Letter From Sober Me

Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of completely fictional incest or fictional incest content.

*****

I don't know what it was that awakened me. It could have been the neighbor kids, it could have been one of the cats knocking something ELSE off of my counter, or perhaps the fact that I really, really needed to empty my bladder was the thing.

In any event, I was awake, and really needed to pee. Stumbling to the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, as I passed.

Looking kind of rough, dude.

Once the pressure had been released, and I was washing my hands, I caught something that had escaped me on my first pass: a note scrawled on the mirror, in a wax pencil.

"Hey, stupid!" it greeted somebody. Probably me: it was, after all, my bathroom.

"Hey, stupid! I know you're hung over, and I know why you're hung over. At this point, you have no excuses: you already have proven, time and time again, that you are not going to drink her off your mind. So, while I have your attention, go get your phone. Make sure you did NOT drunkenly call her last night."

I shrugged, already planning to ignore my unknown correspondent's advice. I opened the cabinet, looking for the Tylenol I probably had in there, somewhere.

A sheet of paper flapped on the inside, bold red sharpie capturing my attention.

"Not only stupid, but stubborn as well, right? You weren't going to look at your phone, were you? Take the damn Tylenol, and go get your phone. I'll still be here!"

I grumbled a few swear words, tossed a couple of the tablets into my mouth, and washed them down with tap water.

I stumbled into the bedroom, and found my phone in my discarded pants. I scrolled through my recent calls: several I did not recognize, likely a ride share driver confirming my location, and that was it. It appears that I had not called The Ex.

Back to the bathroom, where I tore the snide note down. I folded it, preparatory to crumbling it up and tossing it, and noticed bold black writing on the other side.

"If you weren't a loser, and called her, then you have earned a few points. You still have to get next to two things: she is not coming back, and you cannot continue to drink yourself into a stupor. The stupor does not let you forget her, and the drinking simply makes you look pathetic. Just. Stop."

I un-creased it, and looked the paper over again. At the bottom was a signature: "Sober Me".

I half stumbled my way into the kitchen, realizing that coffee would, at least, structure the next several minutes of my day.

I halted, abruptly, once I entered my kitchen, and noticed two things. One, there was a woman sitting at my table, drinking her own coffee, and reading something on her phone. Two, there was steam rising from my coffee cup.

I cinched up my sweats, and grabbed my coffee, sitting across from her. Taking a sip, I noticed it was prepared just the way I liked it, and was hot. Miss Unknown apparently had just made it, not too long ago.

I settled my cup on the table, and addressed my guest.

"Um, hello? I'm Mark Anderson. And, you would be....?"

I expected something along the lines of 'I'm the girl you picked up from the bar", or some other clue as to how I had both blotted out last night, as well as found myself in the company of a very pretty woman, dressed, near as I could determine, in my bathrobe. I was going to be disappointed.

She had looked up once I had entered the room, and watched me gather my coffee and settle in my chair.

"I know your name, great grandpa. I'm Emily Gruesel. Grandma talked and talked about you, and made me swear that, if we ever met, I needed to tell you two things."

She had me. I looked at her, stupidly. (which was, of course, character acting for me.)

"Uh, what two things?"

She smiled. I realized that I had not felt the sunshine radiance of a woman's genuine smile, in quite a while.

"Well, first, Grandma ordered me to tell you that she loves you, and misses you, her Dad. Secondly, she needed me to tell you that you have to stop drinking, and clean up your act, and get your shit together. If you do not, she will never exist, and therefore my mother will never exist, and therefore, I will never exist, and we will never have this conversation!"

I really, really needed that coffee. I took several deep gulps, and savored the warmth starting in my stomach and reaching throughout my chest. Suitably fortified, I rejoined the conversation.

"Huh?"

(I didn't say I contributed to the conversation, but I was there)

She smiled. Charitably.

Sighing, she tried again. "So, you know about the tokamak, in Culham, England?"

"Nope," was my reply.

She tried again. "Do you know what a tokamak is?"

I wasn't entirely certain. "Some sort of thermonuclear thing?"

She settled her coffee on the table, looked me in the eye, and began to sort me out.

"A tokamak is a device to contain a fusion reaction. Fusion is the sort of thing that makes a hydrogen bomb go BOOM, but, if you can contain it, you can get a whole lot of energy, which is handy if you have, say, 100 million electric cars and trucks and houses and factories and things to power. So, it turns out, that early tokamaks had problems, and it took years and years to figure it all out. In the course of getting fusion power to run reliably, and reasonably safely, several accidents demonstrated that, if you focus enough energy on one place, in the right configuration, you can safely send people and things back in time, and bring them back."

Emily frowned.

"That did not do the first time travelers a lot of good, because, if you screw it up, the traveler dies along the way. We don't know how, yet, but the first accidental travelers were brought back as crimson gelatin."

