Prick Van Winkle

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1-2 | 3-4 | 5-6 | 7-8 | 9-10 | 11-12 | 13-14 | 15-16 | 17-18
19-20 | 21-22 | 23-24 | 25-26 | 27-28 | 29-30 | 31-32 | 33-Epilogue

Chapter 11

Zack wasn't wrong. When they pulled up to Bob's house in Circleton in Zack's 1995 Blazer, there was a satellite van parked on the street with people milling around outside of it. The side of the van was emblazoned with "KZWT ACTION NEWS - FIRST ON THE SCENE" There was a huge numeral "7" between the phrases.

It looked a little like a used car lot with two cars in the driveway and another on the street in front of the van. A man was standing at the closed front door shouting something as they parked, blocking the driveway. The man turned and shaded his eyes, peering at them as they got out. His face lit up when he saw Zack, who he knew, and the man with him, whose identity he guessed, correctly for once. He hurried over to them waving to his camera crew. They lumbered across the yard, trashing Martha's carefully tended flower garden in the process.

"MISTER WINKLE ... MISTER WINKLE ... KIP JACKSON, ACTION NEWS ... MISTER WINKLE HOW DOES IT FEEL TO WAKE UP FROM A FIFTY YEAR LONG NAP ONLY TO BE BEATEN UP BY THE POLICE?" he shouted, trying to run and shout into his microphone at the same time. One of the camera crew tore off his headphones with a yelp.

Zack stepped in front of Bob and held up his hand and spoke in his most officious voice.

"Mister Winkle was not beaten up by the police and is not under arrest. He is a victim, not a subject, and is being sequestered from the press until he can make a full and complete statement. Leave him alone Kip."

"Come on, Detective!" whined Kip. "I have to get this story! I fucked up on live feed yesterday and they'll can my ass if I come back empty-handed."

"KIP!" yelled one of the technicians. "We're on live feed now!"

Kip's eyes opened wide and his face went blotchy red. He threw down the microphone, which is why half a million viewers of breaking news had to lean forward to hear Kip Jackson, Action News, scream "MOTHERFUCKER!! YOU SAID WE'D BE ON THIRTY SECOND DELAY!"

The cameraman, who had been trained never ever to break a live feed without being told to, held his camera on the scene. Kip Baldwin gave the viewers what they wanted as he had his breakdown, falling to the ground, kicking and screaming like a five year old. Zack couldn't resist yelling at the camera "Back to you, Jack!"

Martha met them at the door, a sea of feminine faces behind her. As she let Bob and Zack in the door she explained that, after a nice lunch in Sacramento, they came home and had just parked the three cars they'd driven to see Bob in when the Action News van screeched to a stop at the curb. Kip had erupted out of the car, peppering them with questions about where Bob Winkle was, and how did they know him, and why were they there, interspersed with verbal abuse directed at the other men lugging equipment out of the van, screaming at them to "HURRY THE FUCK UP!" Martha, who occasionally watched channel seven news, waited until Kip took a breath and said "I don't like you. I've never liked you. Go away!" As the women tried to get in the house and away from Kip, he tried to force his way in with them. Becca foiled his plan by the simple expedient of jerking the microphone out of his hand and throwing it out into the front yard. While he scrambled, cursing after it, they got inside and locked the door.

Kip was desperate and begged for entry outside the front door, occasionally going to peer into the windows before going back to bang and beg some more. That had been going on for half an hour when Bob got home.

When she finished with her account, Martha looked at Zack, who had stood quietly by.

"Who's this?" she asked. "What happened? They said you were under arrest! Ohhhh Daddy!" She ended up bawling as her emotions let down and she wrapped her arms around him.

"Detective Simpson!" said Val, stepping forward. "How delightful to see you again." she purred.

"Are there any policemen you don't flirt with?" moaned her mother.

Introductions were made and there was a flurry of activity making places for everyone to be able to sit down so they could ask all the innumerable questions, most aimed at Zack. Bob had already told them his version of events, while they visited, but didn't know, at the time, what Zack's investigation had uncovered. When it finally got to the part about whether or not Bob wanted to press charges, with the implication that the company would probably make a monetary offer to avoid going to court, Val yipped.

"I completely forgot!" She jumped up and ran to get her purse. Bringing it back she dug through it and came out with a card in her hand. "When I went back to pick Grandpa up and all the fire trucks and police were there and everything, a man gave me this." She handed the card to Bob.

"Gus Gunderson, Attorney At Law" was emblazoned across the top in red letters. Under that was a laundry list of things that Gus Gunderson did to make a living. The list included "litigation for unlawful injury". There was a phone number, a fax number and a cell phone number listed at the bottom. Under that a website was listed: geteventoday.com. Penciled in behind that were the words "(under construction)".

Zack peered over Bob's shoulder. "Haven't heard of this one before. Must be new in town. It couldn't hurt to give him a call. You didn't hear me say that, by the way."

Zack stayed for supper. Martha had six pizza's delivered and Val ended up sitting beside Zack on the couch while they ate. Zack was one of those people who had a knack for getting others to talk about themselves. It was part of what made him a good detective. He used his skills on Val, enjoying just sitting and watching her as she talked. At one point she turned to him.

"Now that Grandpa isn't under arrest any more we could have dinner or something ... couldn't we?"

Zack would have loved nothing more than to spend time with this ravishing creature.

"Aren't I a little old for you?" he suggested.

