Amnesia

"How you going?" I asked, looking up into his face.

"Hmmm, Ok, thanks," he replied, then looked at the TV that was still going with the sound muted, "Are the Flintstones on? I like the Flintstones."

"Sorry, sweetie, they're not on any more. They finished."

"Oh well, never mind."

"Would you like to go to bed?"

"Yes, I'm tired. Can you read me a story please?"

"Certainly; in fact, I'll tell you a story; a true story. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes please."

"Right, then you go and have a shower then clean your teeth and I'll see you in bed."

"Ok, I'll race you to get ready for bed first." He then stopped as he ran to the door. "Where are my pajamas?"

Neither of us had worn or even owned pajamas since before we were married. "Oh, you'll just have to wear what you wore this morning, shorts and a shirt. Is that Ok?" I replied.

"Yes, that'll be fine," he replied, apparently reassured.

Ten minutes later he was tucked into bed and I was sitting on the side of the bed, wearing an old nightdress I'd found in the back of the closet, telling him the story of his life from 5 to 34. I decided the easiest way for him to learn about himself was to have it told as a story. I was extremely grateful that I'd know him for almost that entire time, having experienced school with him, knowing who his friends were, who his teachers were, just about everything about his whole life. We began and he listened avidly as I told him about himself. He asked no questions and seemed to have no recognition that the person in the story was, in fact, himself, even though I started off by telling him that it was a true story about himself. I don't know how he reconciled this in his mind, but he appeared to enjoy the story. Once we reached a time when he was leaving elementary school, I stopped and told him we'd continue tomorrow night. I then went around the bed and climbed into the bed myself.

"Are you sleeping in here with me?" he asked.

"Yes, sweetheart, this is my bed as well. That's why it's so big. Is that alright?"

He thought about this for a few moments then pointed to a place about half way across the bed.

"Ok, that's your side and this is mine. We've got to share the bed if we're both going to sleep in it together."

I couldn't help it; I grinned, then gave him a kiss goodnight, resisting the desire to take him in my arms and hug him to me tightly. Poor, fragile, loveable 5 year old husband of mine. I lay down, exhausted from the day and, despite all the unknown-ness, the scariness and my deep concerns, I slept, mentally exhausted from the most emotionally draining day of my life.

The following week he visited several specialists in mental health, mental trauma, radiologists, adult learning specialists, and several others. Many were fascinated by the situation which was, as far as they knew, unique. He had several scans, each of which showed an area of his brain which was not functioning, and learnt his way around the local area so he no longer had to be accompanied everywhere when away from home.

Nobody could offer any explanation, advice, assistance or even any prognosis for his disability. The only positive aspect was that our health insurer was willing to cover the medical costs and to pay what had been his salary for the indefinite future. At least we wouldn't starve for the necessities of life, although by the end of the week I was in dire need of sexual relief, having been used to an active loving relationship with my 34 year old husband for the past fourteen years. How long would it take to teach the five year old Adam to become sexually active, I wondered.

I decided to consult Trevor.

"Hi Lisa," he said once we'd introduced ourselves on the phone, "How's Adam going?"

"Well, not too badly, for a five year old," I replied. "Physically he's well; mentally he's five, but other than that we're coping."

"Pleased to hear it. So how can I help?"

I paused, feeling myself blush, then pressed on.

"Well, for the past fourteen years Adam and I have had a wonderfully active and fulfilling sex life. However, now he's mentally five, yet physically and hormonally he's 34. Do you think it's safe to encourage him to be sexually active?"

"Hmmm, that's a very interesting question. I guess you're sleeping together. Have you noticed if he has erections?"

"Yes he does, but so far hasn't asked about them or expressed any overt sexual desire. I think that if anything's going to happen I'll have to instigate it and explain to him what is happening and reassure him that it's fine, so long as he only does it with me. I'd never forgive myself if he sexually abused Nicole or any other person for that matter."

