By Donny Mumford - Laureate Author

Published on Dec 22, 2023




Tuesday morning, John Darling watched Andy sleep through his alarm. Grinning, he reached over Andy's body to the nightstand, turned off the annoying alarm, and muttered, "Five-'effing-thirty."

With a mischievous smile, he drops his naked body onto Andy's body, sliding on his warm, smooth, tight skin. John hugs as much of his idol as he can reach, then says aloud, his lips brushing Andy's left ear, lisping, "Time to get up, Andy. My memory is waiting for me in Wyoming."

His eyes still closed, Andy mumbles, "I'm awake," and he rolls over, toppling John off him, grumpily asking, "Did the alarm go off?"

"Yes, it did. It went off right next to you."

Smirking at one another, they come together, their naked bodies melding together nicely, as John asks, "Can we start our big Wyoming day making love?"

"Okay, but we'll need to be quick about it. Get me a condom from the top of the bureau. Go on, get it, Darling!"

John mutters, "Yes, boss," and snickers as he hops out of bed and takes three big steps to the bureau. He grabs a condom as Andy yells, "You also need to suck a boner on me."

John scrambles up on the bed, gives the condom packet to Andy, then dives under the covers. Andy's scent is powerful under the covers, and when John inhales deeply, it acts as an aphrodisiac. He had half a stiffy already, but Andy's robust and sexy scent gave John a hard boner that made him grimace, then squeeze and stroke his throbbing boner.

Andy already has an early morning hard-on, so John didn't have to do much licking and sucking. He put Andy's hard dick in his mouth and sucked on the head until precum drooled onto his tongue. Taking the hard cock out of his mouth, John pressed it against Andy's belly and licked his balls. Then he did some fast licks on Andy's thighs next to his scrotum. Andy squirmed on the mattress, pushing at John's head.

Four licks on each thigh, Andy moaning with arousal, his boner dripping more precum as his hands come under the covers to roll a condom onto his hard-as-granite boner.

John scrambled out from under the covers, pushing them to the foot of the bed. Facing that way on his knees, he drops his forehead to the mattress, a forearm on either side for support. Then he pushed his ass up as hard as he could, keeping it in place, waiting for Andy to mount him dominantly.

Panting with anticipation, the lips of his asshole quivering, John looks back between his legs as Andy gets up on his knees. John's excitement boils over when Andy's hands grab his hips, "Nobody that I can recall ever fucked me as good as you, Andy."

Andy mutters, "Yeah, well, I hope you still feel that way when you get your memory back!"

Pressing the head of his longish, fattish boner against John's anus, he exerts more pressure, then even more pressure as John's asshole begins spreading open. John gasps, then yelps, "Eee, ahhh!" when the hard swollen head of Andy's boner plugs inside John's body and pushes all the way up his ass steadily, all six inches of Andy's hard cock.

His crotch tightly against John's buttocks, Andy grinds his hips, his boner rubbing the walls of John's bowels. It feels as if the swollen hard head is way, way up inside him while sizzling pleasure vibrations are coming off John's prostate gland that's way, way back the other way, just inside John's ass.

He grimaces at some pain while, simultaneously, his eyelids flutter at the sexual pleasure Andy's hard cock is generating. The pleasure soon wins out and banishes any lingering pain. It's forgotten entirely when Andy pulls his hard sex organ back and then drives it in again. Startling pleasure erupts as John's back arches, and he moans, "Oooh, umm, Andy..."

Andy gets into a rhythm of humping his hips, thrusting his large boner tightly up John Darling's ass, then pulling it back, doing it repeatedly until John squeals shrilly like a six-year-old girl seeing her dolly run over by a trash truck. John matches the girl with his lisping squeal of exquisite pleasure as cum roars up from his nuts and out his sticking-straight-out five-inch cement-hard throbbing boner.

The cum flies straight down four inches, puddling on the bed sheet beneath him while Andy's still thrusting his boner back and forth in John's ass, John holding his ass in place as he savors the onrushing uniquely-intense pleasure of sexual climax... pleasure unlike any other.

Finally, with a noisy breathy exhale, Andy humps hard against John's ass, filling the condom with his cum. Gasping, staggering back on his knees, he pulls his cock out of John's ass, muttering, 'Wild! My orgasm was wild-fire-hot, Johnny. What an ass on you!"

John's vision is temporarily blurry as zipping strobes of pleasure give him chills, then it all fades, and he stretches his feet out until he's flat on the bed, the toes of his right foot hitting his pillow, his cum spreading out under his belly. Andy sits on the side of the bed, pulling off the condom, mumbling, "Here, Darling, it's your job to dispose of used condoms."

