Chapter 1

It all happened very innocently, but also very mysteriously. It happened on a spring day in 1950, when Bob Winkle took a nap.

It was a Saturday, and he and his wife had already celebrated their third wedding anniversary by a long, sweet lovemaking session when they first woke up. They pretty much had to do it then, since the children would prohibit both opportunity and affect the mood, later in the day.

As he sat, he had a glass with him, an anniversary present from his older brother, who lived in Kentucky, back in the hills, where no one bothered him. His brother had a taste for homemade whiskey, and a talent for producing it as well. The recipe for that moonshine was a closely guarded secret that his brother claimed to have inherited from their grandfather, and which produced the best amber-colored bottled lightning around. That golden fluid was aged for years in gallon sized oaken casks, (quality, rather than quantity was the goal), and slid down the throat smoothly. His brother knew that Bob appreciated a good toddy too, and sent him a bottle from time to time. A note had come with this gift, saying that this batch was made with the last of his special European ingredients, was "almost magical", and that Bob now owned the last bottle of it.

Being in a good mood, and having completed all his chores for the day, Bob had poured himself four fingers of his brother's "magical" whiskey, and sipped at it happily as he sat in his brand new Barca Lounger. That chair was another anniversary present, this one from his wife, Valerie, who decided on that gift because it had leather upholstery. He smiled to himself, feeling the whiskey seeping into his veins. Who had decided that leather was the right gift for a third anniversary? How silly was that anyway? He felt his eyes begin to droop, and decided he had time for a short nap before Valerie called him to dinner. She had said she was making meatloaf to celebrate. That was his favorite dish. She made it every anniversary as a tradition.

Valerie was very traditional about things like that, and, as it turned out, about other things too ... like taking care of her family.

Valerie Winkle was extraordinarily happy with her life up to that point in time. Bob was an energetic and cheerful home-bringer of the bacon, so to speak, not to mention his energy in the bedroom. He had kept her pregnant, if not barefoot, ever since slightly before they got married and she now had three beautiful girls to remind her to pay that special little attention to him when he came home at night. She really wanted a boy or two. She had a wonderful home, nice neighbors, pleasant, if distant in-laws and all the sex she could ever hope for. Bob was as highly sexed as she was.

The first clue she had that her life might change was when, after making her traditional meatloaf dinner for her loving husband, and getting the three girls fed, the youngest of which eased the slight pain and pressure in her swollen breasts by sucking lustily at both of them, she went to wake up the love of her life.

Except that he didn't wake up.

It was only puzzling at first. He was warm to the touch, and breathing ... snoring softly, in fact ... but he wouldn't wake up. Puzzlement led to discomfort as she spoke to him in increasingly louder and louder tones and shook him until the new chair began to creep across the floor. Discomfort morphed into real fear as, in desperation, she upended a pitcher of water on his face and chest.

Nothing worked. He slept on.

Eventually she called her Father-in-law, Percy, who appeared and was just as puzzled, uncomfortable and then fearful as she had been. In the end they called an ambulance, not knowing exactly what to tell the attentive attendants when they arrived. There were no wounds, and no known drugs involved, other than an empty glass on the end table, and a bottle that was missing only a few ounces. He was removed from the house on a gurney and carried off to the hospital in the ambulance. A sobbing Valerie rode with him, while Percy arranged for his wife to come watch the children.

There was no fear at the hospital, much to Valerie's astonishment. Vital signs were taken by a young resident, who pulled the stethoscope from his ears and addressed the crying woman.

"He's fine," said the resident in that voice that young doctors cultivate to get people to believe they're actually older and more experienced than the two or three years of actual medicine they've practiced might suggest.

"What do you mean, he's fine?" asked Valerie. "If he's so fine why won't he wake up?"

"Well ... er ... I don't know exactly," admitted the twenty-four-year old young man who was supposed to know everything. "But he's fine." His face got earnest. "I mean there's no indication that he's in any pain, or has anything wrong with him. His respiration and heartbeat are completely normal for a sleeping man. I don't think he's in a coma, because his reactions are all wrong for that. I'll talk to the attending physician and see if we can do some tests."

There were, in fact, tests done. Then there were more tests done. Pretty soon there were eight full fledged doctors examining Bob. They poked and prodded and drew blood and made x-ray images until they had no more tests to do. Then they sat around and were ... puzzled.

Three of them wanted to say he was in a coma, since that was a quick and easy solution to the problem, and would result in fewer people questioning their expertise, something they were now worried about.

That suggestion went down the tubes when another doctor, idly flipping through the chart said "Can't be a coma. He got an erection while the nurse was giving him a sponge bath."