"Yes, that's probably the best idea. I very much doubt that his memories will spontaneously return because the cause does not seem to be related to any physical trauma. The parts of his brain that held the memories, probably in the hippocampus, are dead and gone, it seems, and his body will slowly clear these dead cells out as part of its normal housekeeping routines. One thing you could be doing is to partially re-implant memories of his former life as well as his sexual life so at least he knows where he came from even if he cannot actually remember them. You could try showing him photos of himself during his life. Maybe his parents will have old photo albums and then you have your more recent photos on computer, I guess. That may give him some sense of who he was and where he's come from to get here now."

"Ok, thanks for that. I've been telling him bedtime stories of his own life and I'll certainly try photos and will gradually see if he's willing to learn about sexuality. After all, he probably feels the need for release as well but probably doesn't know what the feeling is or how to relieve it. I haven't heard of a man yet who doesn't like sex, but then again, a five year old man may be different."

Trevor laughed. "Yes, that's true. See how you go and remember baby steps. You don't want to scare him off. Give me a call to report progress in a few days if you like."

"Thanks, I will," I said and rang off.

Nicole and Jason were at school and Adam was watching yet another DVD of the Flintstones. He was certainly right about it being his favorite program and his Mom, who I called the day after his amnesia occurred, agreed. I felt really sexy; the chat I'd had with Trevor had brought the feelings to the surface and I desperately needed to cum.

I checked on Adam and topped up his glass of milk, then went to my room and shut the door. I selected my favorite vibrator, remembering as I did so the fun that Adam and I had as he used my toys on me and the excitement when we tried out a new one that either of us had bought. I pushed these thoughts aside, pulled my skirt up, panties down and lay on the bed.

I felt the dampness between my legs and spread it onto my clit, rubbing it gently, stimulating myself. Omigod, I was almost cumming already. I must be sex starved. I continued rubbing, dipping my fingers into my pussy for more lubrication, which was flowing as though from a faucet. It seemed to have been so long; so much seemed to have happened. The sensations began washing over me, sending tingles to my feet. I was thrusting my hips involuntarily, pushing first one then two fingers into me as my thumb kept up a steady massage on my clit. Then I was there, sensations washing through me, trembling, ecstasy filling me as I threw my head back and bit my hand to stop from screaming. It went on and on. I kept a gentle massage of my clit and pussy until it slowly subsided and I could breathe again normally. Wow, that was awesome.

As I came down from my climax I dropped straight into depression. Here I was, in the prime of my sex life, married to a guy with a mental age of five who drank milk and watched Flintstones while I had to pleasure myself in the next room! How was I ever going to come out of this? Where was the end point? What could or should I do to progress even a tiny bit towards a happy fulfilled sexual life? Should I find a lover? How would Jason, Nicole and Adam feel about this? I felt that if there was no hope for a normal life, I may as well just end it now. I remembered my past love life with Adam. We'd been so close, so loving, so sexually inventive and erotic. Could that ever happen again? Oh, to be able to go back there and do it all again. At the time it was inconceivable to either of us that our wonderful lives together would ever end, yet here I was, a few short weeks later, in despair at ever having a satisfying love life again. And there was Adam, completely oblivious to the wonderful sex life he'd had, intent on yet another episode of Flintstones. Who was better off? Was it better to remember what was and maybe could never be again, or was it better to have blessed forgetfulness, never knowing what he was missing? It seemed we were both in no-win situations.

As quickly as that episode arrived, it left. I'd never been a quitter; had always been a fighter, but this just seemed too big by far. Tiny steps, I reminded myself, tiny steps. You can get through this. As someone once told me, this too will pass. I felt sexy again; was that a good sign or was I simply hiding in my sexual releases? I felt for the vibrator and turned it on, listening to its steady, gentle hum.

I spread my legs wider and began caressing my lips, pussy and clit with the vibrator, relaxing as it sent its vibrations through me. I closed my eyes, imagining it was Adam who was holding the vibrator against me. I pictured a mental image of him grinning down at me, his cock hard and ready to penetrate me once I'd first cum with the vibe. I remembered how he loved watching me cum and enjoyed keeping the vibe on my clit, making me cum several times before impaling me on his cock and finishing me off as he filled me with his potent seed. The thoughts were strong, sensations even stronger and I tipped over the cliff once again, cumming hard as I thrashed about on the bed.

