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From: "M.C.G." <mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: "THE DOORS TO GAYLE'S FUTURE" - PART FIVE
Date: Thu, 04 Jul 96 00:22:59 GMT
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                       MERRILL, CASTLE & GRAY (uk)

                       Adult Books On The Internet 


         WARNING:   THIS STORY  CONTAINS  EXPLICIT REFERENCE   TO  
         EXPLICIT  INCEST,  UNDER-AGE SEX etc.  PERSONS  OFFENDED 
         BY SUCH MATTER SHOULD NOT READ IT. 


         ANY  PERSON UNDER THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN YEARS MUST  OBTAIN 
         PARENTAL CONSENT BEFORE READING. 


                               Foreword 
                               ~~~~~~~~ 


         Readers   of  `Tomorrow's  Family?', recently serialised 
         in  this newsgroup, will know the professional  standing 
         of  the  father  of the family concerned,  `Alex'  as  a 
         hypno-therapist  with wide experience of the  cause  of, 
         problems  arising  from  and/or  answers  to   questions 
         related  to the practice of Incest. Albeit the topic  is 
         controversial,  E-mailed  interest and  support of   the 
         airing  of  the  subject has led `Alex' to  obtain   the 
         permission  of some of his `patients' for their  stories 
         to be told. 


                  This is one of our dramatised, but true-account                   
         "CASEBOOK SERIES. e-mail: 
          
                       `mcg-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk' 

                     for a complete, up-to-date list.
         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+

                     "THE DOORS TO GAYLES FUTURE"

                             Chapter Five

                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~



           Hobbling into his office, as Gayle parked her crutches 
         and with useless legs hanging in space,  perched herself 
         on  the edge of his desk, the specialist surgeon  looked 
         up.   Pointing to her foot, she quietly  said,  "Please, 
         Doctor, watch".


           Rising  from his chair, peering over the front of  the 
         desk, the surgeon's bushy eyebrows shot up as he watched 
         Gayle's   leg   raise  itself  15   degrees   from   the 
         perpendicular.   Shooting me an uneasy glance, he asked, 
         "How long has she been able to do this?"


           "For  three  or four days.   At first it  was  only  a 
         little,  but  she's been working at it."    The  process 
         that  would  eventually see Gayle and  I  separated  had 
         already  begun; since first discovering herself able  to 
         move  her leg, every spare moment saw her exercising  it 
         and working to improve its performance.   For her  sake, 
         happy  to  the point of delirious, watching  it  improve 
         made the lead weight in my fearful heart sink.


           "And  where do you say these other places  are,  where 
         you can feel sensation?", the surgeon asked Gayle.   She 
         told  him  the  current list, and  giving  me  a  quick, 
         smiling  glance,  added, "There are one  or  two  others 
         which a nice young lady cannot mention to strangers."    


           Some simple tests later, as Gayle was admitted to  the 
         Hospital  for more examinations, watching  her  swinging 
         herself down the corridor as she talked intently to  the 
         surgeon,  I  felt even more she was walking  out  of  my 
         life.    Momentarily  caught  in  a  gloomy   day-dream,  
         gradually  dispensing  with the need  for  crutches  and 
         walking-sticks  as  she moved away, by  the  time  she'd 
         reached the corridor's end, confidently walking unaided,  
         on her approach and disclosing the sunshine of the  next 
         part  of her life in the outside world, the  swing-doors 
         miraculously  opened. Returning the corridor in which  I 
         stood  back  to dusty gloom, closing  off  the  sunshine 
         around  her  as they swung shut behind  her,  without  a 
         backward  glance,  she continued on out of my  life  and 
         into  her  own.     Shaking my head  at  my  own  stupid 
         imagination, I snapped back to normal thought and  alone 
         for  the  first time in months, unhappy  and  depressed, 
         returned home.  


           Sill  thinking  of the conclusions I had  drawn,   the 
         morning following our celebration, I'd been very  quiet.   
         Wearing  an  emerald  green,  black-panelled   one-piece 
         swimsuit, Gayle sat along-side me at the pool-side table 
         as she watched the other swimmers.  


            Knowing  it would mean more  hospitalisation,  before 
         telling   her  surgeon,  the  news  of  Gayle's   sudden 
         improvement  being  far too important  and  exciting  to 
         wait, we decided to cut our holiday short and return  to 
         Town  after  a few days more.   Studying her,  her  head 
         in profile to me, from the slight sheen of  perspiration 
         on her face and the occasional faint grimace of pain,  I 
         knew, underneath the table, Gayle was working to try  to 
         move her legs.   Touching her arm, as she turned, I said 
         "Don't overdo it, sweetheart."


           Gayle gave a small shrug.   "I've got to keep  trying, 
         Dad.   I've got to know."