"How old are you?" she asked.

Zack was surprised at how hard it was to answer. "Forty-two." he said. "Old enough to be your father, probably."

She wasn't fazed. "I already have a father. I don't need another one. But I'm not dating anybody right now." She glanced at Bob, who was talking to June, and remembered thinking of him as an "older man" for as long as she could remember. "I like older men." she said softly. "At least I think I do. You're the first one I've ever asked out."

"Aren't I the one who's supposed to be asking you out?" he grinned.

"I accept!" she said promptly. "I like movies and hiking and candle lit dinners - even though I've never actually been to one - and I like the zoo and swimming and..."

Zack held up his hand. "I don't think your mother would appreciate a man like me taking her virginal young daughter out on the town."

"Who said I'm a virgin?" asked Val, leaning her breast against his arm.

Women who have young daughters also seem to have exceptional hearing. Sunny's keen ears heard the word "virgin" over on the couch and she went on full alert.

"What, exactly, are you being interrogated about over there?" she asked.

Val looked at her mother. "Zack was just telling me about a recipe he likes. We were debating about sautéing mushrooms. He thinks butter is fine. I say you must always use extra virgin olive oil. What do you think Mom?" She said it with a completely straight face, in a completely normal tone of voice, so much so that she got away with it.

"Oh," said Sunny. "My ears must have been playing a trick on me. You know I never use butter any more dear." She went back to her conversation with Becca.

"Remind me," said Zack softly, "that if I ever do have to interrogate you, a polygraph needs to be involved."

Val smiled and Zack's prick began to stiffen as she said "You won't need that. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

In the end, when Zack left, he had a date with a beautiful young woman. He shook his head as he drove off, wondering if he was crazy or not. He hadn't actually broken any department policy in making the date. She wasn't actually a witness, in the strict sense of the term. Still, if anyone found out about it he knew he'd get a load of crap over it. He decided he didn't care. Spending more time with her would be worth it.

Since everyone was together already, they all agreed to go over to June's house, where Bob was currently staying, and where Rip's journal was, to hear another page or two. Sunny and Gidget expressed the most concern, saying how tired they were, and what a harrowing day it had been, and how they had to go to work the next morning. All the working women had called in sick to go rescue Bob. But, when it was suggested that they could wimp out and go home if they wanted, while the others listened to Bob read, they caved and went with them.

This was the part of the journal where Rip described going up into the mountains for squirrel, with Wolf, and how he heard a voice, and saw a little stocky man toiling up the mountain with a keg on his shoulder. Somehow the man knew his name, and called it out, asking Rip to help him with his burden. Then, alternating carrying the keg, which was heavy and sloshed, the little man led him to a deep ravine that, when the snows were melting, would have been running with water.

Now, however, it was dry, and there was a game of ninepins going on, conducted by more little squarely built men dressed in old timey clothing from the old country, where Rip's forefathers had lived.

All of this was described in page after page of tiny, cramped writing, down to the number of buttons that ran down the leg of the little man carrying the keg, and the fact that trees overhung the little amphitheater in which the game was going on. He described the noise of the game as sounding like thunder, and said several times that he had a strange feeling that something wasn't right, but was just too interested in the goings on to abandon them.

Bob closed the book with a thump that made three of the women jump.

"You can't stop there!" wailed Fran, who had leaned forward so much she was almost on her hands and knees.

"Sunny and Gidget are right." he pronounced solemnly. "They have to go to work and I need to talk to my daughters about what to do with this lawyer thing."

Moans of despair persisted, but Bob was adamant and finally they all left except Martha, June and Betty. Becca asked to stay the night, and her mother nodded after looking at June, who also nodded. It wasn't unusual for Becca to want to spend the night at her grandmother's. There was a guest bedroom. It just so happened that nobody thought about the fact that there was only one guest bedroom.

Well, not until Martha and Betty left. Then June remembered she only had one guest bedroom, and she was forced to let Becca assume that Bob was already staying in that room, rather than sleeping with his daughter.

"You can sleep on the couch, dear." she said to her granddaughter.

"Okay Grandma," said Becca dutifully.

"I need a shower," said Bob. He liked showers a lot. All they'd had when he went to sleep was a tub, and he liked them too, but showers were even better.

"Well, you know where it is," said June, tiredly. "I have a headache. Today was just too much for my old bones. I'm going to take a sleeping pill. You two are on your own for breakfast."

"Night Grandma," said Becca.

"Sleep tight," said Bob.

Bob stood under the shower head leaning against the wall. His face was still raw and blotchy red from the direct spray it had gotten. The doctor had told him how lucky he was that his eyes had been partially closed when the spray hit. Pepper spray wasn't supposed to blind you, but it burned, and it burned eye tissues just like it burned skin. It hurt if the water hit his face directly, so he let it hit the top of his head and cascade down over his face. He had the water pretty cool, and it felt good.

The shower door opened and Becca stood there jaybird naked.

"Is there room for me?" she whispered.

Bob groaned. "Your grandmother is in the next room, young lady." he said softly.

"I know," said Becca, stepping into the shower stall. "But she took a sleeping pill and I know my grandmother. She'll sleep like a log for hours."

Belying her teenaged sure-fire wisdom, the bathroom door opened and June's voice drifted over the top of the shower door.

"I washed the towels Daddy. I just got them out of the dryer. I'll put them out here. You want me to scrub your back?" she asked.

