"Listen, Bryce. You'll be heading off to the Mages Academy in a couple of weeks and your abilities will start developing. You'll probably finish up being quite a strong mage. Not one of the great mages, but a damned strong one for all that. There is something, however, that you need to be aware of."
My father broke of his speech and I was thinking I know, don't flaunt your abilities, there'll be others stronger than you, be respectful to everyone because you just never know, yada, yada, yada. He actually took me by surprise when he continued.
"What do you know about genetics and how it relates to mage ability?"
From the dumb look on my face he easily guessed the answer.
"That's what I thought," he grumbled. "Mage ability doesn't just pop up out of nowhere. It follows specific families. Not everyone in those families will be a mage but they have an improved chance. Where your genetics are concerned you have that ability being passed down from each of your four grandparents. It's surprising that your mother and I have no ability but that's the luck of the draw. You do, and as I said, you'll be a good one. There is a small problem with that, however."
I looked interested and hoped he'd get to the point.
"The chances are that any child that you have will be a great mage. That chance increases if the mother is also from a strong mage family. Accordingly you need to take precautions not to have any little accidents while you're at school. You may find yourself being targeted by some of the girls there, each eager to be the mother of a great mage and to reap the prestige associated with that."
"There seems to be a little flaw in your argument, father. You just pointed out that children of a mage being mages themselves is rather a chancy business. What's to say that any of my children will actually be mages?"
"That was my thought when I was told about this. The answer is the Oraculum. The Oraculum have prophesied that two great mages will be born to the current generation, both of them being your children."
That was a different thing entirely. The Oraculum's prophesies were never wrong. Still. . .
"That's all well and good but the prophesies are kept private. No-one at the school will know I'm the prospective father of a great mage," I pointed out. "I don't think I need to worry about a screaming horde of eager young ladies wanting to get it on with me."
"Normally I'd agree," my father said in a rather dry voice, "but the idiot that had this particular prophesy had it rather publicly. By now the information has filtered through to a number of interested families. Accordingly I've decided that certain precautions need to be taken. Here's what we're going to do."
* * * *
About a week later I was strolling down the street when a young lady called out to me. Looking around I could see Suzy Hopkins leaning out her window and waving to me. I ambled over to see what she wanted.
An attractive young woman, Suzy. Several years older than me, twenty three, I think, with a shock of blonde hair she kept in a pageboy cut. The most noticeable thing about her from my point of view was a magnificent set of knockers. Her husband was a lucky man, having those to play with.
"Morning, Mrs Hopkins," I said, smiling happily. "Can I help you?"
You'd be smiling happily, too, if you could see what I could see. Suzy was wearing what looked like a man's singlet and it was a bit big for her. Of course, those knockers certainly helped to fill it.
"Really, Bryce, call me Suzy," she gently chided. "Listen, can you change the fluorescent tube in my kitchen. I have a new tube but I'm too short to reach the ceiling, even if I stand on a chair. You, however. . ."
Seeing I was over six foot tall I knew what she meant. I had no objection, especially as standing on a chair to change the tube meant I'd be looking down at her and that singlet was rather loose around the neck. She opened the front door and I followed her through to the kitchen, noting as we went that her tush was also very fine, nicely displayed in tights or yoga pants. I'm not sure how they define the difference.
Stand on a chair nothing. The kitchen ceiling was high and I had to step up onto the table to be able to reach the ceiling. Suzy had no chance of doing it without a ladder. I passed the old tube down to Suzy and as she reached up to take it I had to exert considerable control not to applaud when her reaching up stretched that singlet and gave me an amazing view. I was somewhat reluctant to hop down off that table.
"Thank you, Bryce," Suzy said, smiling happily. "Before you go would you like some coffee and a piece of cake? I was about to have some when that stupid light gave up the ghost."
I wasn't averse to free food so I hastily accepted. The fact that I'd be able to watch Suzy's breasts bouncing around under that thin singlet had nothing to do with my decision. I settled down at the table, watching Suzy getting the coffee and cakes, letting her voice just wash over me. She could certainly talk a lot without saying anything.
I just relaxed, enjoyed the cake and coffee and watched those gracefully swaying breasts, not really listening but making noises every so often as though I was. This was a skill I'd picked up listening to my mother and sister talk. As long as you made agreeable sounds every so often they were quite happy to continue talking. In this case I was quite happy to continue looking.
Suzy suddenly stopped talking and the silence rather startled me. I hastily made sure I was looking her in the eye while trying to recall what she'd just been saying. It obviously needed more of an answer than an agreeable uh-huh. I sort of ran the last few sentences through my mind and I could feel my face heating up. The conversation had gone something like this:
S: "But you're not really listening, are you? You're just using this as a chance to ogle my boobs."
Me: "Um-hmm."
S: "I suppose you're really wondering how to ask me to take my top off so that you can really see them? Perhaps even touch them."
Me: "Uh-huh."
She'd said that in the same quiet voice that she'd been using all the time, not even giving me a hint that she'd changed the subject in such a manner. A scurvy trick in my opinion. I was now stammering, trying to say something that would get me out of the pit I'd fallen into.
"Um, ah, sorry. I didn't mean to imply, that, ah, um. . ."
"Are you saying you don't want me to take my top of so you can touch my breasts?" she asked, sounding oh so innocent.
"What? No, I don't mean that. I mean. . ." My voice trailed away again. I had a feeling that anything I said would be the wrong thing.
"Oh, so you're saying you do want to?"
She was deliberately having me on, taking a wicked delight in stirring me up.
"Fine," I said, deciding to toss the ball back to her. "I'd love you to take your top off so I could feel your breasts. I consider them excellent example of breasts, an achievement every woman should aspire to."
She laughed, rising to her feet. I was about to stand up and depart post haste before she threw me out but froze where I was when she casually stripped off the singlet, coming around the table to stand next to me, topless. I couldn't have stopped my hands rising to cover her breasts even if they'd been handcuffed behind me.
"My god, you feel wonderful," I told her, gently massaging them, feeling them swell slightly beneath my hands, her nipples hardening and pressing against my palms.
