Page 15 of Deprivation

I climb into the shower, letting the hot water rinse the disappointment of not getting laid out of my head so I can lie down and get some sleep. Sure, I need to jerk off and get this out of my system, but I have no doubt it’ll leave me unsatisfied, again.When have I ever felt like this?Maybe it’s the culmination of finalizing the divorce, contemplating moving from my home, starting over at a new hospital, and needing a hard fuck with someone who doesn’t work with me.

That’s it. I’ll visit Dad in the morning, head to soccer, and then try to find someone new and appealing at my regular bar. It was just under an hour away, but I usually rented a hotel nearby for the night so I didn’t have to contend with awkward conversations about “your place or mine.” Having decided, I tried to picture Calina on her knees in front of me so I could pound one off quickly and get to bed.Yes, this is better. I can do this. I’ll call her next week and apologize for my sour behavior once I’ve gotten laid and don’t have this pressure hanging over me. I enjoy Calina’s company and hope we can try again when I’m not feeling so ridiculous.

Imagining her dark tresses under my hand, her hot, wet mouth sucking furiously on my cock, I start pulling at my engorged dick faster and faster. With each stroke of my fist, I lean forward, bracing my left hand against the cool wet tile and look downward, pretending she’s bobbing her head up and down. Looking over her back, I notice her creamy soft ass sitting atop her bent legs.Ah, this is what I need. I caress her dark hair, pulling it to the side so I can look down and see her large, pleasing tits as they jiggle with her movement.That’s it. I’m almost there. I tug more furiously, gripping my shaft with serious force, encouraging my much-needed climax. The hesitation starts to concern me, as I keep grasping my dick tighter and tighter, wondering why I’m struggling to finish.

Facing the ominous truth, I let out a sigh and intentionally look down at the vision of my willing brunette to see the big brown eyes of Katarina Kelly smiling up at me. She swallows my cock like it’s a treat her “candy man” provided. I immediately feel my balls pull up, the familiar sensation starting at the base of my spine, building toward my release. Unable to fight it any longer, I envision grabbing her hair in both hands, fucking her mouth with total abandon. I groan out my release, the most powerful orgasm I can remember having in years.

Panting against the wet tiles of the shower, I mumble to myself, “Nice,” shaking my head as reality comes crashing home.Why does this girl keep occupying my shower? This isn’t good.

Chapter Seven

Present Day

Nick

Awakening as per my norm, without the need of an alarm clock, I rise and turn to sit at the edge of the bed. Today’s to-do list contains a lot of boxes, thus coffee is mandatory. Trudging downstairs, I walk mindlessly toward the kitchen to the manna which awaits me. Although I’ll never admit it, that ridiculous Cadillac of a coffee maker Sophia insisted on when we moved in is now my favorite household appliance. Just set the alarm and fresh-ground coffee is waiting for me each morning like a flare to a passing ship.Oh, that’s right, she’s coming here for “cookbooks” today. Maybe I should hide the coffee maker.

Pouring the rich Columbian brew into a mug, I note on the clock it is 6:00 a.m. I inhale the rejuvenating scent, take a sip, and saunter back up the steps to the master suite. Throwing on some running gear, my phone, and my EarPods, I head for the door. It’ll be good to get a run in this morning to help clear my head before I visit Dad. I need to center myself so I don’t get completely distracted by the missing part of my family always lurking when I drop in on him.

As my feet hit the pavement, I listen to “South Side” by Moby. Usually, I become absorbed by the music and the endorphins, but my thoughts keep trailing to how I should focus more on Dad. He spends most of his days alone, by choice. I’m not sure he even has any friends beyond occasional people from the church or senior community groups that drop in. Whenever I inquire about acquaintances, or the possibility of joining a men’s group at his church, he just says, “I’m good, Nick.”

I try to bring staples when I visit, as he no longer drives. He says his reaction time isn’t good and doesn’t trust himself on the road any longer, unless it’s a very short drive. Reminding myself to assess whether there could be elements of Parkinson’s present when I visit, I need to face the fact my dad may simply be getting older. At least he knows when to stop driving versus someone having to take his keys.

Mom and Dad had met right after high school. Apparently, they fell fast and hard, never losing the deep-seated love they shared for one another. They married within six months of meeting and held off trying to have children right away. When they were in their mid-twenties, they began actively trying to conceive. Sadly, this wasn’t an easy venture for them. I recall Mom sharing how difficult this was for them when, month after month, they were greeted with disappointment. Trusting God had a different path for their lives, they traveled, volunteered with Habitat for Humanity, and spent hours cultivating an amazing garden in the backyard. “We’d all but given up on having kids until I got the flu when I turned forty,” Mom had laughed.

