Literotica Amnesia

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Literotica Amnesia
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Young man suffers amnesia and enters alternate reality.
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On my way home from work I need to stop at the pharmacy to pick up a prescription. I must have been a little distracted, because when I stepped out again into the parking lot I didn't remember where I had parked my car--even though I was only in the store for a few minutes. The lot was not a large one, but it looked unfamiliar. Disoriented, I took my key fob out of my pocket and clicked it. A car honked at me and I got into it. At this point I realized I did not know how to get home from this particular spot in the city. My best bet, I thought, would be to use the GPS on my phone. "Take me home," told my digital assistant. I followed the phone's spoken instructions until I came to a house in the suburbs. I pushed a garage door opener in the car and a door opened. I pulled in to the garage, pushed the button again, and entered the house.
At this point I realized I would have to figure out pretty quickly who I was, since nothing had seemed the least bit familiar since that moment of distraction at the drug store. I had never seen this house before, but I had scant memory of any other life either. I didn't know my own name or what year it was. If I had a wife, then I would have to figure out what my relationship to her was. Instead of panicking, I reasoned that if I could act natural for a little while, then the familiarity of my surroundings might make my memory "click" back into place.
The plump but attractive middle-aged woman standing before me greeted me warmly and said "I made you a martini... Where's my kiss?" I leant in for a peck, wanting to play it safe, but she put her hands behind my head and opened her mouth. I kissed her back, and our tongues flickered against each other for a few second. She pulled away abruptly as I heard another woman's voice yelling from behind me. "What the hell? You're making out with my husband again?" So, I guess the first woman was my sister-in-law? My wife looked like she was about 45 years old, my wife's sister, maybe a few years younger. Another woman, of about 65, arrived shortly after. From the physical resemblance, I deduced that she had to be my mother-in-law. All three women were short, about five feet tall, with hair dyed blonde and heavy make-up.
The funny thing was, I didn't think that I was actually married. If you had asked me, I would have said that I lived alone in an apartment, in a different city, and that I was in my late twenties. I tried to retrace my steps in my head before the stop at the pharmacy, but all I could come up with was a generic office building with an attached parking garage. Perhaps if I went back to the drug store and exited the same way I had come in, I could return to my old life--whatever it was. The longer I stayed here with these three women, though, the fainter this image of my former life would become. Did I even drink martinis? After a few sips, I accepted that this was going to be my new reality.
My so-called "wife" was not angry after all. Sipping their drinks, the three women chatted amiably about their plans for "Michael" (that must be me!) for the evening. Apparently, they were in the habit of teasing me, groping my butt when I passed by, stealing kisses, from what I gathered from their banter. At this very moment my mother-in-law, sitting next to me on the couch, was resting her manicured hand on my knee. I wasn't sure yet whether I was fucking the mom and sister, but I hoped to find out soon.
We sat down to dinner: apparently, rare steak with a nice cabernet was my favorite meal. I said very little, not wanting to give myself away, and my wife had a concerned look on her face. After a while, I said "I think my memory problems are coming back. When I went to the pharmacy today, I couldn't find my car, and I had to use the GPS to get home. It is very strange." These words, I thought, would buy me some time and help excuse my silence. I didn't know whether I had had "memory problems" before, but now was a good time to find out. My mother-in-law said she would take me in to my doctor the next day. My wife would call my work in the morning to tell them I would be out sick. Nobody confirmed or denied that I had suffered from any memory loss before.
After two martinis and a couple of glasses of wine, I was feeling a strong buzz. My wife and her family had been drinking too--especially my mother-in-law. While my wife and her sister washed the dishes, I sat with mom on the couch again and she tried to comfort me, stroking my shoulder and face and saying "poor dear." I was at once anxious about my predicament and excited by the attention of these three women. No memories were coming back, but at the same time my aim now was to relieve some of the sexual tension that had built up since that first kiss with my sister-in-law.
My wife came back in the living room before anything else happened with my wife's mom. She turned on the tv and we watched an old movie. We had a blanket over our laps and the older woman discreetly rubbed her hand on my cock, through my pants. I tried not to come, but the event of the evening had been overwhelming, so after about five minutes my cock exploded. I tried not to make any noise show any reaction on my face, but everyone in the room knew exactly what had happened. This was probably not the first time she had done this for me.
Apparently, our nighttime routine was for me to give a passionate kiss to both mother and sister before going to bed with my wife. Even though I had just climaxed in my mother-in-law's dexterous hands, I was eager to have my new wife screw my brains out. Before we went to bed, though, she told me that I had to fuck Evelyn (that must be mom) before I was allowed to get it on with Katy (the sister). Ok, so, I hadn't done either of them yet? "I guess you can fantasize about Katy when you're with Evelyn, or knowing you, you would probably fantasize about Evelyn when you're with Katy. I know you like older women."
Since I had no specific memory of having had sex before, I experienced my night with Sandra as the best thing that had ever happened to me in my life. If this truly was my life, then I was the luckiest man alive. I imagine most women take of their make-up before going to bed, but she, instead, reapplied her lipstick and kissed my all over my torso, leaving prints all the way down as she played with my balls with her hand. She put on some more lipstick and gave me an amazing blow job. When I was just about the come, though, she stopped and mounted from above.
