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The Gift Of The Father free porn video
The Gift of the Father
By JDG
"We have much to talk of."
His statement was flat, yet delivered with a presumed authority. An authority he
assigned himself, automatically, as if it were his birthright. An impulse from
when he was nobility? Or perhaps it was the Brat Prince talking. His smile told
me nothing.
I indicated the leather couch. "Sit." It was an invitation, not a command. Never
a command for this one.
He moved with a fluid graceful motion. Languorous seeming, yet deceivingly
quick, like mercury in moonlight. Was it his influence that made me wax prosaic?
No... it was simply my nature.
"I have sought you through the world. Many have gifts, yet I have never seen one
that shone as brightly as your own. Yet it was, until recently, hidden. Like
your Christian lamp, under a bushel."
His words were faintly mocking. His white teeth shone in the electric lamps.
Clean electricity, finally. Now in 2039 solar energy had come into it's own. Not
cold fusion, or nuclear fission, or any of the other pipe dreams of the
forgotten 20th century. No finally, simply, solar energy.
I studied his face. It could have been for seconds or hours, I could not say. He
sat patiently as I did this. I had read his description, of course. Her books
went on about him incessantly: his pale perfection, his lustrous blonde hair and
sparkling blue eyes. Eyes that were a clearer and more vital blue than even my
own. But then mine were dulled with the pain, the incessant and unending pain.
"Yes." It was a sibilant whisper from his oh so perfect lips. "Tell me of what
it was that made you reveal your light finally."
I thought on this. Should I reveal such intimacies to this creature? But could I
keep them from him in the end? He was noted as a mind reader after all. I looked
into his intensely blue eyes. Such eyes, brilliant and compelling. No wonder
people of lesser wills had lost themselves in the dream of those eyes.
"You must tell me. You know this."
"A threat? No. Not from you. Merely your own supreme self-confidence. Very well,
I shall tell you. It all began at my Father's knee..."
*****
"Don't worry son. Daddy will use the monster spray. The monsters can't come in
your room with this spray sealing the areas that they enter through."
I looked up at my Father. He seemed a giant to me. Even now, in my memory, that
was the way I saw him. Heavily muscled and tall, he seemed indomitable. If he
said I was safe, that the monster spray would stop the night terrors, then
surely I was.
It was he who had caught the huge dog when it charged me. He had seized it by
the throat as it leaped and shook it like a rag. I remember the dull sound of
it's neck breaking. He had cuddled me afterwards. Softly cooing to me that it
was all right. Telling me that as long as he lived I would need never fear. He
would be there. And he always was.
When I was 12 there had been that viscous man in the neighborhood. He was only
18, but had seemed quite a man to me. He was inches taller than even my Father,
with a shaved head and a gold tooth. He used to race his car down the road,
nearly hitting old people and children. Laughing as he did so. Dad had warned
him to desist. In response he had begun to pursue my Mother and I as we drove
the quiet streets. Charging our van with his truck. Slamming on the brakes,
inches from our bumper... laughing that insane high giggle.
Dad was a cop, but not where we lived. He went to the Sheriff's Department and
they did what they always seemed to do... nothing. Finally my Father had enough.
I remember the grim, sad, look to his features that night. He tucked me in bed
and told me that I would never have to fear that boy again. The next day he was
gone. Just gone. No trace of his body was ever found, and my Father kept his own
counsel.
Even after disease and injury began to tear the life from him, inch by inch,
they could not quell the fire that flamed within him. The spirit that shone from
his ever more frail flesh. I was fourteen when my Mother woke me with her
screams. She kept shouting my name over and over again. Calling for me to dial
911. My Father was gone before the ambulance arrived. Diabetes had rotted out
his heart. His brave and loving heart, had been stilled finally. His last words
had been of his love for us, and then the light went out of my world for many
years.
Finally I started healing, and as I started healing inside I began to exercise
my body. To remember the lessons my Father had taught me. Lessons, not just of
the body, but of the mind and spirit. I began each day, as he had, with the
Bible. Then an hour on the stationary bike followed by the weights and
calisthenics. Circuit training, he had always said, perfected all aspects of the
body. Not emphasizing one over the other. But first the spirit... always the
spirit. I excelled in school, going from C's to straight A's. College fled by
and yet I kept at my regimen. No time for girls, for women. I was in training,
but for what I did not or could not suspect.
My body grew to resemble his, but even taller, stronger. I had his dark hair and
intense blue eyes. His dimples. My body was lean and hard, and slowly... oh so
slowly my spirit began to grow to match and then exceed the physical shell it
dwelt in.
My Mother grew older and frailer with the passage of time, as all mortals must.
My sister grew to be a beautiful woman. With the flame of our Mother's hair, and
our Father's strength echoed in her. She married, and wondered when I would do
likewise. Mom worried that I would always be alone.
I was 35 when I met her. She had hair like midnight with doe like, brown eyes.
Her skin, with it's permanent tan, showed her teeth in intense relief. She was
tiny and beautiful and we fell in love. My family was ecstatic. They had feared
that I might lean to the path my Uncle Ray had followed. I used to smile at that
thought. I could appreciate the beauty of any human form, but did not in-any
way-desire to lay with my own.
We had two children. Just as my parents had. Just as my sister and her husband
did. A son and a daughter. They were beautiful, and they were my world. My
Mother died in my 43rd year. She was 66. She passed away in her sleep.
Peacefully. Finally united again with my Father in a world where the sun never
went down, and it was always green.
*****
I stopped momentarily at the remembered pain. Joy at her release, but pain for
those of us left behind. My visitor sat watching me. His expression unreadable.