"Well we could call it a coma," said one frustrated physician.

"No we can't, because it's not a coma," insisted another.

To avoid making a decision about this admittedly strange case, they put him in a room and had nurses take care of him as if he were in a coma. Then they forgot about him ... or tried to.

The next crisis concerning Bob was the first clue that something exceedingly strange was going on. The doctors, in their haste to distance themselves from a man they couldn't cure ... couldn't even diagnose, for that matter, neglected to order the kinds of things that people in comas routinely get ordered to undergo. Such as a feeding tube and a catheter.

The nurses, not having an order to do these things ... didn't. They knew it would be a problem eventually, but nobody was telling them anything about their patient. When the head nurse finally corralled the Internal Medicine doctor who was listed on Bob's chart, and informed him that the patient wasn't being fed or evacuated, there was panic. That's because an entire week had gone by.

That crisis was un-resolved in much the same way as his initial appearance and problem was ... un-resolved. When the doctor examined him, there was no sign of dehydration, and his bladder was completely normal, except that it was empty.

The doctor, knowing that no one would believe him, elected to simply tell the nurse to continue monitoring the patient, and to notify him immediately if there was any change in his condition.

The nurses shook their heads, as nurses often do when communicating with doctors, and did the things they didn't have to have a doctor's order to do. Namely, they moved him around in his bed, gave him sponge baths, and ... monitored him.

By the time the Internal Medicine Doctor realized he had something of significant scientific importance on his hands ... mainly that a man who wouldn't wake up somehow needed neither food or water to survive ... he was in the prickly position of having to admit that he had denied the patient both of those commodities.

And he couldn't do that ... now could he?

So, the timid doctor gave a pass to something that, had he pursued it, might have made both Bob and himself famous beyond measure. He did share this information with Valerie, who was properly astounded, but cautioned her not to tell anyone, lest they want to do an autopsy to find out what was going on.

"But he's not dead!" squeaked Valerie.

"Exactly," said the doctor darkly.

It didn't take long for Valerie, eyeing mounting hospital bills, to ascertain that soon, she would be a pauper.

Bob had always handled the finances in the family. He had a den, and an old roll top desk that had been his great grandfather's, given to him, oddly enough, in 1935, when Bob was only fifteen years old. The old gentleman had been over a hundred at the time, and insisted that the heirloom be passed down to Bob. His actions had been tossed off as those of a senile, but friendly old fellow, who died not long afterward. Bob's parents used it until Bob got married and moved out, at which time he took it with him.

That old desk had so many nooks and crannies in it that it took Valerie two weeks to go through everything, trying to get a handle on what she needed to do ... or even could do.

The last cranny she inspected, as is quite often the case, turned out to be the most important one in the desk. It contained an insurance policy, in the name of Bob Winkle, and insured him against the loss of income due to "accident, injury or infirmity" which caused him to be unable to continue working. Unknown to anyone currently alive, with the possible exception of Bob, who was ... and was not, exactly ... alive, he had taken out this policy on the insistent advice of the very same great grandfather who had bestowed that roll top desk on him when he was only fifteen.

"You get yourself one of them insurance policies that pays if you can't work," the old man had said in his raspy old voice. "It's important."

"But Gramps, I'm in the best shape I've ever been in in my life," objected Bob, who, at fifteen was sure nothing could ever happen to him. Besides, he had only been actually getting a pay check at his part time job for a month, and had much better uses for his money than giving it to some insurance company.

"You listen to me, boy," said the old man imperatively. "There's things you don't know about ... things we'll talk of later maybe ... but you get one of them policies. They didn't have that sort of thing when I was growin' up and I sure could have used it."

"I didn't know you were ever out of work," said Bob, who, like many grandchildren, never learn much at all about their ancestors or how they grew up.

"There's a lot you don't know," said the old man in a crotchety voice. "You just do as I say and do it quick. You unnerstand? Now, I'm tired and I want to rest. You run along now and take good care of that desk. It's been in the family a long time. And it's important, too."

Bob had not, in fact, bought the policy right away. But, when the old man suddenly died, only a few months later, his last command niggled at Bob's conscience and he then purchased the policy. He was surprised to find that, since he was so young and fit, it wasn't nearly as expensive as he expected it to be.

But, as has been said, there were lots of things Bob didn't know about at that point. In the grand scheme of things, He thought that probably didn't really matter. Had Bob and his great grandfather been able to talk more, it might have made a huge difference in the way things went.

But the old man died, and so what he might have told Bob was lost ... until Bob figured it out for himself.

That would take a shade more than fifty years.

