I was a pretty shallow individual growing up, in luxury since I was the only child of very rich parents. I focused mostly on myself. While I did have sexual experiences, sex was not overwhelmingly important to me when I was 18-21, not to the extent that it was with most men my age. Also, I was a wimp when it came down to brass tacks. Even though I was fairly large and muscular, I backed down from all physical confrontations.
Two things happened between the times that I was 21 and 23 that changed me from the self-absorbed, low libido, coward that I was into something else entirely.
As a youngster I had read novels about people whose minds changed in unusual ways when they went through some traumatic experience. Unlike most people who suffer cognitive loss, the subjects of these accounts developed special abilities – which were not necessarily good, but better than cognitive loss, and sometimes astounding. For example, in "Memory Man" by David Baldacci, two of the main characters develop hyperthymesia after traumatic injuries.
Hyperthymesia is the ability to remember everything about your life in minute detail, almost like a DVR playing back every experience, taste, look, and feel of your life with unrelenting clarity. In other fictional accounts, people develop the ability to instantly solve complex mathematical problems, and in still other accounts they develop a super-worldly ability with languages.
While I found these fictional accounts interesting, to me they were just that – interesting writing with no relevance to the real world.
That brings me to the first event that shaped my adult life.
At 21 I participated in what is primarily the spoiled brat sport of polo. I had ridden my own horses since I was nine years old, and played polo since I was twelve so I was pretty decent although in all honesty the people I played with and against were not world class athletes, but primarily spoiled rich kids like me.
I don't remember exactly how it happened, but I was told that my saddle's girth snapped when I was leaning down to strike the ball as low as I ever had, and I fell and was hit in the head with a polo pony's hoof. Even though I had a helmet on it didn't prevent injury from getting hit by the hoof of a creature weighing 1100 pounds ("pony" is a misnomer; the animals ridden in polo are typically big horses, often 16 hands) travelling at speed.
I was told that I was in a coma for more than eleven days. When I came out of it I was a changed man. Although I didn't develop hyperthymesia, or some other exotic recognizable syndrome I became a different person, mentally unrecognizable from whom I had been before.
While there were many minor things about me that changed there were four that were unbelievably dramatic; 1) I was no longer self-centered, in fact I was compelled to do charitable things, especially as related to women and children; 2) I thought about sex most of the time, even when I was talking, doing physical things unrelated to sex, or actually working on mental problems having nothing to do with sex (I could multitask infinitely better than before my injury); 3) I no longer eschewed physical confrontation and became a hard ass in my approach to physical threats by men; and 4) my reflexes were unquestionably quicker.
Regarding point 4), while I didn't have a baseline to compare my new found quickness to during physical rehab after my injury my therapists noted unusual quickness and in standard testing determined that I was in the top 1% of anyone ever measured in most reflex drills.
With extensive – and expensive – rehabilitation, I was back to my normal self physically (except for the enhanced quickness) within six months after I came out of the coma, and during that time I recognized the four changes that had occurred.
My parents were astonished when I dropped out of college after my junior year (my injury occurred between my junior and senior years) and insisted on setting up a charity to help underprivileged kids and worked tirelessly at it. The females that I came in contact with were surprised by my sexual aggressiveness. Although my body could not quite keep up with my mind, sexually, when I couldn't get enough pussy (most of the women in my social class were not interested in flings, but relationships – which was not part of my sex preoccupation) I would masturbate as many as six times a day.
The second significant event in my young adulthood was the death of my parents in a private plane crash when I was 23. Of course it had a significant effect on me emotionally, but since I was their only heir I had practical decisions forced upon me that I had to mix with the grieving process. This meant no time for pussy hunting, so I hired two full time call girls, Sybil and Amber, to be my companions. I fucked each of them twice a day, and oftentimes got a blowjob besides. While this certainly shaved my horns off, I knew that they were only doing it for the money and at least one of them (Sybil) was a shallow "plastic" person, so it wasn't a completely rewarding sexual experience (although Amber had potential).
I always knew that my parents were wealthy, but I was surprised at exactly how wealthy – they were filthy rich. There was no way that I could run some of the businesses that they were intimately involved in, so I became the time-consuming process of liquidating their businesses by selling or merging them. There was also a significant part of the assets that were already liquid, and when everything was said and done, after inheritance taxes, I was left with more than a billion dollars.
