WARNING:
The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!
This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.
This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.
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I'd screwed things up really good. Oh yeah, I had Maggie back, hornier than ever and much more active in the sack. But as a result of interdependent changes I'd made by going back in time and having first sex with the younger versions of women I knew, I'd lost my daughter Felice. What used to be her room was now an office.
"I got your good suit cleaned for the wake," said Maggie as I stared into Felice's old bedroom, now a home office.
Damn! And Mrs. Hendricks was still dead, too early in life because of changes I'd made. There was no direct causality, but she was alive before I started time-influenced cherry busting, and now she wasn't. "Thanks."
Maggie wanted another frolic in bed but my heart wasn't in it. No Mrs. Hendricks and no Felice? My pleasure had a huge price to pay, something I didn't want Maggie reminding me.
I lazed around the house watching random channels, reading magazines, and avoiding the office. When time got close, I took a shower, and had to physically push Maggie away when she decided that she wanted a vertical coupling under a warm spray. I picked a pressed white shirt and conservative tie from the rack. Maggie wore a simple black dress that made her look phenomenal. Too bad it was time to go, because at that moment, I was ready for the sex she'd pestered me for all day.
I didn't know Mrs. Hendricks very well, maybe at all. I recognized her poster-sized photo at the entrance to the room at the local mortuary. Maggie signed both of our names into the remembrance book. Most of the people there knew her from public service, like serving on the Board of the library, and her work with the Parent-Teacher Organization. Her grown-up children, parents in their own right, showed off their kids, yet another generation. I avoided looking in the casket. Too creepy.
A few steps away from the main attraction, a woman who I immediately recognized as the antique shop owner was pushing a wheelchair. I presumed the pushee was her mother. The shop owner looked at me as if she recognized me. From her first sex or the day I bought the silver clock? In both cases, I was the same current age. I considered that if I was really my age back when she was eighteen, I'd be even older than her mother in the wheelchair.
I nodded my head.
"You owe me something," said the shopkeeper.
Maggie chose that moment to join me and take my arm. "Dear, what's the matter?"
"Your husband has something of mine." She scowled. "I want it back." Her voice got louder.
Her mother in the wheelchair looked up for the first time. Her eyes went wide. "I know you. Oh yes, I know you."
The shopkeeper turned her attention to her mother. "No, Mama, you're mistaken. You've never met-"
Her mother almost bolted out of her chair. She reached for me, and I backed up. "Yes I do, dammit. I know him!"
Another man walked over. "Dutchie, calm yourself or you'll have another stroke."
The only thing that made any sense was that Dutchie was the older woman in the picture on the younger shopkeeper's side table the day I shared her first intercourse. But that day I'd only met her father, who'd socked me back to the present with a stroke of his baseball bat.
To avoid further embarrassment, the shopkeeper rolled her mother away. "I'm not done with you." She almost spat the words.
"What was that all about?" asked Maggie. "Did you steal something from her?"
I'd taken her virginity and her clock, but paid for the latter. And hadn't stopped paying, with Mrs. Hendricks dead and Felice only in my memory. "No, there's a misunderstanding. I bought an antique from her, with a legitimate receipt. She set the price, and now is upset because she made it too low." I lied. How could I explain any of this to Maggie?
"Maybe you should renegotiate the price. It's only money."