In fact, three other people would figure out what had happened to Bob before he did. They were quite sure no one would believe them at first, so they kept it a secret, but that will be discussed later.

What was important then was that Valerie, Bob's loving wife, had him sent home, to rest in his own bed, in his own room, and collected on the insurance policy. The insurance company tried to weasel out of it, naturally. They pronounced that he hadn't had an accident, and that he wasn't injured. It was the "infirm" part they couldn't find a way around. Bob was the very definition of "infirm".

So they had to pay off. Not only that, to the the eventual horror of the broker, it was discovered there was no clause in the policy that said how long they had to pay off. That would cause problems later on, but Valerie had plenty of time to research laws and contracts and every time she threatened to take them to court they caved. She had help, from a number of researchers who found Bob's condition irresistible.

So by now you're wondering where this is all going, no doubt. The fact is that you needed to know every bit of information I've already told you ... and more ... but you'll learn that in a bit ... assuming I don't kick off like Bob's great grandfather did. If that happens this will be one of those annoying stories that got started, and then languishes, with the notation of "incomplete and inactive".

We don't want that, so I'll forge on ahead and get the rest of the story on ... paper ... more or less.

There are lots of details, but we'll skip by some of them and just say that Valerie, who still loved her unresponsive husband, provided him with the care, little though it was that was needed ... and the years went by.

Valerie was aware that he needed neither food nor water, though she did have to shave him occasionally to keep his face clean. She eventually had to give him a haircut too, but that wasn't needed all that often.

But she knew that if anyone else found out that he stayed alive and healthy without eating or drinking, things would become ... difficult. So she made sure that it looked like he had an IV tube firmly in place, and ran a tube out from under the sheet to a collection bag that always had a yellowish liquid in it, though it wasn't urine.

For the first two or three years lots of people wanted to study Bob.

But after everybody looked at him and measured him and asked their endless questions, they all shook their heads and went away. She wouldn't let them use shock therapy on him, and limited the number of times he was hooked up to an EEG or EKG, all of which indicated he was completely normal and should be awake.

Eventually, Valerie was left alone with her husband.

Now, you have to understand that Valerie Winkle was quite normal, even though her husband was not. She was, at the time he took his ... nap ... all of twenty-one years old, two years younger than Bob. They had married when she was eighteen and, during those three glorious years she had become accustomed to not only pleasing her husband after a long day's work, but to being pleased herself. While she didn't know it, Bob was, as the saying goes, hung like a horse. He had even, in Junior High School, endured the nickname "Donkey Dick", which name was given to him in the locker room after gym class.

He endured it, that is, until his father sent him to Karate lessons. His Sensei strongly preached non-violence and self defense only. But his Sensei didn't have to listen to boys (and some giggling girls) calling him "Donkey Dick", and since his feelings were hurt, Bob felt no compunction about defending that hurt. It was semantics, a word he didn't even know at the time, but he was justified in defending his feelings at the time. He parlayed the reputation he got from that into a football career in High School, earning the new nickname "Grinder" for his ... enthusiastic ... tackles.

The only reason all this matters is that Valerie, who had never had a man other than her football star husband, was used to a donkey dick on a regular basis. Now, not only did she not get to talk to the love of her life, she didn't get reamed good and proper, in the manner to which she had become accustomed.

Valerie was a chaste woman, and she took her wedding vows seriously. People, as time went by, probably would have looked the other way if she'd have decided to dally while her husband lay unresponsive in her house. One of her friends, a woman of somewhat less than sterling repute, even provided her with a "life-size" rubber replica of the very organ she no longer had access to. She blushed for days afterwards, and for months every time she saw the woman.

But she tried it. There came a night, when she had sat and talked to Bob, like the doctors had suggested, even reading to him from his favorite books, and had reached the end of her emotional rope. She retired to her own room, pulled out the dildo and managed to get it inserted, almost crying from the shame of it all.

It wasn't, shall we say, a thing that took her to the heights of passion. After fifteen or twenty minutes, she threw the thing in a drawer of her nightstand where it never saw the light of day again until a daughter found it while they were cleaning out her things after she died.

It was when she talked to Bob about that fiasco, that things improved, at least to some degree, and at least for Valerie.

It happened while she was giving him his sponge bath, and when she got to the part of him she had been trying to replace, she told him about the abortive attempt to satisfy herself.

"Bob, it was just horrible!" she exclaimed, moving the sponge over his abdomen and across his pubic hair. "It wasn't warm, like you, and it was so small! I could hardly feel the stupid thing. It wasn't like you, my darling. Oh, I miss you so much. I miss what we used to do in bed."