Becca crowded between Bob and the wall away from the shower door as Bob felt a tinge of panic.

"Thanks sweetheart," he said standing full on to the door to try to help hide the girl. "But I'm bushed. I'm almost done. You go on to bed. You need your sleep."

"I know," said June. "I just thought I'd offer. It looks like you could use a good scrubbing."

Bob looked down at his jutting prick, which was pointed directly toward his daughter. The wavy opacity of the glass kept her from seeing clearly enough to tell that there were two people in the shower, but she could see the shadowy shape of his erection.

"Uh ... I'll be fine." he said, not knowing what else to do.

June lowered her voice, to something louder than a whisper, but intended not to carry to the living room. "You just save that beautiful thing for me. When Becca leaves in the morning I'm going to be horny as a goat."

Bob sighed. "Yes dear." he said, as Becca's fingernails bit into his hips where she was holding on tightly.

The door closed with a faint "Night Daddy." and Bob turned to face his great granddaughter. She was wet and bedraggled, but the astonishment on her face was plain. She looked down at his hard prick.

"You ... and Grandma?" she said, her voice hushed with disbelief. "You two ... do it?!"

"It's a long story," said Bob, wondering how he was going to deal with this little problem. He hit upon an idea. He thought it was a brilliant idea. "Remember what you used to do when I was asleep?"

Becca was no longer embarrassed by that. Too much had changed. That day on the blanket had changed the way she thought about a lot of things. She nodded.

"Well you weren't the only one who ... experimented."

Becca's mouth dropped open and then snapped shut. "Oh my gosh," she whispered loudly.

Bob put a finger up to her mouth to warn her she was getting too loud.

"While you were sleeping?" she gasped. "Grandma ... did it with you? While you were sleeping? She's your daughter!"

"You did things with me while I was sleeping." he pointed out.

"Well yes, I know but ... Grandma?" It was impossible, as it is with most young people, to visualize older people having sex, especially if it was older family members. Her face suddenly flexed and assumed a crafty visage. She wasn't a stupid girl.

"Who else?" she demanded. Her hand reached down and grasped Bob's prick and she jacked it slowly.

Bob had thought he'd have to think of a clever way to get her to ask that question. But he wanted things to be less secretive in his new family. He didn't want to have to skulk around. And since all but three of them were guilty of the same basic thing, only those three needed to be kept in the dark.

"Everybody except your mother." he said. "And her sisters," he added.

Becca jerked hard on his cock.

"Val and Fran?!" she squeaked. "Even Fran?"

"Ow" said Bob calmly. Her hand relaxed, but didn't leave his penis. "And keep your voice down." He thought about it. "On the other hand, yell if you want. You know about June. Why shouldn't she know about you?"

Becca's reaction was just like he expected. Her hand left his prick and both hands went to his chest.

"No way!" she whispered loudly. "Don't you dare tell anybody about us." She blinked. "Aunt Martha and Aunt Betty too?"

"All six of you," said Bob, smiling.

"But not my mom," said Becca, looking faintly horrified.

"Not yet," said Bob, grinning.

Becca looked outraged. "Don't you dare..." she had spoken aloud and Bob hushed her by kissing her. He expected her to push him away, but her reaction was completely different. She melted against him, pushing his penis down between her legs and she humped it as she kissed him back with all the fervor she had in her. Her hands went to his back and slid all over it. She kissed him so hard it hurt his face and he pulled back.

"Ow." he said again, but he smiled as she looked at him and realized what she had done.

"You have to do it with me." she moaned, wanting to kiss him again, but stopping because of his face.

"I thought we had this discussion." he said softly.

"If you did it with my grandmother you have to do it with me." she said firmly. She reached down and grasped his cock, digging the tip into her sex. She raised one leg, trying to impale herself on him.

"Who made that rule?" he asked, delighting in her passion.

"I did." she said. "You have to do it with me ... please?"

"You're crazy." he said.

"I'm horny and I want to be a woman." she said back. "I want you to make me a woman."

"You're already a woman." he said. What she was doing to him ... with him ... had gotten him going and his resolve was slipping.

"I'll scream if you don't." she threatened.

"Go ahead. I thought you didn't want your grandmother to know about us." he grinned.

"Oh pleeease?" she whined. She had managed to get the tip lodged in her pussy mouth and was squirming against it. It was too low for her to get any further in, though.

Bob had never done it standing up, or in a shower for that matter, but it didn't seem like it would be that hard. He bent his knees and Becca beamed at him as he jutted his hips forward and stood up.

The smile on Becca's face vanished as his aching prong slid all the way up inside her. Only the soap that was on his prick saved her from real pain, even though it stung her tender tissues a little, too. Still, she was split wide by his thick rod.

She went up on her tip toes and let out an agonized "Awwwww" before Bob kissed her again to shut her up again. He pressed her against the shower wall and she dangled there like a finger puppet with just one, long, hard finger up inside her. Her hands batted at his waist, but his hands, one under each armpit kept her from moving sideways. There was nothing she could do to escape the cruel shaft that was stretching her so much. The water beat off of them, splashing the sides of their faces as Bob went up on his tiptoes.

Becca felt the sharp pain of being spread apart for the first time, and then a generalized ache in her loins pushed that sharp pain away. She felt like she had eaten too much, except not in her stomach. His lips on hers felt foreign and harsh and she had a moment of panic as she tried to move but found herself helpless.

