Nandita To Nandini
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Jeff And ChelseaChapter 6 free porn video
Jeff loaded his and Chelsea’s luggage into the back of a gray Volvo station wagon.
Livia approached her daughter. “Did you pack your prescriptions?”
“Of course.”
“Do you have that debit card you can use for gas?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“And, the AAA card?”
“Yes, Mommy. We’ll be fine. It’s only for one day.”
Livia turned to Jeff. “It was a joy meeting you and knowing Chelsea has someone in her life who loves her the way that you do.”
“Thanks,” Jeff replied. “I enjoyed getting to know you and her dad.”
“Chet is very impressed with you. You won’t have trouble getting to the airport, will you?”
“One of my parents will drive me. It’s convenient that the same airport services both our areas.”
“All set,” Chelsea said as she closed the rear hatch.
“Give us a call when you get there.”
“I will.” She hugged her mother. Then, she sat behind the wheel and Jeff sat beside her.
“The last time we took a road trip, I did the driving and you did the navigating. Look how that turned out.”
“You’d better not tease me, Jeff,” she retorted. “I’m not in the mood. I’m a bundle of nerves already.”
“My folks are cool ... you’ll like them.”
“What do they do?” she asked.
“My dad is an insurance underwriter. My mom has only recently been in the workforce. She went to the local community college and got a certificate to be a paralegal. That’s what she’s been doing the past three years.”
“And before?”
“Before she was a stay-at-home mom.”
“To take care of your sister?”
“Right. We thought Beth would never walk. You know what spina bifida is...”
“Yes. Of course, I know.”
“She had surgery before she was a day old, but there was some neurological damage. She lost some feeling below her waist. She can’t feel ... the call of nature and consequently frequently soils herself. Her doctor suggested we manage her bowel with enemas. While she was little we used a pediatric enema similar to the ones we use for douching. Once she entered middle school we switched to the adult version. I mentioned I had experience with them. This is how.”
“Because of Beth.”
“Right,” he replied. “When she was little my mom or I would administer them. By the time she was eleven she could do it herself. Not long after we started her on the adult formulation she developed a rash. She was itchy and scratched herself raw. Mom took her to the doctor and they did blood tests. She was suffering from hyperphosphatemia along with hypocalcemia.”
“High phosphate and low calcium blood levels.” Chelsea remarked.
“Spoken like a true doctor-to-be. The reason I’m a chem major is because I was a chemistry prodigy in high school. I don’t mean to blow my own horn, but...”
“I sense an upcoming trumpet solo.”
“I was reading high school level chem texts in fifth grade I aced the Chem Advanced Placement exam.”
“I never doubted that you were a chem genius.”
“I looked at the instructions on the enema boxes and saw the high phosphate concentrations ... and, warnings about over-using the product. The box says, don’t use more than once a day or for more than three days in a row. I told my mom and she spoke to the doctor. Beth had absorbed too much phosphates from them and it was good we caught it when we did. This could have harmed her kidneys.”
“So what did you end up doing?”
“We switched to large-volume plain water enemas for her. We also worked with a therapist on helping Beth train her system. She learned to walk by herself and now she needed to learn to poop by herself. Today she doesn’t need enemas and is living a reasonably normal life for a fifteen-year-old”
“A happy ending,” she remarked.
“Yeah, especially since this could have been life-threatening. This is why I would never use a phospho-saline enema for its intended purpose. Re-purposed for anal douching they’re okay.”
“I’ll never use one again for its intended purpose,” Chelsea remarked, “after what you just told me.”
“Beth has other problems, too. She’s hydrocephalic and needed surgery to implant a shunt to drain excess fluid from her skull that otherwise could cause brain damage. Every few years that needs replacing. We never thought she’d walk, but when she was three her doctor suggested leg braces. She learned to get around on those. Then, one day, she decided she didn’t need them.”
“Kinda like in Forrest Gump.”
“Yeah, kinda ... She can walk unaided but she has a limp. She can’t run, but she gets around okay.”
“So, she’s a sophomore in high school?”
“No -- she’s in eighth grade. She’s behind a couple of years.”
“Because of her problems early on?”
“Yeah ... and, she’s slightly learning disabled. That doesn’t mean she isn’t intelligent. She’s very bright ... and, quick with the wisecracks. She has trouble with math. She has something like the math equivalent of dyslexia. I tried to help her with math, but since I’ve been away at school they’re using some online tutor for her. She reads voraciously and at an advanced level, though.”
Jeff reached for her hand. Chelsea turned onto the on-ramp for the interstate and accelerated.
She put her hand on her chest. “God ... As soon as I calm down, it flashes on me and my heart starts pounding again.”
“You don’t have anything to fear, Chelsea. You’ll like my folks.”
“So you tell me. The thought of sleeping and showering in a strange house really freaks me out.”
The landscape became less rolling and more flat as they approached the state line. “Take this exit,” he said. “Head west on forty-eight.”
“Right...”
They approached the medium-sized city that was Jeff’s home. He directed her to a block of smaller, older homes with detached, single-car garages. “Right here,” he said. “Number 320.”
Chelsea parked the car in the driveway behind a minivan. She sat, clutching the steering wheel and taking deep breaths. “Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, unfastened her seat belt and opened the door. The front door opened and a teen-aged girl with dark blond hair stepped outside. “Jeff!” she shouted. “Mom ... Dad. Jeff’s home.”
Jeff’s mother stood on the stoop as he and Chelsea removed their bags. “Come in, come in,” his mother said. “Can you believe this weather? Fifty degrees on Christmas day.”
Jeff escorted Chelsea inside. “Mom, Dad ... Beth -- this is Chelsea Lane.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said.