During the early stages of liquidation, after meeting with my financial advisers and a potential buyer for one business in a city about 100 miles from my home, I was driving my Tesla through a transitional neighborhood when I got hunger pangs and realized that I had hardly eaten anything all day. While I normally eschew fast food there was a Burger King with easy access – and I had to pee too – so I pulled into the parking lot.
After doing my business, I ordered a veggie burger, and splurged on fries and a strawberry shake. As I was sitting at a table eating, I noticed a young mother with two little kids at the counter. It was clear that she was a little short of the money that she needed to get the kids what they wanted, and they were starting to complain. I got up, walked over to her, and said "Hi – I'm Blake. I couldn't help overhearing your son's pleas, and I've been short of cash a number of times in my life; so I'd be grateful if you would accept a couple of bucks from me to pay for your meal."
The look of shock on her face was genuine. If I wasn't in a fancy suit with a tie on she probably would have thought that I was a perv and would have declined. However, with her little boy beaming she smiled and said "Thanks," and accepted the three dollars I was holding out.
After they got their food, the mother and her two little kids made a point of coming by my table and thanking me. I smiled and said "My pleasure." As I watched the mother's ass move past me I noticed that my dick was hard. I analyzed the situation.
The mother was obviously poor, especially given her and her kids' clothing. From the way and the words she used when she talked she was also obviously uneducated. Her face was completely ordinary, and her body needed work – but somehow the thought moved through my mind "If she toned her body she'd be fun to fuck – and she'd be real-life passionate, not plastic like at least one of the two call girls servicing me."
This thought was ruminating in my mind when another obviously poor and poorly dressed young mother with a kid came in with a guy who was either her husband or boyfriend. The mannerisms and words he had indicated he was a surly unpleasant asshole. As they walked past after they got their food I took a good look at the woman's ass – the same thought sequence came through my mind as for the first woman.
I was just about finishing up eating when I heard a slap. The asshole had obviously just hit the second young mother, and she was holding her face and her little boy was clearly scared.
As a privileged kid from a wealthy neighborhood, it will be no surprise that I wasn't a fighter – as earlier explained I had in fact I avoided physical confrontations. However, that was the pre-polo-accident me. The avoidance/fear part of my mind had either changed or was no longer functioning. I got up and walked over to the table.
"How dare you hit a woman you cowardly piece of shit," I snarled when I approached the three of them, staring at the guy. He was about an inch shorter than me, but outweighed me by at least forty pounds, although most of it was gut.
"Mind your own fucking business, shithead," was his response.
I turned to the woman. "Are you alright? Do you need assistance?" I asked.
She was starting to open her mouth when he told her "Shut the fuck up, don't talk to this asswipe," and then reached to grab her arm.
I acted instinctively and in a manner that pre-polo-accident Blake never would. With my enhanced reflexes my hand shot to his and deflected it away from her, and when he turned his face to me with an angry look and started to get up the new hard-ass Blake head-butted him so fast that he didn't know what hit him.
As the asshole was bleeding and screaming with his hands over his face I asked the startled woman "Is he your husband?"
She shook her head "Yes."
"Do you want to stay with him?"
She aggressively shook her head "No."
I noticed bruises on her neck and arms now that I was close to her, and one on the little boy's neck too.
"Why don't you come with me and we'll work something out," I kindly said and offered my hand. She took it, scooped up the little boy, and followed me out of the now quiet – except for the assholes screams of pain – Burger King. I noticed the women that I had given the $3 to with a big smile on her face.
"Sorry I don't have a child seat for your son," I said, "but this is a very safe car and I'm a safe driver, so just seat belt him in between us and he'll be OK."
"Where are we going?" she asked, wide-eyed.
"For now we're going to my house. Once I find out everything about your situation I'll find a way to help you on a permanent basis."
I got quite a bit of information from her on the ninety minute drive to my house. Her name was Doreen; her son Tommy was four years old; the asshole was her present husband JJ who may, or may not, be Tommy's father; she would love to leave him but had no place to go; he didn't beat her much, but didn't treat her right, and did abuse her and Tommy on occasion including seemingly more often recently.
I never saw wider eyes in my life when Doreen first gazed upon my mansion as we drove through the automatic gate, along the 100 meter drive leading from the gate to the front steps. My maid Francine was aghast when she saw Doreen and Tommy. I nonchalantly said, as I opened the door for Doreen, "Francine, Doreen and Tommy will be staying with us for a while until I can find them suitable accommodations. I know they're hungry. Can you have Maria (the cook) fix them a nice healthy lunch, and then you and I will talk about what room to set up for them."
