I Was A Teenaged Metahuman Ch 04

BOOK II

Chapter 04

We're back with the first story in Book II of our tale! If you haven't read the previous chapters, what are you doing starting in the middle? To refresh the memories of the rest of you, here's a quickie:

Max is a dateless, virginal outcast until he hooks up with Felice, her mom Valerie, and this neat chick named Lydia. He discovers he's got the super abilities of telepathy and shapeshifting, both of which make him really good in bed. His mother, a religious zealot who is secretly a metahuman mind-control diva, doesn't know about the powers or the women.

* * *

Mistreated

Having soundly told off the policemen who'd arrested her, Miranda sat back in the car to think. At least she'd been able to talk them into removing the handcuffs. They'd get in trouble for that, but it was no less than what they deserved for impeding a mother's duty to her son.

Elder abuse. What a joke! She'd only done as the woman wished and freed her from that horrible missing home. Eugenia Sherman's children were behind this. For their pride, and for impeding Miranda's holy purpose, they would face a reckoning.

Miranda kept her head down as they drove through town, fuming. People could see her! Only with the Lord's help would she withstand the humiliation of being so mistreated!

She decided, then and there, that Mrs. Sherman's children would soon become very generous donors to the church, just as their mother had been.

The devilish thing about Miranda's situation was that she could do so little about it! While she could have convinced the arresting officers to leave her alone by using her gift, it wouldn't have worked on the person who'd sent them. They'd send more, and more after that. Further, policemen mysteriously falling to do their duty had a way of raising red flags among those who persecuted her kind. There was a reason she lived in a little town in Georgia.

This was a setback, but it was not the end. With the Lord on her side, all things were possible. She would have to work very hard and talk to a lot of people before her criminal record could be corrected. That, too, would raise red flags if it wasn't carefully handled.

This had to have been a personal rebuke from the Almighty Himself. Somehow she'd lapsed in her duty to her son. Poor, dear Max. Her devotion to the church had obviously blinded her to his needs, and the Lord knew it only took a moment for an unprotected heart to turn to sin. She'd failed to correct and guide her beautiful, vulnerable boy in a world filled with evil, and he'd gone astray.

She vowed never to make such a mistake again. For the rest of the ride, she prayed for forgiveness and the strength to do what must be done.

They stopped at the police station and submitted her to the humiliation of fingerprinting and photographing, but before they got her to the holding cell, she asked, "Officer, I would like to have a word with your captain."

"I'm sure he'll hurry right down, Ma'am," replied the policeman with a roll of his eyes. He continued moving her toward the cell.

She suppressed her fury at his lack of respect. "Take me to your captain," she ordered.

The policeman scowled, "That's it. I'm taking you to the captain. Move it!"

She let herself be led, already planning what to do when she got out. This had to be handled thoroughly and discreetly. She'd need helpers.

Her rule had always been to use her ability as little as possible, both for secrecy and to prevent damage to fragile psyches, but now was the time for bold measures. Sure as the sun rose, she would bring her boy back into line, and she swore on her life and hope of salvation that she would

never

fail him again.

*

A New Day

Max opened his eyes to see her standing by his bed. He wasn't surprised to see her there, despite the fact that she'd been dead for almost ten years.

"Bad dream?" she asked, and he could only nod in response.

"I'm sorry," she soothed.

"It wasn't your—" he began to say, then reconsidered. Instead, he said, "I don't blame you." In his dream, he'd been sweating in his Sunday clothes, watching ushers trying to retrieve his mother from Rhonda's open grave where she'd flung herself.

Tears shone in Rhonda's eyes and she hugged herself. He wished he could hug her, just once more. "You've got to get up," she urged him.

"Good morning to you, too," he said with a smile. He started to get up, and found that the idea of being seen in his underwear didn't bother him. He still didn't want to do it, of course, but the prospect didn't terrify him as it once had.

Rhonda folded her arms. Her usual Bible school tee had been replaced by a navy-colored shirt that just said 'College' in block letters."Deacons are already on the way," she told him.

Okay, now he was motivated by fear. He jumped out of bed and, as he hoped, his sister turned her back while he threw on clothes. For the first time he could remember, he left his bed unmade.

He rushed to get his bags, already packed with last night's nervous energy, and wondered aloud, "Hey, why do I have to leave? What are they going to do?"