“We’ve been holding off opening presents until you got here,” Beth said. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
Jeff opened his case and retrieved two wrapped packages. “Here ... We have a couple of presents ... for you and Dad and for Beth. Chelsea and I exchanged gifts already at her house.”
“Set them under the tree and we’ll start opening them. I have dinner in the oven already.”
Jeff sat at the table, next to Chelsea. His father began passing plates and he helped himself to some turkey, stuffing and green beans.
“Jeff,” his dad said, “you know that gun range in B-ville where we’d go to do our black powder shooting?”
“Yeah ... What about it?”
“It’s closed.”
“Closed? How did that come about?”
“You know all those subdivisions that sprouted up around it...”
“Yeah ... But that range has been there for years if not decades. Certainly they have some squatters’ rights.”
“You’d think. The homeowners have been complaining, though. Then, over the summer, someone sitting on her deck got hit with a stray round.”
Jeff winced. “Is she all right?”
“It was more of a graze. By the time the slug hit her, it was nearly spent.”
“That shouldn’t have happened,” Jeff replied. “The backstops there are more than adequate. Someone must’ve done something stupid like firing a round in the air.”
“That’s what I figure. Anyway, it was enough of a reason to shut the thing down ... until it can be made safer.”
“How can they make it any safer without putting a dome over it or requiring an IQ test for anyone entering?”
“I doubt they can ... at least in a way that’ll placate the neighbors.”
“So, what’ll happen?”
“They’ll probably sell the property and turn it into condos or something.”
“It’s the way it always goes ... Some idiot does something stupid and ruins it for everyone else. Where else can we go?”
“Well ... The DNR has that range at New Oslo.”
“That’s almost fifty miles away -- an hour drive there and back. That sucks...”
“Chelsea...” Jeff’s mom spoke up. “Don’t you want more than that?”
“No, thanks,” she replied. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“It’s how she stays so slim,” Jeff’s dad interjected.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I’m kinda ... turkeyed-out.” She propped her elbow on the table, held her forehead and muttered under her breath.
“What does that mean?” His mother looked toward Jeff. “Jeff?”
He sighed. “We had a big turkey dinner at her folks’ place, yesterday.”
“Oh ... I’m sorry. If I had known...”
“It’s okay, Mom. We had no way of knowing. Besides -- turkey is our traditional Christmas dinner.”
“Awk ... ward...” Beth chimed in.
“Keep your comments to yourself, young lady,” Mrs Brooker said sternly.
Chelsea’s gaze darted around the table from Jeff’s mom to his dad to his sister and back again. “If you’ll excuse me...” She stood and headed up the stairs.
Jeff’s parents’ gaze focused on him. “Jeff -- what’s wrong?” his mother asked.
“I’ll go talk to her.” He headed up the stairs and found Chelsea sitting on the guestroom bed, hyperventilating slightly.
He sat beside her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m having a panic attack,” she replied. “The way everyone was looking at me ... I’m sure they suspect...”
“What do they suspect?”
“That something’s wrong.”
“That’s obvious,” he replied.
“They think I’m hiding something.”
“Well -- you’re not doing yourself any favors by acting as if you’re hiding something.”
“I’m not acting!” she retorted.
“Let me rephrase ... You’re not doing yourself any favors by BEHAVING as if you’re hiding something.”
“I’m way outside my comfort zone. Jeff ... I’ll try. Just give me some time to calm down.”
“What shall I tell them?”
“Tell them I’m not feeling well ... which is the truth. My heart’s pounding so hard I think it’ll fly out of my chest. I’m having palpitations. If you don’t believe me -- feel my pulse.”
“I believe you.” He headed back to the dining room.
“Well?” his mother asked.
“She said she’s not feeling well and she’ll be down when she feels better.”
“Jeff,” she said, looking him in the eye. “What is going on?”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head. “Something about her ... doesn’t seem quite right. When I saw you and her getting out of the car, earlier ... from behind at least, for an instant I thought she looked like some guy in a wig.”
“That is her real hair,” Jeff responded.
“She doesn’t have hips.”
“She doesn’t have a butt, either,” Beth interjected.
“You stay out of this,” Jeff’s father admonished.
“Everybody’s built differently,” Jeff countered. “Do you remember Ashley? She was built like a boy. She didn’t have hips -- or, much of a butt, either.”
“Ashley had a waist,” his mom replied. “Chelsea doesn’t. But, she does have shoulders.”
“Chelsea has breasts,” Jeff retorted, “if you didn’t notice.”
“Those can be faked,” Beth said.
“One more comment like that and YOU are going to your room,” his mom retorted to his sister.
Jeff held up his hands. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation. You’re making it sound like the plot of some crappy buddy movie -- that I conned one of my pals into doing a Tootsie -- dressing up in drag to fool my family. I think Chelsea has a nice shape and I wouldn’t mistake her for a guy.”
“That’s not what we’re saying,” his father replied.
“What we’re saying is ... her discomfort around us is palpable. Your father and I have been walking on eggs ever since she arrived. She seems so ... distant and nervous.”
“And, you seem to be on the defensive, also,” his father added. “We can’t help think you’re keeping something from us.”
“I have a lot invested in her and I wanted today to go well. I think we found ourselves in a vicious circle.”
“That I can understand,” his father replied. “Ellie -- remember how nervous you were when you met my folks?”
“Not that nervous ... If that’s all it is -- we understand.”
“Is she coming down to finish dinner?” his father asked.
“She isn’t feeling well ... She’s outside her comfort zone. She just needs some time to decompress. Can you at least give her that?”
Jeff sat on the sofa, his elbow on the arm of it and holding his head. His mother approached. “She’s been up there all evening.”
“I know. I did not anticipate Christmas turning out this way. I’m sorry, Mom.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is my fault -- I insisted she come here. She told me she wasn’t ready and I didn’t listen to her.”
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