Christmas Lost

by Joesephus

Copyright© 2009 by Joesephus

Romantic Sex Story: Christmas Lost is a partial story I found last week on an old drive it is unfinished. I'm posting it for his fans. I started not to allow voting, but that was not his way. When you vote, please remember this is a first draft, and be kind.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Cheating   Anal Sex   Doctor/Nurse   Slow   .

Note from jonnyrebel82: This story is unfinished and I am posting it just for his fans. If you have not read any of Joesephus' work I urge you to read some of his other stories first. I found this story on a 16 Mb USB drive I was about to throw away. (1/1000 the size of the USB drive I currently use!) I think it was something that Joesephus was working upon at the time of his death in October of 2007. It is clearly a first draft. You will find inconsistencies in details like sending or not sending emails, characters ages and the length of the marriage. These show how his thinking about a story and characters changed as he wrote. They would have been fixed before the story was posted. I left those in for two reasons. First is I am not qualified to fix them. Second is that I am not sure how he intended them to end up.

There is a hint at the end of where the story was going, but not of the ending. That was also typical of Joesephus. He did not use a formal outline. Instead he would write a series of comments and start writing, leaving the comments at the end. As the story passed the point of the comment he would erase it. He frequently did not know exactly how a story would end and would make massive changes based on responses from his editors and first readers.

Finally, at the end of this draft I have included the comments of Erik Thread who did what he called "light editing" fixing several hundred typos and minor mistakes in grammar. He offered to make another pass, but I think it is too much to ask. Besides, I think some of the mistakes give some insight into just how much editors helped Joesephus. I know that sometimes his stories would go through as many as ten revisions.

So, if you are a fan, enjoy this for what it is. If you are a writer and want to take a shot at an ending, I know that Joesephus would approve. He always hoped someone would write an alternative ending to some of his stories. I am still hoping someone will write a finish to Dilemma.

I looked down at the gorgeous young nurse in front of me. I corrected myself, she wasn't gorgeous but what she was doing was. On her knees with her face on the bed she was spreading both of her ass cheeks for me to apply the Astroglide® to her virgin anus. I'm a heart surgeon, but no proctologist ever used more care inserting a digit than I.

When I thought I'd put enough on her I applied a generous amount to my dick. I was as hard as I can ever remember, anal sex was something my wife had refused to even consider and now I was just seconds away from finding out how good it could be.

I pushed in slowly, I knew that she needed time for the muscle to relax even though she was more than willing. I barely had the head all the way in when she screeched for me to stop. Her hands were now clutching the sheets so fiercely, I didn't need to see her face to understand the depth of her pain. I on the other hand was feeling mildly disappointed. I expected more pressure and after about thirty seconds I pushed farther into her. Again she screeched like I was murdering her but this time she didn't ask me to stop so I didn't until I was fully inside her.

When I began to withdraw she actually shrieked as her hands flew back to claw my rump to hold me in. "Please, not yet let me adjust for just a minute. Please you have no idea how much this hurts."

Frankly, I didn't give a damn how much it hurt, but I waited knowing that if I didn't she might not let me finish. After what I thought might be a minute, I began pulling out again but slowly. She moaned her pain, but she didn't ask me to stop. I pushed back in and heard her grunt in discomfort.

I used both hands to spread her cheeks to see my dick in her asshole. I didn't doubt this was her first time, but it just didn't feel any tighter than her pussy, or my wife's pussy for that matter.

Even though it didn't feel any tighter, the sight of my dick buried in an ass and the idea of what I was finally doing set me off. I couldn't hold back any longer. I began to pump into her and I ignored her muffled cries as she bit down on a wad of sheet. Perhaps three or four minutes later she pulled away taking my dick all the way out of her.

Looking over her shoulder, I saw the tears running down her cheeks. "Please put some more lube on, its getting very dry and it really hurts."

I could also see her anus gaping open in a most erotic fashion. I grabbed the little bottle and squirted half of it into her orifice then put more on my dick. Without waiting for her assent I pushed into her and was again struck by how much it felt like her pussy.

Nevertheless, a few minutes later I was finished. I pushed down on her so I was lying on top of her, my dick still buried in her ass. I kissed the top of her hair before I realized that it was sweat soaked. This must have been harder on her than I thought. Still, she'd volunteered for this with "no strings attached," but I still felt guilty. I'd never used a woman like this, with no concern for her own pleasure.

As I rolled off her, pulling out with a sleazy sound, I thought "I cheated for the first time for this?" Aloud I said, "Shelia, that was even better than I'd dreamed it would be. I'm sorry I was a bit rough, but you got me so turned on I just couldn't control myself."

