Life Anew


*Author's Note: Anny and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.


Nicole Banks and her personal assistant, Polly Chastaine made their way along the corridors of Pine Groves Assisted Living Facility. They silently followed Benny, a short Latino nurse.

"And here we are," Benny smiled, pausing by an open door. "Mr. Elmiek? You've got some visitors."

"Oh, how wonderful," the man croaked.

Nicole and Polly entered the small room. Frank Elmiek was a small man, made all the smaller by his illness. His skin was sagging horribly over his skeletal frame.

But he had a beatific smile as he raised his bed. His deep brown eyes conveyed a warmth as he greeted his visitors.

His graying hair hung down, touching his drooped shoulders and he ran a hand through the unruly mop, trying to make himself presentable.

"Mr. Elmiek? My name is Nicole Banks. I'm with Coutre and associates," Nicole introduced herself.

"Nicole? But my attorney is..." Frank said.

"Sophia Coutre. But, I am afraid Ms. Coutre is deceased," Nicole smiled sadly.

"Oh, how terrible! Oh, but she was such a dear woman," Frank said sadly. "And even as beautiful, oh she was such an elegant creature, as beautiful as she was? She was still such a loving, compassionate woman. I asked her if she was sure she was a lawyer; she was just too sweet."

Nicole and Polly both smiled widely. They too remembered Sophia as being a gracious, gentle woman. But they also knew that she could be as ruthless, as vicious as any great white shark when called upon to be ruthless and vicious.

"Anyway, I'll be seeing her soon, I'm sure," Frank sighed. "Last night? Last night, I saw Momma. Oh, she was just so beautiful; I cried when I saw her. She held her arms out, waiting to give me one of her special hugs. You know, one them hugs you sure you going smother before she lets you go? But right before I could reach her, I woke up. And here I am."

"Sounds like you're ready, hmm?" Nicole smiled softly.

"Yes, yes, you'll do. You'll do just fine. Ms. Coutre was smart to hire you," Frank smiled.

"Well, thank you. I take that as a compliment," Nicole smiled.

"Oh, it is. It is a most sincere compliment," Frank said. "Now, I have one brother. Harold Alan Elmiek. A thoroughly odious brute of a man. If I could leave him a middle finger, I would. But I'm sure I can't do that. Can I?"

"No, Mr. Elmiek, you can't," Nicole smiled. "But I do know how you feel. I have an older brother too."

"Any. Way. Harold? Gets nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch," Frank said. "But he does have five daughters. Isn't it funny? The most macho of men? The big, hulking knuckle dragging cave men always wind up having nothing but daughters? Now, each one of them? Obnoxious little snots. Apple didn't fall from the tree at all. And they're not all from the same momma, so can't blame it on anything or anyone but dear old Harold. But to each one of them, I leave twenty five thousand dollars; Ms. Coutre did have all my account information."

"Yes sir, have it right here," Nicole assured the man. "Do you know their names? Your nieces?"

Frank did name each girl, giving their full names as well as date of birth. He also named the three women that gave birth to Harold's children, naming which niece or nieces each woman bore.

"Now, my house? And all its contents? I, we have a cousin. Emily, oh, she was such a darling little girl," Frank said, smiling at the memory. "She was Aunt Doris's child. Aunt Doris was really my father's cousin, so that would make Emily what? Second cousin once removed? But she and I, we'd play house, and we'd play board games and we'd both hide from Harold whenever he was around."

Frank took a sip of water then settled back against his mattress. For a long moment, he stared at the wall. Then he smiled again.

"She was my first. Well, actually, she was my only, the only woman I ever made love with," Frank admitted. "Then, a little later? She wound up pregnant and Aunt Doris's husband, another knuckle dragging cave man threw her out of his 'fine Christian home.' Isn't it funny that these 'fine Christian people' always seem to forget that Jesus taught us forgiveness?" Frank said, then frowned.

He stayed silent for a long moment. Then he nodded but his smile did not return.

"Give my brother Harold ten thousand dollars," Frank said. "Give him ten thousand; I forgive him. But my cousin Emily? When she got pregnant? She had the most adorable little boy. Just so precious. I saw them at Momma's funeral; she's the manager of a Wal-Mart or Target, or one of them tacky little places; wouldn't catch me dead in one of those places, I swear. But her son, Jack Matthews? I leave him my home, all contents of my home, including my nineteen sixty two Chrysler New Yorker and the remainder of any and all of my accounts."