           Knowing  she was right, I fell silent.   After  a  few 
         minutes  more, deciding she'd done enough for  the  time 
         being  and rising, I asked, "What would you like  to  do 
         to-day?".


           Looking  up at me, Gayle's face softened.   "You  know 
         what  I'd  like to do," she said  quietly.    Brown-eyes 
         pleaded  with  me.   "Please, Daddy, make  love  to  me.   
         Take me to bed.   I need you."


           The  reasons  against it still very clear to  me,  but 
         wanting  nothing more in the world, awkwardly,  my  eyes 
         flicked away from her.   Pursing my lips, I said    "I'd 
         love  to,  but  if I did, and  something  happened  that 
         harmed your legs, I'd never forgive myself."


         Disappointed,  Gayle said slowly,  "I hadn't thought  of 
         that."


           Picking up on my advantage, I continued.   "Which ever 
         way  we went about it, there'd be much  physical  effort 
         for you, and whatever has clicked back into place, might 
         just click out again."   Pleased at having diverted  the 
         problem but seeing her long face, laughing and squeezing 
         her  hand,  I  sat down again.    "Besides,  we  made  a 
         contract, remember?"


           Smiling cheerfully now, Gayle nodded.   "I'm going  to 
         hold  you to that, and you'd better be ready to  pay  up 
         sooner than you think."   She looked at me  uncertainly.   
         "Mummy came again last night."   Seeing my interest, she 
         nodded.   "She said to tell you this awkward period will 
         soon pass.   After that, you are in for a remarkably big 
         surprise;  that  you'll  soon settle  down  and  a  very 
         wonderful  person is going to come back into your  life.   
         After that, it is all to be plain sailing.   But not  as 
         you think."


           Calling  over the waiter, I ordered two more  coffees.   
         "And  she said all that, did she?   It must have been  a 
         very long conversation."


           Half  serious,  Gayle  regarded me.    "You  shouldn't 
         laugh, you know, Daddy.   Whatever you think, she's been 
         right so far.   Don't you believe in such things?"


           I thought.   "I believe in the basic good of things, a 
         design,  a fabric, which covers all mankind.    But  I'm 
         not  sure about dreams, and planets  and  crystal-balls, 
         things like that."


           Semi-incredulous,  Gayle's  voice  sounded  surprised.   
         "Don't you believe in Destiny?   Or a God?"


           Had Gayle been likely to be unhappily reminded by what 
         was  on  my lips to say, I wouldn't have said  it.    "I 
         certainly  don't  believe  in  a  destiny  which   drops 
         bulldozers out of the sky."   I stared questioningly  at 
         her.   "Where was God then?" 


           Obviously  a quote, Gayle said, "`Man puts  it  wrong; 
         God puts it right'."   She leant across the table at me.  
         "He was all around us that day, helping everyone to help 
         me."    Seeing  the  cynicism  on  my  face,  she  asked 
         quietly,  "So how did I manage to survive?   You saw the 
         car  afterwards.   Doesn't that make you believe  I  was 
         destined to live?"


           The  obvious  reply  sprang  to  mind.    "Live  how?"   
         Likely  I was treading on painful ground, I  immediately 
         regretted  saying it, but Gayle was cheerfully ready  to 
         defend her point.


           "Oh,  these!",  she exclaimed, slapping at  her  legs.   
         "This  is  nothing, just a period of  time  waiting  for 
         things to be put right again, that's all.   


           "All  the days I was in intensive care, I didn't  know 
         what was going on.   I was unconscious for a long  time, 
         but   throughout  it  all,  something  was  telling   me 
         everything was going to be all right.   Even as I  woke, 
         I knew I was going to walk again, but that it would take 
         time and there was some lovely things to happen while  I 
         was  waiting.    That's why I wasn't too  unhappy,  it's 
         kept me cheerful enough to keep going."    Strategically 
         close  to  success, she sat back, a happy  glow  on  her 
         face.     "So  come on, old Smarty-boots; if  it  wasn't 
         destined, how did I know?"


           Floored without a rebuttal, beetling my eye-brows  and 
         pretending  to glower, I drank my coffee.    "Damn  your 
         mother," I said light-heartedly.   "She always did  know 
         better  than I."   I grinned.   "What else has she  told 
         you, then?"   


           Relaxing,   Gayle  laughed.    "That   everything   is 
         controlled or influenced by destiny.   We don't have  to 
         believe  it, and whether we like it or  not,  everything 
         will  arrange itself, but in the end we'll like  it  and 
         come  to see we had nothing to worry about in the  first 
         place.    Or  ever  will have again", she  added  as  an 
         afterthought.  "Destiny will see to that."


