After a long dispute with my publisher, which resulted in my having to take down my stories, I changed agents and found a new publisher. As a result, I am now free to post my stories on Literotica again.
I must thank my editing team. Harddaysknight is my mentor and gives me critical advice. SBrooks103x also reads for me. My editors are Papakilo14, Hal, Olddave1951, GeorgeAnderson and Pixel the Cat. Thank you for all you do for me, gentlemen. I love you
"And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day." Jude 6, the Bible.
Chapter One
I've always been very careful. I had an idea when I was a child that I was different; I just didn't know how different. I came to realize quickly that I was taller, stronger, faster and smarter than the kids I went to school with, but some people are. Others here and there seemed physically similar, so I just thought I was like them. It stood me in good stead throughout school. I could play sports better than most and that alone made life easier.
I never liked football. I injured a kid in the sixth grade and that made me sort of queasy about unleashing my full strength. Basketball and track were a different story. I dominated teams at basketball. Basketball is a bit of a political game in many schools. Mom moved me to a new school when I was a junior. I was all state my sophomore year for my old team but the new coach cared more about making sure the principal's kid started than he did about winning. He kept me on the bench unless the principal's kid got in foul trouble. Everyone knew it was a douche move, but what could I do? After the second game, Mom cornered him and words flew. He stuck his finger in her chest and she nearly broke it off. He tried to file charges but there were too many witnesses and he wound up being charged with assault. She paid tuition for me to go across town to another school. We played his team in the finals of the Christmas tournament and I got 63 points against them. We played them twice more and I never got less than 50. I was all state and all American that year. I was interviewed a dozen times and when they asked me what gave me motivation I always told the reporters I remembered I wasn't good enough to play for Cleo Elbert. My old school fired him at the end of the year and he never got a job coaching again. They tried to get me to come back after he was gone, but that bridge was burnt as far as I was concerned. Very few could compete with my speed or strength in track. I quit running in high school and concentrated on the shot put.
My mother was always very proud of me. I never knew my father and Mom didn't talk about him. I gathered that it was a one-night stand in her indiscrete youth and I never questioned her about it. She was a really relaxed and cool Mom, and I thought she was probably a hippie type when she was younger. I really didn't want to know. Mommy issues were complicated enough and I had no time for Daddy issues. She was a very complex person and I loved her with all my heart.
Brawn was natural to me and I reveled in it. Brain was another story. I could read when I started kindergarten. I knew some other kids couldn't but it didn't seem like a big deal until Mrs. Vincent told my mom she wanted to test me to see if I was gifted. Mom wasn't happy about that at all. She got out a toy and showed it to me. I remembered it from when I was very young. It had four wooden pegs that you hammered on with a wooden mallet until they went through the holes and stuck out on the other side. Then you turned it over and drove them back through to the other side. She hammered three of the pegs down about an inch and handed me the hammer. One was still sticking up.
"Now, Parker; which one of the pegs will you hammer?"
I chose the one that was sticking up and drove it down to the level of the others.
"Why did you choose that one?" she asked.
"It was different and I made it like the others."
"That's right. I'm teaching you a lesson here about life. The lesson is that you don't want to stick up. You don't want to be the peg that's different. If you do and someone has a hammer, which one of you will they use it on?"
"I guess on me. Mom, how can I help sticking up? I'm taller than everyone else in my class."
"I know, baby," she told me. "But you don't want to be sticking up everywhere. I know how smart you are. I want you to do well at school, but not so well that you make everyone else look dumb. People don't like feeling dumb. They'll resent you for making them feel little, but that's okay. They can live with you being bigger. If you make them feel dumb, too, that's just piling on resentment. Do your work; get it right, but don't do so well that you're so much ahead of everyone else that you look like a mental giant, too. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"
I got it. I did well on the test, but I could have done a lot better. I stayed at the top of my class, but not so far beyond what everyone else was doing that they thought something odd was going on. I learned early that you don't have to tell everything you know. It just makes you look arrogant.
It was the same thing in track. I could easily throw the shot 30 feet farther than anyone else. I never did. I won every meet in high school and set the state record, but not nearly by as much as I could have.
I did well enough at both athletics and academics to get into Harvard. They used a little under the table deal to get Mom a good job in Boston so I could afford to go there. I made all the right connections and impressed my professors and coaches enough that I never had a minute of difficulty. By the time I graduated from the school of international business I was six feet eight inches and 320 pounds. None of it was fat belly either.
I was heavily recruited by several large corporations and drafted in the second round by the Baltimore Ravens. Finally, I took a sweet deal at Apple. They signed me to a long-term contract and I had no trouble moving up through the ranks. I wound up in sales and I was good at it. Being an NCAA shot put champion and a Harvard graduate opened doors.
When I was 26, I discovered I could do things nobody else could. I was walking across the street in Austin, Texas, and a man ran a red light and came blasting through the crosswalk. A little girl and a young woman were walking ahead of me and I somehow sensed that they, and I, were in danger. The next thing I knew, we were standing on the sidewalk and I was holding one of them in each arm. The car hit the man walking behind me and splattered him across the street. Tires screeched and there was a sickening sound as his body flew through the air.
I had no idea what had happened, but we were safe and we should have been dead. I set the two girls down and they began to collapse. I picked them up, carried them to a nearby bench and sat them down on it. I knelt down in front of them and held them up.
"You ladies okay?" I asked.
The little one looked up at me. She seemed to be recovering quicker than the other one.
"You saved our lives," she said. "How did you do that? Are you Superman?"
"Sorry, I didn't see a handy phone booth or I'd be in uniform." We both laughed. "I saw the guy coming and I just scooped you up and ran," I told her.
I knew it was a lie. I had no recollection of running and there was no way I could have gotten away from that car in time. I had moved, somehow, without moving. I looked the two girls over.
The little one was cute as a button. She looked like she was in the second or third grade. She had a medium length pageboy haircut and her hair was as black as night. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were grey. She was the poster child for cute little girls.
The other one was obviously related to her. This was what the little one would look like when she grew up. She didn't have the haircut though. She had the same hair color, but it was very long, hanging down to mid-thigh and it was a mess. The trip to the bench had it all wrapped around her and I wanted to reach out and straighten it up. She had very fair, creamy skin and her eyes were spectacular. They seemed grey one moment and then green or blue the next, depending on how the light struck them. There was a little sprinkle of freckles across her nose. I spoke to the little one again.
"Are you hurt?"
"No," she said. "I think you bruised me a little when you grabbed me, but I'm fine."
She turned to the other one. "Are you okay, Sagan?"
She collected herself a little and combed her hair out of her face with her fingers.
"Yes, I'm okay, too. I'm like you; a little bruised maybe and a lot shaken up, but considering that you saved our lives I'm glad to just be here."
She reached out her hand and patted my shoulder. She smiled and her teeth flashed, sending a flash through me, too.
"Thank you, kind stranger. I don't know how we'll ever be able to thank you enough. That poor man, though; God, what happened?"
Emergency vehicles and personnel had arrived and I could hear a paramedic talking to a police officer. The driver had apparently had a heart attack and he was dead, too.
"The driver of that car had a heart attack and ran through the red light." I told them.
"How did you know that?" the little one asked.
"I heard that paramedic tell that policeman," I told her.
"You must have very good hearing," she said. "There you go with the Superman thing again."
