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Story: Luck in the Night

Luck in the Night
by Julian Maxwell

copyright 2014
all rights reserved

“Good morning, Lucy! How are you feeling today?”  The nurse’s aide asked as she pushed the curtains wide, spilling acidic sunlight over everyone and all over me in particular. “How are we feeling today?”

She was cute really. There were bags under her eyes though so it was either university or a new baby and I hadn’t known her long enough to really feel like asking.

“It’s Luck.”

“Yes, I suppose it is a lucky day, what with the sunshine and all. I’ll be back to get you dressed in just a few minutes, okay, Lucy?”

I have fucking hated people with her level of people skills for about seven decades, but it’s always hard to know just  exactly what the right way to deal with it is. Honestly, it was a lot easier to deal with when I could just walk the hell away. “What’s your name, sweetheart,” I said in my best and sweetest old woman voice, like I just really wanted to be her granny.

“I’m Sabrina! I get to be your caregiver ALL weekend! Isn’t that great?”

I suppose how great it turned out to be depended a lot on the next few minutes.  “Sabrina, honey,” I said, "will you please hand me my wallet. It’s in the top drawer.”

“Let’s get it in a few minutes!” She said, cheerful like dog that’s just discovered it likes humping your leg.

“Now.” I said, granny falling away to make way for the chairman of the board. “Top drawer. Take the ID out. How much we’re going to enjoy this weekend, depends on how well you can read.”

“Are you threatening me?” She said, making a play for the as much of an authority figure that a twenty something working for minimum wage while wiping other people’s asses was ever going to pull off.  

“I’m a man of my word. Do as I ask, please.”

“You’re a man,” she asked, brows furrowing.

“From birth, baby,” I said, locking gazes with her, daring her to make her reality more important than mine. I expect that some folk who are as old as I am  are more tired than I am.

I don’t really know what it is that makes other people that their world is challenged when you tell them that you don’t think they’re assigning the right genitals to you in their head. It’s not like  pin-the-tail-on-asshole here.  I don’t even care that I might get sick enough that she might have to wash my genitals for me (I’m 105, so we have to make some allowances.). I am not my genitals. I am this bright shiny spark hiding behind gray eyes. That’s me woven in there with the sarcasm and fast flowing bullshit on one day or another.

Rushed, irritated now, Sabrina Sunshine grabbed out my ID and handed it to me without reading it. It was not looking up for her weekend. “Here. I have to go. I’ve got fifteen people to get dressed. I’m sorry I got your gender wrong. Your daughter must have signed you in with your birth name.”

Even if she didn’t want to look at my ID, I wanted to.  Luck Riven, born 1966, M - and there I am. The photo was taken when I was 80. I looked good back then.  I remember when I was almost 50 and I thought my face was melting.  I wish I looked 50.  “I can dress myself. You go on with yourself. What’s my name?”

Her eyes went furtive for a moment and I thought about handing my ID back. One of the best rules for getting to be 105 in the first place is don’t pass up info when you have the chance to get it, dumbass.  “Luciene?”

“My name is Luck. You can call me Mr. Luck for the rest of the weekend. When you get down to room seven, her name is Madame Adele. She’s French, if that’s a skill you’ve got.”

And oh god, I’ve seen that look before. Everything’s making me feel nostalgic today. It’s a bad sign, but there, her look, just a little tightening to the cheeks, eyebrows drawing in - it’s kind of like ... I don’t ... maybe like realizing the dishes you were about to wash in an orderly manner are going to bitch and complain about the water being hot or cold and get mad if you don’t address them by name. That’s the very worst part of looking like I look right now. For most of the people I’m likely to talk to, I’m not a person. I’m just a box to be moved, an ipad to be turned down, a fucking zombie that hasn’t had the decency to die. To be fair though, I like that look better than the look where they think I’m some kind of cat and everything I do is adorable.

Really, I liked the place with the android staff way better, but for some reason they had a policy against masturbation. I was 104 when I was there, so I don’t know how they expected me to get off, if I wasn’t doing it myself. They sure weren’t happy when I tried to engage a very nice gentleman from the escort service to help me out.


Here I am. St. Mary’s is at least a bit more tolerant in that regard or they just don’t realize they ought to have a policy and I am more discrete. That is such a hard skill to master.

