Midlife Opportunities?

"Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public." Sir Winston Churchill.

I have yet to break free of the tyrant and kill the monster.

I have yet to find an editor to work with me. All my work is self edited. I try to be as ruthless an editor as possible, but errors still slip through. I encourage you to sit down and write a story for this site. Maybe you'll be a bit freer with the stars. Of which I ask for 5 from all y'all. Rate, subscribe, follow, comment and smash that like button.

Molon Labe.

10

I returned to consciousness between a pair of naked ladies. I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. My bladder urgently informing me of its immediate need of evacuation. I was about 15 seconds into a firehose piss when it dawned on me that I was aiming the stream right down the center of the head.

It had been a long night. Sleeping three to a bed is an exercise in perpetual adjustments. Finding a position that worked for all of us took a great deal of time. Then finding out one of us snores made it nearly impossible for the other two to sleep. I'm still not sure what they were going on about. I didn't hear any snoring. They swore there was a feral pig rooting for acorns under the bed.

Needless to say, I was just a tad groggy. My watch said it was just after 5:30 am.

I had one hand on the wall over the pot, the other forcing a rather formidable pee boner in the proper direction, and my feet spread creating an isosceles right triangle with the floor and the wall. It might have been closer to 40 50 90. I didn't have my protractor handy.

I finished my business and was opening the door when Stacey, beautiful, in all her glorious nakedness rushed in.

"Hey sexy lady, guess what?"

"Well considering there isn't pee covering the seat, the floor, or the walls, I'm going to guess you can see again." She said, sitting down. "And I'm writing you a referral to an ENT. Fix your deviated septum and the snoring could end. Either that or you're getting a CPAP."

"No machine!" I don't like that idea at all. "My vision's not 100 percent. The edges are still fuzzy and the color seems off, but yeah, I can see."

"The edges will probably clear up soon but the color thing isn't you. The sunrise has an unusual hue to it. It's giving the world a sepia flavor."

"Yeah it's probably the smoke from the wildfires over near Coulterville. I swear this state is going to be a desolate hellscape of incinerated trees and buildings some day soon."

"Probably, I know you want to go home, but I insist we make a stop at my lab and scan you again." She tossed the wad of tp into the bowl and flushed.

For a guy with this super power of mind control, it's amazing how little control I actually had.

"Well Hell. I guess today's a lost cause. Maybe I can salvage it."

I pushed her back on the bed and dove between her thighs. I took my time seeking out her hot button. And when I found it, her legs clamped to my skull, she locked up and shook through her orgasms. This of course woke her sister. I plunged into the molten depths of my doctor while I leaned over and started a tongue lashing on my lawyer. You gotta love sleeping with twins.

September. Depression.

I didn't die. Who knows why. Probably Stacey. But I haven't spoken to her since early April. Scottie either. After we went to the lab and did another scan which revealed another anomaly, I headed home.

Alone.

You see I'm a fucking moron. I know where my bread is buttered, but I choose to look for other options. The grass is always greener and all that horse shit. I knew full well my only real choice married me. Time to unfuck myself.

I walked in the house and relief washed over me. Home. It felt like I hadn't been here in 3 months. I had a heart to heart with my bride. I told her everything. I laid bare my soul. She crushed my heart. Absolutely devastated me. She wanted me to be happy, and if I couldn't be happy here that was fine. I was free to find my happy place. Even at the expense of her own happiness. But the message was clear. I was no longer welcome

In my own home.

Good job asshole.

I spent the summer couch surfing. Ashley and Tigerlilly put me up for a couple of weeks or so. And while I certainly enjoyed a three-way with my gorgeous hooker friends every chance I got, I didn't enjoy it like I should have. I did enjoy sleeping with my milk chocolate goddess wrapped around me every night. Waking up next to an exotic beauty is a perfect way to start the day.

