Our Dad’s College Deal. Bk. 02

Everyone is 18+ in the this story of love and lust with family. I rode the short bus in school and am dyslexic and use software and editors to make it fun to read.

Our Dad's College Deal. Book 2.

Our Dad could barely drive a straight line sober and did not drive straight. I was amazed we did not get stopped by the law. We turned onto the bridge's on-ramp to cross over the back to the mainland. The fog took the top half of the bridge away, lost in the slight predawn glow.

Dad was talking non-stop about weird shit; words like 1972 Sex Olympics, Lotto, or Tontines(I had to look that one up once on a test. It is an estate or bet used as a private lotto)were thrown out at us. Our Mom was buckled next to me, pleading with me touching my junk.

My Mom screamed. "Please tell my father I'm taking the deal because I can sleep with her. Tell him, TELL HIM!"

Bridget was screaming this at me repeatedly as her arm shook me.

Then my grasp of all my ordinary senses ended that second I heard our Dad tell Bobbie. "That he's going to fuck all three of his showgirls in his bed, nobody stopping that."

And our Dad reached over in the front seat between Bobbie's legs and grabbed my Sister's pussy, and he says. "You are moving in with me; you share our bed with Mom," Dad told Bobbie.

Your reaction was to scream and hit our Dad hard enough that he hit the window. But, of course, had he been driving at speeds less than eighty-five miles an hour, it might not have made a difference.

The big Caddie swerved, skidded sideways glanced off the rear bumper of a smaller car. It spun out of our way, but it sent us glancing off the side of a truck and running over a motorcycle, making it just over the bridge guardrail and damaging it some as we went halfway over, getting stuck in the air feeling safe for maybe twenty seconds. It looked like we were going to be OK. Then a car hit us from behind, knocking us the rest of the way over the rail into the water far below.

I don't recall the fall from the height of the causeway bridge. The airbags slammed into us even before we hit the damn water. The car hit like a ton of bricks, knocking the air out of me. I hear water bubbling; the vehicle is popping and creaking from the hot engine. That noise stopped with a pop like a light bulb that burned out.

I must have been stunned for seconds as I woke face down and hung in my seat belt. A few seconds later, the car is getting darker, and water is coming in the bottom of the doors. It started as a small stream; I now feel it like a cold fire hose on my legs.

I tried my seat belt latch, but it was stuck. My hand goes to my pocket for my ten-year-old Swiss army knife, a secret gift from my Sister on my ninth birthday. I cut my seat belt strap, and the car is filling with water. I cut my Sister's seat belt, then Mom and Dad's. As the vehicle was pointed down, I slid forward to the back of the front seat.

I pull Bobbie out of the water; you're coughing, but Mom's not moving her head; it's off to one side. I feel for a pulse, but I'm not finding one.

We have seconds to leave, Bobbie asked. "What about Dad? Mom?"

I say. "Nothing on Mom and I not fucking touching Dad. I've no desire to look."

Bobbie does checking for a heartbeat, and his head rolls as she holds his neck, and you come up; it's our last breath of air in the car; time to go.

I say. "Breath deep, Sis." We did, and the water displaced our air. The car door opened without trouble, and I swam for the surface, holding your arm, knowing you have not learned to swim.

It felt like my lungs would explode before we reached the surface; the water got brighter when I exhaled as we broke the surface. You came up sputtering; we're alive, watching the fog hide most of the bridge. The channel waves were flat; the mist was still, but the sound of a bell was not too far away.

We hear cars driving over the bridge, tires squealing, and cars hitting cars. Then the wind picked up a little, and the sounds above us mostly stopped.

Shaking off the shock or trying to stay above the water was challenging; not going to lie, I was past scared. We treaded water for a good half hour, but Bobbie still felt the effects of all the booze we drank and the stress of the last few minutes, and you could not stay awake. I tried to tread water for both of us, but we sank if you stopped moving. I could not hold on to you and tread water simultaneously.

I could not think of anything else I could say or do that would work, but would you still love me after?

I am not losing you to the damn water, not now. I started in. "Well, if Dad's deal was getting a piece of this fine ass, I'm so fucking in my sexy baby."

It worked as I rubbed your cute ass; you came out of the water and slapped me hard like you did our Dad. But I kept it up for hours, telling you what I wanted to do with my hands to your sexy parts, all of your sexy parts. I had to stay behind you most of the time because if you saw my face, this mad thing would not work; come on, my grin was a mile wide from teasing you.