One way or the other, I don’t plan on being here all that much longer.  I got plans!  I do. I’m telling you! It’s going to be me, walking down a beach in Nice, in a tight blue Speedo, with a beer in my hand. OH yeah!

“Luck!” Sabrina said, loudly, and so close to my ear that I could feel her breath.

“Uhhhgggg!” If I could move faster, I would have slapped her.  I was on a Nice beach and here I am, back at St. Mary’s wearing gray sweats, a fresh diaper and a tee-shirt that’s two sizes too big.  The fuckers better not have cut my hair while I wasn’t looking either.

“Now be nice! You have a new roommate. His name is Franklin. He’s just been transferred from Swedish.”

My new roommate was a kid, no more than 30, if that. He no hair, no eyebrows, and fuck, I didn’t think they’d treated cancer with chemo in decades.  We both sat there in wheelchairs, but only one of us was drooling - I think.  It took me some effort to get my wheels unlocked and a bit more to wheel myself closer.  I pay for both beds in my room. Turns out, discretion and privacy are still really important at 105, but I guess I pissed Sabrina Sunshine off pretty bad at some point in the morning. I sure as hell didn’t mistake her for a cute boy on the beach, so beats me how I pissed her off so badly.

Franklin had evidently pissed more people off than just Sabby Sunny. He wore the kind of clothes a hospital gives you if you got no money and they had to cut the only clothes you were wearing off, cheap and not the kind of thing even the cheapest bastard would ever steal. He had an IV in both arms and he wasn’t wearing a fresh diaper.

When I was in my 70’s a broad spectrum of treatments came out that could make aging... go away, but there was a backlash and laws and what happens with democracy is that people who say scary things get votes and the slogan came to be aging with dignity. It’s been that way since Themistocles. I don’t want you to worry though. I’ve never been particularly law abiding. I just want shit done right, that’s all. Still, my mind wanders, and I’m telling you all those bastards who think aging with dignity is so fucking amazing - make’em wear diapers for a few days and they’ll feel differently about space exploration and letting people keep their youth and health.

“Hey, so Franklin! How ya doin?”

“Fuck off.”  He hissed, voice weak.

Okay, it was his attitude that got him bunked with me.  “So, wanna go to a beach in France with me?”

“Old man,” Franklin growled, which evidently used up a bit of his energy, because he only managed to lift his head enough to just barely look at me.  “Do I look like I’m going to any beaches? I’m gonna be dead by morning. I’d just like to die in peace.”

“You mighta shoulda been nicer to the people who checked you in. Why you here and not at a real hospital? You a right to die folk?”

“Fuck no,” he hissed and for the first time I saw those eyes. I’ve got a thing for blue eyes, have had since I was in my thirties and those eyes were the best I’ve ever seen. Like a Nice beach, but full of intelligence and anger and all the vital things a human being is. “I don’t want to die, asshole. There’s just nothing more they can do. It was in my spine before I sought treatment. Old ass fucker. What do you want?”

Chin in my palm, propped up on the arm of my wheelchair, I just smirked. One benefit of people seeing you as old is that they often don’t realize you’re thinking about if you talk them into letting you suck them off or not.  Old folk look like boxes and they look innocent. They don’t look like perverts, usually.

“Oh god,” Franklin groaned, a blush coming to his face. “Are you a sex offender? You keep your dick away from me!”

A flash of joy lit me up and I laughed, feeling more strength and life than I’d felt in a good while. Tonight.. tonight was going to be the night. As I made the decision, I couldn’t believe how cowardly I’d gotten. The little things that mattered that I was going to lose after tonight, those were hard to let go. Just as clearly as I could visualize the beach I wanted, I could feel myself standing on the roof, opening my hand, and letting things I couldn’t hold anymore just fly away. “OH I like you! You want a beer?”

“I can’t have a beer! Idiot! I’m dying!”

I sat up, gestured with both hands. “Well, if I was dying tonight, I would want a fucking beer.”

“I never liked beer.  Too bad we don’t got whiskey.”

“Who says we don’t got whiskey?”

“You got.. whiskey?”  Franklin asked, those beautiful eyes giving me the look.

All really beautiful people can do that. I think it’s some kind of instinct, or maybe they just learned to do it, fuck if I know, really, but they can do it,  can give you this look like they already have your heart wrapped around their finger and they know it.