I even called Cassidy and apologized to her. Told her she didn't have to be Sid any more. I spent a month sleeping in her daddy's bunkhouse. The man had a large cattle ranch on the west side of the valley and more money than he could spend. I sat in on his meetings with his money guys and lawyers. I learned a lot.

Yes, I boned Cassidy, every chance I got. Her body was absolutely as near perfection as I have ever had the good fortune to sample. It was completely empty and unfulfilling. Sex was losing its appeal to me.

This young, ranchers daughter had a body built for sex. And she knew it. This was no plain missionary wham bam kind of girl. We are talking ball gags, leashes and collars, hand cuffs, and a cat o' nine tails. Cassidy was a BDSM freak. And she was a switch. Submissive most days. On those days when she wanted to dominate me, I just left.

I was not about to get pegged by a strap-on the size of my forearm. And no way in Hell was she using the whip on me. I was uncomfortable using it on her. A spanking? Sure, I could do that. A paddle? Ok. But I just didn't have the mindset to abuse the girl, the way she claimed to need it.

Yes, I know I tortured her mentally, I see my double standards. I freely admit to being an asshole. I get it. As a gift, a recompense, to her I promised myself to find her a good and decent guy that would give her what she needed. And I had just the guy.

I had worked with him back in the day. He was a solid electrician. Once, a year or so ago, were working out of town on an Air Force base and had to submit to a search of our vehicles. He was in the truck ahead of me and when the guards popped open his suitcase they found whips, chains, a full leather sex suit. Assless chaps and zippered mask included. Nipple clamps, cuffs, an assortment of butt plugs and a plethora of other accouterments that he still receives shit about. Because he's an electrician I assume he's also a switch. Pun intended. I'll set Cassidy up with J.D.

When I couldn't handle the requests made by that little blonde firecracker, I wandered into her mothers kitchen and raided the fridge. The leftovers were sometimes even better than the hot meal was the night before. This was food made from scratch by a woman who loved cooking and those she cooked for. I'll miss this more than the sex with her daughter.

I learned several things that summer.

I learned the rudiments of financial management. I learned how to set up an LLC properly, and how to build shell companies inside of shell companies. I had created Russian stacking dolls of shell companies and a tortured maze of investments, passive incomes, and tax shelters. It's easy when you can just make people do what you want.

Finance guys, lawyers, venture capitalists in large part have one fatal flaw. Vanity. They want everyone to know how smart, talented and generally awesome they are in their fields. So with just a nudge I got several of them expounding on their fabulousity, yes, it's a word, one I just made up. And with some gentle persuasion, I had them create my new financial empire and loan me some seed money with very favorable interest rates and loan terms.

Part of this was me wanting to knock some of these clowns down a peg, or two. Part of it was knowing I had four, maybe five babies on the way. Swap meet girl, Scottie, Stacey, Genevieve, and maybe Cassidy were all pregnant with my spawn. And maybe a few others I don't remember.

There were a few nights I would walk into one of the nicer hotels in town, spot a lovely young lady and have her take me to her room and give herself to me. I staked out a gym and pulled a couple of girls that were coming out after yoga or spin or whatever class and went back to their apartment for some extra cardio. Any time I felt horny and I could find a super hot babe, I had her take me home and ride me until she couldn't cum any more. And I didn't care how old she was. Of course eighteen was the youngest and mid sixties or so was probably the oldest. And I hit at least one in every five year span. I don't think I was interested in repopulating the county. I just didn't really care enough to prevent it.

On the nights I wasn't looking for strange, or riding that little blonde freak show Cassidy, I stayed with Gen. My sisters hospitality was always top notch. A skill she learned from our mother. Except mom never opened her legs to a guest. At least I'm pretty sure she didn't. Never mind, I am NOT chasing that rabbit.

Gen had always been my sounding board, first and foremost. We talked well into the night on more than one occasion. She gave me some sage advice, as usual. She walked with me through my inner arguments. And some nights she even coaxed a load or two out of me. My sister is one Hell of a woman. Her dog is still a dumbass.