           Mischievously,  she glanced at me from the  corner  of 
         her  eye and now not too sure if this was  her  mother's 
         `words'  or  whether  Gayle was making  it  up,  like  a 
         hypnotised fool, I listened as she went on, "The same as 
         it's  destiny  for me to marry a tall, dark man  who  is 
         older  than  I.    Someone who loves me  very  much  for 
         myself, and who I love to pieces.    That of  necessity, 
         everything in our life will be cloaked in mystery,  that 
         we  will  never have children together, but  will  adopt 
         some."   She leant over, her tongue licking my cheek  as 
         she  kissed it.   "And that someone is you!"    Radiant, 
         she bounced in her chair.   "So let's do it!"
           

           Staring  at her, suddenly smiling as I realised  she'd 
         caught  me,  the  words had caused the  big  problem  to 
         reappear.   "Look, Gayle..."  I began awkwardly. 


           Still  smiling,  Gayle leant back.   "Why,  don't  you 
         love  me?   You said you did.   You know, like  man  and 
         woman."


           "I  do."   I wriggled uncomfortably.   "But  I  can't.   
         Leastways,  not yet awhile."


           "But you will", said Gayle confidently.   "You'll see. 
         But  hurry,  Daddy.   All the  beautiful  things  happen 
         afterwards,  and you're holding them up.   I don't  want 
         to miss a minute of it, it's so lovely."   Suddenly, she 
         leant  forward  again, whispering.    "Come  on,  Daddy.   
         Take  me to my room. I want you.   All this talking  has 
         made  me thirsty.   For your loving."   Seeing my  tight 
         expression, she relented a little.    "Ok, Ok, but there 
         are other ways.   Mummy..."


           "...told  you, I know," I grumbled.     Gathering  our 
         things together, I stood up as Gayle's arms reached  out 
         for me to lift her.   "It might make life easier if  she 
         told  me   few things.   Why doesn't she ever  speak  to 
         me?"    Tucking her into her chair,  suddenly hearing  a 
         cat's  loud purring, I instinctively glanced behind  me,  
         but couldn't see it.  


           Gayle  giggled, "But Mummy does.   She says  she  just 
         did."


           Waiting as the lift carried us up to our floor, giving 
         a little race as a memory struck me, my heart skipped  a 
         beat.   When feeling very loving or happy with Gayle  or 
         myself, Val's way of showing appreciation was to give  a 
         sound  like  a purring-cat.    Thoughtfully  shaking  my 
         head, I waited for the lift-doors to open.


           Carrying her towards her bed, Gayle's lips found mine, 
         and suddenly finding the sixteen-year old replaced by  a 
         beautiful young woman, as her emotional desire whispered 
         over   me,  as  usual,  all  resistance  blurred,   then 
         evaporated.   Standing with her in my arms, heat rose as 
         we  nuzzled,  our tongues licking  round  each  other's, 
         soft  mewing noises coming from Gayle as she rubbed  her 
         breasts against me.   


           Eventually  sitting her on the bed, as I went  to  lay 
         her down, Gayle shook her head as her fingers sought  my 
         zip.    "No,  my darling one, not today"  she  breathed.   
         "Gayle's way."


           Meekly,  I stood there as her fingers slipped into  my 
         fly.    Touching the heat of my erection, I  gasped  and 
         pulling  my  penis  out from under  my  clothing,  Gayle 
         smiled  up  at me.   "So Daddy likes his  little  girl's 
         cold hand touching him, does he?"   


           Aroused  even  more by her evocative words,  I  dumbly 
         nodded as my penis swelled.   "That's good, Daddy, good.   
         It's  big for me, all ready to love."    Fingers  gently 
         scratching, cradling my scrotum in one hand, finger  and 
         thumb  exposing  its head, Gayle slowly eased  back  the 
         loose skin.   Huskily, she murmured,   "Mmm, if you knew 
         how much I loved it, you wouldn't even let me near it."


           Ready  to  fall out, feeling my eyes bulge,  I  looked 
         down as a pointed tongue darted out to delicately  flick 
         at  the tip of my glans.   Penis slowly  convulsing,  my 
         hand slipped to the back of Gayle's head, but gazing  up 
         me  as  she wiggled her buttocks down on  the  bed,  she 
         shook it off.   "Nuh-huh.   Gayle's way".  


         Now at just the perfect height, resting both hands on my 
         thighs,  Gayle licked her lips and jutting out at  right 
         angles, my penis jerked as moving towards me, I  watched 
         her  glistening mouth open.   The dusky-pink wet  tongue 
         protruded and engaging in the tiny slit, wriggled around 
         my purple-coloured glans.   Receding between her lips as 
         she slowly eased forward, it kept flicking and  touching 
         the  heated flesh as her warm mouth gently  consumed  my 
         shaft.   


