His head groggy, eyes feeling like they'd been glued together, George Foley eased from the welcome warmth of the bed, groping blindly for the phone. His brain a mess, the autopilot of rational thought reminded George to inform his boss that he was too sick to come in to work. Chin jutting, face feeling sorry for itself, a clammy hand reached for the receiver. Damn. The hollow, lofty sound, like the inside of a church, could mean only one thing: one of the kids was already using the downstairs extension. George growled beneath his furry breath.
He looked back longingly at the inviting bed, yet something stopped him from crawling back beneath the covers. Habitually the first to rise and depart, long before either Josh or Lucy had even risen from their pits, his presence in the house would undoubtedly come as a complete surprise.
On holiday again – of course – breathlessly, Lucy, his 18-year-old stepdaughter, addressed the phone: "Sorry about that, Tammy...the postman...now where was I?"
"Oh honey...Josh!" reminded Tammy, Lucy's best friend of the past decade.
"Oh yeah...Josh." Lucy's tone seemed to uplift.
Upstairs in his bedroom, the words registered on his addled brain, causing George to swallow hard, bringing a dry pain. He detested himself for listening in to his stepdaughter's private conversation, yet at the same time he was scared to put the phone down and risk being caught. Rivulets of sweat snaked their way down his fevered brow.
"You really, really, REALLY must promise not to tell this to anyone else," continued Lucy. "Promise, Tammy?"
"I promise," assured her friend. "I PROMISE. Okay?"
Lucy paused, as above her father held his breath simultaneously. The front of his pyjama bottoms were already bulging in anticipation. It was odd, but inevitably he was at his most horny when under the weather. There had to be a direct correlation in men between sickness and sexual arousal. And right now his cock was upright like a gearstick, poking through the fly-hole and pressing hard into his navel. Again he swallowed, sighing at the gravel-laden feeling in his throat.
"Well?" prompted Tammy.
"Um...I, um, I caught Josh yesterday..."
"You caught him? Caught him doing what?"
"You know...in his bedroom...playing."
"Playing...playing what?"
"Tammy, he was playing with his thingy."
Tammy gasped and spluttered, as did George, his outpour suppressed beneath a huge palm. He wasn't sure he could listen to this, yet his cock was throbbing like it had been stung by a bee. They were brother and sister, he had to remind himself, yet it did nothing to abate his huge erection.
* * *
George Foley had not been blessed with the kindest luck in his time on earth, having lost two young wives before the age of 25. His marriage to high school sweetheart Ann had been cruelly ended by a boating accident in the Algarve, though the one consolation was that she had borne him a handsome son, Josh. And whilst it had been hard coping, forced into a corner George had managed admirably in raising a child on his own.
That was until, by some welcome change of luck, two years later he met Sarah. A fellow single parent, their friendship blossomed from pushing their respective toddlers in buggies to nursery school. Sarah's daughter Lucy was a month or two younger than Josh, a little cutie with flyaway blonde locks tethered beneath a red bonnet.
Morning coffees led to romance and soon Sarah and Lucy were welcomed into the family. But then, just when it seemed George's life was rosy once more, along came the fateful bout of pneumonia that tragically ended Sarah's young life and made George a widower again. With no other family to speak of, Lucy was adopted and raised her as George's own. In fact, she and Josh were more like brother and sister than most real brothers and sisters.
For over a decade now, George had forsaken his own pleasure to ensure his two children had the best of everything. Now, 18 going on 19 he couldn't wish for two better kids.