“I do.  You want pizza? You look like you ain’t eaten in weeks.”

“I don’t got any money,” he said, “It’s the VA that paid for my treatment so far, but there’s no money there for me. The hospital takes everything and if I had any heirs, all they’d get would be bills.”

“That’s shitty. I got money.” Rolling back to the computer was easier than it’s been in months, in a year or so. There is something completely healing about being in the presence of a hot guy. I wondered what it would feel like to have him kiss the back of my neck. My asshole tingled and I mind went to dicks and beaches and god... it really was time. This old body had to go.  “What else you want. Anything at all. My treat.”

“Chocolate. I kinda want some chocolate,” he said, shifting his chair a bit. Only his upper body worked.

“You like massage?”

“Not from the likes of the woman who brought me in. She’s pissy with everything.”

“Yeah, you and me are just big balls if kitty sunshine. You like girls or boys, Franklin?”



“Sorry man, but you’re shriveled up like a pharaoh's shit anyway, Does your dick even work anymore old man?”

“Better’en yours, evidently.”


“Just saying. So you like... dancing girls?”

“What’s the point? They aren’t going to let dancing girls in here anyway.”

I so love when I know I can get things done and other people are going to be so surprised. Sabby Sunny had catalyzed the best weekend in a three decades.  It took a bit to get all the right emails sent through. If I’d waited much longer, I might not have been able to send them. Maybe that was somewhere deep in my thought process. There are lines that once you cross them, they’re just crossed, and no matter how much you want, you can’t just go back. When faced with choices that can’t be undone, sometimes it’s really hard to know which undone you really want.

It was a couple hours until those emails brought fruit. I’d like to tell you that Franklin and I had the most amazing conversations. I’d like to tell you I found out all about what he’d done in the military and why he had been walking around presumably homeless letting cancer eat the fuck out of vital tissues.

What we really did though was nap. Sabby didn’t even bother waking us up to change him. If he was going to be living beyond the morning, that would have been more of an issue. I really should have thought about that. Old just makes things so slow and before you know it, the problem you wanted to solve is two days old and there are other more pressing things.

“Luck, can you hear me,” Dr. Autumn said gently, a hand on his knee.

“Oh,” I said, waking slowly again, more sweetly and comfortably than the last time someone woke me up.  I’d been making love to blue eyes. I’d so always wanted someone with blue eyes to love me. Not that I wouldn’t have been perfectly happy to be loved by someone with different colored eyes, but blue has always been my day dreams. “You’re here.”

“We are. Are you ready?”

“It’s night time.”

“It is. I had to fly in from Belize. It took me a little while. You shouldn’t have waited so long.”

“My daughter doesn’t like it.”

“I know. I understand. She’ll feel differently, perhaps.”

We both knew I won’t be seeing my daughter. What we were going to do was illegal. The best mercy killing we could have under the law was death by starvation and if there wasn’t another option, that might be a good choice, compared to just... going on like this. Life shouldn’t be illegal.

OH yes, I remembered talking to my Blue Eyes. He had wanted to have children. I don’t regret having children. I love my daughters more than I love anything else, but I still don’t want to die. “OH, oh.. Franklin has cancer. How much for immunotherapy for him?”

“The man in the bed next to you is dead, Luck. He’s been dead for at least an hour.”

“Dead, dead?”

“Dead, dead,” Dr. Autumn said sadly.  “But you’re not dead. Are you ready?”

“My daughter won’t love me anymore.”

“Your daughter will always love you, Luck. She has her process, you have yours. Let me show you what I’ve brought you.” Dr. Autumn lifted me like I weighed maybe fifty pounds, set me back against a bank of fluffy pillows, way better than this place had ever offered me. “Look at the new Luck.”

A man sat down on the bed, long silver hair to his waist. His face was my face, but it wasn't melting like mine had been since I was fifty. I reached out to touch that amazing face and she helped me lean forward, to reach. Smooth and warm skin, empty gray eyes, warm pink lips, and just a perfect little silver goatee. “I’m not... there’s no one...”

“No. The body is being controlled by an exoskeleton and computer system.  There is no mind in there. It’s waiting for you. It’s your genetics and it has a nice penis.”