The next few hours were tricky; you stayed awake and were livid with me, and two-thirds of your words were cuss words yelled at me, but every time you let go of me or stopped treading water, you sank.

I retold the story lines of movies to help pass the time. One was a shipwreck, and they made flotation devices with their clothes. I took my shoes off, removed the shoestrings, took my pants off, and tied the shoestrings to my pants legs as I inflated my pants with air. I slipped them under your arms; your face is a good deal higher up in the water; your mouth is out of the water now.

Your mad is not on your face anymore when you say. "You keep telling me where you're going to take a piece of my ass, how you're taking a piece, and when. Or are you going to squeeze my tit, finger fuck my cunt or eat me in a wet spot? You shit, you fucking piece of shit, you did that to keep me awake, you fucker, thank you."

You turned my head to you, kissing me and not like a sister at all.

As one-handed you pulled my cock I moaned. "We can't stay up on the water enough to play Doctor."

I moaned, laughing. Boy, it felt good; then the guilt hit and left. I don't know what dear old Dad had planned.

You kissed me before, but they were not kisses; this was. This was the wrong time, but I say it out loud. "That was the most loving kiss, and we need to do more, but please take your shoes off so we can get to the shoelaces, OK Baby."

As I kiss you and help hold you up as I feel you take your shoes off. A second kiss, my return of your kiss was calming. We got the shoelaces off you, and I held you again as you took your jeans off. This time I held your ass in my hand, stroking your ass and in a voice that might have been more bravado than I had, but I say it anyway. "Sis, I can tow you to shore when the fog clears. OK, baby?"

You hand me your pants. I touch your leg, stroking it; you are not feeling near as cold as I am. I tie the legs on your jeans, inflate them, and put them under my arms. I to float a little higher.

The bell sounds closer it's a channel marker with a bell, I swim us over to the buoy, and it's made without thinking about holding on to it. Using it to hold on to takes energy we can not afford to waste.

Threading water near the bell meant a boat might not run over us, but we screamed at one coming toward us, but they did not hear or see us. We both looked defeated, and you say. "Maybe a sailboat won't need its motor?"

Bobbie says as you nuzzle my neck. "You saw Dad, right? So what the Fuck, dude, what the fuck?"

I answered you. "Think that was weird. Mom said she fuck me in my bed from now on if I agreed to sign the contract to get Dad to slow down. I might have agreed to it with Mom, but seeing Dad's unwanted grab on your pussy changed my mind, Sis. If you are not in this, then neither am I. Then hell happened, but we're alive and together if we can keep this up."

Bobbie says. "I'm sorry, Baby; it's all my fault if I was sober, maybe?"

I say. "Baby, and in no way do I blame you for hitting Dad; I'm just sorry I could not get you to sober up till I made you mad. So please forgive me, baby."

Your answer was to hold on to me, and we kissed. Of course, we sank a little, but it was so worth it.

By mid-morning, the fog had to burn off enough to see where the shore was, and I had not seen a boat come by. Still, it was closer by a few hundred yards to cross the channel and risk getting hit by a boat, but a sailboat came out under engine power, and it was pointless to try, but we did anyway. They could not see us or hear us over their motors.

I started towing you to the shore, your face almost floating, and we took our shirts off and tied them so we were tied together, leaving my hands free to dog-paddle with you.

By mid-afternoon, I had to rest because not being fit was hurting me big-time; I was cramping up, holding you near as I say. "I told you all the fun things we would do together. Pizza, a movie, a full-on sit-down dinner, and nights of great sex?"

Bobbie says. "You said all of it, but baby, I got to pee bad."

I started to laugh at you but answered instead. "I did too, but I peed twice so far; you want me to hold your undies out of the pee zone?"

Bobbie says. "I don't think that's a very good idea, but sure, do it."

I did, not taking any liberties. "Time and place, Sis; as I look into your eyes, it has to be your move; first, I would have hit anyone who suggested we even kiss, but that was then, and now we need to live. So let's keep moving if I rest any longer...."

I stopped talking, leaving things unsaid. So we, or rather I, swam toward the lights. Now ten hours of towing you, you could sleep some floating as you were; it's taking much longer than I guessed it would take. I had no clue I was swimming against the fucking tide half the time.