Frank gave the last address he'd had for Emily Matthews. Then he amended his will, leaving three rings and another ten thousand dollars to Emily. But Jack was to receive the remainder of his estate.

Polly finished typing the document. The small portable printer did amuse Frank and he asked why anyone would pay money for an office when it seemed they could take their office with them.

Nicole read the document out loud for Frank's approval. He nodded and initialed the first four pages, then signed on the last page of the document.

"Thank you, Ms. Banks," Frank smiled, lowering his bed again. "When I see Ms. Coutre, I'll let her know she left her firm in good hands."

"I'd appreciate that, Mr. Elmiek," Nicole smiled.


"Come on, Jack, let's dance," Bernice enthused.

Jack smiled and let himself be dragged into the living room where a few others were dancing. He and Bernice danced very well together; alcohol did help lubricate their movements.

"Would you look at that fucking faggot, huh?" one of the athletes sneered, alcohol loosening his tongue.

"Don't pay any attention to him, Jack," Bernice encouraged.

But Jack knew, the alcohol was working against him. When the alcohol inspired the emotions and opinions of others to go from contempt to antagonism, violence was sure to follow very quickly. At the end of the song, he took Bernice's hands in his, told her he was going to miss her and kissed her softly.

"Good luck at Missouri River State," he said, smiling sadly.

"Bye, pussy," another athlete called out when Jack approached the front door of the house.

Hearing a few drunken snickers, Jack knew it was time to leave, and leave very quickly.

The party was being held only three blocks away from the home he and his mother and step-father shared. So Jack simply walked home. His vision was blurred from his tears; he had been having a good time, celebrating their graduation from high school. He had been dancing with his best friend, enjoying himself.

But those horrible bullies, as always, just could not or would not let him enjoy himself. They just could not or would not simply leave Jonathon Arnold Matthews alone.

Jack cursed his unknown father. He got his slight stature from his mother; she swore she was five feet tall, but she'd be lucky to reach four feet, ten inches on any measuring tape. Jack stood at just over five feet, three inches.

Emily Carter did not lie about her weight, though. She was proud of weighing only ninety one pounds. Weighing ninety one pounds was fine, for a woman. But, weighing one hundred and three pounds was abysmal for a man. At eighteen years old, Jack was sure he wasn't going to get any taller, or any heavier.

"Maybe if I ate like a hundred doughnuts," Jack thought bitterly.

His father, whomever that might be had not passed on any DNA. Dear old Dad had not passed on height, or muscles, or the ability to throw a ball, or catch a ball. Dear old Dad had not passed on any discernable skills at all, none that Jack had noticed.

Jack brushed his thick brown hair back as he continued toward the home. His mother had taken him, when he was five years old to get a haircut. Both mother and child had cried through the whole ordeal and his mother had never taken him to another barbershop. Since that traumatic day, she did the trimming and styling of Jack's hair herself.

Normally, it would be time for another trimming. But now that he was out of school, a free man, Jack and Emily decided, she'd trim it just before Jack went searching for gainful employment and not a moment sooner.

"Damn! Parties over already?" Brad Carter asked when Jack let himself in.

"Yes sir," Jack agreed.

"What happened, Emily asked.

"The usual," Jack sighed. "Couple of them decided it'd be fun to pick on me."

"And, long as you let them? They going do it," Brad snapped.

"Brad," Emily said.

"Brad nothing," Brad snapped. "What'd we send him to them Karate classes for? Huh? If he's not going stand up for himself, what'd we send him to them damned classes for?"

Jack went down the hall to his bedroom. He loved his step-father; the man had always been a devoted father to him. But Brad didn't understand. Yes, he could stand up to his tormentors, one at a time. But these were bullies. They wouldn't attack him one at a time. They only attacked in groups.

Two days after the party incident, Bernice called to tell Jack good-bye. She was leaving to spend two months with her grandmother in Florida before beginning the fall semester at Missouri River State University. Jack felt a pang of loss but hid his feelings and cheerfully told her to have fun.

"Jack, Honey, got a package," Emily called out just as Jack ended the phone call.

"Huh? I didn't, you ordered something for me?" Jack asked, leaving his room.

"No. From a Coutre and associates? DeGarde, Louisiana?" Emily mused, looking at the thick envelopes.

"I need to sign for it?" Jack asked, now looking at the thick envelope on the table.

"Already did. Open it," Emily said, tearing open her own envelope.

"Oh!" Emily said, sitting down heavily.