           Sliding across the torpedo shaped head, slipping  over 
         the  humped-ridge as she held my penis steady  with  her 
         mouth,   darting  around, sometimes  dragging  over  the 
         head, under the bunched nerves, or drawing away to start 
         all over again, Gayle's tongue started earnest  licking. 
         My  head  started to swim, and  dimly  realising  deeper 
         developments  happening in our relationship, shaking  my 
         head  and making to pull out of her softness, I  tensed, 
         but  holding  it  in with her lips,  Gayle's  firm  hand 
         clutched  my  penis,  then  feeling  me  relax,   slowly 
         removing  it from her lips, her reproachfully looked  up 
         at  me.   "Now are you going to just let things  happen, 
         or does your little Gayle have to show what a madam  she 
         can  be?"   To emphasise her point, giving a tiny  growl 
         and baring her teeth, she gave my shaft a tiny nip.


            Painful pressure in my scrotum and heat in my  penis, 
         cursing  myself for having stopped her, I knew her  love 
         was  overcoming  me; as though life depended  on  it,  I 
         wanted  nothing more than to pour every tiny drop of  me 
         into  her.   Uncontrollably jerking my penis at  her,  I 
         found  myself  gasping, "Do it, Gayle!   Oh  Gayle,  for 
         Christ's sake, just do it!"


           Feeling  surrender and sensing love  flowing,  happily 
         smiling,  her hands back holding my thighs, ducking  her 
         head to gather it up, Gayle took my glans back onto  her 
         warm tongue.   Thumbs slipping round and pressing on the 
         soft,  fleshy  tube  under my penis,  as  my  daughter's 
         finger-tips skimpily-caressed its full length, her mouth 
         began  to exert gentle suction.   The swollen head  held 
         between  her lips as I held her shoulders,  her  fingers 
         slinkily slipped the straps of her swimming-costume over 
         her  tanned  shoulders. Desperately wanting to  suck  at 
         them  as  her breasts spilled out, I reached  to  maraud 
         them,  but  now  her hand  delectably  teased  under  my 
         scrotum,  rolling my angry testicles in the palm of  her 
         hand as the other elegantly stroked my length.   


           Molten fire knifing up my vertebrae to race across  my 
         scalp, rhythmically sucking and licking and rubbing  me, 
         my  wildly-haunching pelvis and shaking knees  betraying 
         my urgency, she brought me to the verge of  ejaculation. 
         Feeling  the  first  semen-surge travel  to  enter  her, 
         slipping me from her lips, her eyes blissfully closed as 
         her hand pulled my penis down to her, Gayle's open mouth 
         slid  under  my glans.    Unbelievably  erotic,  causing 
         powerful,  excited jets, I watched  pearly  sperm-snakes 
         cascade  onto  her  trembling  tongue.    Mingling  with 
         glistening saliva, overflowing and gathering in  gliding 
         runnels  either  side of her mouth,  hungry  skin  folds 
         grabbed it into her larynx as her tongue nursed my  seed 
         towards  it.   My very soul spurting into it, I  watched 
         this wonderful, beautiful, trembling little pink  cavern 
         half-fill with grey-white seed, pause, and then, with  a 
         shutter-quick blink, it was gone.      


           Slowly  letting  her lips release  my  sagging  penis, 
         licking her lips clear of sperm. the last slippery pulse 
         of ejaculate dribbled onto the back of Gayle's hand  and 
         sighing  excitedly,  she  dandled  a  small  pebble-like 
         nipple   through   it.    "That's   wo-n-d-erful",   she 
         breathed.   "My gorgeous Daddy's shiny love on my tits."    
         Pleased  with herself, licking the back of her hand  and 
         laughing  quietly  as she looked at me, she  lay  slowly 
         back on the bed.


           Bewitched,  shaky legs about to give way, fumbling  to 
         slip  onto the bed beside her, as we silently  gazed  at 
         the ceiling, locking fingers, my speculating hand sought 
         Gayle's.  Sometimes a prowling-tigress looking to  mate, 
         exceeding even her mother's flair, the past five minutes 
         had  been  better than I'd ever  known.     Yet   almost 
         every  day since the accident, I'd constantly been  with 
         her, so apart from the incidents with Gemma, from  where 
         had  my  daughter learnt such ways of  exciting  a  man?  
         Unbelieving,  closing my eyes as the thought emerged,  I 
         quietly said, "Mummy?"   


           Knowing where my mind was, Gayle gave a little giggle.   
         "Sort  of.   A little inspiration, some imagination  and 
         the  occasional  magazine Daddies don't really  want  to 
         know  about."   Rolling over as she giggled  again,  she 
         sprawled  on  top  of me.  "That, and a  bit  of  divine 
         guidance and a bright girl who loves her man can do  all 
         manner of things."   Suddenly anxious, her hand ran down 
         my  face.    "Did  you  enjoy  it,  my  darling   Daddy?   
         Really, I mean?"