Then her clit, which was trying to be pushed up inside her body by the base of his cock began to get its signals through to her brain. There was a small jab of sweet pleasure, and then another longer one and she raised her legs up and spread them apart to ease the pressure. All her weight was jamming her pussy down onto his prick and she wrapped her legs around his hips, hooking her ankles to ease the strain of holding them up. At the same time her hands gripped the tops of his shoulders and pulled. The ache lessened, and the streaks of exquisite pleasure began to come more often as she pushed against the shower wall, flexing her abdominal muscles in the process. Bob's hands slid down her sides and cupped her buttocks, lifting her just enough to ease the pressure a little more. He pulled and pushed on his penis, getting enough slack to move it an inch out and then back in, in rabbit -like jerks of his own abs.

Bob felt stronger than he ever had in his life. The girl in his arms seemed weightless as he fucked into her eagerly. He couldn't breathe and broke the kiss, panting.

"Is this what you wanted?" he gasped, jabbing into her several more times.

"Didn't ... think ... it ... would ... be ... like ... this." she panted as he jabbed into her. She didn't know what to think. There were equal parts pain and pleasure now, and she thought that if she could just get a little more comfortable, the pain would go away.

Bob saw in her eyes that it wasn't the way he wanted it to be for her, and that robbed him of his desire to make frenzied thrusts. He reached behind him and broke her ankles loose. As they fell he lifted her by the strength in his arms alone and pulled her off of him.

"Nooo don't stop." moaned Becca. The feeling of the pressure going away was good, but the feeling of emptiness left behind was horrible in a way she couldn't begin to describe.

Bob shut off the water and, holding one finger to his lips he opened the door and pulled her out. She stood dripping as he grabbed one of the towels June had left for him and hastily moved it over her body. She continued to make little sounds of unhappiness but stopped as he picked up the other towel and pulled her towards the bathroom door. Opening it carefully, Bob looked out into the hallway and then pulled Becca through the door. Stark naked, they both tiptoed away from June's bedroom door, toward the living room. The only light was from the streetlights coming through the windows, but it was enough Bob could navigate.

He spread a towel on the couch and positioned Becca to sit on it. When she did his long, hard prick was at her face level and she automatically leaned forward to slide it into her mouth. The little his prick had softened vanished instantly and he came back to full vibrating hard. When she pulled off he knelt between her knees and leaned forward to suck at her nipples. She leaned back and his head followed her as her own head hit the back of the couch, making it look like she was looking at the ceiling. Her hands came to the back of his still wet head as he licked and suckled.

He leaned back, on his knees, and pulled her hips until her wide open pussy was at the edge of the seat. Then he grabbed his prick to settle it between her pussy lips again. She raised her head, her eyes glinting in the light.

Slowly, this time, he pushed forward into velvety soft heat. In this position she was tight, but not as tight as before. She held her breath as he kept pushing, slowly, and let it out as he pulled back.

"Better?" he whispered.

She nodded and put her hands beside her hips. When he pushed in this time her hands pushed and she managed to push her pussy toward him. Bob realized that he wasn't getting all the way into her and, as he continued to push and pull slowly, he dropped one hand to lay it on her abdomen. His thumb dipped, found her clit, and massaged it gently.

Becca went rigid, and then her hips began bucking spasmodically as she tried to push against his prick and make his thumb go where she wanted it all at the same time. It didn't work, but she had fun trying. Bob could feel her pussy begin to relax. It was getting easier to push into her. The light coming through the windows spilled across her naked chest and belly and Bob felt his nuts begin to tighten.

He pushed her sideways, rising on his toes with her until she was lying on the cushions, one leg up on the back of the couch, and the other foot on the floor. He lay on top of her and pushed hard, feeling his balls bounce off her buttocks.

"Mmmmm" she moaned. Now her clitty was getting what it wanted, and that awful emptiness was a thing of the past. She still felt stuffed, but now it was a good kind of stuffed.

How long he lasted Bob couldn't have said. It felt like a long time as he moved in and out, sometimes slowly, sometimes faster and sometimes not at all as he pushed and stayed deep. Her whispers in his ear began to take on a chanting quality as she said "Oh yes" in a soft whisper over and over again, getting a little louder until he had to kiss her to keep her quiet again.

She bucked under him and her pussy squeezed him so tightly that his foreskin hurt as he pushed into her. Her feet moved, the upper one pounding the back of the couch and the one on the floor sliding back and forth until it stuck in one place and she shoved her hips up so hard it lifted Bob's body.

Knowing she was having an orgasm, Bob surrendered to his aching balls and groaned as his prick began belching streams of thick, rich and potent semen into his great granddaughter's belly. He sagged on her, pinning her to the couch as he filled her to overflowing. Both panted to catch their breath and her arms went around him tightly.

"That," she whispered, panting, "was ... what ... I had ... in ... mind."

He was heavy on her which she loved, but which made him uncomfortable. He pulled out of her and sat on the floor. Becca stayed right where she was, lying limply. The light from the lamps outside almost glowed as it hit the puddle of semen that collected in her now gaping pussy mouth and began to drip down onto the towel. She put one hand to her crotch and dipped a finger into the mess, pulling that back up and sucking it clean.

"I love your taste." she sighed. "But I think I love having your taste down there even more."

"We can't do this again." whispered Bob. "You could get pregnant."