"Hey, I flushed the last one, Andy. It's your turn!"

Andy sighs, mumbling, "You're not grasping the concept that I'm the dominant lover, and you're the submissive one doing what you're told."

"Shrugging, John says, "Oh, yeah, that. Um, I do it sometimes when I think it's fun, but is it fair that I need to do it all the time?"

Andy laughs, then gets off the bed, mumbling, "Fuck it, forget it," and walks to the bathroom with John following, saying, "Okay, okay, I'll flush it, Andy."

In the bathroom, Andy flushes the condom, mumbling, "You had your chance."

Shrugging, John cleans the cum off his stomach. Then they're both washing up side by side at the sink, Andy saying, "It's a damn good thing I packed our clothes last night. We barely have time to get dressed and get our asses to the hotel lobby. That's where our driver will meet us. We'll get breakfast at Logan... assuming we survive airport security."

"Uh-huh. It's good that you didn't pack our phones since we have digital boarding passes, and I hope you didn't pack our patience because we're going to need it. I've read that the airline industry will test a person's patience to the limit. It's a one-way street in favor of the airlines... if the customers don't like it, tough shit."

It turned out to be pretty much their unpleasant experience at the airport, although the ground part of their trip went well, with the car service on time and correctly driving them to the United Airlines terminal. Walking into Logan with their luggage, Andy mumbled, "I'm always surprised when something goes exactly as I hoped it would. That car service got us here with time to spare... so rare."

That sentiment dissipated quickly as the airport experience began with lines leading to other lines, and in an airport, the customer is never right. When in the tedious security lines, it's important to have your boarding pass and ID available, your mouth shut, and you ready to do the idiotic taking off of your shoes. As a general rule, try not to make eye contact with anybody, and do what you're told by the TSA minimum-wage dufuses who enjoy the power they have to fuck up your day even worse when they feel like it.

The current airport experience in America is a nightmare of hassles. Flights are routinely canceled or delayed as untold numbers of luggage are lost. It's an aging, outdated infrastructure that creaks and strains under the stress of it all. Lives hang in the balance of the under-staffed air traffic controllers. The one in charge of your flight, you can only hope and pray he or she didn't get too drunk last night and isn't suffering a massive hangover this morning.

Andy and John survive each new ordeal, and after checking their luggage, they buy breakfast sandwiches and coffee at Dunkin', previously known as Dunkin Donuts. They eat breakfast at Gate 4B, where they will eventually board FLT 609 to Denver International on their way to Cheyenne Wyoming Regional Airport (CYS). Departure 7:40 am. Arrival: 3:20 pm.

Finished eating, Andy says, "I'm going to get something to read on the plane. Do you wanna come with me?"

"Nah. I've still got half a cup of coffee."

Getting up, Andy says, "Okay, I'll get enough reading material for both of us. Are you nervous about seeing where you were born and raised, Darling?"

"Yep, wicked nervous, as you'd say. Anyway, thank God you're with me."

Andy pats John's shoulder, "It'll be okay. Don't worry."

Andy walks away as John sips his coffee, noticing a group of people with carry-on luggage settling in across from him. To get his mind off what awaits him in Wyoming, John tries figuring out what's up with this family group taking over a block of seats. There are a couple of children, ten years old or so, playing games on their cell phones. Do all ten-year-old kids have their own cell phones? Is that normal?

The brother and a slightly older sister were unpleasant, being bitchy to each other, yapping loudly at one another, and being demanding of their parents, causing people waiting for this flight to gawk at them.

The father was pretending he didn't know the children, looking awkward in his ill-fitting, baggy shorts, his skinny white hairy legs ending in sandals with white socks. The mother was bottom-heavy and knew it, wearing shorts with a tiny skirt in a useless attempt to conceal her out-of-proportion big ass.

John's not sure why, but he can't help feeling bad for this group. Then, here comes an older couple joining the group. The mother calls the older woman Mom. Obviously, they're her parents and the bratty children's grandparents.

The grandmother is a thin woman in beige pants and a white blouse who repeatedly exaggerates her sighing as if everything that's happening is a heavy burden on her. Her hair is evenly gray and curled tightly to her head. She sits next to her daughter, who appears to be about thirty-five, and whenever the mother speaks sharply to one of her children, the grandmother intervenes. John looks away, disturbed by this group, still not sure why.