The next morning Evelyn took me to the clinic.
I told the doctor: "The strange thing is that I don't think Sandra is really my wife. Nothing about her taste or smell seems even remotely familiar. I only have a vague image of my life before yesterday evening, but I don't think I am married. If I were, it probably wouldn't be to a woman almost twenty years older than I am. Nothing at all makes any sense at all to me."
The doctor frowned and said that, in fact, I had been married for three years. I had been her patient for about that long. As to the age gap, well, Dr. Olivia confirmed what Sandra had told me the night before, that I had always had a "thing" for mature women, including the doctor herself and one of her nurses. She ordered me to take off all my clothes and lie face up on the examining table. Seeing the lipstick prints that Sandra had forbidden me to wash off, she took a lipstick out of her purse, put some on, and added her own marks to my body. I was nervous that Sandra would notice lipstick of different shades all over me, but I thought I could slip into the shower before that happened. Olivia's complete physical examination of me finished with a quick blow job with her perfectly painted lips.
On the way home, Evelyn took me to lunch at an out-of-the-way Italian restaurant. After we were done eating, she broached the subject of the two of us. When I had married her daughter, I had agreed to "service" my mother-in-law regularly, and it was about time I started. "I've given you hand jobs every night for a month, and you haven't visited my room once." She drove us to a secluded spot in the woods and we began to make out like two teenagers. From our goodnight kiss the evening before, I knew that her style of kissing was sloppy and aggressive. Now she held my head with two hands and thrust her tongue as far as she could down my throat, so that I could hardly breathe. When we made love in the back of her van, she eagerly kissed my neck and stuck her tongue into my ear. The idea that I could have a 65-year old woman do these things to me drove me wild. Maybe I had married Sandra just to get closer to her mother? When we got home, jumped in the shower and washed all traces of Olivia and Evelyn from my body.
Now that I had fucked Sandra and Evelyn, I turned my attention to Katy. Each woman had her own unique sexual style. Sandra's was domineering; I had to do exactly what she said. She explored every corner of my body with her tongue before she let me enter her. Evelyn was carefree, unpredictable, and uninhibited. Her drunkenness made it easy to take advantage of her. Katy was self-conscious about her body. She thought she was overweight, but her pendulous breasts were major turn-on for me. From here on, I alternated between the three women. I would go to bed with Sandra, but find that it was Evelyn in my bed. Or I would go to Evelyn's room, only find to find Katy there.
There were certain rules I had to follow in my new life. I wasn't allowed to jerk off: all my spunk was for the three of them. Every time I came in or out of the house, I had to make out each one of them, for as long as she wanted, whether for a minute or an hour. Monday was my day off; I didn't have sex with any of them that day. But if a friend of theirs came by, or Evelyn's book club was meeting, all bets were off. I couldn't have extramarital (or extrafamilial) affairs, except for massage therapists and other medical professionals who were treating me, or members of Evelyn's book club. I wasn't allowed to wash Sandra's lipstick prints from my body for 24 hours, even if I had a massage or a medical appointment the next day. I couldn't refuse sexual relations with any of them, or even with any of their friends who happened to be visiting. Evelyn's elderly friends weren't particularly attractive, but they all gave great head.
At a certain point, I had to figure out where my life was going. Dr. Olivia recommended a therapist, and I started to see Dr. Sylvia. I told her the story of the drugstore and my amnesia, my initiation into Sandra's extended family, the arbitrary and restrictive rules I had to follow at home. We explored all the possibilities: it didn't seem plausible that the women had erased my memory to make me their sex slave, or that I had stepped through some time-space portal into a pornographic fantasy universe. The medical tests had not shown any neurological abnormalities. I just had to accept my current life as it was. After all, I was a lucky man surrounded by so many solicitous women. I thanked the doctor, and I told her I needed to keep seeing her until I could figure out how to sort out my life. At our next sessions she asked detailed questions about my sexual life, my fantasies.
Dr. Sylvia game me an assignment: to write a story about my sexual initiation. Since I had no memory of the actual event, the "truth" of the story would be a psychological, not a literal reality. I would discover who I was through the creation of an alternate fictional reality...
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Waking up without a memory, what does a man do?
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As always, my thanks to Erik Thread for his insightful and effective editing. If there are errors, they are mine. This is the first of a seven part, nine chapter story. I will be posting daily.
"Good morning," the nurse trilled brightly. The sun streamed through the window as she parted the curtains. "It's another lovely day."
"Same as yesterday and the day before. Shit!"
"Now then, Mr. Doe, we can't have you talking like that. Besides, you're still alive and not too badly off, all things considered," she said in a semi-serious tone.
"You mean not too badly off for someone who doesn't know who he is or where he's from. I take it no one has come looking for me yet."
"Not that I know of. But cheer up ... it's only been a couple of weeks since your accident. Something ... or someone will turn up. You wait and see," she smiled.
"I don't know. I've never had a patient like you before. There's always been somebody who knew who the patient was. This is a first for me."