By now she had his penis in her hand. No one had thought to tell her that he had become erect during a sponge bath. The nurse who reported that little detail neglected to mention that she had done just a tad more than wash the massive thing she had found under the hospital sheet. And Valerie had always been prim and proper while she bathed him.

This time, however, she took just a little longer, holding that part of him that had so pleased her in the past. She rambled on until she suddenly stopped, shocked to find that what was in her hand was a completely serviceable erection, of the proportions to which she was accustomed. And ... it was nice and warm.

Valerie looked at Bob, expecting to see his eyes open and a smile on his face as he yelled "surprise!"

But he slumbered on, just as before.

Then she looked around, as if she expected to find someone else in the room. The girls were in bed, and of course no one was there. She looked back at the penis her hand was suddenly sliding up and down and licked her lips.

It wasn't as if he were dead or anything. He was still her husband. And she needed him so badly.

It took her only seconds to drop the robe she had been wearing and, blushing like a virgin bride, she climbed up on the bed, straddled her husband and...

Well, this time, those heights of passion were reached, and in a lot less than fifteen minutes.

She talked to him as she rocked back and forth, full to the brim of warm, thick, firm and living cock. She told him how wonderful he felt, and how much she loved him and, then she realized that the heights of passion were clearly in view again, and she moaned for a while.

She stopped eventually, panting.

"You never went this long with me before this," she said, her voice amazed. "I so wish you were awake to enjoy this with me."

Then she went again. He was still hard, and she was still horny, and it was during her fourth orgasm that she felt the wet heat deep inside her that rang the clarion gong in her mind that he had just completed his passion with her.

She rose off of him, staring as his thick white spend dripped out of her gaping pussy and fell back onto his now softening prick.

"Ohhh Bob!" she squealed, throwing herself down on top of him and kissing his face over and over.

Alas, his lips were not as responsive as his lower body had been.

Valerie was still euphoric, though. So much had happened in so little time that had made her life so much better that she couldn't be sad about his lack of returning her kisses. Instead, she promptly began cleaning him up again, this time without the sponge, like she had so many times before they had gotten married.

She smacked her lips when she was done, no longer ashamed to be naked with her unconscious husband, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Good night, my darling," she said softly. "You made me very happy tonight. Please wake up." She stood, looking down at his limp body.

In the morning she thought it was a dream. She worried about it because she knew it wasn't a dream, but somehow wanted it to be a dream. Her embarrassment was back. She was distracted and put coffee in June's cereal. June was only three, but she knew the difference between coffee and milk immediately and cried.

That upset Valerie more and she put her husband out of her mind to take care of her children.

When they went down for a nap, however, she couldn't put him out of her mind any longer.

She returned to his bed and, filled with trepidation, lifted the sheet from his nude body. More to prove that it wasn't true than anything else, she manipulated the object of her desire.

"Bob, something happened last night and I don't know if it was real or not." she said. "Are you in there Bob?"

His staff rose like a young bamboo shoot, growing visibly in her hand.

She stepped back from the bed, her mouth open, her breath frozen in her lungs.

That lasted about fifteen seconds. It's truly amazing how much can race through a human brain in a mere fifteen seconds. Valerie reached "acceptance" of the situation in only nine seconds. The other six were spent on seeing just how fast she could slip out of her dress, and bra and panties.

Then, like Annie Oakley, she rode, yipping and hooting until five year old Martha, holding her three year old sister's hand, stepped into the room to find out what was wrong with Mommy.

"What are you doing Mommy?" whined Martha, watching as her mother's breasts bounced up and down while she sat on top of Daddy, who didn't talk to anybody any more.

"I'm taking care of Daddy sweetheart." was her reply. At this point she wasn't concerned about appearances. How much would a five year old remember in a year anyway?

Well, the fact is that a five year old can remember an awful lot ... especially if she continues to see something happen year after year after year, which is exactly what Martha, June and Betty all did as they grew up. Quite frequently they got to see Mamma ... taking care of Daddy ... who one day would wake up and thank her profusely, Valerie was quite sure.

The fact that the three girls were presented with new siblings ... all boys, interestingly enough ... made an impact on them too. Even back in those days girls, when they got around twelve or thirteen, were able to figure out what sex was all about. By then, Valerie was so used to making love to her almost-but-not-quite-non-responsive husband, that she didn't even try to hide it from the girls any more. Instead, she taught them everything that was needed to run the house and take care of their father, with the exception of that one thing she reserved for herself. Language is very important, in terms of good communication. A very good example of this is that she told all her girls, "This is what Mommy does to take care of Daddy. Some day you'll get to do this, too."

Chapter 2 »