When he hears the ten or eleven-year-old girl screaming about something, John looks back and notices the grandfather, who might once have done heavy labor, adopting his son-in-law's approach of pretending he doesn't know the children, looking the other way. The old man's forearms were still thick, and a hint of muscle in his sloping shoulders. He's pot-bellied, and his white legs in their pink polyester shorts were blue-veined and rickety-looking. He had a grim look about him as if this family trip had not been his idea.

Three generations of what? Unhappiness, disappointment, fed-up with the American dream... what? And why does John care?

Bringing John out of his foggy frame of mind, Andy pats John's back and, seeing the people John is watching, asks, "What's up with that crew? I hope to hell they aren't representative of the people I can expect to see in Wyoming?"

Omigod, John thinks, 'Maybe that's why I feel so awful for them... they are me and my parents and grandparents before everyone died except me.'

John shakes his head and mutters, "God, I hope not! No, they're not. Um, what did you get for us to read on the plane?"

Andy mutters, "First, c'mon over here," and they change their seats to ones further away from the children. Sitting in a quieter area, Andy shows John a People magazine, a Sports Illustrated, and Entertainment Weekly magazine, saying, "We can bone up on current pop culture. I probably won't know half the so-called celebrities in these magazines."

"I don't recall ever reading any of those magazines. How much did they cost?"

"Too much," and they glance through the magazines until Andy says, "We've got an hour to kill, so let's walk around. I can still hear those loud little fuckers over here."

They walked through the terminal, stopping to use the men's room, then buying a box of Good and Plenty for almost twice what it would cost buying them anywhere else. John tries remembering if he'd ever flown before. Nothing about this experience has been pleasant, and nothing's jogged a memory.

He mutters his favorite negative statement, "This blows!"

"I know, Darling."

"Yeah, I feel like we're a human ant hill with all these people running around... so many people hurrying here and there. Where are they all going, and are they all late? Is that why they're all in such a hurry?"

Andy says, "This is only my second airplane trip. My first was also ghastly. We sat in economy, so when the person sitting in front of me pushed his seat back, the top of his head was about a foot in front of my face. As if that wasn't bad enough, his hair smelled bad, so I gagged for an hour and a half. You and I are flying Business class, which I assume will be better."

Frowning, John mutters, "Please, don't tell me any more stories like that last one. I've got a weak stomach."

They return to Gate 4B just as the announcement is made that boarding will begin now for flight blah, blah, blah, and have your boarding passes blah, blah, blah. More tedium, then stop and go inside the plane's narrow aisle as passengers stop to force their carry-on luggage into too-small compartments. John experiences a touch of claustrophobia, and then he breathes a sigh of relief when they reach the Business Class section.

In the business class section, John thinks," 'Omigod, there's more room and only two seats on either side of the aisle.'

Andy sits next to the window, John on the aisle, saying, "Great job getting us business class tickets, Andy."

"Yeah, well, you're rich, but the first-class seating was almost twice as much but not nearly twice as good as business class, so I didn't fall for that. I went by the advice I read online."

Two men in their fifties sit in seats across the aisle from them. The bald man sitting across from John on the aisle nods at him, looking stern. John frowned at him, not getting a good vibe. Andy says, "These seats tilt back, but not so our heads will be in someone's face sitting behind us. Believe it or not, some planes' business and first-class seats are almost like a bed."

John nodded that he heard what Andy said, but before he could say anything, a middle-aged female flight attendant welcomed everyone aboard, and not long after that, the plane took off. John was neither scared nor excited about flying. Everything considered thus far, he'd just as soon go on a Greyhound Bus next time. He's not in a hurry about anything, anyway. Well, maybe he will be in a hurry about something when he remembers his life.

This is an early flight, so there's a breakfast-type meal served. It's not good, and they already ate breakfast sandwiches at Dunkin', but they eat everything on the crappy breakfast plate anyway. Then they're a little sleepy because they've been awake since five-thirty, and it's almost nine o'clock now.

They read the magazines Andy bought. John's annoyed because he hears the loud conversation of the two men sitting across from him, and he can't concentrate on the Sports Illustrated article about the handsome Japanese baseball player who pitches and plays in the field... Shohei Ohtani.

The slightly younger of the two men across from John is the one next to the window. He says to the bald man, "You can't talk to him, Bob. It's a waste of your time because Williamson is an academic and, therefore, lives in a world of liberal arts mumbo jumbo. He's firmly convinced that his getting the idea was an end in itself. His accomplishment was having the idea, and he's completely satisfied with that. All considerations of execution of the idea were dismissed with scorn. In its extreme, it's an example of a world in which being in love is the point... much more important than making love."

John nudges Andy, rolling his eyes at the two men across the aisle, whispering, "Can you hear them?"