It took several minutes for my breathing to return to normal, and a few more minutes before I could rouse myself enough to sit up, tidy my clothes, wash the vibe, replace it in its drawer and return to the lounge where Adam was still happily watching the DVD. I felt so much better, but still missed Adam's usual finale. I gazed at him lovingly and vowed to teach him how to please me like he used to.

With a shock I realized that may not be either possible or ethically viable. A woman teaching a five year old boy to fuck her would be arrested for child abuse, at the very least. Was there any difference, legally, between that and a man with a mental age of five? Did being sexually able imply consent to participate? Would a man with a mental age of five be considered to be capable of giving informed consent to participate in sexual activity? Would it matter if he was my husband or not? Maybe it would be easier to simply leave matters as they were at present and go out and find a lover to satisfy my needs. If I did that, would I feel guilty? Yes, I answered myself, I would, especially if I had given up on Adam without even trying.

Judy called by the next day. We'd been friends since elementary school; in fact, I realized, we'd know each other about as long as I'd known Adam. I introduced her to Adam, who, of course, had no recollection of ever meeting her before despite the fact that we'd all travelled extensively together before we each had children. Judy had a chat with Adam for a few minutes before he lost interest and turned back to yet another rerun of The Flintstones. I gave Adam a glass of milk and accompanied Judy onto the patio with our coffees.

"It's just so frustrating," I began as we settled into our chairs in the sun, "He went to bed perfectly normal and woke like this, or worse than this; at least now he trusts me and accepts things that I do for him. At the start he was deeply suspicious of anything I tried to do."

"It's really interesting yet devastatingly sad to talk with him. He used to be a bright, intelligent and knowledgeable conversationalist but now he just wants to lose himself in kids programs on TV. How sad. What a waste of a person. I feel so sorry for you. How on earth are you coping with this situation?"

"Well, at least we had insurance so we don't have any pressing financial problems. However, I now have three children, one of whom I have to teach to write and communicate. It's not like I can send Adam to school or anything like that; if it's to be done I think I have to do it myself. Even in the past few days his reading ability has improved and he can write a few words as well. It's really interesting to watch him learn. I'd heard of muscle memory before, the memory stored in your muscles from repetition of particular activities. It's that memory that allows touch typists to type so fast. It could be that this is still intact. Adam rode a bicycle yesterday. He was a bit wobbly at the start but soon mastered it, far faster than he would have had he never ridden before. And according to his mother, he never rode a bike until after he started at school, so it's unlikely to be due to his normal memory before he was five."

"Wow, that's amazing. I'd heard a few theories about memory, even how it's hypothesized that it's distributed throughout the body, but that's a really great demonstration of that. Apparently conventional wisdom states that muscle memory is stored in the cerebellum which is separate from the hippocampus where our other memories are stored. I wonder what else he could do with a slight push and a bit of coaching? I wonder if he could drive a car? A lot of that must be muscle memory because we don't really need to concentrate on our movements after we've been driving for a while. Like, we seem to just know how far to turn the wheel to go around a corner. You could try him in a car I guess."

I must have looked dubious about that because she quickly continued: "I'm not suggesting he drive by himself or on the road necessarily, but it would be interesting to find out what he could achieve. Naturally he would need close supervision."

I relaxed a little. "Yes, that is a definite possibility. Isn't there a track a few miles away? Maybe we could try him there. I guess he'd need to go for his license again before he could drive on the roads, and at present he couldn't even read the test paper." I chuckled despite myself.

Judy looked thoughtful. "You know something else that is largely done by muscle memory?" she asked with a grin.

"No, tell me. What are you dreaming up now?"

