Caretaker

I met Marc Favinger when he was thirty-two and I was a fresh-out-of-high-school eighteen year old. Marc's parents introduced us and he smiled and made a big deal of showing me his room.

"I gots all my police stuff up on that shelf there!"

I looked up on the shelf and there were pictures of him with the mayor and the governor getting some kind of award, there was his badge in a shadow box, and there, too, encased in acrylic was the bullet that had changed his life forever.

My job was to be his daycare worker. The agency had sent me over in a hurry since Marc's mother needed a surgery and the parents had to leave town.

It was singularly saddening to look at the vibrant life this wonderfully handsome man had once had and then to turn and see the child he had become. As his elderly parents related it to me he had been out on patrol when he pulled up to a stop light and some kids pulled up next to his cruiser. The kids had their music on and it was blaringly loud. The light turned green and Marc let them pull ahead before he got behind them and turned on his lights. The kids pulled over and stopped and Marc approached the driver's side of the car. This part was on the video from Marc's dashboard mounted camera: a hand reached out from the backseat as Marc leaned in to talk to the driver and shot Marc in the head.

I remembered the story as his parents told it because a police dispatcher had been listening in on the stop and the story got out on the news. The news reported how the dispatcher had remained calm while she radioed the 'officer down' call out to every law officer within range. Sheriff and police helicopters from cities three hundred miles away came as fast as they could to join in the search for a potential cop killer.

It was a lone deputy from a distant county who ended up in a firefight with the criminals. They'd exchanged pistol shots and then the deputy, a former Navy SEAL, reached into his car for his H-K sub-machine gun and subsequently ended the battle. The four gangbangers who'd tried to kill a cop to "make their bones" would, in the relatively near future, become nothing but bones themselves.

It was hard to look at this painfully handsome man and try to hold back tears as the words of a six-year old came out of his mouth.

We went back to the living room where his father took up the conversation.

"Lizzie, you be careful with Marc cause the boy don't know his own strength no more. He done went and busted the arm on the last caretaker when she wouldn't let him watch some cartoon show on the tee-vee. He wants to do that kind of thing then you just go on and let him. The boy lost the part of mind where he don't take no for an answer, you understand?"

I nodded that I did.

"Okay, now we got you staying in the guest room. You got your own shower and all and I expect you to do your business in there. Marc'll just bust in on you if you go in the other bathrooms but he knows to stay out of the guest room. If he gets out of hand you get into that room and you'll be fine. Now you're gonna need to keep these phone numbers handy just in case...."

He went on in his pleasant country accent telling me my duties and chores and when meals were expected. After another exchange of pleasantries Mr. and Mrs. Favinger said their goodbyes and Marc and I waved at them as they drove away.

The rest of the day turned out to be a lot of fun, really. Marc and I had a great time playing video games and when dinner was ready he was at the table with his best manners and we had a nice chat. I asked a little about his time as a police officer and it was pretty clear that he remembered very little of his life prior to the shooting. There were little snippets of moments where he'd be a normal man and then he'd slip right into his present.

We watched a kids movie I'd seen a few times before and he laughed at all the ridiculous plot lines and it seemed sort of surreal to see a man older than myself laughing like a child at inane humour. In due course we were both sleepy.

"Marc, it's time to go to bed, don't you think?"

"Yeah. I don't want no help, okay? I can go to bed by myself."

And with that pronouncement he got up and stripped himself naked in front of me and handed me his clothes in a bundle. Then he just turned and padded off to his bedroom. I have to admit that this was a little shocking to me. It wasn't just that I'd never seen a naked man before (my boyfriend doesn't count...trust me on this!) but I'd never imagined that a man could be hung like Marc was! It was an awful shame that he'd never marry and have a family because any wife of his would've been a very happy woman. Indeed!

I went off and got into my nightie before checking on Marc. I opened his door as quietly as I could and found him snoring away and still quite naked. Gently, I took a blanket and covered him up and he snuggled into it just like the little kid he seemed to be. With that I went off to my own room and a nice sleep.

The alarm clock went off at six the next morning and I made my first stop in the bathroom. My cramps had come during the night and the proof that I was ovulating was the bit of a mess in my panties. I took them off and had them soaking in the sink and decided that I'd wait til after breakfast before I took a shower and put on clean ones.

I made my way to the kitchen and soon had the coffee going and had started on the scrambled eggs when Marc, still naked, came out to the kitchen and sat down.

"Morning!" came his cheerful greeting as he sat down and went to work on a juice box. He might've had the mind of a six-year old but he sure did have the body of a man. In typical male fashion he had awakened with an impressive hard-on and I felt quite ashamed for having stared at it briefly. I was quite glad he hadn't caught me.

"Marc, maybe you ought to go get a robe on?"

He looked up from his juice box and thought about it for a moment.

"No."

And he went right back to the juice.

"Marc, maybe you really should get something on. You'd be more comfortable, don't you think?"

The truth was that I was the one who was uncomfortable!

He looked up again and his eyes seemed to set with a decision.

"No. I'm not getting dressed until after my bath."

