up on five decades’ worth of books, but Valerie’s nude tits were distracting. Martha had offered to rent the movie, but he said he’d rather read the book first.