I grew up knowing how fortunate I was having such amazing parents and savored the devotion I witnessed between them. There was never a dearth of love and affection in our home. I didn’t mind my parents were older than my friends’ parents because they were always supportive and often felt more like friends than guardians. I truly enjoyed spending time with them. I knew, with certainty, I was loved. They modeled what a healthy relationship looked like, and I knew many of my friends were not so lucky.

Plodding up the steps toward the shower, I decide to make quick work of washing up so I can ensure I do not bump into Sophia…or Kat for that matter.How that little minx keeps sneaking into my shower is beyond me. Turning off the water within what seems like mere moments of entering, I dry off and grab boxer briefs, some jeans, and a polo shirt. As I lace up my shoes, I see my gym bag. I grab a change of clothes for my soccer game and ensure I have my shin guards and cleats. This recreational league soccer team has some stellar players, even if we’re all getting to be old timers. I pride myself on staying in shape, and although I’m the oldest member of the team, I doubt anyone knows.

Hopping into my Audi, I back out of the garage and head toward Dad’s place. I need to stop along the way to pick up the items he frequently uses. I try to confirm his pantry and freezer are stocked before I leave each visit. Although I don’t call on him as much as I should, he always has the things he needs. I really need to make more of an effort to take him out to dinner, but I admittedly use my work and call rotation as an excuse. It just eats away at me, seeing him so sad and alone. Each time I drop him off after dinner, the sorrow I feel for him and his now empty life accompanies me the entire ride home. He’s a shell of the man he once was. Cancer is the bitch that stole my mother, and with her my father’s heart, like a thief in the night.

Driving the distance to my father’s home, I recall the summer I turned sixteen. I was enjoying fishing and gardening with my parents, frequent trips to state parks to hike and occasionally camp. Most teens my age were working part-time jobs or partying, but I loved spending time with my family. They were intelligent, forward-thinking parents who instilled a love of life and respect for their fellow man. We volunteered in soup kitchens and built houses for the less fortunate. It was the type of life anyone would be thrilled to have. But that all ended when my parents sat me down after dinner one night to tell me the news.

* * *

“You’re old enough and smart enough for us to tell it to you straight, Nick. Mom found a spot on her breast that concerned her, and she went to see the doctor about it right away,” Dad spoke for Mom, whose eyes appeared to fill with tears as I looked her way. “It’s an aggressive form of cancer,” he trailed off, trying not to choke on the sob which escaped him. “They’re going to do really hard-hitting treatments to try and get rid of it, but you need to know they aren’t giving us good odds.” This time, he didn’t even try to swallow the hiccups of sorrow that followed. “We have gotten second opinions and are going to fight this with all we have, but we wanted to warn you. Mom’s going to need our help to pull through this.” That devastating day is etched in my memory like an internal tattoo, just as painful and raw as the moment it was imprinted.

* * *

An hour later, I reach Dad’s home. Still as well-manicured as when I lived here, the home sits in welcome of all who visit. The front yard is beautiful with well-trimmed shrubs and azaleas flanking the porch and variegated hostas and colorful begonias sit before them. But the real splendor is the rear of the property. The left side is dotted with colorful wildflowers hailing butterflies to their branches. Large vegetable and herb gardens reside centrally and are bordered by a large, multicolored rose garden on the right. It truly is a master gardener’s dream. A short walk past the garden and foliage is a dirt path that leads to a small community lake. There are no motor boats allowed, just jon boats and canoes. However, the dock is community property, so Dad can just sit and fish or while away the hours with Mother Nature.

As I lift my hand to open the door, it swings wide, and my dad greets me with his usual prideful smile. “Nick, come on in, Son. It’s so good to see you,” he grips both shoulders like I’m a weary soldier returning home from war. This is his greeting every time I see him, underlining how I’m the only remaining soul he exists for.God, I need to do better by him. What a selfish bastard I’ve become. My father is also an only child. His parents died within a year of each other, almost ten years ago. I’m the only real family left. I hoped my marriage to Sophia might have provide grandkids he could dote on, but that’s one fantasy I need to let go.

“How’ve you been, Dad?”

“Oh, you know. Nothing much changes around here but the weather,” he chuckles.

“The yard looks great.”

“I know. I think your Mom is sprinkling extra fertilizer on it from heaven.” He smiles. “That woman knew how to take care of a garden. And me,” he states with a look of pure reverence.

“I miss her, too, Dad. I often think the main reason the dissolution of my marriage didn’t break me was I never had what you two had. I don’t know how often that really happens for people. You were very fortunate to have found each another.”

“Nick, granted, we were lucky, but I need to tell you something that might sound harsh coming from your dear old Dad.”

I peer at him with uncertainty, not having heard such a serious tone from him in some time. “What is it, Dad?”

“I personally think your divorce didn’t break you because it was the best thing that could’ve happened,” he says with total assuredness.

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