"Who knows? Protective custody orders? Disabling your car?

An exorcism?

Stick around and find out."

He really didn't want to do that. "She wouldn't hurt me."

"She would," said Rhonda darkly, "if she thought the alternative was worse."

Max nodded. "I'm going." He hefted his bags and started moving.

"Wait," he said at the door, feeling a spike of panic. "Are you coming with?"

She twirled a circle and flashed a radiant smile. "Yes, Max. We're both free."

He shared her smile, but it faded as he realized aloud, "I was keeping you here, wasn't I?"

"That's not the right way to look at it," she replied.

"What's the right way of looking at it?"

Expecting his question, she had an enigmatic smile ready. "A different way," she replied.

Her edges were blurring, he realized.

"Are you a ghost?" he asked, feeling dumb, but the need to clarify was too strong and he couldn't think of a better question.

She shrugged. "I'm dead, aren't I?" Her voice was growing fainter and more hollow-sounding.

A question occurred to his fevered mind and tumbled from his lips, "Where have you been?"

She looked at her own hand, definitely becoming blurrier now, and murmured, "This is the only time this has happened."

The cold hand of fear gripped his heart and he begged, "Please tell me you'll come back."

But she was already dissolving into glowing sparks that faded as they fell.

Everything seemed so quiet, all of a sudden.

"Thank you," he said. "I love you, Rhonda."

There was no response.

He had to get out of this house of tragedy, with its mopey-looking Jesus paintings staring out of nearly every picture frame. His things had been packed with last night's nervous energy, but resolving to never return, he again went through the house making sure he wouldn't have to return for anything. So much had to be left behind because he couldn't carry it. Toys and books, every picture that didn't have Rhonda in it. Most of his clothing. Seldom-used sports equipment.

He thought of the Bible verse: When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. He'd always thought that would be a good day, a promotion, but now it only made him sad.

"I guess I'm a man now," he said aloud to see how it felt, and it fit. He knew he had a long way to go to maturity, but today he was starting the journey.

He loaded up on what food he could carry but didn't throw away the perishables from the fridge. They'd still be good when Mother returned. That thought made him redouble his efforts.

Finally, he went into Rhonda's room. The carpet was still like new, having been replaced before the room was sealed up. His mother dusted the horse posters and girly knicknacks once a week, probably as a sort of self-punishment, and he hoped it hurt like hell every time.

He knelt on the floor, feeling like he ought to cry, but no tears were available. "I'm sorry," he said aloud. He'd been a child, yes, but if he'd just been a little smarter or more insightful, maybe Rhonda would still be alive. If he was going to be a man, he'd have to do better.

The excited feeling that had been growing since the previous night was now too large to be eclipsed by this old, worn-out grief. Everything had changed,

everything.

The page had turned.

The events of the last few weeks replayed themselves in his mind. The reversal in his fortunes had been mind-boggling. For his sins against his mother's religion, he expected the harshest punishment available to her, something truly biblical in its scope and severity. Instead, he'd watched in befuddlement as the police dragged her away in handcuffs.

She'd killed Mrs. Sherman, as sure as if she'd smothered her with a pillow. One doesn't just yank a frail old woman out of her care facility and expect her to survive. At the very least, it was reckless endangerment. Mrs. Sherman's own children had demanded she be returned, but his mother had quite efficiently put them in their place.

He didn't like to think back to that day. The memory was too close to one of his moods, and he didn't want to bring one of those on right now. The last thing he needed on the day of his escape was to find himself going somewhere and doing something he'd never planned to do. Further, he'd be wracked with the inexplicable rage and grief that often came with those moods, and he was too happy right now for that.

I'm free,

he thought.

There's a whole world out there, and I'm going to grab it with both hands and never, ever ever let go.

His mother, at least for now, was in police custody, and Max knew deep in his heart that this would be his only chance to get away from her. Rhonda had confirmed it.

He looked around one more time, and walked out.

*

"Okay," breathed Felice in a kind of awe. "I'm not mad you woke me up any more. This... Wow."

Max took a bite of his breakfast burrito finally, now that he'd filled her in on recent events. While he chewed, she grappled with his news. He couldn't sense her thoughts this morning, but it was obvious from the surprised looks that came across her face.