I learned that the things I was forcing people to do were all things they already had a desire for. If, for example, a young lady lived a fairly conservative life, but secretly wished to be a dirty cum dumpster at least once in her life, then trying to influence her to worship my cock would take less effort than trying to convince her to sacrifice puppies at midnight on the Solstice. I could still muscle my way in and force the issue, but gentle pressure always yielded far superior results. The amount of persuasion I had to use was directly proportional to their level of desire for what I wanted them to do. Which is why the finance jokers were pushovers.

I learned how to manipulate people's perceptions with finesse rather than the brute force approach I had been using. I could sit in a room and not be noticed by anyone, if I so chose.

Which brings me to my present predicament. I'm sitting in my living room, in my recliner, on my birthday, feeling like shit and having a pity party. Surrounded by the people I love, and they don't even know I'm in the room.

I didn't want to be noticed.

Except I really did.

I got up and stopped my daughter as she passed through and asked her to go out to my shop.

I met her out in my workshop with a huge hug and big tears.

"DADDDDDYYY!" she sobbed, "I've missed you so much!"

"I know punkin, I've missed you too. Your old padre has been kinda stupid lately. "

We stood there holding each other tightly in silence.

"I don't know what's going on around here Daddy, but you need to fix it. I almost wish we could go back to the filthy house and dinner at 10:30 if it fixed this mess." My baby girl lamented.

"Mom's unbearable, and inconsolable, she won't talk to us, she only yells, and Bubba just stays in his room and plays on his computer. I hate it here. I want to come with you wherever you go. " She was holding back a new set of tears.

"I'm not going anywhere Little One, I'm going to fix this. But I've made a lot of mistakes, and it will take some time to unravel all my bullshit."

We stayed out in the shop for a few hours and just enjoyed each others company. She asked me to build her a jewelry box while we were out there.

"No, but I will help you build your own."

I walked her through selecting her wood and laying out the size and shape of the box. I mean a cube is easy but it's boring. We gave it some personality. Then we went through a progression of saws. She used the table saw and the crosscut miter saw for the rough work, the band saw, then I moved her to the scroll saw for some rudimentary filigree work. She picked a nice ogee bit and routered the edges. She even made a hinge from an old leather boot I had worn out, and the drawer pull from a bit of mahogany. I showed her how to make the drawer inserts and dividers from a piece of copper and let her paint the box. I wanted to stain it, because painting a beautiful piece of wood is a capital crime. But she wanted to paint it some God awful colors.

All told we spent probably 3 hours together and I don't remember being so happy. I sent her back inside with orders not to reveal me to her mother just yet. I trusted her to want to follow my orders but let's be real, that girl keeps secrets about as well as a fishing net holds water. Secrets just aren't in her nature.

"Happy birthday, Daddy, I love you." She beamed at me as she walked away.

"It is now sweetheart, it is now". I held up my hand with thumb, forefinger and pinky extended in the ASL sign for I love you.

I walked back into the house after a few minutes. I wanted more, so I opened my sons room and asked him to join me in the shop.

I had placed a tripwire in everyone's minds. I was invisible, out of sight out of mind, while in the house. But as soon as wife or kid passed the threshold of my shop, I was part of the family again.

I looked up as my boy entered the shop. I had been sweeping up the sawdust from his sisters box and set the broom aside. I motioned him over to my layout table where I had a chess board set up. We played three games and the little bastard beat me all three times. It wasn't even close. We talked about anything and everything. I mean that as literally as possible. From how to measure the speed of light, which transitioned to singularities and the speed of light at the event horizon. That rabbit trail led off to how Einstein had a theory about light, and it was about time too.

Did I mention my kid was smart? Completely lazy and unwilling to do school work, but smart.