"Franklin Alexander Elmiek?" Jack asked. "Oh! Oh, that's that, your cousin?" Jack asked.

"Uh huh," Emily said, allowing a few tears to fall.

"Oh," Jack gasped. "He, he's dead."

"Yeah," Emily said, weeping for a man she'd loved many years ago.

"He, this can't be right," Jack mused.

"Jack, please, I'm trying read this," Emily sobbed.

Jack continued to read silently. If he was reading this correctly, this Franklin Alexander Elmiek had left him a house in Baylor Lake, Louisiana.

"That dear, sweet man," Emily cried, now looking at the three diamond rings nestled in their boxes.

"Oh! Those are pretty!" Jack said, admiring the elegant settings.

"Ten... Oh boy! Looks like Brad's getting that four wheeler he's been wanting," Emily smiled, looking at the check. "Now, what's yours say?"

When Brad returned home from another day's work at the Recycling plant, he admired the three rings. He smiled and hugged his wife when she showed him the check, but declined her offer to buy him the four wheeler he'd had his eye on.

"Sweetheart, what, huh? Got a car you can't stand and you want waste it on something I'll ride couple of times during hunting season? No, no, take that money, trade in your car and get you something you'll want to drive," Brad suggested.

Brad suggested selling the Louisiana house and putting that money toward Jack's college education. Jack balked at the suggestion, but did see the wisdom in what Brad was saying.

That night, as he lay in his bed, softly stroking his small cock to thoughts of Bernice, Jack again thought about the Louisiana house. He had never been to Louisiana. He'd seen images of Mardi Gras on TV; he wondered how close Baylor Lake was to New Orleans.

And Baylor Lake was at least five hundred miles away from Colfax, Missouri. At least five hundred miles, if not further away from the bullies, the tormentors that lived in Colfax, Missouri, that planned on going to Missouri River State University, or to Harvester's College.

Tucking his now wilted cock into his micro-briefs, Jack quietly went down the hall to the small den. He could hear the television blaring 'The Tonight Show' in the living room. Jack could hear his mother's giggles, could hear Brad's low murmurs.

"Six hundred and forty seven point three miles and..." Jack thought. "Oh! And there's the University of Louisiana at DeGarde, right there!"

"Brad! Stop that," he heard his mother giggle.

In the morning, Jack informed Brad and Emily he had thought about it and planned to go down to Baylor Lake, to at least look at the house. He had expected some resistance; he'd never been away from his mother for longer than two nights.

"Know what? I think that's a great idea," Emily smiled, hugging her son.

"Mm-hmm, great idea," Brad echoed. "Who knows? Might meet some little, oh damn, what are they called? Cajun. Might meet you some little Cajun cutie, huh?"

Three days after receiving the news of his distant cousin's passing, Jack called Coutre & Associates, let Ms. Banks know he would be taking Greyhound down.

"Should be there, oh my goodness; two days? Says here arrival E.T.A. is Saturday, four fourteen pm," Jack said.

"Okay. I'll reserve a room for you at the DeGarde Inn; bus lets out right there," Nicole said. "And I'll swing by nine o'clock Monday morning. That'll work?"

"That will work," Jack agreed.

Four forty eight, Saturday afternoon, Jack wearily staggered off the bus. He politely thanked the driver when the man located his suitcase, then stumbled in to the lobby.

"I'm here," Jack called his mother as he entered Room 223. "And I'm going to bed."

Jack stripped off his clothes then sprawled onto the bed, nude. He actually shivered at his naughtiness. Then, he staggered off the bed, cupped his hand over his genitals and checked that the door was securely locked, that the security bar was latched.

At seven o'clock the following morning, Jack rolled out of the bed. Again, cupping his genitals, he staggered to the bathroom and voided both bladder and bowels. Then he returned to bed. At nine forty, he roused and found that his cock was standing proud. He gripped it between thumb and forefinger and middle finger and jerked it until a small geyser of his semen spurted onto his belly.

"God, I am starving!" he suddenly realized.

Casa Ole Mexican restaurant was within walking distance of the hotel. Jack was among the first arrivals and crunched his way through the chips and salsa, then devoured his three enchilada platter.

"Thank you, ma'am, come again," the waitress said, slapping Jack's check down and waddling away.

"Uh, excuse me? I'm a 'sir,'" Jack said.

But the waitress didn't hear him; she was already taking another table's drink order. Jack slapped a ten dollar bill on the ticket and walked out.

"Thank you, Amiga," the hostess said.