Andy nods, "Uh-huh, but I've no idea what the guy's talking about."

Snickering, John mutters, "Neither does Williamson."

Andy lisps, "Put your headphones on, Darling. I'm going to see if I can fall asleep."

At noon, they landed in Denver, Colorado, for a two-hour layover. Andy listened very carefully to instructions from the flight attendant about deplaning and what gate, time, and level in Denver International Airport to be at for boarding the next plane. This airport is enormous and one of the busiest in the United States because of its midcontinent location being ideal for an airline hub. There are six levels in the airport, each dedicated to a specific function, like level 4 for baggage claim, level 3 you used if someone is picking you up, and so on. They want level 6, gate 6B, where Andy guides John, and then they stay put when they get there.

Andy tells John, "Even though we've got almost two hours of layover here, I'm not taking any chances of getting lost in this massive complex, so we'll stay here and get something to eat at that Subway Shop. This fucking airport is too big to wander around in."

John shrugs, muttering, "Yeah, okay. I feel like I'm five years old sometimes, the way you treat me."

"I'm doing what you're paying me to do! Now, sit your ass down and keep your mouth shut."

They both laugh at that. John whispers in Andy's ear, "I love how you take care of me with tender loving care."

Andy grins, mumbling, "Give me any shit, and I'll spank your ass until you stop crying."

"Whaaat? Huh?"

After a boring but no-problem layover, they board a plane for the last forty-five minutes of the trip. Andy says, "Instead of waiting through the layover, I just read in this pamphlet how we could have rented a car here and driven to Cheyenne, getting there an hour and a half before the plane arrived."

John mutters, "Yeah, I read that too. We'll do that next time."

Next time?

John's straining his neck to see past Andy, looking out the window as their plane approaches Cheyenne Regional Airport. They exchange 'looks,' like, what the fuck? There's a beautiful runway that looks almost new, but the airport itself is a cinder block building that, um, well, it's tiny!

The landing was perfect, and everything was wonderfully after that... deplaning was a breeze, collecting their luggage was easy, and both airport employees were cheerful and helpful. That's right, a total of two airport employees... the perfect number. The airport had one security checkpoint, one rental car booth, and a coffee bar. That's it.

Connecting with Sara McCarty of the law firm McCarty and McCarty was easier than meeting someone at the mall. As John and Andy approached her, Sara called out, "How do you like our airport, John?"

He smiles, mumbling, "It's very cute. How are you, Sara?" When in front of Sara, John's wondering how he's supposed to greet her. He holds out a hand, but she bumps into it as she does an awkward hug, asking, "How was your flight?"

John mutters, "Okay, I guess." He nods at Andy, saying to Sara, "This is my, ah, nurse, Andy Salsbury, but more than a nurse, he's been a wonderful friend. Andy, meet Attorney Sara McCarty."

Sara mutters, "Yes, of course. I remember Andy. How are you, Andy?"

She has this strange expression that's confusing John, but he doesn't mention it. Andy knows what it is... it's John's lisping and girlie gay affectations that he's picked up from Andy. It's nothing outrageous, although quite noticeable because it's behavior that Sara hasn't seen before.

Andy shakes Sara's offered hand and, trying not to lisp too badly himself, says, "It's a pleasure, Ms. McCarty. John told me when he first came out of his coma, he would have been lost without your help. And, um, I noticed you were surprised about John's speech pattern. We've been inseparable since he was released from the hospital, and he's adopted my speech pattern without realizing it. It's what doctors call familiarization, and it's only a temporary condition. As soon he regains his memory, he'll reverse back to his natural behavior. This is not uncommon with amnesia cases. Subconsciously, John wants to relate to something, but his amnesia prevents that, so he manufactures something, in this case mimicking my speech."

Not really giving much of a shit about it one way or another, Sara says, "Oh, yes, I think I read about that," and to John, "It's so nice seeing you again, John. You're looking well."

John goes, "I don't sound like you, Andy! Do I, Sara?"

She sees Andy do a little head shake, so she shakes her head, saying, "No, well, it's so faint, John; I barely noticed that you sounded a tiny bit like your nurse, and how smart of you to hire a full-time nurse! And one as knowledgeable as Nurse Andy."

Neither John nor Andy is inclined to clarify that Andy's not even close to being a nurse. He's a nurses' assistant, which is four years of college away from being an actual nurse. Plus, that was all bullshit from Andy, there's no such thing as familiarization. He gets credit for coming up with something that impressed Sara, so hopefully, she won't give John's lisping another thought.

Sara says, "I'm parked right out that door. This is the most convenient airport in the world." John lisps, "We could have gotten here an hour or so earlier, right, Andy?"