We ended up on the topic of his mother and sister. This kid is a linear and methodical thinker. If A, then B. And he seizes up and grinds to a halt when "YOUR wife and YOUR daughter do illogical and unnecessary things". His words. If an action has no logical and necessary motive then, to him it has no purpose and is a waste of time.

I tried to explain to him his first problem was not seeing them as his mother and sister. Then I explained the theory that 'men are like waffles, women are like spaghetti'. How a woman's emotions are intertwined through every decision and moment of her day for better or worse. How every part of her life touches and affects every other part of her life, and those emotions dictate her actions and reactions. On top of the fact that each individual sees the world through a unique lens and their logic may not make sense to him, but it does to them.

That tripped a breaker in his skull and he sputtered in confused indignation. To him, logic and facts are immutable, concrete and identical for everyone, everywhere. He has no concept that for some people 1+1=purple. I may need to reboot him.

While he walked away it hit me. I have to separate my wife's emotions from her reason. Then talk to her twice. Once while she is emotionless and once while she is devoid of reason.

This may not be my best idea, but it will be fun. The licking broken glass kind of fun.

○●○●○●

I waited until the kids left for school. And I sat and watched my wife go through her morning routine. I had taken the day off work. Yes I still went in to work, and I was doing well as a fixer for Phil. I hadn't touched a single paycheck in months. And they had doubled, due to bonuses and such. This money went straight into my bank account that we used to run the household. I finally had a savings account.

When she finished her chores and her walk down to the mailbox I made my presence known. But not before checking her out in the shower. Holy shit. In the last six months or so my wife was well on her way to looking hot. I mean damn, she lost a good thirty pounds from a little walking and dumping the junk food at all hours. No soda pop and only two shots of tequila a night. If she drank at all. I found her a good nutrition supplement, vitamin pill that seemed to be working. Her hair was back to that bright copper color, there was less grey in it and damn. Just damn.

Since the beginning of my curse, and let's be honest, it has fucked up my life, this is no gift, I have fucked only the hottest of the hot. If I didn't consider her at least an eight I didn't even bother with getting in her panties.

But my wife? This time last year I would have objectively rated her at a five, six max. Subjectively, because I love her, she was an eight. But now I can honestly say, because she has been taking care of herself, she is well on her way to being a bad ass MILF again.

But I digress. After she dressed and was sitting down to watch her dumbass soap opera, I made myself visible to her.

"What are you doing here? You made your choice. Leave now."

I won't get into the whole knock down drag out, but it was brutal. There were accusations and angry tears, and I stood there and took it all.

Side note, guys, if you have a woman that means everything to you then do both of you a favor, learn to fight clean. That's right, learn to fight clean. Get it out of your head that you won't fight. You will. But for the sake of your love, your sanity, and your kids, never fight dirty. If you fight clean and fair, at the end of the fight, the love and respect will still be there.

Ok sermon over.

When she was done with her tirade, I cut her ability to argue using reason. And I also limited her motor skills to waving her arms around and some physical attacks on me. I didn't want her running away, trying to throw things, or worse grabbing my.357.

This was primal, feral rage and it soon melted into weeping as she collapsed after slapping me several times and beating my arms and chest.

I held her as the rage turned to mourning and the weeping slowed and she regained her composure.

I touched her mind again and replaced her emotion with reason. This wasn't a hard discussion. But it was weird. The whole gist of it was she hated who I became after I got my powers. And she wanted them gone. I agreed with her. I wanted them gone too. She also wanted my mistresses gone. I had to disagree with that one. I had screwed up, they were both carrying my children and I had to take care of them. That and if anyone could fix my skull it was Stacey. In the end we reached a compromise. If I wanted to come back to my family I would have to stop using my control, and could only see the twins in either a professional capacity, or as the father of the babies. No more sex with them. In the meantime we would work on having my new brain lobe removed. And a vasectomy.

I promised her to live by her stipulations, and I kept my promise.

Mostly.