Turning to face me she replied, "It made it special for me knowing that I was doing something for you that your wife wouldn't? I'll do it again if you'd like, but could we just make love next?"

Before I could answer my emergency phone went off. I leaned across Shelia to grab it, accidentally planting my hand on her abused rectum. "Dr. Nelson, what are the vitals?" Shelia moaned.

"Where are you? I'm sorry to use this..."

I cut my wife off, instantly furious. "I told you never to use this number, it's only to be used for transplants. I told you that I was expecting a heart this evening and I'm at the hospital. I'll call you in a little bit."

I ended the call and muttered, "That damn bitch! I'm sorry she knows not to use that line and..." the phone rang again.

This time I checked the caller ID and it was the hospital. "Don't hang up on me, Lindsey broke her leg jumping off the swing. It's a compound fracture and they're going to have to operate. If you can leave your whore long enough you might want to see her before they do..."

After a long pause I heard a sob and she hung up.

I sprinted to the bathroom to wash the feces I'd just noticed just below the head of my dick. I gave myself a quick sponge bath to wash Shelia scent from me. With my job I'd learned to dress in less time than it takes to tell. I was almost out of the door before I remembered to turn to Shelia and say, "My daughter broke her leg, compound fracture. I've got to get to the hospital. Sorry, next time will be better I promise."

Actually, I wasn't sure I wanted a second time. It hadn't been that good. Nothing had been that good for the last six months. Even the rush I used to get from a heart transplant had become mechanical. My whole life was one big blah. The only bright spot was my daughters. Triplets, are not uncommon when fertility drugs are used. What was very rare is that ours are monozygotic, identical. Even with fertility drugs we'd had to use in vitro fertilization to get her pregnant. Twins did run in her family, but ours were the only triplets we could find. A scientific oddity, perhaps, but they're three most wonderful three-year-olds on the planet. No, in the history of the planet!

I didn't see my wife because I used the doctors' entrance to the operating rooms. I scrubbed and talked to Lindsey before the gas passer put her under. I'm not current on orthopedics but I knew George was the best. His sutures were almost as good as mine. She wouldn't have much of a scar on that beautiful leg at all.

I stayed with her in post-op until I knew that she'd passed all danger then I went out to face my wife of eighteen years. George had already briefed her on the surgery so I knew she'd be loaded for bear when she saw me.

She was facing the other way when I entered the waiting room. A distant part of my brain recorded that she looked nice in shorts and blouse. She'd worked hard to lose all her weight after the girls were born, and continued to firm up afterwards. Her skin was creamy white, and unwrinkled, a reflection of her zeal to use sun block anytime she was outside. Consciously, I wondered why she held so little interest for me sexually. Or any other way for that matter. She had a fine mind, she'd made senior partner at a top law firm before she left when she finally got pregnant. [1]

Now all her attention was focused on the girls and ... she just didn't seem interesting anymore.

I think she heard me coming because she started to turn. Before I saw her face I said, "Jan, why don't we go to my office so we can talk privately." I then turned and hurried down the hall to my office. I wasn't ready to face her, and I didn't want her to start in front of others.

She was only a step behind me when I unlocked my door, and I held it open for her. As it closed behind me I looked her in the eye for the first time. I expected to see her eyes sizzling instead I saw desperate sadness.

"I'm not going to go on like this. How many does this make five? Six? I don't know why you suddenly decided that everything we've worked for doesn't matter, but if you don't get yourself under control, I'm going to take the girls and get a legal separation."

I felt my guilt transform instantly into anger. "They're my girls and I'll never let you take them. I don't care what you do, stay, go or drop dead, but I'll never let you take my girls if it takes every cent I have." My voice had been rising, but now I shouted in full roar, "Do you hear me?"

Jan's expression turned from sorrowful to stunned. I couldn't believe how hard I was breathing. I'm a very controlled person, I couldn't remember the last time I lost my temper and yelled.

We both stood in pregnant silence as the antique grandfather clock tick-tocked in the corner. After an eternity, Jan took a deep breath and said softly, "I think it might be better if you took off for a few days and think about what you're doing. I think you might need to think about professional help."

I exploded, "I'm not crazy, who the hell do you think you are to say something like that to me? I should have a heart tonight. When I'm done we can discuss this like adults." I realized I was shouting again; I turned and left her standing in my office.