She brightened. "But, now, decades later, we have it figured out. It's about as safe as airliner flight. Well, about as safe as airliner flight once Boeing went out of business."

I figured that I had learned enough about high energy physics, as I was going to comprehend that day.

"So, how does that lead to you here in my kitchen, in my bathrobe? With whatever the hell that message is, from somebody I do not even know! I don't have any daughter, and so I do not know what the hell you're talking about!"

Emily pushed her chair back, came around the table, and, scootching my chair back, settling on my lap, crosswise. She wrapped one arm around my neck, and began to run her other over my chest.

"Your daughter, Brenda Anderson, will marry my grandfather, Armond Guiterrez. They will have four children: Adam, Blanca, Candace, and Daniel. Candace will marry Leon Greusel, and I will be their oldest. Brenda will grow up, and study electrical engineering, Candace will follow in her mother's footsteps and study quantum engineering, and I will grow up to be a particle engineer, building tokamaks to power our world, as well as investigating the time travel insights those accidents I mentioned, showed us. That's why I'm here, great grandpa!"

My stupid look must have persisted. She clarified.

"I grew up on grandmother's stories of you, and how you had been a paramedic, and then a nurse, then a nurse practitioner. I wanted to meet you one day, and when Andries Freydenlund brought a practical time machine to market, well, I had to go work for him! I have had the biggest crush on you, for the longest time! When I saw how you are living now, and contrasted that with the man my grandmother filled my head with stories of, well I had to try to get you to get it together!"

Not making a lot of sense. I was, what, pushing in on 30 years old, and the woman in my lap (who my ever inquisitive krenk was interested in making the acquaintance of) was looking like she was around 20. So, if she was my grand daughter (*GREAT* grand daughter, the voices in my head corrected me!), either I was insane, or I was really around 90 plus years old, or this entire confabulation about time travel was NOT confabulation, but was real.

And that thought abruptly brought me to realize that, assuming that her tale was not mostly (if not entirely) bullshit, I was lusting after my own great grand daughter.

Make that "creeping on my own great grand daughter".

So, of course, I changed that subject.

"So what does your presence on my lap have to do with my unfucking my life? And, who is the author of the notes on my bathroom mirror?"

She leaned in for a peck on my cheek, and as her (well, MY) bathrobe gaped, it appeared that she was only wearing that bathrobe. Which was not a particularly good fit, for her petite frame.

Well, not all of her was petite. Her breasts, from the glimpse just granted me, were not petite. Not gigantic hooters, but, well suited to her build and frame.

Emily resumed her tutorial, with a giggle. "Well, I sort of lied to you. I wrote those notes, just the way I thought that you, sober, might have written them. How did I do?"

I shook my head.

"Can't really tell you, sweetie. I have not been sober, and not hung over, for a while. You appear to have successfully captured the firehouse tone, with a seasoning of drill instructor. And, your presence here, this morning, is a surprise. I might even have been shocked into considering your advice."

I paused for a moment, as something had just struck me. "So, how did you get my bathrobe? And, how are you here, now? Did you simply decide something like, 'Gosh, I have a free weekend. I guess I'll pop off, something like 100 years in the past, and go visit great grand pa, and, simply for grins, I'll do so prior to his sobering up! Fun times!'"

Then, I wondered, "And, once you impulsively time traveled to visit me, how did you get in here? I'm generally pretty good about locking things up!"

She shook her head, and her dark hair teased her shoulders.

"So, you do not remember picking up a young woman, who was herself sort of drunk, and whisking her off her feet by means of your masculine charms? Ride-sharing her to your lair, where you romanced her, leaving her a breathless husk of sated woman?"

My dumb look must have seemed like a negative response.

She pouted. "Was I so forgettable a lover, that you, the very next morning, with your spend only just beginning to dry upon my soft young body, can forget me? Can forget, so soon, the ecstasy you wrought in me, the rapture you swore that I brought to you?"

She turned, theatrically, aside, hiding her eyes on the crook of one arm.

"Oh, foul fate! To have besmirched my virtue with one so shallow, such a superficial villain, who makes as to fling me aside, after one night yielding to fleshly temptation! Oh, what am I to do, having been soiled by his foul leavings! Am I to wander, rejected by all decent men, who can see, can identify the befouled dove that I have become? Oh, harsh fate, what is to become of me?"

I was overwhelmed by a tempest of emotions, attempting to make sense of what it appeared my consort was accusing me of. Had I really rolled around in the sheets with my own great grand daughter? Had I been intimate with the hot, shapely woman in my lap?

I had several seconds to wonder, until she broke out in laughter, hugging me.

"Oh, grandpa, you picked me up in the bar, and brought me home. I attempted to seduce you-I really did!- but you waved me off to the second bedroom, and you were snoring before I even got a toothbrush out!"

She leaned back, and eyed me.

"...not that I wouldn't boff you, if you gave me the chance! Heck, once we figure out what we're doing today, I'm gonna keep on trying to seduce you, until you have my wicked way with me!"