“Oh.” If I could have gotten it up in that moment, I might have cum just at the thought. “Am I dreaming? I dream pretty good these days? I don’t want this to be a dream.”

“It’s not a dream. We’ve been building him for you.  We need the last payment and we’ll transfer you right now.”

“What about Franklin?”

“Franklin’s dead.”
“But he had pretty eyes.”

“For an extra hundred thousand dollars, we’ll make you four clones of him.”

“Babies. Children. He wanted to have children. Will you find them good families?”

“If that’s what you want, Luck, of course. Your new body comes with a new identity and a very basic amount of money to get started with.”

“I wish Franklin hadn’t died. I think I liked him.”

“I understand,” Dr. Autumn said, holding the computer pad for me to sign, for me to enter my secure pin and transfer money.

I made it a 150,000 extra. I wanted Franklin to have beautiful children. “Will it hurt?”

“No,” she said, laying me back. “But it might feel a little like drowning. You likely won’t remember it, in any case.”

Her hand covered my mouth and nose, closing off my breath, and then her hand became hard plastic.  Struggling when you’re old as pharaoh shit feels just like struggling does when you’re twenty, but it doesn’t work as well. Fire slowly swallowed my lungs. I definitely needed a new diaper and probably a whole bed change, and then I gasped, drawing in enough air to scream the fuck out of someone, but there I was lying like a fragile crumpled sheet on the bed, bruising around my mouth, my hair fragile half made of lightning dust all white and stabbing out at the world. I was so small and fragile, so alone, and oh my god, I wanted to wrap my arms around that old body and promise anything to keep away all the feelings of loneliness and abandonment. “Holy Mary, Mother of God,” I whispered.

“You’ll be able to move in a moment. Let me just disengage the exoskeleton. How do you feel?”

Well, for one thing, I must tell you that drowning hurts like a holy fucking bitch!  I remember it much more vividly than I do the last ten years of my life.

My thoughts work again too... The room is full of colors and shapes, like I can see for the first time in longer than I can remember. When the exoskeleton disengages, I stand up and my body feels like a symphony, moving how and where I want and oh yeah, my new dick works just fine.

I don’t think the first thing you should do when you illegally become 20 again is grab your crotch and feel up your own erection and if you cum like some spastic 14 year old, well, don’t ever fucking tell anyone.

“This is amazing! Do you like boys?”

Dr. Autumn smirked.

How had I not noticed how pretty her red hair was, those green eyes, those really perfect tits? OH god.  

“I have a wife. I like her very much.”

“Everyone I hit on lately likes girls. I like girls. Nothin wrong with girls, but boys, ummm.” And my voice... deep and male, melted honey, and not even a little of the raspy old pharaoh left.

I move over to Franklin’s bed. I miss him. I miss all the conversations I only dreamed we were having. His skin is cold, lips stiff, and I think it must be longer than two hours. I feel so intensely the loss of his life, of all the things he might have done, might have loved. I wanted to buy him a whiskey like I said I would. I wanted to lean over and kiss him and wake him like sleeping beauty, but magic isn’t real. “So, you can clone him?”

“Sure,” Dr. Autumn said, “And find him moms that will love him, good families. We can make sure you can track the babies, if you like.”

“Sperm too old?”

“Too radioactive. Barbaric medical treatments.”

“What color do you think his hair will be?”


“I don’t want to know anymore. I barely knew him. Just.. that’s the best I can do for him.”

“It’s very generous. We should go. At some point, the staff might realize they’ve got two dead bodies.”

Stretching, I nod. It is entirely disconcerting when someone else has dressed you and you’re wearing a deodorant that you would never have picked.

As they were walking towards the front doors, they ran into Sabrina, who was looking really tired now and maybe, it was just that she was working really hard and trying to do a difficult job. “Who are you?”

Luck turned back, bowed like a royal courtier might have, “I am Luck Riven II. I do believe Sr. has passed peacefully in his sleep. Give my best to Angela, when she gets here. You tell her that Gramps always loved her, almost more than life.”

“Wait! Aren’t you going to want to see your mom then? Why haven’t you been here to visit her before, er, him? He was a crazy old guy, but really well meaning. You look just like him!”

“You don’t say,” Luck said, giving her a wink that set blush on her cheeks.

Now for a nice warm beach in France.  Someone in France has to like cute boys with silver hair.


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