He'd gone through the same conclusions himself, and watching Felice do it was wearying. He'd done too much analyzing the past and predicting the very uncertain future and needed a break.

Exist in the moment,

he told himself. He was here, in her living room, and eating a breakfast burrito that could have been a little warmer. It was a cozy room, too. He'd never gotten a good look at it before, and he liked the thoughtful way it was decorated. Maybe Felice and Valerie would help him decorate his new place. Oh heck, he was going to have to pay rent now. After he found somewhere to live.

Oh yeah, the moment,

he thought.

Oops.

Felice mused, "I've never thought of myself as someone who believed in ghosts. I mean, obviously they exist, right? There's plenty of evidence of

that.

It's just... I've never seen one or known someone who had."

"Yeah," he agreed. "They're like celebrities, that way. You only see them on a screen."

"Or supers," she pointed out with a wry look. "What was it like?" She put a hand on his knee. "Are you okay?"

"I think so. I just... It was good to see her." He squeezed his eyes shut, but there Rhonda was in his imagination, and that didn't prevent the prickling feeling behind his eyes. Embarrassed, he turned away.

"It's okay to cry," soothed Felice.

"I'm sorry. My mother always said, 'Don't cry, don't cry' when I'd get like this. I thought it was bad."

"It's her that's bad," grumbled Felice.

Max thought about his family, or what was left of it. "I miss my sister," he said, and hot tears flowed at last.

Sure, ghosts existed. But so did crazy people, and they were far more common. He hoped he wasn't becoming one of them.

Felice patted his back until the tears dried up. He had plenty of sadness left in him, but he felt better for having expressed some. Cleaner.

They finished eating in companionable silence. Felice was throwing all this body language at him he wasn't getting, and then she finally pushed on his shoulder in exasperation. "Why are you Ignoring me?" she asked playfully. "Don't you want me to..." her cheeks pinked, "suck your dick?"

He suspected she was trying to cheer him up and he had to admit, that would be a dynamite way to do it. Hastily he replied, "Oh, I do! Why would I not?"

Valerie hustled in the room then, dressed professionally in a suit and skirt. "Honey, he wants you to suck his dick. Don't ever doubt your man wants that. Good morning, Max. Am I right or what?" She gave him a kiss, then turned to the fridge.

Max swallowed. "You look great. You're right, I want that. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry! Geez." Valerie turned with her lunch in her hand, smirking. "Too bad I've got a meeting, or I'd do it myself."

Felice was scandalized, "Mother!"

Her mom chuckled, then kissed her. "You two have fun. Don't be late for school. Promise me, Max?"

He ducked his head. "I'll make sure."

"Great. Bye!" Valerie made her exit.

"Why didn't you hear me earlier?" Felice pouted.

"Hear you what?"

"I was thinking at you! Or were you listening to

her?"

He pushed his food away and washed it down with a sip of coffee. "It doesn't work that way, okay?" He winced and reluctantly added, "Also, it doesn't work."

"What do you mean, 'it doesn't work'?"

"I'm shut down."

She got on her knees in front of him and started undoing his pants. She looked sexy, as usual, even in pajamas and no makeup. Her brow gained a cute little crinkle and she asked, "So you can't read my mind?"

He sat back in his chair and shrugged. "Everything's quiet again. I can't hear anybody's thoughts."

"Oh no!" she wailed. "Shit! What happened?"

"I think I just wore myself out yesterday and the night before."

"I hope so! No wonder your dick is so small. I thought you were just making it travel-sized, ya know?" She stopped stroking it over his clothes long enough to pull it out, then decided to remove her shirt so he could feast on the sight of her body in only skimpy blue panties.

"That's the normal size," he said. "Remember when you made it grow, that first time?"

"It was so much fun, corrupting you," she purred, and licked him in a most delightful way. "This is still a very good size," she added, maybe a bit hastily, and took him into her mouth.

She was probably trying to make him feel better. He wished he knew for sure, but if that was her goal, it worked beautifully. He loved the intimacy of the act, the attention that he'd craved all his life. He'd do anything for her, or for any of his new friends.

Her enthusiasm had at first been a shock. From what he'd learned from his friend Vayden, women had to be tricked, cajoled, or otherwise convinced into getting on their knees, but his experience had been quite the opposite. He'd never felt so appreciated.

