Sad Son Pt 04

This is a 6-part story that provides plenty of fun. The story builds as the main character grows as a person. Initially, the main character is hard to like, but he grows on you, have faith. This chapter is light on sex, but it gets better over the story.

Everyone having sex is at least 18. This story is a work of fiction. I made it all up. Check reality at the door and enjoy it for what it is, a fun story. Special thanks to rancher46 and RF-Fast for editing my story.

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Chapter 10 -- Christmas Day

Hal's point of view:

It's funny. I slept with my hands in front of me for eight weeks, not wanting any pressure on them. Now it is a habit I can't stop. My arms are straight in front of me rather than hugging a pillow like I used to do. For some reason, I find this funny.

It's easy to take off my boxers. I can pee on my own for the first time in forever. Some of the things my sisters did, they were not fans of. Helping me pee in the morning amused them to no end.

I took my own shower, combed my hair, brushed my teeth, and used deodorant. All these things people do all over the world. Yet, right now, it feels special. It's a right that I have earned again. I'm not about to wear jeans. I throw on a pair of shorts as I'm not going outside. The zipper needs strength, and the button would be challenging as well.

My fingers are clumsy and slow to react. OK, not slow, just not as dexterous. I don't feel like I have that natural subconscious control that I had before. I must use my brain step by step to make my hands work. Typically, it's automatic.

I go downstairs to check up on everyone. I want to see if I'm wanted. I hear showers going as I go down the stairs quietly. I investigate the kitchen and find Andrea getting pans and a griddle for breakfast. It looks like sausage, Denver omelets, hash browns, and pancakes rather than toast for breakfast.

I see whisky and a bottle of Champagne on the counter. That means the eggnog will be spiked with the whiskey, and we're also having Mimosas.

Andrea isn't looking at me, but I can see a smile spreading on her face. I try to hide, playing cat and mouse with her.

Without looking at me, "OK, Hal, get over here and sit down."

Still half-hidden, I ask, "Are you sure you want me here? I ..."

She turns to me with a knife in hand, "Stop it. Get over here. We need to discuss yesterday. You want some coffee?"

I walk into the kitchen and sit down at the island across from Andrea.

She reaches for a mug but puts it back and selects a taller thermal cup instead. She pours me a coffee and then slides it over to me. I wrap both palms and fingers around it, so I can taste the beverage of life.

Andrea states, "You didn't show up for dinner last night."

I ask, "When did you notice?"

Her shoulders slump in distress, "During dessert. We ..."

I finish her thought, "You've had enough of me. I get it."

Andrea's temper is back, "Hey! It's not like that. We're worn out from doing our things, all your things, and then watching after you. You have to admit, you were high maintenance for eight weeks."

I answer with a sad voice, "I felt bad for all you had to do, all you had to put up with. Worst of all, it's all my fault."

Gail comes from behind me, "NO. It was four assholes at fault."

I continue, "Had I not played guitar at the festival, Kate doesn't kiss me, and they don't try to blackmail us. I didn't have to call Becky, and I didn't have to save Kate. It's my fault."

Now Becky comes around the corner, "NO, get that out of your head NOW. Anyone who wants to do something illegal around you, I better get a call. If someone ever asks you for help from evil, how can you not help? I know you like Kate but forget it's Kate. It's still the decent thing to do. You did right; it just ended badly."

Now I feel miserable, "And now because of my actions, I may never play guitar again. I sure got the shaft on this one for being the 'good guy.' What's the lyric, 'Only the good die young?'"

Emma adds, "Kate's a great teacher, and you will play again. You followed orders, and it's your destiny. You know, it's like all those movies you watch. The hero does great stuff, but then the villain beats him down. The hero comes back stronger and kicks the villain's ass."

I point out the obvious, "This isn't a movie, I'm no superhero, and just as soon as something good happens, it's taken from me. That pretty much sums up my life."

I remember the message from Kate, "y the way. While I was in the hospital, Kate sent me a message. She moved back home to hide from the shame of the whole incident. I've ruined her life as well. She will never teach again."

Becky snaps at me, "You don't know that. She did nothing wrong. If she didn't leave, she would still have a job."

How little she knows, "No matter where she goes, a student will Google her name and find out what happened. It's with her forever. Any school board that looks at her background won't touch her. Officially, she's not blackballed, but effectively, she will be."