Once again fate stepped in because I hadn't taken five steps when my tether went off. The young man had been declared brain dead after three days, a motorcycle accident. Even a helmet won't protect you when you hit a parked truck doing 60 MPH. His family's loss ... but it meant life for a 46 year old woman.

As my team assembled, I wondered about my patient and her family. She was almost the exact same age as Jan. I was going to be giving her family a new life at the same time I was ending my life with Jan.

It was the last personal thought I had for almost ten hours. Doing a heart transplant is the most delicate surgery currently undertaken, and I am the best. Patients fly in from all over the world to have me do their heart work, and pay top dollar for it.

I had developed several new processes, and my success rate was almost an order of magnitude better than any other heart surgeon in the world. I had the best team and the best hospital, and I was treated like the star I was.

As I walked out of the OR, I made a quick stop to tell the family that everything was going to be fine. She came through with flying colors and they should be able to visit tomorrow. I checked to make sure Lindsey had been released, then went back to my office. After I changed back into street clothes, I walked to the admissions office to pick up my paycheck. Forty thousand dollars for each hour, wasn't a bad payday. I grinned mentally, 'I wonder if I could charge time and a half for overtime next time.' Certainly there was no shortage of patients willing to pay.

As I walked out, I tried to remember which of my two new cars I had driven in. About seven months ago I'd bought both on the same day. The first was a "Flame Red Pearl" H1 Hummer with everything on it. The second was pretty red Ferrari. The two dealers were located almost across the street from each other. As I drove past them following a very difficult but successful transplant, I rationalized that one of each would cost a little less than I'd just charged. Less than an hour later I had two new cars. I drove the Ferrari off the lot and had the H1 delivered that evening.

I can't say I've gotten tired of either one, but they just weren't as special as I hoped. I grew up in a lower middle class family. With those two cars and my daughters, I had everything I'd ever dreamed about. I was at the top of my field and had all that went with that. I had an incredible home, a beautiful wife, a private plane—everything, absolutely everything. My problem was, I realized, that my life was more than half over and I wasn't happy.

I looked down at the check in my hand, glanced at my watch and realized the banks wouldn't open for another eight hours. Getting my payment immediately after surgery was another quirk I'd developed in the last year. The first time, I did it just to see how far I could push my star status. I then took that check and walked into a small bank where I opened an account for close to a half million. I wanted the thrill of it. The thrill didn't last long because my quarterly tax deposit was due a few days later. I'd had to pay all of it, and a lot more to cover my taxes.

It really pissed me off. I'd never really paid any attention to just how much I was paying my Uncle Sam until then. I'd let my accountant take care of all that, but this was different. It wasn't that I didn't want to pay my fair share, but I'd never realized what a scam the government had going. Unless I was prepared to make risky investments, I would lose ground after taxes and inflation. My accountant suggested I move my money off shore. Bringing it back as spending money wouldn't be taxable as long as I used principle and not earnings. That turned out to be one of the dumbest things I ever did in my life.

Looking at my reserved parking spot I realized that I'd brought the Hummer. I resolved again to take it someplace where I could give it a work out, Central America perhaps ... and that brought me back to the hell I was going to face when I got home. I had no idea that Jan knew I'd been cheating. Thinking about it, I realized that I hadn't been very careful.

Sex with Jan was okay, but routine. We'd done everything and I knew her limits and her every response. Besides, once she was well along with her pregnancy, she wasn't that interested in sex. After they were born, she always seemed too tired to meet my needs. Her life had become centered around the kids and when I first thought about having an affair six months ago, I didn't think she'd mind all that much if she found out.

I turned around and headed back to my office. I had a private bedroom there. It really wasn't a luxury; there were times I needed to sleep and I didn't have time for the hour's commute to the house on the water that Jan insisted we buy. It was very plain, just a place to crash but I decided I just didn't feel like facing Jan tonight. In the morning I'd feel more rested and ready to face the dragon.

It was a fitful sleep, filled with dreams of Jan running away with my girls. At one point I dreamed that I arrived at our house, rang the doorbell—only to be informed that the girls had decided to spend the weekend with a friend instead of me.

When I woke up, I was furious and coldly determined. I also knew I had a losing hand. I didn't know that Jan had proof that I'd been cheating on her, but it wouldn't be all that hard to get. With that in hand she could get full custody of the girls and most of my money.

Perhaps that should have been the first sign that I wasn't thinking straight. It was true that for the last four years mine had been the major income, but Jan's senior partnership continued to pay her a mid six-figure income even though she wasn't practicing. When she had been in active practice, her income generally exceed mine-- until I developed my new procedures right after she got pregnant.

