For Dad

For Dad

Art was devastated when he received the call from his mother. He was on his way to the hospital in minutes. His father, the person he loved above all others, was in the Emergency Department with a possible stroke. Things, at present, were touch and go.

He ran from the parking garage to Emergency. His mother was standing in the waiting area, more pacing than simply standing.

"Mom!" he called, as he walked quickly to her.

She turned, obviously crying, and hugged him tightly.

"Is he...," he began.

"His blood pressure is stable enough they took him for an MRI. He should be back in twenty minutes or so."

"What happened?"

"He was in the classroom. The kids said he grabbed his head and collapsed. When the ambulance arrived, he was unconscious. He still hasn't come around."

"What have the doctors said?" he asked.

"His right arm and leg are flaccid. That indicates either a stroke or bleeding in the brain."

"Is he going to make it?"

"They don't know yet, honey."

Jackson 'Jack' Taylor was a model husband, father, friend, and educator. Everyone loved the man, but no one more than his wife and son. Jack loved them the same way. They were a devoted, loving family.

Art and his mother, Denise, stood together, away from the foot traffic, and waited. The nurse came to bring them to speak with the doctor about fifteen minutes later.

"Dr. Henderson, this is my son Arthur," Denise informed him.

"Arthur," he said offering his hand. They shook hands. "The MRI shows that he's had a large bleed in the left side of his brain. The neurosurgeon is on her way here now. Once he's stable enough, I suspect she'll take him to the OR to evacuate the blood and fix the bleeder."

"How much damage has been done?" Denise asked.

"It's too early to tell. The left side of the brain controls the right side of the body. At present, his right arm and leg are paralyzed, likely his entire right side from the neck down. It also affected the temporal lobe which is where we get our ability to speak. We know those areas are injured, but until he wakes up, we won't know the extent of the injury."

"So, if they're just injured, they can repair themselves?" Art asked, hopefully.

"It's not that easy. Some of those brain cells are likely gone forever. We have to wait and see."

"Any idea when he'll wake up?" she asked.

"Mrs. Taylor, it's a question of if he'll wake up, not when. I'm sorry. I just don't have the answers you want. Hopefully, after the neurosurgeon does her magic, we'll know more."

"Can we see him?" Art asked.

"Sure. When people are unconscious, we don't know what they hear or understand. Don't say anything in front of him you don't want him to hear."

He walked them to the bedside. There were tubes and wires everywhere. The place was a beehive of activity. A woman of about thirty walked in and up to his bed. She wore a long white coat and people moved out of her way as she approached. She shined a penlight in his eyes, looked in his ears, looked at his head and neck, then pulled out a stethoscope. She listened to both sides of his neck and both temples. She never listened to his heart or lungs. She raised both arms about a foot then dropped them before doing the same thing with his legs. Using a reflex hammer, she tapped on his arms, wrists, knees, and ankles. Then she grabbed his left triceps and pinched hard while looking at his face. As a final insult, she ground her knuckle into his breastbone.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Art asked, angrily.

She didn't even acknowledge him as she started giving orders to the nurses. After several minutes she walked to Denise and Art.

"A neuro exam on an unconscious patient looks brutal, but it's necessary. I've seen the MRI and just given orders to take him to the operating room. I'm going to have to open his skull to repair what I can."

"You're the neurosurgeon?" Denise asked.

"Yes, Jen Prater, sorry. It's risky at best. There's a lot that can go wrong, but it's his only chance."

"When are you taking him?" Art asked.

"As soon as they can get us an operating room. Probably an hour or two. I'll be frank. He may die on the table. He might survive and never regain consciousness. He's already paralyzed on the right side and that's likely permanent. He'll probably never be able to speak. He may not be able to read or write. He could get an infection and die from that."

"What's the chance for a full recovery?" Denise asked.

"That isn't going to happen. Nearly half of his brain is affected. I'm sorry. I wish I had more to offer."

In just over an hour, he was wheeled to the operating room. His wife and son waited quietly in the surgery waiting area. In late afternoon, a woman walked up to them.