His senses were slowly reawakening. He could feel her love of the power she held over him while her lips glided along his erection, and the naughtiness that so aroused her. The emotions were contagious, thrillingly so, and she was getting better at it. It took a special kind of surrender to do it well, and as her trust in him grew, so did her skill.

She loved his groans and little murmurs of encouragement, and he was sure to provide them. The entirety of the experience was quickly pushing him toward a joyous conclusion. As much as he wanted it to last forever, her knees weren't too comfy on the kitchen floor, and he'd promised her mother they wouldn't be late.

"Oh, yes yes yes," he gasped. Chuckling lewdly, she gripped his thighs and took him deep, shifting her body back and forth. With a keening wail, he released, and the sweet ecstasy of his orgasm washed over him.

Unlike the other times, she didn't simultaneously climax. Delighted, he tipped her gently onto her back and pulled her undies aside so he could put his mouth on her little pleasure button. It took no time at all to make her body arch and shake with her climax. He loved her moans as much as she had loved his, and the naughtiness of eating her on the kitchen floor as well.

Her passion overrode her reluctance to taste herself on his lips, and he reciprocated the feeling. Their kiss was the ideal finish.

"Maybe it'll come back," she suggested as they got to their feet. "We'll figure this out," she affirmed, "Don't you worry."

This is terrible!

she thought.

Max smiled and pointed at his penis, which had grown so gradually she hadn't noticed, even though she'd been sucking it at the time. "I'm back."

"It's sex!" She realized. "You get more power from having sex!"

She was right, but... "Then why did I run out?"

Her smile was so naughty as she replied, "I don't know. But we'd better get you recharged before school!"

It pained him to refuse. He'd promised Valerie, and nothing would make him betray her trust.

*

Dirt

At lunch, Vayden and Lynwood sat down across from him.

Lynnwood chewed a bite of his sandwich, then blurted, "Our girlfriends sent us here to get the dirt on your mom."

Vayden chuckled. Neither of them thought Lynwood's deadpan, straight-to-the-point delivery was rude. It was just one of the endearing, Lynwoody things about their friend, like his militant insistence that certain types of mayonnaise be made illegal, or his poorly-hidden fondness for big rigs. Vayden, Max noted, would have made fun of the fellow, but for now the focus was on Max and his family scandal. He explained, "Yeah. We told the ladies you were gonna be really broken up about it, so we'd need the whole lunch period." He paused, then looked Max over. "You're not, are you? Broken up?"

"Gosh, no. I'm thrilled!" Max exclaimed. "It's just kinda sudden, you know?"

Lynwood's hands twitched. He'd nearly gotten out a notebook. "Tell us what happened? Then we can work out what version to give the girls."

Max shrugged. "I don't care what you tell them. They already hate me." He wasn't as bothered by this admission as once might have been. Pretending to scratch his nose, he breathed in the faint scent of Felice on his fingers.

"They don't

hate

you, they just think you're super creepy—" Lynwood attempted to explain before Vayden interrupted him with a hand on his face that Lynwood quickly slapped away.

Max leaned forward on his elbows and started the story. "Okay. So I came home last night. And I'm

terrified.

right? Dead man. I was a total dead man. I'd been out since the day before, and Mother was so mad—"

"Out?" interrupted Vayden. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, saying, "Out? What kind of 'out'?"

"Just out," mumbled Max.

"Doing what?" asked Vayden slyly.

Max turned bright red and he was sure steam was rising from his head. "Dating," he managed to say.

"No!" disbelieved his friends in unison.

His throat constricted by a powerful, blushing pride, Max could only shrug.

"Did you..." asked Lynwood, and he managed a nod.

His friends stared at each other in shock, then back at him.

"The day that has been foretold," whispered Lynwood at last.

"This is

at least

ten years earlier than I expected," marvelled Vayden.

"The day... of prophecy."

"I owe you twenty bucks." Vayden told him, then smacked his forehead happily. He turned to Max. "I don't believe it, the boy got laid! You! Got

laid!"

He stood up and was taking a deep breath to make a cafeteria-wide announcement when Lynwood dragged him down by his Tommy Hilfigers.

Vayden shrugged his friend off, smoothing his shirt. He asked Max, "Was it Lydia?" His grin was positively salacious.