Amnesia

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On my way home from work I need to stop at the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. I must have been a little distracted, because when I stepped out again into the parking lot I didn’t remember where I had parked my car–even though I was only in the store for a few minutes. The lot was not a large one, but it looked unfamiliar. Disoriented, I took my key fob out of my pocket and clicked it. A car honked at me and I got into it. At this point I realized I did not know how to get home from this particular spot in the city. My best bet, I thought, would be to use the GPS on my phone. “Take me home,” told my digital assistant. I followed the phone’s spoken instructions until I came to a house in the suburbs. I pushed a garage door opener in the car and a door opened. I pulled in to the garage, pushed the button again, and entered the house.

At this point I realized I would have to figure out pretty quickly who I was, since nothing had seemed the least bit familiar since that moment of distraction at the drug store. I had never seen this house before, but I had scant memory of any other life either. I didn’t know my own name or what year it was. If I had a wife, then I would have to figure out what my relationship to her was. Instead of panicking, I reasoned that if I could act natural for a little while, then the familiarity of my surroundings might make my memory “click” back into place.

The plump but attractive middle-aged woman standing before me greeted me warmly and said “I made you a martini… Where’s my kiss?” I leant in for a peck, wanting to play it safe, but she put her hands behind my head and opened her mouth. I kissed her back, and our tongues flickered against each other for a few second. She pulled away abruptly as I heard another woman’s voice yelling from behind me. “What the hell? You’re making out with my husband again?” So, I guess the first woman was my sister-in-law? My wife looked like she was about 45 years old, my wife’s sister, maybe a few years younger. Another woman, of about 65, arrived shortly after. From the physical resemblance, I deduced that she had to be my mother-in-law. All three women were short, about five feet tall, with hair dyed blonde and heavy make-up.

The funny thing was, I didn’t think that I was actually married. If you had asked me, I would have said that I lived alone in an apartment, in a different city, and that I was in my late twenties. I tried to retrace my steps in my head before the stop at the pharmacy, but all I could come up with was a generic office building with an attached parking garage. Perhaps if I went back to the drug store and exited the same way I had come in, I could return to my old life–whatever it was. The longer I stayed here with these three women, though, the fainter this image of my former life would become. Did I even drink martinis? After a few sips, I accepted that this was going almanbahis to be my new reality.

My so-called “wife” was not angry after all. Sipping their drinks, the three women chatted amiably about their plans for “Michael” (that must be me!) for the evening. Apparently, they were in the habit of teasing me, groping my butt when I passed by, stealing kisses, from what I gathered from their banter. At this very moment my mother-in-law, sitting next to me on the couch, was resting her manicured hand on my knee. I wasn’t sure yet whether I was fucking the mom and sister, but I hoped to find out soon.

We sat down to dinner: apparently, rare steak with a nice cabernet was my favorite meal. I said very little, not wanting to give myself away, and my wife had a concerned look on her face. After a while, I said “I think my memory problems are coming back. When I went to the pharmacy today, I couldn’t find my car, and I had to use the GPS to get home. It is very strange.” These words, I thought, would buy me some time and help excuse my silence. I didn’t know whether I had had “memory problems” before, but now was a good time to find out. My mother-in-law said she would take me in to my doctor the next day. My wife would call my work in the morning to tell them I would be out sick. Nobody confirmed or denied that I had suffered from any memory loss before.

After two martinis and a couple of glasses of wine, I was feeling a strong buzz. My wife and her family had been drinking too–especially my mother-in-law. While my wife and her sister washed the dishes, I sat with mom on the couch again and she tried to comfort me, stroking my shoulder and face and saying “poor dear.” I was at once anxious about my predicament and excited by the attention of these three women. No memories were coming back, but at the same time my aim now was to relieve some of the sexual tension that had built up since that first kiss with my sister-in-law.

My wife came back in the living room before anything else happened with my wife’s mom. She turned on the tv and we watched an old movie. We had a blanket over our laps and the older woman discreetly rubbed her hand on my cock, through my pants. I tried not to come, but the event of the evening had been overwhelming, so after about five minutes my cock exploded. I tried not to make any noise show any reaction on my face, but everyone in the room knew exactly what had happened. This was probably not the first time she had done this for me.

Apparently, our nighttime routine was for me to give a passionate kiss to both mother and sister before going to bed with my wife. Even though I had just climaxed in my mother-in-law’s dexterous hands, I was eager to have my new wife screw my brains out. Before we went to bed, though, she told me that I had to fuck Evelyn (that must be mom) before I was allowed to get it on with Katy (the sister). almanbahis yeni giriş Ok, so, I hadn’t done either of them yet? “I guess you can fantasize about Katy when you’re with Evelyn, or knowing you, you would probably fantasize about Evelyn when you’re with Katy. I know you like older women.”

