Sorry folks, but this is a story with sex rather than a one handed read. If you want a quick fix I suggest you look elsewhere.
Please note, this is written in English English, by an Englishman in England, consequently all spellings are English, measurements are metric, dialogue is in single quotes and there are English expressions and slang terms that may be unfamiliar to American readers, but then, that's part of the fun! Isn't it?
Thanks to Drenkara for the editing.
It's All In The Mind: A man gets beaten into a new life.
You could call it fate, or karma, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time or the right place at the right time depending on your point of view, but although the incident nearly got me killed I couldn't have acted any differently, even if I'd wanted to. Anyway, at that particular moment in time I didn't give a shit whether I lived or died; or so I thought.
I was walking, well, I say walking but I mean limping, down the alleyway to get back to my car which was parked in a Disabled Driver's parking bay close by. I was leaning on a hiking pole; not because I was likely to go far or anywhere rugged, just that I was too damned proud to use a walking stick. So, I was leaning on this pole as I made my way painfully through the litter strewn on the floor of the alley, kicking my way through discarded plastic carrier bags and packaging. The alley, I suppose it was an arcade in its early life, ran from the market place to the car park and was lined with shops, most of which were empty and waiting for redevelopment. As I passed one of the empty shops I heard a woman scream, then the scream was cut off as if someone had clamped their hand over her mouth. I couldn't help but look for the source of the noise, and I noticed the door to one of the shops had recently been forced.
Despite the pain in my back and feet, I pushed open the door and heard scuffling and cursing in the back room of the shop so I headed towards it. As I stepped into the room, it only took one glance to see what was happening. The woman who had managed to scream was stretched out on the littered floor; her right leg pointing towards me, her left leg stretched as far the other way as it would go. Her blouse was torn leaving her breasts bare and her skirt was rucked up to her waist. Her stockings were ripped, and the gusset of her panties was in tatters exposing her shaved vulva (funny what you notice in times of stress). The remnants of her brassiere were stuffed in her mouth forming a crude gag. A man was kneeling between her legs, his erect penis in his hand preparatory to driving it into the woman's unwilling vagina. There were three other men there, one holding her arms above her head while the other two held her legs apart.
In the microseconds it took me to take in the scene, I came to the conclusion I was going to get a beating at best, and, most likely, something worse. Deciding to try and shorten the odds a little and growling with anger, I took the handle of my hiking pole in my left hand, grabbed the rubber ferrule on the bottom and pulled it off, continuing the movement to lash out and strike the nearest rapist across the throat. As he fell back with a gurgle, clutching at his throat, the rapist between the woman's legs reared back and started to push himself to his feet, I pivoted slightly and stabbed him in the ribs with the steel point of the hiking pole I'd exposed when I'd ripped the ferrule off. The rapist holding the other leg had released it and was now on his feet, so I grabbed the pointed end of the hiking pole with both hands and swung a roundhouse hit to the side of his knee with the heavy rubber grip. I heard the bone snap as it connected and felt the light aluminium pole bend.
I was out of breath now and slow to recover, so the piece of shit that had been holding the woman's arms was on me before I could do anything and pain exploded in my kidneys as he caught me in the back with a couple of solid blows. The woman was on her feet by now and I managed to shout at her to run and call the police before the next blow landed. By then it was too late for me, and I found myself at the centre of a maelstrom of flying fists and kicking feet.
I was on the floor, my back felt like fire, I felt some ribs crack, I saw a boot swinging towards my face and suddenly I realised I didn't want to die. Time seemed to slow down and it was as though everything was happening in a giant vat of golden syrup. Somewhere, deep in my mind, something seemed to crack open and blossom like an exploding volcano. I felt power course through my mind like surging, red hot magma and build until I thought my head would explode. I voicelessly shouted, 'No!' All that stored power surged from my mind; then everything went black.
-oOo-
Have you heard those stories about people who stood outside their bodies and looked down on them? 'Out of Body Experiences' they call them don't they? Well, that's how it was for me. I don't recall waking up or moving, but now I was hovering up near the ceiling, with a bird's eye view of what was going on. I could see that I was in the Intensive Therapy Unit of the local teaching hospital; I'd been there before, though as a visitor not as a patient, thank Gaia.
Although my body was comatose, I, the bit that was me and appeared to be on holiday at the moment, was having a good look round; most particularly, I was looking at myself, lying in the high tech bed, covered only by a modesty towel and looking like the remnants of a good meal. Judging by the colouring of the bruises, I'd been there some time and my belly was no longer a rotunda, more like a ruined old church. My hair, what there was of it, that I normally kept sheared off was spiky and unkempt and my beard, apart from where it was shaved off to accommodate the tracheotomy that hooked me up to the ventilator, was equally straggly. I'd lost a hell of a lot of weight; and I looked like shit with skin hanging in folds; far older than my sixty-three years! Somehow, a chicken carcase came to mind.
It was a trussed chicken carcase though, there were wires and tubes everywhere and what seemed to be an inordinate amount of sticky tape was plastered on my hirsute body. I just hoped that when the time came, I would be given a general anaesthetic for its removal!