"Are you Mrs. Taylor?"

"Yes," she replied apprehensively.

"Mrs. Taylor, I think most of the students and teachers from Central High are outside the hospital. Could you come and talk to them?"

"I'd start crying. Art, will you go?"

"Sure. I'll be back shortly," he said, then followed the woman.

She showed him to the door and the mass of worried faces.

"He must be a very loved man," she said.

"He is."

"See if you can get them to leave. They're making it difficult for people to park and get into the building."

"I'll do my best," he said, and stepped out the door. "Thank you all for coming," he shouted, quieting the crowd. "I'm Arthur Taylor. Jack is my father. He's in the operating room. A blood vessel burst in his brain and destroyed a lot of tissue."

"Is he going to be ok?" someone shouted.

"We don't know yet. I really appreciate that you all came, but we're blocking traffic and making it hard for people to get into the hospital. Some of you take out paper and something to write with. I'm going to give you my Facebook info. I'll post updates there." He called out the info and people started to disperse. The school principal walked up to him.

"Hi Art."

"Hi Mr. Stanley. Dad was still in a coma when they took him to the operating room. If he survives, the surgeon suspects he'll be paralyzed on the right side and may not be able to speak."

"I'm sorry. His students called 911 as soon as he collapsed. Your dad is a fixture at Central. If there's anything any of you need, just say the word."

"Thanks. We will."

Stanley turned and left, taking the last few stragglers with him. Art went back to his mother.

"Any word?"

"Not yet," she replied.

A short time later, Art opened his Facebook. There were already over a hundred messages. He showed his mother, and they began reading. Most were students wishing him well and a quick recovery. Art wrote a note. '4:05 pm - still in surgery. No word so far,' then posted it.

The surgery went well. He regained consciousness two days later. As predicted, Jack had lost the use of his entire right side, his ability to speak, read, and write.

To communicate, he nodded or used gestures. Denise had the patience of a saint and asked endless questions to make sure she understood his wants and needs. She only left his side at night when the nursing staff pushed her to get some rest.

Flowers and cards filled his room to the extent that they became a nuisance and had to be removed. They were initially taken to other areas of the hospital, shared with other patients, and many taken home.

Therapy began but it frustrated Jack. His physicians recommended he be transferred to a rehab facility. Jack's responses to this idea were against this and his wife decided he would come home and get rehab there. Her son tried to intervene, but in the end, he agreed.

Home health was contacted and arranged for a hospital bed, wheelchair, portable commode, and a Hoyer lift to be delivered to the home.

Jack and Denise lived in a modest home. The rooms were small, but homey. Art suggested that his mother get rid of their king size bed and replace it with a smaller one so his father's hospital bed could be put in there. His mother was adamant that her husband would get better and return to their marital bed one day and vetoed the idea.

Her solution was to remove the living room couch and put the hospital bed in there. She had a camera installed so she could monitor her husband remotely from anywhere in the home. When everything was ready, Jack was delivered to the home by ambulance.

Within a week, Art could see his mother's exhaustion from providing the 24/7 care of her husband. He packed up his belongings and moved back into his old room at the house to take some of the burden off his mother.

Art was able to work remotely much of the time, so he was able to help. His mother had purchased four monitors and placed them in the master bedroom, master bath, kitchen, and dining room. Art moved the one from the dining room into his room. No one used the dining room anyway.

He had been there for just over a week when he saw his mother sucking his father on the monitor. He told himself to look away, but his eyes were drawn to the scene. After several minutes, his father pushed her away, apparently in frustration. His parents seemed out of sorts the remainder of the day.

Over the next week, he realized she was doing it three or four times daily. It always ended with his father pushing her away in frustration. His father's mood was getting worse by the day.

While his father napped one afternoon, he took his mother aside to talk.

"Dad's mood is declining," he told her.

"He's frustrated, honey. So am I."

"Yeah, him being bedridden, and you wearing yourself out isn't good."

"It's not that. It's a husband and wife thing."

"Sexual frustration?"

"Yes, he needs release, but can't get there."