Acting on the spur of the moment I called Jan and told her that while I understood we needed to talk and that I needed to make some changes I didn't want to have that discussion at home in front of the girls. I suggested she meet me at the club and we could have our discussion while we played a round. It would give us complete privacy. Left implied was that it would also be a public place where neither would be able to give full reign to our tempers without embarrassment.

I was a bit surprised that she agreed with alacrity [2] to meet me at ten when there was an open tee time. I used the next two hours to put hasty plan into action. I knew I didn't have a contract with the hospital. That was part of my leverage with them. I couldn't think of any other legal obligations but I made a quick check with my attorney to make sure. I had him draw up a limited power of attorney to handle the upcoming divorce. If I hadn't moved almost all our money offshore I could never have done what I did next. I used my online banking to empty our accounts. A twinge of conscience made me leave a third for Jan. I figured twenty million was more than she deserved and would keep her from being able to bring in the police.

At nine thirty I watched her drive off for the club. At that time of day it would take her about an hour. As soon as I was sure she was gone, I pulled in and collected my passport and the girls. I told our housekeeper I was taking them for a surprise lunch with my wife. She didn't ask any questions.

I didn't take any extra clothes for the girls. When they asked where we were going, I told them that some very bad men were chasing us and that we had to run away to protect mommy. They were so scared it should have broken my heart but instead it made me even more angry with Jan for thinking that she could take them away from me.

I headed off for Mexico, a seven hour drive from Houston, not counting stops. At eleven I call Jan and told her that I'd picked up the girls and I changed my mind. I said I had decided to spend the night with them at a hotel before we had our talk. I apologized, sounding as sincere as I could. I told her that I realized how important my family was and I wanted to soak up a bit of happiness before we began our talk. Jan was crying but I hung up before she could answer.

I only stopped twice for the girls to go to the potty before I crossed the Mexican border. Because I frequently traveled overseas both Jan and I had the girls on our passports so I didn't have any trouble at the border. I finally stopped for the night when I got to Monterrey.

This is where I began to get clever. I parked the H1 in one of the sections of the city known for its nightlife, with a spare set of keys in the ignition. The next morning the girls and I boarded a plane for Mexico City.

When we arrived I stopped at a bank and arranged for a transfer of funds and exchanged for a little over 100,000 pesos. That kept it under the ten thousand dollar reporting amount. I didn't think that applied to funds coming from the Cayman Islands but I wanted to be careful.

Funds in hand I took the girls shopping for new outfits. What is it about women? They weren't quite four and shopping with them took six times as long as I expected. Part of that was because I insisted that they not get any outfits alike. Once we had a few dozen outfits for each I took them to a hotel beauty shop and had their hair dyed and styled so that each had a different color and look. It was the best I could do. People tend to notice identical triplets and I was determined to leave as faint a trail as possible.

I considered my next step a stroke of genius. I hired a nanny service to provide a nanny for each. We flew to Cancun as four separate groups and the girls did their very best to pretend they didn't know each other.

In Cancun I bought a fully equipped Lexus LX for cash. Hell, with all the Mexican taxes the damn thing cost almost as much as my H1. I guess it was worth it. I soon discovered that Jake Silverstein was right when he described the Pan American Highway as more an idea than a road. I put that LX through hell by the time I reached Peru.

At a country that I won't name I'd acquired a new identity and new passports. Once in Quito, we flew to Nigeria. There I acquired two different legal citizenships for yet other unnamed countries. There seems to be no end to what you can buy in corrupt countries.

Three months and over two million dollars later I breathed a sigh of relief when I was able to buy a nice villa in one of countries south of Mexico which has English as an official language. Since the girl's birthday, May 21st was only two weeks away I decided to combine a housewarming party with a birthday party for the girls. I had carefully coached them as to their new last name and that they were never to mention anything about our life before, but I was still a bit worried about it.

I decided it would be a great idea to hold a family council to make the point clear and to find out what they'd like for their birthday.

Lindsey was always the boldest and was their spokesman that night. "Daddy, I know that we can't see mommy, but we decided that we want to talk to her for our birthday present. Can you make that happen? We'll dye our hair and get new clothes..."

My head began pounding in the fiercest headache of my life. As I looked at my three beautiful daughters the scales fell from my eyes and I saw what I'd done. I couldn't contain a sob as I told them that I'd make sure they had the best birthday ever.