Casey comments, "I'm going to need salespeople ... once I get interest. I bet that girl can sell. With a voice and body like she has. Oh yes, she will be able to sell ice to an Eskimo."

Faith dreamily thinks out loud, "You knowwwwwww. You mentioned Kate's voice. I've heard a few women on the radio with a deep, husky voice. I wonder if she can sing."

I smile, "Can't hurt to ask. It will be a while; I have a lot of work to do before needing a vocalist."

Donna is now with us, and she asks, "Can you write songs? I mean, it's one thing to be able to play. It's another thing to write a song."

I try to answer her question, "I'm not sure. I have solos and riffs in my head, but everything is scattered. I don't have anything to connect the dots. Last night, I wrote some lyrics, but I've never married words to music before. I think there is software to do it, but I'm clueless."

Gail's excited, "Woah, woah, woah. You wrote lyrics last night? You've never done that."

Donna is livid, "You're not supposed to be writing!"

I put up my hands like a stop sign, "I'm using Casey's old laptop, and Andrea put voice recognition software on it. Doing papers and songs are a whole lot different. I improved a lot last night."

Faith inquires, "Can you share them with us?"

I blush, "Actually, I wanted each of you to sing them."

They all yell at me, "NO!"

I try again, "Yesterday, we came home. You all rushed to your rooms, and I'm still at the door, fighting to get my coat off. It hit me at how much I had ground you down. I took your days off and evenings and made you miss and make up classes. All because I tried to help a young woman in need. In one moment I risked my career, my life, and your happiness.

"I can't see me doing anything different. I don't see myself not helping someone in need, but I wouldn't have bothered saving my fingers. The financial price to the family plus your emotional strain wasn't worth it."

Andrea stops me, "I had a choice. I alone made the decision. Yes, it costs us financially and emotionally. It was eight weeks of hell. But I, too, would do the same thing again. We all deserve a chance to follow our dreams."

Casey got up and went upstairs when Andrea started. She's now coming down the stairs with the laptop. She turned it on and was going to hand it to me. I again put up my hands; I want no part of this.

I suggest, "Hand it to Andrea." She does. "I wrote a song about each one of you. While doing it, I had your voices in mind. On the final album, I would use eight different artists. I have some lines, a chorus, more lines, a chorus, more lines, and then a final chorus that slows to the end. If you're too scared to sing it, at least read it in your voice."

Each song starts off with a sweet stanza, something positive. The second stanza explores something darker or emotional. The third stanza reveals a funny and embarrassing situation. Each sister has a unique and witty chorus.

They spend an hour either saying or singing their song. Each is followed by laughing at the ending and, of course, the retelling of the whole story from two perspectives.

Andrea asks, "I thought you said there were eight parts. Where is your part?

A use a low, hauntingly sad voice to softly sing a poem about how an unnamed woman told the man that loves her; he just isn't good enough. As I finish my fourth chorus, the last line slowly unravels with each word slower than the last, "What? You? I don't think so. I'm getting a football player. Oh yes, I can do better thann youuu, cyaaaaaa laterrrrrrrrrr," then my voice is barely a whisper.

Yup, we're all in tears. It's a sad and depressing song. I get hugs, but nobody knows what to do. This is Christmas day, and we're all sad from my song. This was supposed to be a present. Instead, I've killed the mood.

Gail starts to say in a fun voice, "I found me a boy. He's my favorite toy. His love treated him like crap. I'll treat him to a roll in the sack. He'll see life still has lots of joy."

It took her a bit to work out the Limerick. I am amused with a smile on my face. My other sisters are laughing hysterically.

Faith tries, "I found a tall sad man. He was knocked on his can. The next man took a swing and a miss. I picked him up and gave him a kiss. We made love in the back of his van."

Oh my, these are terrible.

Donna tries, "She treated him like dirt. She even stole his shirt. I found him sad and alone. I helped him back to his home. I found his rod still able to squirt."

I can't take this anymore. These are terrible. How do I end this?

Emma takes her turn, "I hate that bitch, I hate that bitch. She's so mean; she must be a witch. He's a handsome young man. I suck him till he blows; then I'll do it again. She's now lonely, lying in a ditch."

Ouch, that's hard.