Your cheerful talk ended hours ago as midnight came and went. I kept moving slowly. I wanted to talk, but I needed the energy to speak with. I am not getting any closer. The harder I work, the slower I move.

My cramps hit me in a second wave. I screamed for over an hour but did not stop swimming forward. My excellent sports watch said it had been twenty-two hours since we left the bridge. You could see the sky change colors as the light of the coming dawn brightened the horizon. I got very little left energy-wise; I had almost stopped moving forward. You started singing; your voice gave me strength. I saw a damaged fishing cabin on piers just a mile offshore.

Making our way over took an hour; it has most of the stairs left, and a bit of the deck and some parts of the kitchen are there. I crawled up the stairs; my legs bent into shapes they were not made to be in.

Cramps became screams; nothing else helped at all. You rubbed my legs for an hour till I could stretch out enough, stood holding the rail, and moved about enough to walk it off.

I found an old water heater there, and it was full; the water in it was a bit rusty; we drank like a fish, rusty fish but fish.

I found a hook and some fishing line, but the few times going in the water, we got nothing back. So finally, I pulled my knife out and started to take the tip of my finger for bait.

Bobbie says. "Dude, no way I'm eating a fish caught with your fucking finger; I turn Veggie first."

You walk to a seagull's nest and return with an egg and a feather. I cracked it open; it was in the yoke state, so I covered the feather, put it on the hook, and snagged a redfish. I cut us a few fresh raw pieces; we ate, sitting our feet off the deck. Our bruises from the airbags and seat belts make us look like a matched set of wrinkled black and white cows.

We ate and drank; we looked dead; the shock of the last twenty-four hours left us unable or unwilling to do more I needed sleep. So I pulled a canvas over us to cast shade as I laid down.

You join me, wrap me in my arms, and whisper as you say. "Still all talk, aren't you, big boy? I'm only alive because of you; I am now yours."

Your voice trailed off as sleep took us both; we rested all that day. Then, finally, Bobbie sat up, letting me lay my head on her lap, watching boats coming by as you stroked the tangles from my hair.

We woke. I grabbed another fish and ate, and our water was starting to be more of a meal than a drink. Two sets of socks were washed out, the leg parts were cut off and placed in a pipe, and the water poured out, coming out a tad cleaner, but that was the last. I knew we were getting weathered and less able than the previous day.

I knew it must now be a last push; it must be doable for Bobbie's sake. I saw the box. The rotten mattress was on an open box sealed with waterproof paint; it made an OK boat for Bobbie. It went quicker than swimming, and I was walking on the muddy bottom rather than trying to swim; it was still slow going, but it was going.

We got to shore a few hours later at someone's house; the lights were on, and they came out to me having the mud washed off with fresh water from a garden hose, almost able to stand. So I put on my dry clothes in the float with you.

We asked them. "If they call the sheriff's dept, our phones were in our car, please, as we fell off the bridge Tuesday morning early, about five am."

Bobbie told the couple. "We thought our parents were dead, but the car sank so fast it was hard to be sure."

The Sheriff's dept got there, and they told us a woman's body had been found. Sadly it matched Mom's description.

They saw the box float and took us to the morgue. Bobbie waited outside as I saw Mom's lifeless form. I broke down to tears as I returned to be held by you. No one said anything until some suits came and asked us questions.

They wanted to take us back by boat, and I say. "Hell no, we staying on dry land after over twenty-four hours in the water, no thanks."

I could give them a good idea of where we went off the bridge.

We figured out how to call Dad's Sister, Aunt Edith; the police gave her the details. She was unhappy to hear from us and was livid about Dad being reported dead. Not one word of sorry about your folks, Mom or Dad, or how you guys are doing? Asking first to be paid back, she wired us money for the bus and taxi as we had to take a cab home from the bus station.

They fed us burgers with fries and chocolate shakes at the police station; they were damn happy meals as they got reports from the field, they found the car and reported a male body was found. Bobbie stopped eating, gagged it up as I gave you a trash can, and held your hair out of the way. Everyone else saw you lose it because of dear old Dad; I knew you felt slightly different.

Out of earshot of the officers, I told Bobbie. "It could not have happened to a nicer guy or one so deserving he earned that shit."

The body was recovered. I had to ID the body then they put us up in a downtown fleabag hotel across the street from the bus station. We had rooms, one each. I took my clothes off and put them in the bathtub as I showered off to let my things soak the seawater out of them. I hear a knock on the door. I am wrapped in a bed sheet, but you jump into my arms and tell me. "Never leaving your side, baby, never, ever."