           Fondling  her  hair, I gave her a long,  gentle  kiss.   
         "You know I did."   I sought her eyes.   "And you?"


           "I've  wanted to do that for a very long time.    It's 
         lovely  when you do it to me, but it's very much  better 
         doing  it  to someone I love."   With just  a  tinge  of 
         uncertainty,  her  voice  lowered.   "Do  you  love  me, 
         Daddy?   Me?   Gayle?"


           Slipping  my arm around her bare shoulders,  my  thumb 
         gently  chafed her rubbery nipple as I cupped a  breast.  
         "That's the trouble, my darling.   Sometimes I think  no 
         man has ever loved any woman more than I love you.   But 
         you're not a woman, not yet at least and sometimes I get 
         concerned that when you are, I won't be able to love you 
         more  than  I do now.   And I feel I'll need  to.    But 
         it's already at maximum power."


           Very happy, Gayle's face lovingly crinkled around  the 
         eyes as she smiled.   "It'll develop, don't worry."


           Perplexed, I sighed.   "But it concerns me.   If it is 
         as strong as it can be, when you've matured, you'll need 
         more and if you can't get it from me, I sometimes  think 
         you'll  go  and find it with someone  else.    And  that 
         makes me uneasy."


           A  deeply  loving  lick-kiss  later,  she   whispered,  
         "It'll be all right, you'll see.   If you let it,  it'll 
         come.   I live for your love, it's beautiful and I don't 
         want it to ever end."


           "But  you're my daughter.   When you are able to  walk 
         again,  you'll be off and away.   You'll want  something 
         less sordid, a normal love you can tell everyone about."


           Gayle  lay  her  head on my chest.    "Why  should  I?   
         This  is  what I want, it's not Daddy and  little  girl, 
         and  it's much bigger than father and  daughter."   Eyes 
         deep with sincerity, she looked at me.   "It's what  you 
         are,  the  things you do, the things  you  make  happen.   
         You're  kind,  attentive and generous  with  your  love.   
         You're  always  making me laugh, you always  have  done.   
         When I was little, you did it because I was your  little 
         girl, but now, you do it because you love me.   


           "What  more  could I want?   Or for that  matter,  who 
         else  would give it to me?   Or could; who'd know  where 
         even to start?   You're considerate, you really want  to 
         make  love  to  me, and I know  why  you  won't.    It's 
         because you might cause some damage, isn't it?


           Physical?    Or  emotional?    Relieved  Gayle  hadn't 
         noticed  the double-meaning, having deliberately  misled 
         her over why I wouldn't enter her,  wincing with  guilt, 
         I nodded.


           Soft-eyed, Gayle raised her head.   Pecking me on  the 
         tip  of my nose, she said, "Don't think you're going  to 
         get away with it.   When I can walk, I coming after you, 
         but now we've come so far, until I can walk again and we 
         can  become completely involved with each  other,  let's 
         enjoy the rest."

           
           Resolving  to put my fears on ice, relaxed  now  Gayle 
         had accepted the limitation of how far I was prepared to 
         go  and what I was prepared to do, comfortable again,  I 
         nodded.  "OK".   


           Gayle pulled me to her. "Good!    Now be a good father 
         and come and do something else you have always wanted to 
         do,  but  have  been  too  Daddy-like  and  bashful   to 
         mention." 


           Looking  down  on her, I kissed  her  eyes.    "What's 
         that", I asked innocently.


           "Suck my nipples." 

                  
                               **      *      ** 


           Following on from these developments, with a delighted 
         gurgle of a laugh, Gayle frequently initiated sex at the 
         most  difficult times.   To escape the confines  of  the 
         house  when at home, by deliberate choice preferring  to  
         be  out of an afternoon, we roamed far and wide  in  the 
         car, but at any time should the mood come upon her -  or 
         I for that matter - finding a suitably quiet place,  all 
         plans would be suspended until, one leg on the car seat, 
         the other propped on the steering-wheel, I'd lap at  her 
         vagina.   


           Understanding, but respecting, the magnetic power  she 
         possessed  over  me, often taken by a  frequently  randy 
         frame  of mind,  at the most inopportune moments and  at 
         times  teasingly-planned so I could do little about  it, 
         all  the time experimenting with new  techniques,  Gayle 
         entered into a game of turning me on.   Picking a  route 
         through   traffic,  or  on  motorways  at  high   speed, 
         concentrating on the road ahead can be difficult if from 
         the  corner  of her father's eye, fighting hard  not  to 
         immediately  stop  and set about licking  them,  he  has 
         noticed not only his daughter's grinning impish-face but 
         also  the undulating curves of her inner thighs and  the 
         damp  groove showing in a fabric-covered vulva as  at  a 
         maddeningly  slow rate, the hem of her dress  is  pulled 
         back towards her waist.   