That prediction was punctuated by her wiggling in my lap, rubbing her firm ass against my thickening love lance. Some parts of me were having no doubts about reveling in the delights this woman was predicting we would share!

My linear thinking got the best of me. Not responding at all to the invitation to carnal delights, I asked her, "what do you mean, 'figure out what we're doing today'? It's my day off, and I have no plans whatsoever!"

Emily gazed meaningfully about the kitchen.

"So, you are simply going to wait for the laundry fairy, the dish fairy, the refrigerator fairy, the clutter fairy, and the dust fairy to all gather here, and, since they do work weekends, they will fluff and buff and polish and straighten your place, while you, what, scrape the fur off your tongue from your wastrel last night?"

She returned her gaze to me.

"It's a good thing that I came along. Ain't no other woman gonna give you some play, with you looking like old socks, and your place looking like a Samaritan's Purse Disaster Services 'Please Donate' commercial! C'mon, you! It's time to shine, shower, shave, shampoo, and clean this shithouse up!"

She sniffed, ostentatiously. "Shower, first! Up, let's go! And, bring your coffee!"

I picked up my coffee, and followed her upstairs. She turned at the bathroom, where my "Hey! Stupid!" note still awaited me. She smiled, and, turning, bent to start adjusting the water temperature.

Once it was suited to her desires, she turned to me, and provided my orders.

"You are going to shower, and scrub thoroughly. Shampoo, shave, and once I am satisfied that you are done, you will get dressed and we are going to clean house!"

I hesitated, apparently for a moment too long (or, given how things developed, perhaps just a moment long enough...), because Emily pulled the end of the bathrobe tie loose, and shrugged the whole thing off her shoulders and into a puddle on the floor.

I had been right, she was not wearing a thing beneath the robe, and her movements left her gloriously naked. I stood there, as if paralyzed, until she reached for my sweats, yanked the tie loose, and jerked the entire mess to the floor.

Once I was as achingly naked as she, she looked me up and down, smiled, and remarked, "I can see why my great grandmother spoke so highly about you, when telling tales to my Grandma! You are well equipped to please a pussy! Now, let's scrub you shiny, and, once you have convinced me your domestic skills measure up, well, another shower may lead you to your reward!"

I stood there, woodenly, until she shrugged, turned and entered the shower. That, of course, provided a panoramic view of her firm breasts, with upturned, and erect, nipples, their sway as she turned. As she stepped into the shower, her round firm ass, became the featured attraction, complex curves with firm muscles rippling beneath her skin as she moved.

Suddenly motivated, I followed her, and she reached for me, smiling, as the water played over her curves. I stepped into her embrace.

I kissed her, tentatively at first, then she demonstrated her enthusiasm for our exploration. I echoed her eagerness, running my hands up and down her firm back, reaching for, and finally caressing, her derriere.

She leaned back, and corrected me. "Oh, no! First we wash, then we clean, and then, romance!" She paused and considered. "Well, I seem to have led you on. You simply will have to demonstrate restraint, until all the housework is done! Now, had you kept up on that housework a bit better, well, we could get to happy fun times that much quicker!"

She leaned back farther, and looked between us, where Mr. Happy made perfectly plain his opinion of the delay option.

"I can see that not everybody is entirely on board with my plan. Well, if your throbbing friend can be patient, he will soon find that what awaits him is quite worth the wait!"

Emily resumed structuring my day. She reached around me for the shampoo, dripped some into her hand, and reached to lather my scalp up. Of course, as she reached, her one breast rubbed tantalizingly against my flank, and my sex scepter responded accordingly. (it really seemed as if today was my day for being slow on the uptake!)

Once she replaced the shampoo, she straightened back up, and admonished me.

"Oh, no, mister! Remember, happy fun times will have to wait until we have finished cleaning! You let this disarray happen, you will get to wait until the damage is undone!"

She smiled at me, handed me the soap, and continued, "Now, kind sir, if you would wash a lady's back, that would be so very nice!"

I agreed: it was very nice! I know damned well that it was very nice, for me, to rub warm soapy water over all of her firm curves. Indeed, by the time I was done, her buttocks, as well as her breasts were very, very clean. (ok, so I cheated. While, I do realize that her breasts are not on or even really close to her back, well, there I was, and there they were, and I had the washcloth all soapy already, and, really, what was I supposed to do? Simply not caress...er, I mean, wash her breasts?)

From her purring, and leaning to my touch, it appeared that it was very nice for her as well. Which was, after all, part of my wicked plan.

Soon, the hot water ran out, and we exited to dry and dress ourselves. Emily sent me outdoors, as my yard was a mess. She stripped the bed, gathered the laundry, and started the washer. I saw her, as I peeked in from time to time while I traversed the yard, or raked up clippings, as she was standing at the sink, with an occasional glimpse of a dish in her hands.