It didn't seem wise to press the point any further so we made small talk about the White Power Ranger and which Zord was the best while we ate.

Marc asked for a glass of milk and I filled one up for him and handed it to him. I'd forgotten the instruction to keep his glasses half-full and as I watched him pour half of the milk on himself I understood why I was supposed to follow that instruction. I jumped up and grabbed a towel to dry him off. He pushed back from the table and held his arms out for me to clean him up and I swear the only thing I could see was his throbbing erection.

I did my best to avoid looking at it as I cleaned him up. I dabbed at his chest and then gently worked my way down to where the milk was dripping into his crotch.

"Janie used to touch me there, Lizzie. We were supposed to get married my momma says."

I kind of felt myself blanch.

"Are you gonna marry me, Lizzie?"

I looked into his eyes and saw the questioning look and I saw the man who once was.

"No, Marc, I'm not going to marry you, I'm just trying to dry you off. Maybe we should just go get you a bath instead, okay?"

He grabbed my arm and I realized that Mr. Favinger was dead right about Marc's strength.

"Owww! Marc, let me go and we'll get you a bath, okay?"

He pulled me closer and then took me by my other arm.

"Nuh-uh! Momma says people shouldn't touch down there if'n they ain't getting married like me and Janie were."

"Marc, I was just trying to get you dry, is all. Please let me go, okay? You're hurting me, Marc!"

The guest room door was a scant twenty feet away but it might as well have been on Mars. There was no way I was getting away from Marc and the whole situation just seemed to be going downhill.

"Janie used to say it hurt when we were getting married but then she'd say it felt better."

I had no damn clue what he was talking about. I just knew that eight bucks an hour wasn't worth this. As soon as I could get away from him I was getting the hell out of here and going home.

He was still on the kitchen chair as he pulled me closer to him.

"Marc, I really need to...to go to the bathroom. Can you let me go, please?"

I was beginning to fall over onto him and struggling to keep my balance.

"Nuh-UH! Lizzie, you touched me so we gotta get married just like Janie and me did. Momma says!"

With that he pulled me over and I fell into him. I found myself staring at his throbbing cock just inches from my face as my feet went out from under me and I slipped to the floor. His hands went from my arms to under them and he picked me up like I weighed nothing at all.

It must be an instinctive thing from childhood that when you get picked up you open your legs to wrap around the person picking you up. Children do it all the time when their mothers pick them up. My long legs were on either side of the chair as he started to set me down on his lap and I made a futile, last-ditch effort to try to get off of the man-child.

There was no overcoming him. My pink satin nightie was no protection as I felt his cock nestle up between my belly and the satin. He pulled me close and I placed my hands on his shoulders trying to push myself free of his attentions.

"Marc, I don't want you holding me like this. You have to let me go."

He looked at me for a moment and I swear I almost saw the gleam of recognition before it slipped away.

"NO!!! MOMMA SAYS YOU GOTTA GET MARRIED WHEN YOU TOUCH DOWN THERE!!!"

It was pointless to argue the point logically, but I had to try.

"Marc," I tried as hard as I could to keep it to a whisper, "we can't get married because no one is here to see it. We don't have a minister and I don't have a dress."

I gulped before going on.

"I want to marry you, Marc, but we have to have a minister and and a dress, right?"

He looked into my eyes.

"You want to marry me, Lizzie?"

He eased up his grip. I was getting somewhere.

"Yes, Marc, I want to marry you. Will you let me go now?"

I felt him move his arms from my back to my waist.

"Then it's okay if I marry you?"

He was picking me up from his lap and I began to believe it was over. His cock slipped from between the nightie and my belly and tried to ignore it as I felt the swollen head slip between my pussy lips. I pushed on his shoulders to help lift myself off of him as he lifted me up but still close to his chest. My back was uncomfortably arched as I tried to squirm away.

"Yes, Marc, it's okay."

His cockhead slipped from between my pussy lips and I felt some instant relief.

"We can get married just like me and Janie were?"

A part of me got a little frustrated with the same question being asked.

"Marc, YES, we can get married just like you and Janie were! Now.." I struggled to finally get free of his grasp, "...let...me...GO!"

I thought he was trying to get up while still holding me by his waist. He lifted up on the chair and my eyes went wide as I looked at him. When he lifted himself up on the chair his cock poked into me just enough. And then he settled back down before pulling me down on his lap with all of his might.

I screamed.

I screamed for a while, actually.

I screamed when he said, "Now we're married just like Janie and me were."

I screamed when he started thrusting into me.

I screamed when I remembered I was ovulating.

But by the time he was holding me by the waist and lifting me up and down on his cock over and over I screamed from the orgasm that washed over my senses like a tidal wave.

I was senseless in Marc's lap when I felt him hold me tight. His cock plowed deep into me and unleashed its cargo of swimmers into my ready and fertile body.

He'd no sooner finished himself in me when he lifted me off and put me on my feet.

I was stunned as he got up from the chair, his cock glistening with our juices, and smiled at me.

"I'm ready to take my bath now, okay Lizzie?"