           Thought out, designed and applied to have major effect 
         on  all  five  senses, these things  and  more  were  of 
         Gayle's repertoire; with innocent, large-eyed,  charming 
         smiles,  a  yawning brassiere  illicitly  revealing  the 
         deep  swell  of  the  upper lobe  of  a   breast,  or  a 
         deliberately-disarranged  skirt showing higher-thigh,  a 
         man with the strongest single-minded determination would 
         have been hard put not to succumb.


           Not  without risk of discovery by some wayfarer -  "it 
         makes your cum stronger" -  necessitating as quickly  as 
         possible  an emergency stop in some quiet corner,  going 
         out  with  Gayle  was more often an  adventure  than  an 
         afternoon's drive.


           Possibly  as another form of natural compensation,  in 
         my  opinion when first detecting it seeping from her,  a 
         copious  quantity, developing into a veritable flood  as 
         Gayle  grew older, and more than her mother's  had  ever 
         been able, her excited vagina gave up such a quantity of 
         liquid as to be more than my mouth could cope with.   To 
         the extent the covering of Gayle's seat of the car began 
         to show noticeable deterioration,  before we thought  to 
         take a towel with us,  such was her flow, on a basis  of 
         dire  emergency on occasions, it was not unknown for  my 
         having to buy her some replacement briefs!


           On  at  least  two occasions, having been  stopped  by 
         police  for a minor traffic infringement, leaving me  as 
         an  uncomfortable,  penis-erect  on-looker,  by  careful 
         arrangement by Gayle of her movements whilst speaking to 
         him  through  the  open  car-window,  the  officer   was 
         beguiled into forgetting to issue me with a summons.   


           On  the first occasion, scarcely able to  believe  our 
         luck and amazedly shaking my head as I started the  car, 
         looking at Gayle as the officer returned to his car, she 
         suddenly  burst  out  laughing and  looking  inside  the 
         neckline  of her scoop-necked sweater as she  pulled  it 
         away from her chest, addressing them as though possessed 
         of  intelligence, told her breasts, "Well done!  I  knew 
         you'd come in handy one day!"  


           And  on the pretext of her body needing the energy  of 
         the  pure love it held for her, often more but at  least 
         daily,  with eyes of liquid devotion, Gayle would  drink 
         my penis dry.


           Although Gayle's progress was remarkable, to any  form 
         of real recovery would still need a long period of time.   
         In the weeks between bouts of hospitalisation, where she 
         would split her time between physiotherapy, tests, other 
         treatments and more tests, she'd return home.    Beating 
         all other forms of torture into a cocked hat, the subtle 
         lonesomeness of being parted from her when  hospitalised 
         proved  immaculate  misery and  so we  wouldn't  miss  a 
         minute of each other,  still turning up at the  Hospital 
         well  in  advance, I merely sat at  home  just  awaiting 
         visiting-times to arrive.


           With her constantly on my mind, I couldn't help  think 
         of Gayle's view of Destiny, and found minuscule  details 
         of  events leading us to this point of  time  constantly 
         nagging at me.


           Cheerful  nature can overcome a great deal  of  life's 
         adversities, but even so, Gayle had an uncanny knack  of 
         turning  other people from wrong to right, her  presence 
         converting  them naturally from hate to love.    In  her 
         company, it was impossible to be unhappy for long.   The 
         course  of her life had amazingly twisted  so  violently 
         and  turned  to no mean degree, but surely  it  was  her 
         ebullient  nature which had avoided her  much  suffering 
         and caused so much happen around her?   Wasn't it?   


           But  this other business of dreams of her mother,  and 
         by her often profound sense of wisdom and judgement, the 
         sensations  of wonderment Gayle so often aroused  in  me 
         was baffling and when Hospital visiting hours were  over 
         and I was waiting for the following day's to begin,  the 
         Sun's rising increasingly found me reading books on  the 
         subject.     Much  of  the  evidence  was  tawdry,   but 
         respected luminaries and academics found a great deal to 
         say in favour of the belief of life after death.   Noted 
         figures  and  public  dignitaries made  much  of  `inner 
         senses',  and  the power of love to heal even  the  most 
         serious   of  human  conditions  and   aliments   seemed 
         universally accepted.


           Often  fussed of mind wondering what would  happen  to 
         Gayle when completely cured and mobile again, I  thought 
         of visiting people who allegedly could communicate  with 
         the  world  of spirit, but  Gayle needing at  least  one 
         steady  mind in her future, ashamed of myself  for  even 
         thinking of doing so, at the last moment I cancelled the 
         appointments; perfectly happy to go along with her views 
         and  opinions, I stayed on the side of common-sense  and 
         practicality.    Even  so, sporadically  coming  to  the 
         surface  when  least expected, once thoughts on  such  a 
         topic  start, like the Deathwatch beetle,  they  develop 
         the funny habit of ticking-away inside the head.