"Maybe it's from his medicines," her son suggested.

"I talked with the doctor. None of his medicines are causing it."

"How about something like Viagra?"

"Those drugs cause blood vessels to dilate. The doctor said it would increase his risk for another bleed. He wouldn't survive that."

"Mom, is he having trouble maintaining an erection?" She nodded. "The TV is right there. You could turn on adult movies."

"I tried that already. He's never had any interest in that."

"What does turn him on? We all have our little quirks."

She didn't answer for a moment, then turned to her son.

"Please don't judge us for what I'm about to tell you. Okay?"

"I promise."

"Your father and I used to go to a club. At the club we met lots of other people," she began.

"Yeah, the Country Club."

"No, this was a swingers club."

"You mean sex kind of swingers club?" he asked.

"Yes. What we did was very tame compared to most of the members." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Your father and I would find a couple and...and...,"

"Have sex with them?"

"Yes. What turned your father on more than anything was watching me with another man," she said blushing.

"So, dad's a bit of a voyeur?"

"Yes, I suppose he is," his mother agreed.

"Are you still in contact with any of these people?"

"No. We had an incident where I contracted chlamydia. We quit going after that."

"That can be prevented by using a condom."

"Honey, I'm allergic to condoms. Believe me, we tried them all."

"Mom, I suspect you could find a clean man easily enough."

"Art, it's not that simple. The club was fifty miles away where no one knew us. Everyone around here knows your father and privacy is important to both of us. The man would have to travel here and be tested every time. No one is going to do that."

"I see your point."

"I've picked your father's brain with the fifty questions thing. We came up with a possible solution, but I haven't gotten up the nerve to follow through with it."

"What is it?" Denise looked down at her hands as she fidgeted nervously. "Mom, what is it?" he asked.

"You," she said.

"Me what?"

"You could be the man." Art's eyes went wide as she looked up at him.

"Mom, you'd really do that?"

"He's done everything for us. Yes, I'd do it. Take some time to think about the idea. The last thing I'd want is for this to ruin our relationship."

His mother patted his knee and left the room.

Art was almost in shock. Finding out his wholesome, clean cut, church going parents were swingers was a big shock. Being asked to have sex with his mother, in front of his disabled father, was mind blowing. Art was certainly experienced but had never even considered anything like this.

He glanced at the monitor as his mother sat on the side of his father's bed, then turned the volume up to listen.

"I spoke with Art about our solution. He was shocked, I think. I asked him to think about it and get back with me." His father smiled at her and gestured questioningly. "I don't know if he will or not. He'd do most anything for you, but I just don't know."

His father nodded, smiled, and put his hand on her cheek lovingly.

Art turned the volume off and walked to the living room.

"Guys, I'm going to go for a walk," he told them.

He often went for walks when presented with tough issues. It seemed to clear his mind. Art walked to the park a few blocks away and made several laps around the pond. He ran the idea over in his mind, trying to find another solution, but came up blank. Art knew he needed to talk with his parents together. He returned to the house about an hour later.

His father was napping, and his mother sat near the bed reading. He sat in the recliner nearby.

"Mom, if I agree to this, how do we do it?"

"I've thought a lot about that. I'd like to keep what you and I do to a minimum. I think we'd both be more comfortable that way. I'd start by using my hand. Once your father responds, I'll take care of him. I'm hoping that will be enough."

"When dad wakes up, I'd like to talk to you together. He does know what we've talked about, right?" her son asked.

"Of course, he does. I'd never suggest something like this without his full approval," she replied, seemingly insulted by his question.

"Sorry, mom. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Honey, I'm devoted to your father."

"I know you are. Sorry," he replied, then walked to his room.

"Dinner's ready!" his mother called about an hour later.

Art walked to the living room, where meals were now served. There were TV trays for Art and his mother. His father was sitting up in bed with a table in front of him. Denise and her son brought out the plates then sat to have dinner together.

"Art, we can all have that talk after dinner," she said.

"Okay. Dinner is delicious. Thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied.

They ate quietly, then after clearing things away, sat in the living room.