His obdurate flesh gleamed in the light. Like a statue of some unyielding
adamantine substance he sat. So still I could not even detect his breathing, if
indeed he breathed at all.
"I breathe." He mocked me with his answer to my unspoken query. It was startling
to see this seeming statue spring so suddenly to life. His lips making the
barest motion to speak. He was a gorgeous monster. Where would I find the
monster spray to send him on his way? Bottles of old perfume would surely not do
it. His laughter was low and amused. "Please... continue."
*****
Seven years later, as my wife and I returned from a party thrown by her boss, a
drunk driver ran a red light and crashed into our vehicle. He hit the driver's
side door with such force that my back was shattered... my pelvis crushed. It
was unknown, for some time, if I would live or die. Unknown to others, but my
wife and children never doubted. My sister always knew, even as she sat vigil at
my bedside in those early days, that I would come back to them.
When I woke from the coma, 10 days later, I was told that I would probably never
walk again. Even with modern medical techniques for nerve regeneration and
repair, there had simply been too much damage. My left arm was held together
with pins. My hips with a new bone bonding cement. My spine was pinned and
cemented and kept immobilized. My wife had, thankfully, come through with only a
few bruises.
I remember the look of ineffable sadness on my 12-year-old daughter's face. Her
10-year-old brother holding his Mother's hand for comfort. I smiled at them with
my broken teeth. They knew then that it would be all right.
It took 7 surgeries to finally get me back into some semblance of shape. Then a
year of physical therapy before the doctor's said they had done all they could.
I might... MIGHT, they said, be able to go short distances with the aid of a
walker. For the most part though I would be confined to a wheelchair. How little
they knew me. How little they knew my Father.
It was my first night after physical therapy, as I sat dozing in this same
recliner, that I saw him. He spoke to me with such tenderness that it tore at my
heart, and tears started from my closed eyes.
"Well Boy. Looks like you have a bit of trouble here."
"Yes Sir. Guess I do at that." It was odd. I was as old as he was now, yet I
still felt like a child in his presence.
"It's up to you. You know that don't you? You can choose to accept it, or you
can choose to get up and walk." Then he hugged me and he was gone. I felt an
aching loneliness I thought I had left behind long ago. It seems I had just
buried it beneath the veneer of life. So I got up and walked to my bedroom.
*****
The doctor's still can't explain it. Nor can they explain my lack of scars and
my physical conditioning seeming, as it does, so like it was before.
He sat staring at me. What did he expect? That I had some great secret to
impart? What secret's could I reveal to the Prince of darkness and deceit? That
perfect bastard. The Brat Prince of old New Orleans and beyond.
"You haven't reveled to me the secret."
"I have no secret's to tell."
"Yes... you do. Would you deny it? Would you, finally, be proven the coward? To
run gibbering into the darkness instead of facing the truth. Will you cry again
for the monster spray to chase away the demon of your own power?"
His words stung me as if he had slapped me with those marble white hands. Hands
of enduring cold and seamless hardness.
"I WILL have the truth of you. Here! Tonight!"
"Do you now choose to threaten me?" I laughed at this. It was absurd.
My laughter seemed to puzzle him. "Do you wish to die? Ahhh but you do not fear
for yourself do you? But your family..." He left the sentence unfinished.
I felt it then. The old anger. The old swelling of indomitable will, bending the
physical world to my need. "You will not hurt my family!"
Now he laughed. "Oh that is rich. You use what strength you have to keep that
form viable. To endure the pain and the loss of sensation in your extremities.
You would stop one such as I? I, who have trod the centuries under my feet. I am
an IMMORTAL!"
He snarled this last. It was somewhat less than a shout, yet more than his
normal unvaried tone. And I knew... then... finally what it all meant. I knew
how he would die. Tonight, at my hand, and yet not my hand. He was a creature of
what was once popular culture. A fiction in a series of books by a woman who was
as lost as he ever was. A woman who preached, all unknowing, damnation. Worship
of the physical. Yet how could he deceive himself so? He knew that all things
physical, no more how enduring, must yield in the end. Must go down to
corruption. Only the spiritual goes on. It was the spiritual that gave me the
power to remold my flesh. To defy the doctor's and even the very 'laws of
nature'.
I welcomed the power from within me. Unbound, finally. Odd that such a creature
as he should be the instrument of it's freedom, and my redemption. I let it flow
through me. Let it choose it's own course. As a mighty river can carve out a
Grand Canyon, so did the power remold me into the image of his destruction. Oh
it was a delicious jest. One creature of fiction and popular fantasy to destroy
another.
His back had been to me as the power flowed through and over me. He felt it
washing, gently, against him. Creatures such as he cannot help but notice things
like that. He spun, suddenly. It should have been too fast for mortal eye to
follow. Maybe before it would have been.
He seemed stunned. Taken aback at my appearance. Did he see it, his own
destruction riding in my green eyes? Did the sweep of my long blonde hair, about
my slender shoulders, give him pause? Was it the breasts, proud and firm in
their youthful perfection that took away his breath? The widened hips? The flat
stomach and shortened stature? Perhaps the slender arms, that yet hinted at more
than human strength? Whatever it was he seemed stunned. My very clothes had
remolded about me, no more immune to the reality warping power that I had
unleashed than my own flesh was. This seemed the great marvel to me. Not my own
transformation, for do we not all transform ourselves constantly? Molding our
flesh, according to our will.
He seemed much taller from my reduced height. His 6 foot frame with it's compact
musculature was sensually appealing to me now. I smiled as I snapped off a leg
from the coffee table.
"What? Who?" He was, finally, at a loss for words.
"Call me Buffy." And then I struck.
The end
Jayla
- 06.11.2021
- 7
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