Becca said nothing, getting another finger-ful of spunk and licking that off.

"Thank you." she said, her voice normal, but soft.

"Believe me, it was my pleasure." he smiled in the dark.

"What was it like?" she asked. "When you were sleeping, I mean. What was it like to do what we just did?"

"It wasn't like that." he said. "I was on my back, of course. It was like having a dream that was very nice. I could hear what you all said and some part of my mind made sense of that so that the dream made sense, but I always thought it was just a dream."

"Did you ... do in them what you just did inside of me?" she asked.

"Many times." he admitted.

"With Val?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Val only did what you did. And Fran didn't even do that much. I get the feeling she was about to start doing more, but then I woke up."

"I thought we talked about everything, but I guess I was wrong." She sounded sad.

"Did you ever want to tell them what you did with me?"

"Well ... no. I guess I thought they'd think I was a sicko or something."

"Do you feel like a sicko now?"

"No." Her voice was firm. "I feel wonderful. I've never felt as wonderful as I feel right now."

"I'm very happy to hear that Becca." he said.

"How soon before you can go again?" she asked in the dark. "Melissa told me a man can go in about fifteen minutes but I didn't really believe her."

"It differs from man to man, I imagine." he said. "That's not something that men talked about with each other when I was ... before I went to sleep. I think some of it depends on what is happening. Just now ... when you said you were happy and felt wonderful? That made me hard again."

"You're hard again now?" her voice rose.

"Yes." he said.

She sat up and scooted back to her original position, pussy on the edge of the seat, head back against the couch, legs spread wide. Her arms reached out in the dark.

"Again." she said, packing more into that one word that most people could put in a whole book.

He did take her again. This time after he'd rodded her for a while she pushed him off, down on the carpet on his back. "I want to do it like they did." she said, climbing up over him. When she settled down onto him it was with a groan as he went even deeper up inside her than he had before. Her young breasts jiggled and danced in the light as her hips went crazy and she gasped for air. Bob liked it, but he couldn't cum, so lubricated was she. She had three orgasms, almost in a row before Bob rolled her over and lay on top of her again. In this position he could move his penis so that the foreskin caressed his knob. That led him to pumping his balls dry inside her again as she mewled and accepted his dangerous gift.

Eventually, Bob limped to the guest bedroom and lay on the bed exhausted. He had no idea what Becca was going to do. Since she had appeared naked in the bathroom, he didn't know where her clothing was for sure, but she knew, of course. He was pleasantly surprised the next morning when he woke up refreshed and full of energy. He pulled on a pair of shorts and walked out into the living room where his astonished eyes took in Becca, still gloriously naked, her pubic hair matted with his spend, lying on the couch and breathing deeply in sleep with one arm over her eyes. His prick gave a little lurch at the sight of her nudity and her spread legs, but he pushed his desire down. The last thing either of them needed was her grandmother walking in and seeing her this way.

He woke her up and she smiled at him. She was completely unashamed about her nakedness and held up her arms for a kiss.

"You get your butt in to the shower." he said smiling. "I'll give you a kiss when you're presentable."

Becca stretched, watching through her lashes as his eyes went to her breasts.

"I'm not presentable?" she teased.

"You're beautiful. I assume you've decided to tell your grandmother that you've started having wild passionate sex with me?"

Becca bounced up off the couch and grabbed the soiled towels. She leaned towards him and kissed him before he could back up.

"Not just yet." she smiled.

"Wise move." he said, swatting at her butt as she danced toward the bathroom.

Chapter 12

When he woke June, she was true to her word.

"Where's Becca?" she asked, yawning and stretching.

"She's taking a shower," said Bob pulling the sheet off of her. She was naked under the sheet.

"Good, we have time for you to wake me up right." she said, reaching for him and spreading her legs.

"What in the world did my wife think she was doing?" said Bob, shaking his head. "She turned you into sex machines."

"You turned us into sex machines, Daddy." she corrected. We all loved taking care of you and when you made Martha pregnant, both Betty and I were so jealous that we had to have you as often as we possibly could. Old habits die hard, they say."

"Well that habit is going to have to wait," said Bob firmly. "The last thing we need is for your granddaughter to come in here to wake you up and find me lying on top of you, grunting and groaning.

June pouted. "I suppose you're right. But you're a mean Daddy! I want you to know that!"

But Becca was in a hurry to leave after she took her shower to wash away the evidence of the loss of her virginity. Just to make sure she took the towels into the shower with her, washing the spunk out of them and wringing them as dry as she could with her hands. She acted completely normal at breakfast, chatting about this and that and then ran out the door as if she had things to do.

She did.

She had news for her cousins ... big news.

She had not been gone for more than ten minutes before Bob was hunched over June, rodding her slow, stopping deep inside her to wiggle his hips from side to side, ringing her bell quite nicely and then giving her a newly made batch of Daddy cum.

The phone calls started about nine, and they happened in every house in which a Winkle, or a former Winkle lived. The media can dig up fascinating information on the average citizen when they put their minds to it, and all of Bob's immediate offspring, and grandchildren were identified and contacted for "comment". It would be too complicated to go into the story of each of the males his sleeping body produced in his wife and daughters. Suffice it to say there were seven, and that they had all moved away from Circleton, making lives much like their sisters had, except that those lives didn't involve Bob. They came to visit infrequently, and most of them had no real interest in Bob, save his 'biological' son, who considered himself a step-son, since he was born after Bob went to sleep. They had all been notified that Bob had awakened, and all were interested in an academic sort of way, but they were also busy with their own lives. They didn't plan to make a special trip to see him, sad as that sounds.