I fled to my room before my shame overwhelmed me. I couldn't believe the type of person I'd become. I spent the hardest night of my life looking at who and what I was. I tried to dismiss my actions as an extreme case of midlife crisis, but I couldn't. By three AM I knew what I had to do and I placed a call to Houston.

I arranged for a charter jet to be waiting in the morning for Jan to fly down here. Then, in the hardest thing I've ever done I used one of my disposable cell phones to call home. It was nearly six in the morning and I heard Jan's sleepy voice.

"Jan, there's a charter waiting for you at Hobby. It will bring you here for the girls. I'll be gone when you get here so don't delay." I hung up before she could say a word and wept.

In my flight to paranoia I'd bought a special identity to use if I was permanently cut off from my money. I'd used a different source so there'd be no connection to my other aliases. It was full legend, which meant it wasn't just legal name and citizenship to a tiny and corrupt country. This one had a full history, schools and even credentials from a third rate medical school in a different fourth world country. I figured in a worst case scenario I could earn enough as a doctor to support us.

Now I was about to learn just how little a medical degree could be worth. The "exam I'd taken to get the license could have been passed by any junior pre-med student. The jobs available were on about that level, not that I applied for any. Instead I wanted to join "Fingers in the Dike." FID is a private medical charity that sends doctors and nurses into the pandemic areas around the world to provide free care to the most needy.

I almost wasn't accepted. My medical school wasn't fully accredited but after hours of interviews I ended up in front of a elderly doctor whose white hair floated around his bald center like a fluffy halo. He was the first person not to ask about my credentials. Instead he asked about my reasons.

I swear that cherubic exterior was an evil disguise for the soul of Tomás de Torquemada. No, I take that back. Torquemada required hot coals and torture instruments. Father John just needed a gentle smile and eyes that gouged into your deepest soul like a left over tunnel borer from the "Big Dig" in Boston.

I'm not Catholic. Hell, I'm not anything, but I found myself asking if he could hear my confession. When he agreed it all came pouring out in a rush. He listened asking a few penetrating questions and an eternity later I was wringing wet with sweat and limp as a wet noodle.

"My son, don't you think you should go back home and face your wife?"

I shook my head, "I can't. I can't look myself in the mirror much less Jan. My lawyer has the power of attorney to let her divorce me. I've instructed him to give her everything. Right now I'm not worthy to talk to her much less ask her to forgive me. I couldn't stand to be there and not see the girls and I don't trust myself not to try to run off with them again if I were back there. Besides, what's the point? I've had everything a man could want and it didn't make me happy. Maybe if I devote myself to the care of others I might find some measure of peace."

I saw depthless sorrow in Father John's eyes, "It won't help, but I don't suppose you'll listen to me about that either. If you'd listen, I'd send you back to Houston to use your God-given skills to support a dozen less-skilled doctors."

He sighed, "But you'll need to find out for yourself. I'm bound by the confessional not to use the information you've given me. Still, I no longer have a concern that you're not competent to practice tropical medicine. I'm going to send you to sub-Sahara Africa where there is an expanding outbreak of bacterial meningitis. There's not a lot we can do, but it's where we're needed the most."

I spent three months at a training facility to learn how to deal with disease and conditions I'd only read about for trick test questions on medical exams. Then I was off. I went to see if I could somehow balance my Karma by doing good deeds. I was more than appalled at what I found there. I expected conditions like I'd seen in parts of South America where hospitals for the poor still used wards holding as many as a hundred patients. In this African country I saw nearly that many in rooms that were little more that grass huts. There was no sanitation ... there was no running water! I found people left to die with no privacy and even less dignity.

I threw myself into my work, we did have medicines. Many of the major drug companies would provide us with out of date supplies. These were still perfectly good, merely past the point that they felt safe selling them in lawyer-rich countries.

I was only dealing with the worst cases, but there were several hundred worst cases. I found I was performing one or two tracheotomies (a tube inserted through a hole in the throat to allow a patient to breathe) a day because we didn't have the oxygen equipment needed to avoid them. I was also losing about that many patients a day. I was also doing minor and major surgeries, and after a typical twelve-hour day I'd spend as much time as I could hunting for the source of the outbreak.

The problem wasn't finding a source, it was that I had too many possible sources. Sanitation methods would have been laughed at during the Dark Ages. And it wasn't that the country didn't have the money to fix the problem. Aid from first world countries had been more than adequate. The problem was that the money ended up in the pockets of endless bureaucrats, petty officials and especially those at the top. Oh, it would pass simple audits, but these examinations didn't show that every service was overpriced and done by companies owned by those in power. I was beginning to hate corruption.

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