"Yes, if we rented a car at the Denver airport."

Sara says, "That's what I always do. It's important to rent from Avis, though! Avis is the only rental car company here in Cheyenne's airport."

Andy nods, "Good tip, thanks." Then to John, "You ride shotgun, Darling, I'll get in the back."

When John gets in the car, Sara asks Andy, "How's he doing, really?"

"Amazingly well, but still with minimal memory recovery. We're hoping being here will change everything."

She pats his shoulder, "It's wonderful of you to interrupt your life to help John like you're doing."

John says, "It's a job, but I'm very fond of John, too... plus, I'm getting well paid."

Sara says, "Yes, of course. I'm logging in all my hours at the firm's billable hourly rate, but where would John be without us, you know?"

Andy nods, murmuring, "Yes, I know, plus it's a lot of responsibility."

It's like their co-conspirators helping John Darling and, yeah, being paid out the giggy too. Andy gets in the back seat as Sara gets in the driver's seat, saying, "It's less than a twenty-minute drive to your house, John."

He quietly lisps, "I'm wicked nervous."

Andy asked, "Do you recall anything about the airport, Darling?"


As she drives, Sara tells John, "I sent a crew from The Maids to your house Monday, and they did a full house cleaning, plus changed all the beds and ran three wash loads, so the house is ready for occupancy." Then she asks, "Will you be staying with John, Nurse Andy?"

"Yes, until John recovers his memory or he decides to stop trying to recover it and dismisses me, I'll be here for him. And, um, Sara, please call me Andy."

"She says, "I admire your dedication, Andy!"

Cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching, the billable hours keep adding up, so it's unlikely Sara will be suspicious of Andy milking the John Darling inheritance situation when she's charging $300 an hour for her services.

Sara drives onto Oak Street and then onto the driveway of 62 Oak Street. It's a four-bedroom, three-bath, 4200 square foot house painted white with black shudders valued at $675,000. If this home were in certain Massachusetts towns, add a million dollars to the value. Andy goes, "Wow! Nice house, Darling."

John mumbles, "Holy shit, I remember it... Omigod!"

Tears run down his cheeks as he says, without lisping, "There are two fireplaces, one wood fireplace in the family room, and there's a gas fireplace in the finished basement."

Sara and Andy look at each other, then at John. They're hesitant to say anything in case he's going to say more, and he does. He turns around in the front seat to look back at Andy and adds, "My bedroom is that room," as he's pointing to a double window on the second floor over the front entrance.

After five seconds of silence, Andy asks, "What else do you remember, Johnny?"

John shivers, "Um, I don't know. I feel funny. Oh, wait... that's not good, I don't think."

Sara looks uneasy and maybe afraid this is somehow a situation a doctor needs to be present for. It's eerie and a little bit creepy that John's memory is seeping back into his brain just from seeing the house from the outside. Andy stays on the job, sounding encouraging, "Concentrate, Darling, what isn't great? You said it's not great; what isn't great?"

Shaking his head, John mumbles, "I don't know. Something... Um, I think my cell phone is on my bureau. It's in my bedroom... I didn't lose it in the accident. I forgot to bring it with me because there was shouting, some turmoil, or something. I don't know what." He looks at Sara, "Can we go inside?"

"Oh, of course."

They get out of Sara's BMW, and the boys follow Sara to the front door, where she turns and, handing John the keys, says, "I'm officially turning this property over to you, John Darling. Nurse Andy's my witness that I've relinquished the responsibility of this property, turning it over to the rightful owner."

John, confused, looks at Andy, who says, "She's just protecting her and the law firm's ass, Darling. Go ahead and unlock the door."

Sara gives Andy a dirty look for the protecting her ass comment as John mutters, "Oh, right," and he unlocks the front door. Inside, John stands in the foyer and looks around, then mutters, "Yes, it looks cleaner than I remember it being, but this is the house. I'm going to look in my bedroom first. If my cell phone is there, and I know it is, there'll be messages on it that will tell me a lot."

Andy's feeling his influence on John slipping away faster than he ever imagined it would. Meanwhile, Sara looks relieved that the John Darling saga is almost over, as far as her part in it. There were still some legalities to deal with, papers that needed signing, and so forth, but that might be all she had left to do.

She became fond of John when he'd first come out of his coma, but he seems very different now with his lisping, and he's more confident, which is good, of course, but it's not as it was when John looked up to her as if she were the most special person in his life. So, yeah, Sara is looking forward to moving on.