***

Since I had no specific memory of having had sex before, I experienced my night with Sandra as the best thing that had ever happened to me in my life. If this truly was my life, then I was the luckiest man alive. I imagine most women take of their make-up before going to bed, but she, instead, reapplied her lipstick and kissed my all over my torso, leaving prints all the way down as she played with my balls with her hand. She put on some more lipstick and gave me an amazing blow job. When I was just about the come, though, she stopped and mounted from above.

***

The next morning Evelyn took me to the clinic.

I told the doctor: “The strange thing is that I don’t think Sandra is really my wife. Nothing about her taste or smell seems even remotely familiar. I only have a vague image of my life before yesterday evening, but I don’t think I am married. If I were, it probably wouldn’t be to a woman almost twenty years older than I am. Nothing at all makes any sense at all to me.”

The doctor frowned and said that, in fact, I had been married for three years. I had been her patient for about that long. As to the age gap, well, Dr. Olivia confirmed what Sandra had told me the night before, that I had always had a “thing” for mature women, including the doctor herself and one of her nurses. She ordered me to take off all my clothes and lie face up on the examining table. Seeing the lipstick prints that Sandra had forbidden me to wash off, she took a lipstick out of her purse, put some on, and added her own marks to my body. I was nervous that Sandra would notice lipstick of different shades all over me, but I thought I could slip into the shower before that happened. Olivia’s complete physical examination of me finished with a quick blow job with her perfectly painted lips.

***

On the way home, Evelyn took me to lunch at an out-of-the-way Italian restaurant. After we were done eating, she broached the subject of the two of us. When I had married her daughter, I had agreed to “service” my mother-in-law regularly, and it was about time I started. “I’ve given you hand jobs every night for a month, and you haven’t visited my room once.” She drove us to a secluded spot in the woods and we began to make out like two teenagers. From our goodnight kiss the evening before, I knew that her style of kissing was sloppy and aggressive. Now she held my head with two hands and thrust her tongue as far as she could down my throat, so that I could hardly breathe. When we made love in the back of her van, she eagerly kissed my neck and almanbahis giriş stuck her tongue into my ear. The idea that I could have a 65-year old woman do these things to me drove me wild. Maybe I had married Sandra just to get closer to her mother? When we got home, jumped in the shower and washed all traces of Olivia and Evelyn from my body.

***

Now that I had fucked Sandra and Evelyn, I turned my attention to Katy. Each woman had her own unique sexual style. Sandra’s was domineering; I had to do exactly what she said. She explored every corner of my body with her tongue before she let me enter her. Evelyn was carefree, unpredictable, and uninhibited. Her drunkenness made it easy to take advantage of her. Katy was self-conscious about her body. She thought she was overweight, but her pendulous breasts were major turn-on for me. From here on, I alternated between the three women. I would go to bed with Sandra, but find that it was Evelyn in my bed. Or I would go to Evelyn’s room, only find to find Katy there.

***

There were certain rules I had to follow in my new life. I wasn’t allowed to jerk off: all my spunk was for the three of them. Every time I came in or out of the house, I had to make out each one of them, for as long as she wanted, whether for a minute or an hour. Monday was my day off; I didn’t have sex with any of them that day. But if a friend of theirs came by, or Evelyn’s book club was meeting, all bets were off. I couldn’t have extramarital (or extrafamilial) affairs, except for massage therapists and other medical professionals who were treating me, or members of Evelyn’s book club. I wasn’t allowed to wash Sandra’s lipstick prints from my body for 24 hours, even if I had a massage or a medical appointment the next day. I couldn’t refuse sexual relations with any of them, or even with any of their friends who happened to be visiting. Evelyn’s elderly friends weren’t particularly attractive, but they all gave great head.

***

At a certain point, I had to figure out where my life was going. Dr. Olivia recommended a therapist, and I started to see Dr. Sylvia. I told her the story of the drugstore and my amnesia, my initiation into Sandra’s extended family, the arbitrary and restrictive rules I had to follow at home. We explored all the possibilities: it didn’t seem plausible that the women had erased my memory to make me their sex slave, or that I had stepped through some time-space portal into a pornographic fantasy universe. The medical tests had not shown any neurological abnormalities. I just had to accept my current life as it was. After all, I was a lucky man surrounded by so many solicitous women. I thanked the doctor, and I told her I needed to keep seeing her until I could figure out how to sort out my life. At our next sessions she asked detailed questions about my sexual life, my fantasies.

Dr. Sylvia game me an assignment: to write a story about my sexual initiation. Since I had no memory of the actual event, the “truth” of the story would be a psychological, not a literal reality. I would discover who I was through the creation of an alternate fictional reality…

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