"Go ahead, honey," she told her son.

"Mom and I had a talk earlier about how to address your frustration. Dad, I need to know you're on board with this." His father nodded and smiled. "I'm okay with it. When do you want to start?"

"Your father and I talked earlier," his mother began. "We'd like to start this evening."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Why don't you go shower, then put on something comfortable that opens easily in the front and join us here?"

Art nodded then went to the shower. His mother went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She drank the entire glass quickly, then returned to the living room.

When Art returned, she had him sit on the side of the bed facing his father, who was reclining at about a forty-five-degree angle. His mother pulled up a kitchen chair facing the bed between her husband and son. She smoothed the sheet over her husband's crotch to monitor his arousal.

"Ready?" she asked her husband.

He nodded. Denise put her hand over her son's crotch and began rubbing. Art, was embarrassed, and didn't look at his father. He responded slowly to his mother's touch.

"Your father and I have worked out signals. He'll be guiding what I do," she told her son as she watched the sheet over her husband's crotch.

Nothing was happening with him. Her hand went inside the fly of her son's lounge pants and was now fondling him directly. Art's erection developed quickly but his father was still showing no signs of arousal.

Jack made a circle with his thumb and index finger. His wife fished out her son's hard cock and fondled it where her husband could see it. He still had no response. Jack signaled his wife by moving his hand up and down. She began jacking off her son. Jack's penis began engorging slowly as she stroked Art.

Art, hadn't had any sexual release since he had moved back home and felt himself building quickly. Suddenly, her hand was gone as she stood and leaned over her husband sucking him. He came quickly with several small grunts. She swallowed her husband's cum then stood smiling.

"All done," she said, triumphantly, then pulled the sheet back up over her husband's lap.

Art sat there for a moment before standing and tucking his erection back in his pants and went to his room. He was frustrated, being left at the edge, and now realizing he would have to take care of this alone.

His mother knocked once then stepped into his room.

"That worked perfectly. Problem solved," she said grinning.

"Uh, yeah, perfectly," he replied.

She left as quickly as she had entered.

"Almost perfectly," he thought.

Art locked his bedroom door and took care of his problem before going to bed.

*****

His mother seemed on top of the world the following morning. Art made a good show of his agreement, even though he had been left frustrated, and knew the simple hand job wasn't going to work for long. He knew his father would get less aroused by it over time and they would need to go further. He didn't mention it to his mother.

It was two days later before she asked for his assistance again. Things went exactly as they had before, leaving him with blue balls.

Over the next couple of weeks, they repeated the process every third day before needing to step things up. It wasn't his father who had the first issue. Art needed more stimulation to get fully erect. His father realized the problem and had his wife take off her top as she stroked her son. Seeing his mother's lovely bare breasts did the trick and he was rewarded again with frustration.

It was about a week later when the next issue arose. Dad failed this time. He gave the signal and Denise reluctantly took her son's cock in her mouth. Art was seconds away from cumming when she abandoned him. He left the room before she finished his father.

Art jacked off, then dressed and went for a long walk. "This is for dad," he kept telling himself. "For dad." He said nothing of his frustration.

A week passed before his mother was down to just her panties. In another week she was nude. Art had expected his father to have boredom issues, but it was Art that required more stimulation before being left high and dry. His mother was somehow oblivious to his problem. As long as she got her husband off, she was good.

She came to him about a week later for his assistance. Art made up a story about a work deadline and turned her down. His father had figured out the problem and during a fifty questions meeting with his wife wasn't able to convey that his son was frustrated.

By the time a month had passed their meetings were down to weekly. Denise was confused and frustrated but did finally come to the realization that it was her son that was having problems. She went to him while her husband napped.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

"What do you mean, mom?"

"Is what we've been doing hurting our relationship?"

"No, mom. I love you."

"Then what is it?"

Art was quiet for a moment before replying.

"We've been at this for two months now. Mom, it's been longer than that since I've been with a woman."

"That's not true. I've been using my mouth on you every time," she replied.

"Mom, you bring me right to the edge then just leave me there so you can finish dad."