"Well, when you and Adam started having sex you probably both explored different things before finally settling on a standard operating procedure. I know Marty and I did anyway. Once the SOP was established, you followed that, with minor variations, each time. I wonder if that SOP has been remembered in muscle memory? Anyway, what are you doing for sexual release? I know I couldn't live for more than a couple of days without some loving from Marty, and I guess you haven't had any since Adam's memory loss."

I felt myself blushing and looked down, then told my oldest friend, from whom I had no secrets, about my previous day's masturbatory activities. I felt a tear trickle down my cheeks from the frustration at having to rely on my own stimulation rather than share the pleasure with my loving husband. Judy put her hand on my upper arm in a conciliatory move.

"Sweetheart," she said after I had finished my confession, for that was what it felt like, "You could have called me. You know I swing both ways and I'd be more than happy to help you out anytime. In fact, as you undoubtedly remember, Marty and I have a very open marriage and have on many occasions brought another partner into our bed. So if you wish to visit and stay over for a night I'm sure we'll be able to help you overcome any frustration you may be feeling."

I looked at her, mouth agape; I had known she and Marty had such an open marriage. We had no secrets between us and I knew that even when courting and all through their married life they had never maintained exclusivity for each other. But sharing Marty with my best friend? The thought had never occurred to me in my wildest dreams. It was just unthinkable; as unthinkable as being married to a five year old husband. I pulled myself together, thinking that when the unthinkable happens, perhaps part of the remedy is also unthinkable under normal circumstances. My situation was far from normal.

"Thank you. Yes, I know your relationship is very open and I sincerely thank you for the offer. I'd like to try with Adam for a start but will certainly keep my options open and give you a call if I feel the need."

Secretly I wondered if perhaps Adam and I sharing a bed with Marty and Judy could jump start Adam again. I didn't mention this at the time, resolving to try sex with Adam alone first, then maybe, just maybe, take up Judy's offer. I felt my pussy flooding at the thought of making love with Marty, especially as Judy looked on. It was not the first time my body had betrayed my desire for Judy's hunk of a husband.

During the next couple of weeks Adam attended many different tests in an attempt to find out what had happened so that his reprogramming could take a more directed path. I had also taken him to the race track close by and had helped him drive our car. Slowly, hesitantly, but with increasing confidence, Adam had guided the car around the track, his foot operating the accelerator and brake pedals, his hands steering, initially too much but after only a few minutes he was able to negotiate the bends smoothly. It appeared that his muscle memory was intact, at least for driving, although his decision making, which required conscious brain operations based on remembered experiences, was probably completely absent. Still, it was a start and both Adam and I returned from the track elated.

The medical fraternity were completely nonplussed about his condition, what remedial teaching was required, who should so this teaching, and what could be expected in the long term. Their opinions ranged from him being basically unteachable as the optimum times for learning language, mathematical skills and even basic life skills had long since passed, to being fully capable of learning everything that was necessary for living and even, possibly, obtaining work, though they steered clear of the possibility that he could ever resume his electrical engineering work. So basically nothing was solved by these 'experts' and we were on our own once again. I felt strongly that Adam was seen as a medical curiosity rather than as a patient to be sensitively and lovingly returned to his former condition.

Interestingly, only one medical person even mentioned Adam's and my sexual needs, and then only in passing, mainly out of curiosity I am certain. The female endocrinology specialist asked whether or not he had erections and I replied that he did but so far had not asked about them or expressed any sort of interest in them at all. She asked if she could examine him and I agreed but Adam was unsure and, like any five year old in an unfamiliar environment with strangers, he asked me to stay with him. She undressed him, something which he was now used to on medical visits, and palpated his abdomen before cupping his balls and gently stroking his penis looking for responses. It took only a few seconds for his cock to harden into his normal very substantial love stick, one I had enjoyed on innumerable occasions during the past fifteen years. She could find nothing unusual about this and suggested we try to have sex and see how he responded. I mentioned about the muscle memories and Judy's intrigue about whether these would extend to sexual activities and the specialist grinned as she told me there was only one way to find out.