Up to a point, it had been a fairly standard visit to see my Dad - something I had been doing regularly for the past year or so.
He lived alone as we had lost Mum to a massive stroke fifteen years ago. Mum was only 60 when she passed. It had come as a huge shock to me and my two sisters and was a huge loss for our father.
I hadn't realised quite what a loss it must have been for him in particular until 18 months ago when I lost my own wife to a particularly aggressive form of breast cancer. Lesley and I were both 45 at the time and we had never had children. Lesley was my soulmate and we were both highly dependent on each other. It took me about 6 months to get anywhere near coming to terms with her death.
As I did, it struck me how alone my Dad must also feel and I resolved to visit him more regularly than I had over the years. Working as an independent financial advisor, I pretty much controlled the hours I worked so it was fairly easy for me to find the time.
Of my sisters, Sarah is fifty - four years older than me and Debbie is five years younger. Sarah is a senior nurse at a hospital about an hour away. The most shy and introverted of us three, she has never married. For as long as I remember she had never even seemed to have a boyfriend. She worked long shifts and dedicated all her time to her work.
Debbie, on the other hand was bright and outgoing. Now married to Jeff, they had twin boys aged 15. Prior to settling down, Debbie had been a very free spirit seemingly having a new boyfriend every time I saw her. She had studied and qualified as a sports masseuse when younger. She gave up working when the twins arrived, though I know she still gives massages to a few friends from time to time. By coincidence, Debbie and Jeff had recently moved to the same town I was living in.
Between the three of us, I knew that Dad was now getting a visit at least every couple of weeks.
Dad and I have a somewhat reserved relationship. We both love each other very much but we're not the sort of characters who need to demonstrate it all the time. So, while conversation flows fairly easily on my visits, it tends to follow a set pattern. We catch up on family matters, complain about the weather, criticise the U.K. government for whatever policies they have come up with recently and worry about the latest shenanigans from the Russians and Chinese.
I had just taken out teacups out to the kitchen and was just getting prepared to leave for the two-hour drive home when Dad broached a subject we really never talk about.
"So, Chris, how are you managing these days, without Lesley?" he asked somewhat awkwardly.
I was taken aback. "Well, I'm sure you'll understand, Dad, that while I've come to terms with her passing, I don't think I'll ever get used to it" I replied, starting to pull on my jacket.
"You won't, nor should you" he said.
I started to move towards the front door, then turned to say my goodbye.
"But I meant how are you managing... you know... err... with sex" he stammered.
I was so shocked I had to ask myself if I had heard him correctly, but there was no mistake.
"Well Dad.... you know...I...well...I manage" I said, embarrassed.
"No female friend then?" he asked.
"No, Dad. I'm not ready for a relationship. Don't think I'll ever be, really."
You could have knocked me over with a feather when he came back with "Have you thought about paying someone?"
where was this going? Was he really suggesting I should go to a prostitute?
"No way, Dad" I replied. "I'm not interested in finding sex without any personal connection. I'd rather just...well, take things into my own hands, if you see what I mean".
I was now quite keen to get out of the house to put an end to this conversation.
"I understand" he said. "I was the same for years and years. Didn't get any easier though."
By now I had the front door open and was ready to step outside.
But Dad continued, "Then one day when your sister was giving me a massage for my aching bones, I got a bit of a boner. Embarrassing really. She noticed of course and, without saying a thing, she helped me out with a... you know... what do they call it... a happy ending."
I just stood with my mouth wide open, but he wasn't finished.
"She's done it a few times since too," he said. "You could talk to her, perhaps she'd do the same for you."
I was stunned. I didn't know what to say, so I mumbled some sort of thanks and goodbye and almost fled down the drive to my car, leaving him standing in the doorway.
I leapt into the car, slammed the door and roared off down the road with without looking back. My head was spinning. Was Dad making it up? No, it wasn't possible.
Was he getting confused? Old age starting to play with his mind? Dementia setting in? Surely not. Other than for the last few minutes, he had seemed perfectly rational.
Was it some misunderstanding or accident? Probably not, given Dad said it had happened a few times.
Could Debbie really be giving Dad hand jobs? It seemed so unlikely but, if she was, could Dad be right and might she be willing to do the same for me? I did quite often find myself feeling incredibly horny and, while masturbation provided some temporary relief, if was hardly satisfying.
But this was Debbie, my little sister, I was thinking about.
I won't deny that I had been interested in the development of her body as a youngster. I mean, what boy hasn't perved on his teenage sister at some stage. Debbie was a pretty girl who grew into a highly attractive young lady over a 12 month period when I was 21. My hormones meant I couldn't fail to notice how her body was developing, particularly her spectacular tits. She quickly grew a pair of C-cup boobs which looked much larger on her slim frame. She also knew how to flaunt them, which soon came to the notice of just about every boy in town. It also provided me with jerk-off material whenever I managed to see her in a bikini or even, on very lucky days in just a bra. Once she left school she stopped wearing a bra, claiming her boobs were self-supporting. My ambition for a couple of years back then had been to get a view and down her shirt but it never happened. Instead, I had to be satisfied with seeing her nipples pressed up against the material.
For days, questions about what Dad had said swam in my head. In all likelihood it was nonsense but there was the possibility that it was true and that was enough to give be a guilty boner.