Andrea takes another approach, "She was mean and threw his love away. She didn't care; her man was going to stay. As they say, Karma's a bitch. Now she has nothing, not even a stitch. His love is true; he's never going away."

I liked that one. Unfortunately, my sisters want another pound of flesh.

Casey's turn, "Guy, likes girl, girl likes Ben. Guy still likes girl; girl now likes Ken. Guy likes girl, now girl likes Mike. Guy lusts for girl; girl is now a dyke. Guy likes two girls, best it's ever been."

Ok, even I am laughing at that one. We're all looking at Becky. Which way will she go?

Becks smiles as she says, "Girl publicly announces man isn't worth a stone. She picks a big strapping man she wants to own. The kind young man wishes her good luck. Why not, he has a dozen women to fuck. After many lonely years, the woman dies alone."

That was an excellent way to end this. I hope this is finished.

I smile as I say, "I'm glad you all are in college. You're all full of knowledge. I enjoy fucking all of you. Best of all, I love you. You suck at writing songs; better stay in college."

They all spring to their feet, which startles me. They're going to playfully beat me. Instead, they sit next to me, one at a time, push breasts into me, and plant a big fat kiss on my cheeks. My hands are flush with my stomach, and I bend forward, protecting my hands. Amazingly, they all instantly understand and stop.

Andrea's still laughing as she says to us, "We have had some amazing Christmases here. There have been stacks of presents for all of us. This year, we have almost nothing, yet this might be the second most enjoyable."

Gail scoffingly asks, "What's number one?"

Andrea giggles, "The year I turned eighteen, for Christmas, I let my boyfriend feel me up for the first time. It was also the first time I sucked cum off a dick. He was so excited; he shot a load in his pants."

We all laugh hard. I'm sad because this is the only good Christmas I can remember.

Casey hands me two small boxes. They're not too heavy.

I look around, "Why doesn't anyone else have a present?"

Casey is next to me, "We've been using all our leftover money to make these. I won't say a word more until you open them."

I open the first box. It's labeled "First." I rip the paper off then remove the bubble wrap. Inside is a professional guitar sound adjusting box. I laugh; it's labeled Tardis-1000. The second box looks exactly the same, but it's labeled Tardis-2000. Looking closer and one has a knob that's labeled one through five. The second has a knob with eight major marks and six minor marks in between. The first has one LED number display, while the second has two.

Gail and Emma run upstairs, and they come down with my small amplifier and my guitar. They all start helping to plug the amp in and wire up the two devices.

I point out the obvious, "I can't play yet. They were very adamant that I should NOT play."

Gail puts the guitar strap around her neck, plugs in the amplifier, and then sits in my lap.

Casey instructs us, "You can't play, but Gail can. We just want to hear the sounds. She will hold the strings and strum the strings with your pick." Using soft movements, she lightly pushed her fingers in the right direction while I explain what to do.

It takes some work to get her fingers in the right spot. Then I have her pick each string, one by one. She goes up a scale. Then she goes back to get the downside of the scale. I have her do this about six times. She knows what to do now. We turn on the first device and turn the dial to two. She goes up and down the scale. It sounds like two guitars, ideally in sync. After a few tries, we move it to three, four, and five.

My mouth is wide open, "This is amazing. You absolutely nailed it. This is a gold mine."

Casey smiles at me, "Try the other device."

Casey turns off the first device then turns on the second. She turns it to 0.7. Gail plays the same scale twice. It sounds far different. Guitars always fade quickly. With this device, it doesn't. She then moves it to 3.2. Gail plays the scale again, and it's odd. You can hear the notes, but the old notes are like an echo.

Gail then blows us all away. She turns on the first device while the second is STILL on. This time the sound that comes out is far different from the two separately. It sounded even better at 1.2. So many possibilities.

Casey explains, "I worked with Jeremy because ... you're currently ... broken. He loves the sounds. As soon as you can play again, he wants you in the studio. As soon as we get a hit song with these devices, the major retailers have a standing order for 1000 units each.

"My company wants in on this, but I think I'm taking Jeremy's advice and doing it myself. With working examples and a hit song, financing will be easy. I need you to make a hit song now."

I laugh hard, "Yeah, no problem. Every musician wants to make a hit song. The songs and music are the keys. People work decades before they get a hit. Many never do. I won't get rich in a studio."