Sara says, "John, I'm going to leave now, but I'll call you on the cell phone number for your Boston cell phone to set up an appointment to officially transfer your inheritance to you. This house, life insurance, stocks and bonds, your parents' savings and checking accounts, and whatever I've forgotten will all become yours. I'm so glad you have Nurse Andy to help you in this recovered memory situation... it's wonderful. I think my presence here will only hinder you from doing what you need to do here."

With a wave, she adds, "I'll call you tomorrow. Bye, guys..." and she leaves with John calling, "Thanks for everything, Sara!"

Andy breathed a sigh of relief that he'd conned Sara enough that now she was unlikely to be a problem for him. What John might discover on his phone is an entirely different matter, though.

They start up the stairs, but John stops and sobs. Andy's like, "What is it, Darling?"

"My parents were only in their forties. My old man was some kind of genius at work, but otherwise a complete asshole, and Mom wasn't much better, but they didn't deserve to die like that."

Continuing up the step, he mutters, "I feel wicked guilty for not being more distraught about losing them. What kind of person am I, Andy? I thought I'd be grieving. I should be, but I can't. Frankly, they never should have had children... had me."

Andy puts an arm around John, "Shh, I'm sure they cared deeply for you."

"Fuck no. My mother told me fifty times my birth was an unwanted accident, but her religious beliefs forbid abortion. Shit, they were both narcissists. They both were often wrong but never in doubt that they knew the only right way that any-and-everything should be done... how to talk, what to say when it was okay to say 'fuck', when to do this and when to do that, and they were both ready and anxious to correct me about everything. They thought they were the hottest shits ever. The two most self-absorbed humans I'd ever met, and I..." and he began to cry, muttering, "Both assholes, but they were my parents, lousy parents, but... oh shit..."

Andy hugged John but didn't know what to say. John sobbed, then muttered, "This is bullshit, Andy. I thought I hated them, but now I feel bad, and... fuck it, I don't know what I mean. Plus, I forgot to pick up the urns with their ashes. In their will, it stated they were to be cremated. Sara saw to that, and then I never even picked up the urns. Their ashes are at the funeral home in fucking Boston..."

"Shh, Johnny, you said that already. We'll ask that the urns be shipped here."

Sniffing, John asks, "Do you still have a handkerchief with you?"

As Andy takes the handkerchief from his back pocket, he says, "Yes, I'm the only person under the age of seventy who carries a handkerchief. Here, take it... it's yours now."

Sniffling again, John chuckles, then blows his nose twice and asks, "How come you don't want your handkerchief back?"

Andy gives him a look, and John blows his nose again. "Okay, I'll keep it. I owe you a handkerchief, or I could give you a couple of boxes of Kleenex's."

"Right, I'll put the boxes in my back pockets."

Taking a deep breath, then letting it out slowly, John says, "Oh, God, that crying jag was random. Sorry about that, but a picture of my deceased parents, the one on the mantel of their wedding, flashed in my mind. In that picture, they looked beautiful, and they both were beautiful, appearance-wise. Other than that, personality-wise, they weren't, um, very good humans," and he choked up again, but only for a few seconds.

Andy is just standing in the upstairs hall with John, waiting for him to decide what he wants to do next. John stuffs the handkerchief in his back pocket and mutters, "Let's see what's on my phone."

"Okay, Darling, but maybe I should wait downstairs. You know, give you privacy. You might want to read and react to your texts and emails without me looking over your shoulder."

Shaking his head, John mumbles, "No, that's okay, but I changed my mind. I don't want to do the phone thing right now. Let's go downstairs. I'm shaking too much to deal with reading and listening to everything on that phone. Already, I'm experiencing too much information. It's bombarding my senses, never mind adding to the bombardment of what's on the phone. I want to go downstairs and calm down. I'll try to recall things in chronological order from when we arrived at Logan Airport months ago."

"Okay, but don't you want to at least look to be sure your phone is on your desk?"

Chewing on his thumbnail, John nods his head, "Yeah, okay, but I know it's there. I remember Mom and Dad were yelling at each other that the car service was late, blaming each other for screwing that up. I was running upstairs to get the phone when they both started yelling at me that the car service just pulled up to the house and I needed to help with the luggage. It was always turmoil and stress and yelling in our house."

Walking to the front of the house on the second floor where John's bedroom was, they stopped at the bedroom door. John looks at Andy, who motions at the open door, so John looks into his bedroom and begins to cry again. Stepping back from the open door, he said through his tears, "It's on the desk. I knew it would be. Let's go downstairs and drink something alcoholic."

John takes Andy's hand, and they go down the wide staircase hand-in-hand to the living room. Andy says, "Can I see that picture of your parents you said was on the fireplace mantel?"