           It was only some years later I came to understand that  
         to help her recover, and to help her to help others,  on 
         our intimate occasions, like some form of perambulating, 
         bi-ped emotional-fuel-tanker with arms, I was delivering 
         daily  supplies of love to my daughter.    However,  one 
         more  door was soon to open, and then there  might  have 
         been complete mental unison between her and I.   But yet 
         again like a fool, again imposing much more  unnecessary 
         strain and problems on myself, again I went my own path.   
         Before  then however, I was to undergo an ordeal  making 
         even  me wonder whether God, Destiny or the  Devil  were 
         merely toying with me!  


           Making   her  as  comfortable  as  possible,   indeed, 
         sometimes   even  treating  her  as  visiting   Royalty, 
         hospital  staff went out of their way for Gayle,   often 
         proving a happy adaptability to close blind eyes to some 
         of her more unusual activities.   


           Coming  back to her bed-side in their own time  to  be 
         with  her, Gayle spent hours talking to off-duty  nurses 
         and  at other times, although often  remonstrating  with 
         her when found in the company of an elderly or suffering 
         patient for being where she shouldn't or not being where 
         she was supposed to be,  vast tracts of hospital  regime 
         found  itself being thrown away, suspended or placed  in 
         turmoil for the duration of Gayle's visits.


           Taking  to  her  wheel-chair when  on  more  and  more 
         occasions  she  was permitted to  leave  the  privileged 
         side-ward  in which on her frequent visits they'd  place 
         her,  calling, `Won't be a minute, Daddy!  I've  got  to 
         see Mary', or some such thing, she'd hurtle by at  speed 
         as  complete  with  fruit and  flowers,  I'd  arrive  on 
         Gayle's  ward.    Waiting for her return, spending  time 
         with the staff with whom I was now on first-name  terms, 
         they'd launch into telling me of the wonderful effect on 
         other  patients and everyone else around her  Gayle  was 
         having.


           During  her  hospitalised periods, a  most  incredible 
         sensation,  doing its own thing, my libido  operated  on 
         its own wave-length.   Excitedly anticipating  scenarios 
         whereby, even in a busy hospital and  even if only for a 
         short time,  Gayle and I could find ourselves alone  and 
         enjoy  each  other,  I'd  spend  hours  contriving   and 
         planning  how  to  arrange it.    Full  of  self-induced 
         sexual-excitement,  but with a completely  uninterested, 
         deflated  penis,  happily and eagerly  arriving  at  the 
         hospital  with a perfectly splendid, fool-proof plan  in 
         mind,  I'd  find there had been a last-minute  variation 
         of her routine and my journey - and planning - had  been 
         a  fool's  errand and like a selfish school-boy  in  the 
         throes  of  first-love, I'd be  extremely  disappointed.   
         But  when  least  of  all  thinking  of  sex,  on  other 
         occasions upon coming in contact with Gayle, leaving  me 
         amazed  and speechless, instantly rearing and  thumping,  
         my  penis  would be rampant.   The damned  thing  led  a 
         totally separate existence to me.   


           Very  often though, it was merely  circumstance  which 
         kept  us  apart and freely acknowledging  we  were  very 
         close and thought a lot of each other, others around  us 
         understood  our  desire  to spend  time  alone  in  each 
         other's company.


           One  day, talking to the Ward Sister  whilst  awaiting 
         Gayle's return from one of her `mercy-visits' to another 
         patient,  I  apologised  for  Gayle's  often   seemingly 
         disruptive  behaviour.    Somewhat  sharply,  the  woman 
         replied, "No, nothing like it!   She's like a breath  of 
         spring,  everyone  enjoys  her  being  here  and   other 
         patients  benefit greatly from her company.   More  than 
         one  patient has said that after spending  five  minutes 
         with Gayle, they find themselves wishing they too  could 
         be  confined to a wheel-chair.   For someone like  that, 
         we can't do enough!"


           Somewhat disconcerted by her brusque manner, I went on 
         to  thank her for the obvious concessions they had  made 
         for Gayle's privacy.   Completely different, looking  me 
         directly   in  the  eye, the  woman's   manner   changed.    
         Visibly softening and relaxing, her tone of voice became 
         very  positive  as  she quietly stated, "If  she  is  to 
         recover,  Gayle's doing what she has to do.  God  knows, 
         she needs her time alone with you, and if that's the way 
         He says it has to be, we're only too happy to assist."  


           That little snippet of conversation has stayed with me 
         ever  since; the diplomacy, the fervour with  which  the 
         Sister  said  the words was striking, but always  in  my 
         memory is the directness, tone of her voice and look  in 
         her eye as she said them: for an uncanny moment, it  was 
         as  though someone was speaking through her, or she  was 
         relaying  a  message.    But  if  I  even  heard  it,  I 
         completely misunderstood its application.