But they got calls from the media, just like the women did. Lots of calls.

It took a few days, but eventually it was impossible to contact a Winkle, by virtue of the fact that all of them now had unlisted numbers. Even that didn't protect Martha, whose new number was weaseled out of an employee of the phone company for the tidy sum of two thousand dollars. That two grand got the enterprising reporter an air horn in his ear and a burst ear drum, but nothing else.

As far as the Winkles were concerned, Bob's story was their business, and no one else's.

The feds learned about Bob when a reporter, desperate to get access to Bob, contacted the Social Security Administration suggesting that Bob might have received benefits illegally. He offered the information about Bob on condition that he be allowed to tag along when any interviews took place. The Feds looked into Bob's situation only long enough to document that no one had thought to collect Social Security benefits on his behalf. It would have technically been legal while he slept, but Federal investigators are always looking for those cases where benefits should have stopped, and didn't. In this case they didn't even send anybody to interview him since there was no claim to interview him about. The reporter was left in the dust.

Almost the only news that got out was about the debacle at the Amalgamated Insurance company's headquarters. Employees there sold the information shamelessly, reaping the benefit while the company's reputation suffered. There were about four photographs of Bob, being dragged out of the building by Chuck, or being strapped to the gurney to be taken to the hospital. All of them made him look like he'd been beaten within an inch of his life and they were dynamite. It was verified that the man had slept for fifty years, and that the company had paid his claim the whole time. Employees whose names were withheld swore that he appeared to be in his mid twenties and looked like anybody else on the street. The supervisor at the DMV was interviewed, and confirmed that she had examined Bob's fifty year old license and found it to be valid. Everyone in California and a lot of other places knew the name of Bob Winkle, and that he had been assaulted inside the headquarters of Amalgamated.

But no one knew much else. The police investigation was still "ongoing" and wasn't a public record yet. The department was leak-proof, thanks to the dedication of the people working there.

About the only thing the Media got right (without knowing it) was that Bob was dubbed "The 20th Century Rip Van Winkle."

The public was starved for information, and the media was stumped.

Camera crews camped outside various houses for a few weeks before it got too expensive to keep them there for no gain. There was no gain because Betty had a friend who had a cabin up in the mountains, and he offered her the use of the place "for the duration". She had another friend who owned a plumbing and heating shop. He showed up to "repair a leaky faucet" one day, wearing a ball cap and sunglasses. The news crew couldn't get to him before he was in the house. When he came out an hour later they were ready. When the news crew descended on him, asking why he was there, and if he had seen Bob, and trying to get him to report everything he saw while he was in the house, he held up his hand and asked for a purchase order to charge his time against. If they were going to take his time, somebody was going to pay for it. The negotiations resulted in a verbal contract and the man was paid three thousand dollars in cash, hastily retrieved by the producer from a teller machine six blocks away. It didn't occur to any of the news people that this man's time seemed to be worth a heck of a lot of money. He deflected every question until the producer got back, saying "No cash, no answers."

The cameras were turned on and the interviewer began firing questions off.

"Mr ... uh Richardson ... Did you see Bob Winkle while you were in the house?"

"No, I didn't," said the man.

"Was he in the house?"

"I believe so, yes."

"What was it like in there?"

"I guess I'd have to say it was just a normal house. They had a leaky faucet and I fixed it. Nice folks. That's about it I guess."

"But what is Bob Winkle like?" asked the frustrated interviewer.

"I really couldn't say. Like I said I never saw the guy."

The interviewer turned to his producer. "Why did we pay this guy anyway?"

The man answered for him. "Because you're taking my time. Time is money. You want to poke into people's business, you got to pay. We done here?"

They tried to think up more questions, but got nothing further from the man, who waved at the camera and said "Hi, Honey", got in the van and drove away. He drove somewhat erratically, with a few stops and starts and a little screeching of tires. The cameraman joked that he was laughing so hard he couldn't drive.

Actually, Bob had never driven anything as big as the van. For it was, in fact Bob, wearing Ted Richardson's shirt, hat and sunglasses who was driving the van. Martha had put makeup on his face to hide the redness left over from the pepper spray. He went three blocks and parked it behind a Kwik Stop, where Betty was waiting for him. She took him to the cabin and he gave her the three thousand dollars to give to Ted for his time, trouble and help.

Meanwhile, Ted walked out of the house and into the arms of a very unhappy news crew.

"Who are you?" asked the interviewer.

"I'm Ted Richardson." he said.

"But we just talked to Ted Richardson," said the confused reporter.

"No, you just talked to Bob Winkle. You folks have a nice day. I gotta run. I got a toilet to replace over on Elm Street."

He calmly walked off down the street to retrieve his van.

Once ensconced in the cabin, Bob had nothing to do. There were some old magazines around, so he read them. Betty was going to bring him clothes and books later. The cabin had electricity, but no TV. He remembered the card Val had given him and pulled it out of his wallet. Using Fran's cell phone, which had been donated to the cause, he called one of the numbers at the bottom of the card.

"Gunderson, Attorney at Law," said a mellow female voice into his ear.

"Yes, I'd like to speak to Gus Gunderson about a litigation problem," said Bob.