"Yeah, sure. It's right there where I remembered it being."

Walking over to the fireplace, Andy stares at the collection of family photographs, all of them framed expensively. There's John at different ages, one of him and a girl, both dressed like they're going to a prom, plus the wedding picture John mentioned and photographs of the three family members at various vacation spots in the US and Europe. All three of the Darlings are ridiculously good-looking.

Holding the wedding picture, Andy says, "Damn, from these photographs, you three look like the perfect family traveling happily around the world, all three winners of beauty contests. Un-fucking-believable!"

"Yeah, well, right after smiling for the picture, there was bitching, complaining, and correcting of me. I needed a lot of correcting, according to them. No one else thought I was a fuck up... only my parents."

Andy's shook up a little because John isn't lisping or doing his gay affectation impersonations now. It's as if Andy's bullshit story to Sara of familiarization was a real diagnosis. He, Andy, isn't sure if he's happy that John's reverting back to himself or if he preferred it when John was emulating him. One way is probably better for John, and the other way is probably better for Andy. Hmm?

Then, as if John read Andy's mind, he smiled and lisped, "We have a great finished basement. We can get a drink down there if you want."

"Whatever you want to do, Johnny."

As they're going through the kitchen, John's nodding his head, muttering, "Goddamn, it's all so familiar. Why couldn't I remember any of this?" He stops to take off the lid of a cookie jar. Tilting the jar to show Andy what's inside, he says, "This is Mom's weekly, usually on Fridays, girl's night out money."

Andy goes, "Oh, gee. Money wasn't a problem in your family, I see."

"Nope, Mom puts leftover cash in here from her weekly household spending money from Dad. There's probably two hundred dollars in here. It was the same thing every week, and I'd, of course, when I was home from college, I'd regularly steal from the cookie jar."

Smiling, Andy mutters, "Obviously."

John says, "I needed spending money because Friday nights during summer breaks and every Friday night in high school, I was on my own for dinner. Friday nights were Mom's night out, allegedly with the girls, and that meant Dad had a night out, too. I have no evidence that they were screwing around on one another, but I wouldn't be shocked if they were."

In the basement, Andy says, "Jesus! This basement looks like an upscale lounge. That's a really nice bar."

John rubs his hand down the six-foot bar, "Yeah, mahogany. They had some wild parties down here, but not with any of the neighbors. My parents hung out with couples from where my old man worked, plus my Mom's friends who lived an hour away. Sara told me she contacted two couples from around here, from the neighborhood, but neither one offered any particular assistance. What could they do, you know? I don't need money, and I'm almost twenty-two, so I don't need to be adopted."

John opens the refrigerator under the bar and takes out an ice tray. "What kind of booze can you drink, Andy? I'm making grapefruit juice and vodka for myself. The old man always has these little cans of OJ, grapefruit juice, and V8 in this under-bar refrigerator."

Wow, John's not lisping again, and he's sounding very different to Andy. in other ways, too. He doesn't seem lost anymore. Andy says, "I don't feel like drinking anything, Darling." John gives him an exasperated expression, muttering, "Whaaat?" so Andy mutters, "Okay, I'll have the same thing you're having."

They take their drinks from the bar area to sit in front of an unlit gas fireplace on club chairs. John says, "I'm feeling really shaky, Andy. It's scary-weird, and I don't know why it should be. Well, no, I know why. It's that when I let it, there are a million things that are trying to flood my brain. If I let myself try thinking about anything specific that happened to me before the accident, too much information gets backed up in my head, and I get shaky. That's what's scary-weird."

Andy swallows a third of his drink, then asks, "How about your boyfriend?"

"Yeah, he's there... Brian O'Neil. It's clear as day how he badgered me into blowing him. That was very early during junior year, so he didn't need to badger me too much, I guess. Then, by the end of the year, I was his sex toy, and l loved it. Jesus, I'm not 'in love' with him, but he was a good friend and sex mentor."

"Weren't you mad at him for, um, turning you into his sex toy, like you said?"

John smiles, "Hell, no! I think he's sexy. Sure, he's only about five-foot-eight with a Napolean complex, if you know the type. Haha, what a hot shit he is. He's okay-looking, but not in a special way. He's got blond hair like us, and, oh fuck, I'm getting a hard-on right now talking about him. Yeah, he's a little fucker, but it got so he could snap his finger and get me to lick his ass... or whatever. We were deeply into buddy sex play. Then, sounding confused and lisping a little, John asks, "Goddamn, I'm kinda shocked that I'm not more anxious to go to North Carolina to see Brian. It's probably because I'm experiencing too much recovered memory... or something like that."