I wasn't alone though; my son was sitting at the side of my bed and, believe it or not, was holding my hand! Anyone that knows my son knows that hand-holding and him do not go together! His other hand held a book, and that was when I realised I must have been bad, he was reading David Eddings again! I did notice he was sitting in a position that allowed him to keep an eye on winsome nursie though!
There was a slight rustle through the unit that barely impacted on the noises from the monitors and respirators and I saw the ITU consultant had entered the ward; he had to be a consultant by the way everyone deferred to him and the entourage followed him around at a respectful distance. I didn't really take much notice of him until he came to my bed and looked at my chart. He said something to the nurse and in an effort to hear what he was saying I sharpened my attention on him. Before you could say, 'scalpel,' (pun intended) I was reading his mind.
I managed to contain my shock and surprise when I realised this poor man really did care, and he was steeling himself to tell Andy, my nearest and dearest, that today was the day, today I was off life support, win, lose or draw! He thought the worst, and he was sure that those two packets of cigarettes I'd been smoking every day for the last fifty years or so were going to finally see me off. I looked at my battered corpse and again I sharpened my attention, but this time on my lungs and I could see them! Better than any X-Ray, CAT or MRI scan, I could see what a pile of shit my lungs really were. Without even thinking about it I looked at the lungs of the young nurse, (and yes, it really was her lungs I looked at) that was sitting at the end of my bed and saw how they differed from mine. With no knowledge of how I did it I rebuilt my lungs to look like those of the nurse; young, fresh and untainted.
I'd just like to say at this point, I still don't know how I do these things; I suppose the best analogy I can come up with is that it's like 'cut-and-paste' on a word processor, I can see how things are, I can see how they should be and I just make it happen. Do you know how your brain stores memories or how the muscles of your hand work to pick something up? Of course you don't, you just remember things or pick things up, and that's how it is with what I do, I just do it. I have to confess I was taken aback a bit at what I'd done, but a glimmer of what might be possible struck me. I lost track of the consultant's conversation with Danny for a few moments as he told him what had to happen and the likely outcome. When I came back to it, Danny was looking stricken, the consultant was looking grave, the nurse's eyes were watering, and I still looked like shit!
I thought maybe it was time to influence things a bit, so I made my body open its eyes (the tape holding them shut had been removed when the consultant examined me) and squeeze Danny's hand. As he turned to look at me I smiled and winked, and I frightened the bastard nearly to death! I still laugh at his expression at that moment! The consultant jumped into action as though he'd been kick-started, doing all the things that a consultant does at such times with the nurses jumping to carry out his orders and his followers trying to look as if they knew what was going on. I managed to let go of Danny's hand, (my other hand was full of IV needles and such) motion to the tracheotomy and get across the idea that it should be out, I closed my eyes and let them get on with it.
While the consultant and the nurses were dealing with my corpse, I skulked up in the corner near the ceiling and watched all the excitement. When they'd finished I was disconnected from all the paraphernalia and sleeping easily. The tracheotomy was history. I took another leisurely look at my corpse and using the same technique I'd used on my lungs I corrected all the problems that had made my life miserable. With knowledge I filched from the mind of a passing consultant endocrinologist, I rejuvenated my pancreas and nervous system to cure my diabetes and get rid of the diabetic neuropathy; I then rebuilt the discs and vertebrae in my spine that caused me such pain. Don't ask me how long it took because I don't know. I was so immersed in what I was doing I didn't think to keep track and anyway, in my current state time meant nothing.
When I eventually started noticing my surroundings again, I saw that Danny had gone and the chair was decorated with the delectable body of my daughter-in-law, Jeanette. Yes, I know she's forty years old, but I'm sure her body's only twenty; it's still taut and athletic with high, firm breasts that can still go braless, shapely hips and long legs. I say long legs, but they were proportionally long to her petite stature; she stood a mere one metre-sixty without her shoes. She was small, but perfectly formed as they say, with auburn, collar length hair, high cheekbones and a square chin. Her mouth was generous and her nose well shaped and exactly the right size. I know that doesn't sound extraordinary when you write it down, but on Jeanette it added up to being strikingly beautiful. If my dick hadn't been held down by the catheter taped to my leg, it could have become embarrassing! As it was it was just painful!
Jeanette was clinging on to my callused paw with her comparatively tiny hand and this new sense of mine was getting some strange signals from her. I could tell she was distressed about the condition I was in; probably more than a good daughter-in-law should be it seemed, and I noted that for later consideration. She also exuded fear for some reason and I decided to see if I could find its cause.
I didn't have to search too deeply into her mind to find out she'd received a letter that morning recalling her after a mammogram and she'd immediately thought the worst. Now, I'm not really a tit man, though I like the shape and feel of a warm breast as much as the next man and Jeanette had lovely tits, but to mentally start searching her breasts for abnormalities was weird! I didn't actually find anything, but then again, I wasn't exactly familiar with my abilities as yet, so I decided to keep a mental eye on things. Just to take her mind off her troubles I repeated my squeeze, wink and smile routine, but instead of being happy she started to cry. I can't stand it when women cry, I want to move heaven and earth for them to make things right, but usually have to settle for holding them and letting them wet my shirt.