"And what is the nature of the problem?"

"I went into a company building to do some business and got assaulted."

"That would be more of a police kind of thing," said the woman on the other end.

"My name is Bob Winkle," said Bob, to test the waters.

There was silence long enough that Bob said "Hello?"

Then he heard a muffled shout, as if a hand was being held over the mouthpiece: "Gus, quit looking at porn and get your lazy ass on the phone. That Rip Van Winkle guy is on the line!" Then, in a calmer voice she spoke to Bob. "He's on his way, sir, please hold."

"Gus Gunderson." came a gruff voice into Bob's ear.

"Mr. Gunderson, my name is Bob Winkle and I'd like to ask you about possible litigation against an insurance company."

"This had better not be a joke," said Gus. "I'm a busy man. I'm litigating hundreds of cases."

"It's no joke," said Bob. "If you're that busy then perhaps I should contact someone else."

"No!" shouted Gus. "I mean I always have time for a fam ... I mean worthy man like yourself. How do I know it's really you?" he asked.

Bob thought for a minute. "I'm in hiding from the media right now, and I don't want to come to your office. How about this. Call up Detective Sergeant Zack Simpson at the Sacramento Police Department. Tell him you talked to me and that you're trying to confirm my identity. Tell him I said I hope he and Val have an exciting date."

"Val? Who's Val?" asked Gunderson.

"That doesn't matter. He'll tell you whether he thinks it's really me or not. I'll call you back in half an hour."

Bob hung up and went outside to explore. The cabin was in a cluster of other structures. Owners had banded together to buy the property so they could share the cost of infrastructure. Only two other cabins seemed to have anyone in them, and Bob hadn't seen anyone yet. He walked around and met Sally, a woman of young, but indeterminate age who was on her porch typing furiously on a laptop computer, something he was still amazed existed. She waved and Bob stopped. It turned out that she and her husband owned the cabin and that she was an aspiring author.

"I'm trying to write the Great American Novel." she laughed. "So far I'm doing a lot of writing, but it isn't all that great. I've wanted to do this since I was a little girl and Jerry - he's my husband - has been really supportive of me. It probably won't amount to much, but I sure am having fun writing."

"What's it about?" asked Bob.

"Oh, I suppose it's a romance novel." she said. "It's supposed to be about high drama in a wealthy family, with deep dark secrets and all that. You wouldn't be interested in it." she said.

"I'm borrowing a cabin over there," Bob pointed, "kind of relaxing and getting away from things. I don't have all that much to keep me busy. I'd love to read what you've got. I never met a real author before."

"What happened to your face?" asked the curious woman. She put a hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry. It's none of my business. My mouth always runs away with itself. Never mind. I shouldn't have asked."

"Don't feel bad," said Bob smiling. "I know I look pretty rough. Actually, I got a close up dose of pepper spray."

Sally's eyes narrowed. "You're not a rapist or anything are you? My brother is a policeman." She closed her laptop and stood up, ready to flee.

Bob held up a hand. "No, no, it wasn't anything like that. I'm surprised there are any rapists left on the planet if that's what they came up with for women to defend themselves with. No, it was a misunderstanding with a security guard. He thought I was trying to make trouble and squirted the stuff in my face. You have nothing whatsoever to fear from me."

Sally looked at him for a few seconds and then sat back down. She didn't open the laptop again though. "Oh." she said. "I'm sorry. A woman can't be too careful these days."

Bob nodded. "I can't believe how much violence there is in America. When I was a little boy nobody ever even locked their house. If you found money lying on the street, you took it to the Police station to turn it in. It's a different world now." he said sadly. "Well, I've taken enough of your time. I won't keep you from your writing. I have to make a phone call anyway. See you later." Bob waved and walked back toward his cabin. Sally stared after him, thinking about what she'd just heard. She frowned. Then, under her breath she said "No ... it couldn't be. That would be just too weird. He's got to be somebody else." She opened up her laptop and her fingers hovered over the keys.

But she was thinking too furiously to be able to write.

Back in the cabin Bob called Gunderson's office again. It was thirty-six minutes since he had hung up. The phone was answered halfway through the first ring.

"Hello!" shouted Gus' voice.

Bob held the phone away from his ear. "This is Bob Winkle again." he said.

"Where were you? I thought you said you'd call in half an hour."

"It has been half an hour," said Bob. "And you don't have to shout, I hear you perfectly fine."

"Okay!" said Gus. He sounded like he'd just run half a mile. "I was just worried that you wouldn't call back ... you know ... that you'd called someone else."

"So you can help me?" asked Bob.

"Yes sir!" barked Gus. "I'm your man Mr. Van Winkle. I'm a shark in bloody water. I'm a bear on the rampage. I'll take them for every penny they have. You just leave everything up to me Mr. Van Winkle and I'll make you a very rich man."

"It's Winkle ... Bob Winkle," said Bob, wondering if he had the right man after all. "What do I need to do?"

"OH!" shouted Gus. "Well ... let's see. We need to meet. I need to talk to you. Yes. I need to get your deposition. I need to know everything! Yes. When can we meet?"

Bob wasn't sure this was a good idea at all. "Well, meeting with you is no problem. I can get away most any time. But I'm not sure I actually want to take them for every penny they have."