             Distinctly    varying   from    hospital    standing 
         procedures,  when for security and monitoring  purposes, 
         all  doors  are kept open for a  patient's  own  safety,  
         almost  as  though by some Angelic command,  a  `do-not-
         disturb' sign had been placed on the door-knob, the door 
         to   Gayle's  private  side-ward  being  closed   seemed 
         regarded   as  sacrosanct  amongst  the   nursing-staff; 
         indeed,  on one occasion when for some innocent  reason, 
         as  we  had  entered, the door remaining  open,  with  a 
         `sorry  about that', a passing nurse had closed  it  for 
         us.


           Whatever,  the fact remained that as soon as  we  were 
         alone  for  even the shortest period of time,  like  two 
         super-powerful magnets,  kissing and exploring, we  were 
         instantly  at  each other.   Oblivious to the  world  in 
         those  first five minutes  and despite the obvious  real 
         risk  of discovery,   in tremendous quantity and  almost 
         cracklingly-electric, using words, thoughts and physical 
         touches,  violent  power,  lust,  glowing  tranquillity, 
         mighty  roars  and tiny  whispers,  strength,  patience, 
         faith  and warm gentility, desire, wracking passion  and 
         every other form of expressive love flowed.   


           Gayle made it very plain, and for all the reservations 
         within  it, an aching-pain deep in my heart told me  the 
         need  for deep, physical contact with her  was  becoming 
         essential  to  us  both.   Free to carry  on  a  sexual-
         liaison,  apart  from my inhibitions and fears  for  the 
         future, this would not now have presented Gayle too much 
         of  a  physical difficulty, but together  with  inherent 
         moral  and legal complications, under the  circumstances 
         it was impossible and desire becoming over-powerful, one 
         afternoon, ever-mounting need got the better both of  us 
         and good judgement.


           Resting  on  the  hospital-bed, skirt  up  around  her 
         waist,  fawn-coloured knickers a tightly-stretched  band 
         between  her  ankles,  with  widely-parted  thighs   and 
         whimpering little moans coming from her mouth as pushing 
         my  penis  towards it, my body bent over her  head,   my 
         hand  was  between Gayle's legs,  my  fingers  immersing 
         themselves in the slickly-smooth insides of her  vagina.  
         Approaching  the  height of  our  excitement,  dripping, 
         glistening  fingers  jabbed  into  Gayle  as  my   thumb 
         furiously  tortured her long, thick clitoris, her  hands 
         busily stroking my exposed shaft, open mouth hovering to 
         catch soon-arriving, squirting semen.


             Even without sparking sexual-tension and the  heavy, 
         musky  aroma  of excited woman pervading  everywhere,  a 
         totally-deaf,  completely-blind  person could be  in  no 
         doubt whatsoever what was happening when a slight  sound 
         disturbed  me.   Frozen into fearful  petrification,  in 
         ultra slow-time, my head turned to the now-open door  as  
         liquefied into a large blob of heavy mercury, my  heart, 
         brain   and   intestines  suddenly  thumped   into   the 
         underground car-park ten storeys below us.   


           Crouching  over  her,  my  penis  in  Gayle's   mouth,  
         threateningly-filling  the doorway and from my  position 
         appearing  at least 12-feet high, bleakly staring at  me 
         with a face of stone stood the Ward-Sister!  

         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+

         For Chapter One,   e-mail `df1-mcg@bartra.demom.co.uk'
         For Chapter Two,   e-mail `df1-mcg@bartra.demom.co.uk'
         For Chapter Three, e-mail `df1-mcg@bartra.demom.co.uk'
         For Chapter Four,  e-mail `df1-mcg@bartra.demom.co.uk'

         We  hope you are enjoying this story, but your  response 
         dictates   whether   it  continues  or   is   withdrawn.   
         Therefore:

         If    you   are   enjoying   `Gayle',   please    e-mail          
                       `com-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk.

         If   you  are  not  enjoying  `Gayle',   please   e-mail                 
                       `com-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk' 


         +~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+

         "THE DOORS TO GAYLE'S FUTURE"

         copyright: Merrill, Castle & Gray 1996  

         All rights reserved. No part of this publication may  be 
         reproduced  or transmitted in any form or by any  means, 
         electronic,   mechanical,  photocopying,  recording   or 
         otherwise, without prior permission of the publishers. 

         This article is published subject to the condition  that 
         it  shall not, by way of trade or  otherwise  circulated 
         without  the  publishers prior consent in  any  form  or 
         binding  or  cover  other  than  that  in  which  it  is 
         published  and without similar condition including  this 
         condition being imposed on the s ubsequent purchaser. 

         Merrill, Castle & Gray. 

         e-mail:ed-mcg@bartra.demon.co.uk 






























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