Back at the motel, Jack looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. True, his hair was quite long, and true, his face was devoid of facial hair, but he didn't see a ma'am, or an Amiga when he looked in the mirror. His tee shirt was just a plain black tee shirt and his distressed jeans were perfectly faded. Jack pursed his lips and shook his head. Obviously, that restaurant had some mentally challenged people working there.

Monday morning, Jack was standing outside of the motel at eight forty nine. The clerk behind the counter had done a double-take when Jack entered the lobby, wearing his navy blue suit. So, even though the heat and the humidity was quite daunting, Jack waited outside.

"Mr. Matthews?" an attractive woman smiled. "Of course you are. I can see so much of Mr. Elmiek in your face."

"Ms. Banks? Hi," Jack smiled, extending his hand.

"Come on; this humidity's brutal," Nicole urged Jack toward her BMW. "Just dried my hair and I can feel it already starting to curl, I swear."

In the car, Nicole again commented on how much Jack resembled Frank Elmiek. Jack did puzzle over this; his mother and Franklin Elmiek were second or third cousins as far as he knew.

"Don't know what to tell you," Nicole smiled.

In the office, Jack read through and signed or initialed several sheets of paper. He also allowed Polly Chastaine to make a photocopy of his Missouri driver's license.

"If you're ready, Mr. Matthews, Robbie will take you to the house," Nicole finally smiled. "Robbie? Got the keys?"

"Yes ma'am," Robbie, a tall African-American man smiled. "Mr. Matthews? Ready?"

Robbie chatted pleasantly as he drove through DeGarde and Baylor Lake. He pointed out various things as they drove.

"Yes sir, Baylor Lake. The city that never wakes up," Robbie quipped as he turned onto Magnolia Drive. "Oh, and you going have be real careful. There's a Magnolia Drive, that's this street right here. But there's also a Magnolia Way, a Magnolia Street, a Magnolia Lane, and a Magnolia Court."

Robbie pulled up to the small house and turned off his engine. He scowled darkly as he looked around.

"Hey Polly," he barked into his cell phone, walking around his car. "Stockton. We pay them cut twelve twenty Magnolia Drive?"

He stood, listening. He nodded his head, as if Polly could see him.

While Robbie was on the telephone, Jack looked at the exterior of the house. It was a ranch style home among other ranch style homes. He could see some very pretty curtains facing the walk from driveway to front door. To the left of the front door was a large picture window and he admired the curtains. The flowerbed to left and right of the front door were mostly weeds at present; Jack was already thinking of what flowers would look nice against the mottled red brick of the home.

"Uh huh, I'm telling you, Ms. Banks. It hasn't been cut," Robbie said. "Here, I'll take a picture. There. See? And the flower beds? Nothing but weeds."

The air inside the home was stuffy, quite warm. Robbie flicked on a switch and nodded with satisfaction; the overhead light came on. Then, as Jack admired the beautiful furnishings in the living room, Robbie located the thermostat and turned the air on.

"Oh my," Jack said, seeing the copper pots and pans suspended from hooks in the large kitchen.

"Hey, damn, those are nice," Robbie said, also admiring the cookware.

The three bedroom, two bathroom home was furnished with beautiful furniture. It almost seemed like it belonged in a Better Homes & Gardens pictorial.

"Is that, that's a car," Jack said, stepping into the garage.

"Man! No, that's a land yacht," Robbie said, looking at the 1962 New Yorker. "Oo-wee! Would you look at them whitewalls, huh?"

"Oh no! They're flat!" Jack cried out.

"Uh huh, bet it's been a while since anyone's driven this thing," Robbie said.

And again, Robbie was on his cell phone. Hanging up, he told Jack that George's Garage would be sending a wrecker out; they'd get the car up and running in no time.

"Anything else?" Robbie asked, hand already on the doorknob.

"Food," Jack said, looking inside the empty refrigerator and empty pantry.

"I'll see if Ms. Banks will let me..." Robbie said, already pulling his cell phone out.

After returning with four bags of groceries, after signing for George's Garage to tow his car to their garage, Jack had time to walk around and fully examine his new home. With a jolt, he realized, he was already thinking of this as his home. He removed his suit jacket and loosed his tie.

In the master bedroom, Jack saw a framed photograph and picked it up. He almost dropped it; he was looking at a picture of himself.

But it wasn't him. Jack had never worn a chef's hat, or the white smock and white trousers the smiling man was wearing. He'd never posed with a large saucepan.

"Hey Sweetheart; how's it going?" Emily answered.

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