"Mr. Van Winkle ... uh Mr. Winkle ... Can I call you Bob? That would be easier. Bob, you're a very famous man, and you have been savagely treated. Those people assaulted you in a most horrible fashion. I saw the pictures. We can get ten million out of them easy."

"Ten million ... dollars?!" asked Bob incredulously. "Isn't that a bit ... excessive?"

"Not in this case Bob. No siree. That's not excessive at all for a famous man like yourself. I mean they might have even made you sterile or something. You never know. We need a doctors' report! Yes! We have to get a good doctor!" said the man excitedly.

"You haven't done too much of this ... have you?" said Bob.

"What do you mean?" asked Gus, panic creeping into his voice. "Of course I have. I've done hundreds of cases ... thousands of cases ... Bob trust me ... I can do this!" said the man.

"If we're going to work together I have to know the truth," said Bob. "If you lie to me even once, we're through, understand?"

"Sure Bob ... no problem Bob. Give me a chance to show you what I can do." Gus pleaded.

There was a knock on the front door of the cabin. Bob looked up. He wasn't expecting anyone who would think they had to knock.

"Hang on Mr. Gunderson. Something's going on. Somebody's at the door and I don't know who."

"Don't answer it!" screamed Gus, knowing in his heart that some other lawyer had found Bob and was about to snatch the sweetest deal he'd ever seen in his life away from him.

Bob looked at the phone and frowned. This guy was nuts. He went to the door and opened it. Sally Smith was standing there.

"You're Bob Winkle ... aren't you." she said. It wasn't a question. "You're that guy they call Rip Van Winkle."

Bob sighed. "Come on in Sally. Be with you in a minute."

He put the phone back up to his ear. Gus was still pleading with him not to open the door, saying something about assassins.

"Gus!" shouted Bob into the phone. It went quiet. "Okay, Gus, I'm back. It's only a neighbor. Now ... how many of these kinds of cases have you done before?"

"I told you! Lots." started Gus.

"Gus, don't lie to me." warned Bob. "If you lie to me I'm hanging up and never calling again."

"Okay, okay, don't hang up. okay, lets see ... okay maybe I've only done ten or twelve, but I won eight of them! I'm just getting started, you see, and I've learned a lot from my mistakes. I mostly do divorces and stuff like that, but I know I can get you a lot of money on this Bob. You have to let me give it a shot."

Bob thought about it. He felt like the truth barrier might actually have been broken.

"Okay, Gus, how much is this going to cost me?"

"Well ... um ... the going rate is thirty percent of whatever is awarded," said Gus.

"I'll give you fifteen Gus. Take it or leave it," said Bob.

"Sold!" yelled Gus excitedly. "I mean deal! Bob, you're not going to regret this. I promise you Bob, we'll wring them dry and hang them out on the line. You'll be a rich man Bob ... trust me!"

"All right," said Bob, sighing. "I'll call you back in a few minutes. I need to take care of something here."

Bob started to flip the phone closed as Gus screamed at him not to hang up.

"Who in the world was that?" asked Sally, looking at Bob interestedly.

"Lawyer." he said shortly. "I'm thinking of suing the insurance company."

"You probably don't even need a lawyer." she said. "If you just threaten to sue they'll cave and make you an offer. You're famous."

"Yeah, well, I'm not so familiar with the way things work these days," said Bob. "How'd you figure it out?"

"My brother is Denny Smith." she said simply.

Bob looked confused.

"The cop who was guarding your door when your whole family descended on the place and threatened to have his badge?" she prompted.

"Denny? That Denny?" Bob laughed out loud. "Man, it's a small world. How about that! Come on in. Sit down. I can't offer you anything. We haven't stocked the place yet. Please don't tell anyone I'm here. I'm hiding out."

"Oh, your secret's safe with me. Denny's got it bad for one of your daughters, or granddaughters or something like that ... somebody named Becca?"

Bob felt a twinge of jealousy. But he realized that his relationship with Becca couldn't last much longer. It would cause too many problems. She needed a good man, and Denny seemed to be one - at least from the little conversation they'd had. Of course he had no idea if Becca was attracted to Denny or not, but at least he could support Denny's interests.

"I hope he's as healthy as he looks," said Bob, grinning. "Becca's going to be a handful for any man."

"Well, if I screwed things up for you he'd kill me. He's still trying to figure out how to get in contact with her without crossing departmental ethics lines.

"No problem. I'll just tell her to go see him the next time I see her," said Bob.

Sally laughed. "Boy, oh boy would that frost his cake if she walked into the precinct house looking for him. Some of the guys think he's gay because he doesn't date much."

"Gay?" asked Bob frowning. "Why would they think he was happy because he wasn't dating?"

Sally stared at him and then let out an explosive laugh. "I forgot, you're still in 1950 for the most part, aren't you?" She sat down. "Today, the word 'gay' is a noun that means a homosexual person. Well, it still can still be used as an adverb or adjective too, but no one uses it that way any more."

"You're kidding," said Bob, sitting across from her. "How in the world did that happen?"

"Words change meaning ... evolve ... like animals do." she said. As a writer this was one of her favorite subjects. "I don't know for sure, but I think it started because gays ... homosexual men ... were seen as effeminate ... you know, tiptoeing through the tulips and being all happy and gay?"

Bob shook his head. "I don't know if I'll ever catch up."

"You want to come over to my place? Get something to eat? I'll try to bring you up to date. Besides, I have a lot of questions for you."

"Everybody does these days." sighed Bob.

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>