Andy murmurs, "Do you think it has anything to do with me? If I wasn't here, maybe you'd be feeling freer to reconnect with Brian."

John gets up and sits awkwardly on Andy's lap, mumbling, "You're my wonderful special friend and sex buddy, Andy. I'd be lost without you, so, no, it's not you. It's, I don't know, but I'll see him in time. Plus, I have you under contract for a year as my full-time nurse, and I'm giving you a raise too, um, let's see. How about twenty dollars an hour?"

"Oh boy, is that for twenty-four hours a day?"

Grinning, John snickers, muttering, "Wait a second," and taking his Boston-based cell phone out of his pocket. Using it as a computer, he multiples 20X24, and says, "Holy shit, four-hundred and eighty dollars a day. Are you worth that much?"

"Not even close..."

Putting his arms around Andy's neck, John hugs and lisps, "I'm feeling relaxed now that I'm sitting and hugging you. Would a thousand dollars a week be enough?"

"It's way too much money, Darling. I don't want to think about money. I'm relieved you still want to be my love buddy; that's what's important to me. It's just I don't see how it can work with me and this Brian guy bumping into each other trying to get to you, so to speak."

Kissing the top of Andy's head, John gets off his lap, grinning and saying in a lisping manner, "I'm still getting used to you without your ponytail, Andy." Which has nothing to do with anything, which made them both laugh.

Then, drinking some of his grapefruit/vodka drink, John says in his regular voice, "The Brian thing is complicated, but the earliest I could continue into my senior year at Duke would be the second semester in January, and I wouldn't be sharing a dorm room with Brian. Damn, hmm, I hadn't thought about that. I'll see what he says on the phone. Maybe he's delayed his senior year waiting to find out what happened to me."

Andy likes that they won't be able to share a dorm room. What are the chances that Brian, after not hearing a word from John going on four months, Brian concluded he wasn't putting off finishing college because John Darling was missing.

Trying not to smile brightly, Andy tries for a concerned 'look,' mumbling, "I'm sure something will work out with Brian and finishing your college education at Duke, Johnny." NOT!

John nods, drinks the rest of his grapefruit/vodka drink, and makes another one, saying, "Sit with me on the sofa, Andy."

It registers in Andy that John sounded a tad demanding when he said that. So, hoping to re-establish an authority position, Andy mumbles, "Nah, let's sit here. These club chairs are wicked comfortable."

Shrugging, John sits back in his club chair, sipping his fresh drink, then asks, "Well, we can still make a trip to Durham to spend a few days with Brian. Would you want to do that, Andy?"

Andy liked that that was in the form of a question. He goes, "Durham? What... oh, you mean Duke. You've got a lot of things to wrap up here first. There is the stuff Sara said she'd call you about, and what are you going to do with this house and all the contents?"

Realizing there are things he hasn't thought of, John slips back into lisping, asking, "Well, can't I keep the house?"

"Of course, you could, but why would you want to? Houses are expensive to keep up. Maintenance and property taxes each year, and do you want to live here? I can't imagine that."

John, feeling comfortable slipping back into his dependence on Andy, murmurs, "You're right, of course," and he gets up, asking, "Can I sit with you, Andy."

"C'mon, Darling, you don't need that drink. Put it down, and you can sit with me on that comfortable-looking loveseat."

It's a huge relief for John to slip back into his amnesia time when Andy takes care of everything. It was scarily traumatic getting his memory back. He can deal with everything later.

He mumbles, "Yes, Andy," as John puts the drink on the bar, adding, "I love it when we sit together and you treat me like a baby."

Frowning, Andy asks, "What?" because John lisped so girlie-fairy-like Andy couldn't understand him.

Getting on the small sofa called a loveseat, John snuggles in against Andy, who wraps him in his arms, murmuring, "Did you say you wanted me to baby you? Was that it?"

Squirming in even tighter, their bodies find familiar areas that fit together, meld together, as John sighs and murmurs, "Yes, Andy. I like it best when you're taking care of everything."

Andy nods to himself and kisses John, "Sure, Darling... just relax. It's almost five o'clock, and it's already been a very eventful day for you. Too much for one day. Let me take care of everything for the rest of today."

John sighs again, his body as docile and relaxed as it can get, "Yes, Andy. Um, can we have sex? That's always calms me down."

Andy nods to himself again, thinking...'Uh-huh, this is going to work out.' Then says, "Maybe a little later, Darling. You need a nap... we both do."

To be continued...

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Next: Chapter 13

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