"It's a first for me too, I'll bet," he mumbled.
"In the meantime, your leg is healing nicely and the stitches in your arm and head look fine. You'll be fit to travel soon. All you need is a destination," she offered idly.
"Didn't you tell me the police wanted to talk to me?"
"Yes ... do you want me to let them know you are ready? I'll have to get Doctor Leacock's OK first."
"Fine. Let's get this damn show on the road." His tone was angry.
The nurse frowned at him briefly, then walked swiftly from his room.
The policeman didn't show up until after four that afternoon. He strolled into John Doe's room and pulled out his I.D.
"I'm Detective Sergeant Polikoff, Mr. Doe. You up to answering questions?"
"Well, there won't be many answers," the bed-bound man snorted.
"Doc says you don't remember anything."
"Hummphf. Take it you're not a college professor or a preacher."
"Beats me. Doubt they sound like you, though," the detective paused, looking over the man in the bed.
"No one's come lookin' for you, if that's what you're wondering."
"How the hell can that be? People don't just drop off the face of the earth and no one notices," the man said, his anger beginning to resurface.
"Yeah ... they do. Not often ... but it happens."
"Great ... lost in fuckin' space. I don't suppose I'm at the top of your list of things to do, am I?"
"Not exactly. You couldn't guess the number of missing persons files there are. I gotta admit, we spend most of our time on the kids. That's what the public expects.
"As far as you're concerned, we've got nothin' to go on so far. Found you lyin' by the road down near the river. Haven't figured out what happened to you. Hit by a car, beat up, can't tell yet. No wallet, no money, not even a receipt or a piece of paper on you. Your clothes are everyday stuff from Wal-Mart or J.C. Penney. You don't have any old scars or tattoos or anything that would give us a lead. Nope, not much to go on," he finished with a shrug.
The injured man held up his hand, indicating a wedding ring.
"Can you have someone look at this ... maybe trace it?"
"I can try," the detective said, holding his hand out as the man removed the ring from his finger. He examined it carefully.
"I don't think this is going to tell us much," he said. "No jewelers mark or inscription. I'm guessing it was just a generic ring purchased at a chain jewelry story."
"Great. So what happens now? They'll kick me out of here at some point. I can't pay the bill, I don't have any I.D., can't get a job. Don't even know what I can do beside sweep floors or dig ditches," he said, closing his eyes and allowing his head to drop back on the pillow. "What about fingerprints?"
"Nope. Nothing. So far as we can tell, you aren't a wanted person and you don't have a record. That's got to be good news, I suppose."
"You think? Maybe if I did, I'd know who the hell I was. It would at least be something. Shit ... I don't have a fuckin' clue on what to do next," he said in resignation.
"There's a couple of halfway houses nearby. A bed for the night and a couple of meals. At least until you can find some work."
"Doing what? Using what for a name? What's the point of these people fixing me up so I can wander out the door and join the homeless, living in some cardboard shack? What kind of fuckin' life is that? What's the bloody point?" he raged.
"Calm down, mister. We're circulating your picture to other police departments. We're also trying to get you some publicity ... someone might recognize you. We'll do what we can," Polikoff said in a tone suggesting he didn't really hold out much hope.
The man closed his eyes and sighed.
The man knocked on the door of Major Thomas Matthews and received a polite, "Come in please," in response. The Major was rising from his desk in the back of the Salvation Army Thrift Shop. The office was part of the Family Services section.
The door opened and the tall, forty-something man stepped in, closing it behind him. Tom Matthews surveyed him. He looked to be in his forties. An unremarkable face with narrow, prominent long nose, thin dark eyebrows, hazel eyes, square jaw, medium complexion, neatly cut hair graying at the temples, tall with a slim build. He was clean shaven, bandaged along the side of his head, and wearing clean but worn clothes.
"Good morning. I'm John Doe," the man said politely. "Detective Polikoff suggested I see you," he said, glancing about the small office.
"Yes ... Martin called me and asked me if I could help. Won't you sit down, please?"
The man sat in the wooden chair across the desk from the Major.
"I understand you've lost your memory and that you don't have any idea of who you are or where you're from."
"Call me Tom, John. We're pretty informal around here."
"Yeah ... and headaches. They're gettin' better, but slowly."
"Well, I can offer you a place to stay for a few nights with breakfast and supper. I can point you in the direction of some work ... if you're up to it."
"Thanks. I need something to survive on. I can't live on the street. I wouldn't know how."
"Well, you appear to be educated, but I don't suppose you know what at, do you?"
"No clue. I'm hopin' my memory will come back over time. If it doesn't, I'm up sh... up the creek."
"Don't give up hope, John. We're here to help." The Major pushed a piece of notepaper across the desk to the man. "Here are some people who hire for cash. Usually day jobs, but they're legal and they won't cheat you. I suggest you go see them this afternoon just to get your face in front of them."
The man nodded, again wincing slightly.
"I'll show you where you can sleep and where the bathroom is. Do you have any toiletries?"
"OK ... we have some. I can get you some soap, razors, toothbrush and toothpaste. The towels are in the bat
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