You dropped your clothes into the tub with mine, wrapped you in a towel, and washed our clothes as I watched you, and we wrung them out and hung them up to dry.

Bobbie says. "Now, what comes next?"

Leading us to the bed, pulling the covers down and the stains on the bedclothes was gross. So I grab our things, and we go next door dressed in semi-clean sheets and pull the covers back; it's not any better here.

I say. "It's not any worse than swimming in fish piss."

We placed the covers on the floor, and I heard bus stations were hotbeds of being busy, but this was too noisy. So we tried to sleep, but it was not there for us. Too tired to do much, still in shock. My body still moved like I was in the water. Finally, some guy at the police station gave me anti-cramp pills. They helped some; your firm hands rubbed my legs over a dozen times helped also. The dawn was an hour away from the bus departure.

We held each other's nude bodies against each other I thought it would be hard dealing with you so close naked, but it added to how we felt about each other rather than missing out on any sex.

We were content to feel the connection of floating as our bodies touched. The feeling of floating in water stayed with us for hours. Finally, we got a wake-up call from the desk, and we showered and put on our semi-clean, primarily dry clothes. Finding bad coffee was better than nothing. We stumbled to the bus station barefoot and found flip-flops to buy to wear home.

The bus was not packed, and quite the two-and-a-half-hour ride was long, and the bus stopped at every tree to drop off or pick up a ticket holder.

Sound traveled funny in the bus, and Bobbie says. "She wanted to talk but not where a dozen folks could hear."

Pulling into town at the bus station, we get off, and I find a cab, and we get home after a twenty-minute ride to the empty house.

Bobbie says. "Damn, home doesn't feel right anymore; he was in an all-fired hurry to get us back here."

I say. "It does not feel right, Bobbie. I see the need to rush to get you home if you signed, but what advantage would that have given Dad when we did not sign?"

I say. "Something has been bugging me since I mowed the yard last time. I paced off the wing of the house where the folk's bedroom was. Nothing but nothing made any sense. It bothered me that it took thirty steps to mow the side yard, but it was about twenty steps inside the master bedroom.

Bobbie says. "Sure sound funny; show me, baby."

We walked outside the house, checking basic distances outside, and did it again indoors. I see an issue. The master bedroom is about twelve feet too short indoors, but we knocked on the bookshelf. I have seen too many damn movies.

I say. "Where is that damn candle stick holder to pull on."

We looked for the better half of an hour, not giving up as much as we did not know what to do next. As we sat on the bed kissing, My hunger for food and a nap for lunch was on my plan for next as my tummy rumbled.

Bobbie stopped and asked me. "Wait, a bell to summon the help? That's a bit weird for a house built in the 1980s, don't you think?"

Walking over and pulling it, a keypad opens in the wall. I turn to Mom's make-up table and dusted on the keys; it sticks to four numbers. I am not sure if I want to know, but I tap in the first four, and nope, X it off, next set, nope, X it off, a third set of four, a click is heard, and double doors open, and inside is a wall of costumes in two sizes of woman's and two sizes of men's they are in our sizes.

There is some weird chair with straps and a strange big X thing with tie strap points; the walls are covered with strap-ons and toys of all kinds and sizes and lubes. There are DVDs, a shelf worth dated once a year going back twenty years.

Bobbie walks over to the clothes and holds a few up; I say. "It makes me oddly horny to think about seeing you in them and makes me want to vomit on what Dad might have been planning for both of us."

Bobbie sees a men's sailor suit and shows me its crotch-less front and rear, and it has my name on the collar. The rear part freaked me the fuck out.

Watching a part of one of two DVDs eating Peanut Butter Jelly sandwiches, we saw our sexy Mom twenty years ago; Dad was not gentle, kind, or loving in any way. We watched less than ten minutes of the first DVD and looked at each other, putting our sandwiches down, losing our hunger.

Bobby says. "Let's go float in the pool."

Kicking our flip flops off, we jumped in clothes and all; it did; it was calming; we felt connected as we did in the water in the channel. Only I found a spot that let me stand, and you warped your legs around me as we kissed; you rubbed our crotches into each other. My hands are owning your cute butt. I wished we were out of our pants. As I start to undo my jeans, a car flashes the sun off the windshield into the backyard from the driveway.