Becky sets me straight, "Top-end studio musicians can make good money. There is a huge range in the industry. Being good helps a lot. Why do you think Jeremy wants you? Do you think you're taking his work? No way. He wants you for the stuff he can't do."

I set her straight, "You heard the dude on stage with me. He's every bit as good as I am, if not better."

Andrea is frustrated with me, "What have you heard him play?"

I answer, "The stuff at the concert. Technically, he's awesome."

She snickers, "He has limits. Technically, he has skill. However, he admitted that he can't do your electronic emotions. He can't make a guitar cry like you can. He can't make people feel the passion. I'm guessing that he thinks you can be based on your sad songs. That opens a new world to him. He produces, you play. You both win."

I sigh, "It seems like I missed a lot."

Casey kisses me well before saying, "We will catch you up. Let's have some cookies. We opened a factory last night."

Chapter 11 -- Healed

I hate football players. They, as a group, have been nothing but mean and cruel to me. Sure, some are decent guys and never touched me. But as a group, a football player is terrible news for me. Martha has replaced football players in my category as most hated person. Martha is my physical therapist. She is a sadistic woman that gets off on pain of others.

I see others offer sympathy to their patients for the pain they cause. Not Martha; she enjoys it. She especially enjoys tormenting me. I wanted to replace her, but Andrea thinks she's perfect. After the first week of PT and exercises, I'm allowed to use a pen or pencil. No keyboard or mouse yet.

The only fun I get is asking about the different sex acts I can perform on my needy girlfriend. After week one, I can pull pussy lips apart. Week two, I can lightly pinch nipples. Week three gets me fucking and hard pinching. Week four is heaven; I can play my guitar again. However, I'm limited to an hour a day. Each week that hour increased by an hour.

Starting Christmas day, my sisters allowed me to lay on my back to suck nipples, eat pussy, and then be fucked in cowgirl. This was hard on me as I typically didn't get off because they orgasmed quickly. Gail and Emma provided a few blow jobs to relieve the pressure, but that was it. Even when I was allowed to fuck, I couldn't use my hands; I could only use my palms. They didn't want too much pressure on my fingers. It's hard to argue with that.

I suffered through eight weeks of physical therapy, but I was playing my guitar again at four weeks. That is when my life restarted. I have been using the voice recognition software for the local "Home School" program. All along, I have had help and then sex after doing my homework. That sure motivated me.

It's now eight weeks after my cast came off. I am finished with physical therapy. I still have exercises to do so that I can gain 100% use of my fingers. I can tell my fingers are weak from non-use, and they're ... stiff. It's hard to describe it; my fingers don't move like they used to. Martha said that was normal, and that's why I need to continue my exercises.

My fingers are soft; I lost my callouses. Sliding fingers along strings hurt after a while. That I know will come back in time. I'm worried about my dexterity. I may not be able to play like I did before.

*****

Tuesday, I get a call from Jeremy.

He asks me, "Hey. You busy tonight?"

I laugh lightheartedly, "Only me and my hand tonight. Everyone else is busy. Since my hospital stay, I have been avoided. I think they had their fill of me for a while. My disability made their life hell. So, no, I haven't got anything going tonight."

He chuckles, "I can only imagine what it was like. I know you're probably not 100%, but I thought we might have some fun. Bring both Tardises with you. Lauren will pick you up in about an hour."

I respond, "Thanks for this Jeremy. I really need to get away for a while."

Jeremy tells me, "See you in a bit. Bye."

I'm disconnected. I send the family a text message that I am going out tonight and maybe home late. I doubt they care, but it would be mean to say nothing.

I get a big hug from Lauren when I open the door for her.

Lauren seems excited, "Looking forward to playing again?"

We walk to her Ford four-door. It's a newer car that she keeps clean.

Once inside, I continue the conversation, "I've been playing for several weeks now. However, I don't have all my dexterity back. My fingers don't fly like they did before."

She looks devastated.

I need to counter that, "I am still getting better. I have several exercises that I must do and a thing I do with an elastic band for some resistance training. I can see the improvement; it's just slow."

She inquires, "Did they ever figure out who smashed your fingers?"

I half-laugh, "That memory came back to me. It was the police as they were after the four boys."