Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, Science Fiction, Superhero, Extra Sensory Perception, Paranormal, Slow,
Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 1 - An ex-marine finds immortals really do exist and have been among us for thousands of years. He discovers redemption and purpose after experiencing hell on earth. The story builds slowly and this is definitely not a stroke story.
A smoky haze covered the two-lane blacktop as Beauregard Damon, recently of the United States Marine Corp, cruised along in the hot, muggy morning time between daybreak and sunrise. There had been a gentle rain the evening before and the heat of the July 1984 Texas morning was climbing rapidly, already making the surface moisture appears as steam rising from the highway. Either Beauregard, or Bo as he preferred, had turned the radio off hours ago since all he could get was gospel stations or some hillbilly country station out of Shreveport this far out in the boonies. His marine buddy Tommy Phillips was asleep in the passenger seat snoring like a chainsaw. The last of his thermos coffee had already made the trip to his bladder and his mouth tasted like shit from the two packs of cheap menthols he had picked up at a crossroads gas station somewhere east of Sonoma. Bo was ready to make a pit stop at the next town he came to that looked alive. Take a piss; throw some water on his face and grab some chow were on his mind right now as well as memories from the last 10 years.
The only other sound was the mellow purr of the dual exhaust from the Plymouth 360 V-8 he had built himself just before he had entered basic training. The 1972 Cuda had been his first and only car. He had bought it while a junior in high school with the money he had saved sacking groceries and stocking shelves at the Piggly Wiggly supermarket after school and on Saturdays. It wasn't much but it sure beat the hell out of pumping gas or toting 100 lb feed sacks at the Co-op. There just weren't a whole lot of jobs for a 17 year old back home in small town west Texas during the mid '70s. The main reason he had originally gotten the job wasn't so much to save for a car, although that was nice when he came across his dream ride and bought it with cash money, but to have a good reason to stay away from the house because of his son-of-a-bitch stepfather.
The Bastard, that was how Bo referred to his step father in his thoughts even though his name was Don Jennings, was pissed at the world (later turned out he was a closet homosexual) and it didn't take much to set him off and decide Bo or his mom deserved a beating. He would come home from work and they just knew it was going to be one of those nights because instead of coming in to eat supper he would walk throughout the property inside and then outside until he could find anything out of place. He had a perversion to dust or dirt anywhere in the house or a closet that wouldn't pass military inspection (that included all shoes polished and lined up straight on the closet floor). This level of cleanliness was especially hard to maintain since they lived in an old rented farmhouse surrounded by plowed fields and dirt roads.
His mom, Patty, slaved to keep her house spotless to prevent her husband from going into one of his tirades while also holding down a full time job to pay her and Bo's part, of the household expenses. Daily all floors were swept and mopped, trash cans emptied, all furniture dusted (and that meant there better not be dust on the top pleats of the drapes either), all dirty clothes washed, dried and put away, and they were expected to be seated at the dinner table with a hot meal waiting when he came in the door. The longer he had to look for something out of place the worse the beatings were going to be. Bo and Patty were expected to stay seated in silence for however long the Bastard took and some nights that could be hours.
Bo remembered one particularly bad night when the Bastard finally came in around 9PM and claimed he had found some newspaper caught in the barbed wire fence on the back property line (300 yards behind the house and not even part of the place they rented). The food was now long cold and he went into a spit-slobbering tirade about why wasn't his dinner fresh and hot. Patty had replied that it had been when he first got home so the Bastard slapped her out of her chair and told her that was her problem and she best learn to deal with it. Bo had stood up, and went to help his mom up and earned a punch in the gut for his troubles. While both of them were sprawled on the kitchen floor, the Bastard has proceeded to paint the walls with the cold food and broken dishes. He then grabbed a hand full of his wife's hair, dragged her down the hall to their bedroom, and slammed the door all the while cussing at how he was a saint for putting up with such a worthless piece of garbage. Bo began to clean up the mess all the while listening to the sounds of his mom's crying and body slams against the walls and door. This was not difficult for the Bastard to do since he was a might over six foot and pushing 260, mostly around the middle while Patty was 5' 4" and maybe 110 lbs.
Patty had divorced her first husband when Bo was six after finding him investing most of his paycheck with a local professional mattress once too often. She had remarried when Bo was 12 thinking this was the way to give her son a male role model as well as relieve her of the struggles of being a single mother. Things had gone to shit when after being married a year they moved across the state to the Don's small hometown supposedly to be near his elderly parents. This had taken Bo's mom far away from any of their family or friends and left them in deep shit. In this time and place wife beating was accepted as long as no bones were frequently broken and hospital visits kept to the minimum. Bo could remember the women he saw at the grocery store with strange bruises, black eyes, and limbs wrapped in Ace bandages. There were usually more wounded females, than football players, on Saturday morning in town.
After a while the noise in the bedroom dropped off to whimpering and Don had even stopped his cussing. Bo could hear him going his room slamming and breaking what few possessions Bo had left so he just kept his head down and continued to clean the floor of food and deciding if any of the bowls or plates could be glued back together enough to be usable. As usual, Patty was expected to replace any broken item from her meager income. The Bastard stomped into the kitchen, kicked Bo in the ass, then reached down, and rubbed his face in the mess on the floor while screaming, "How can you live with this mess!" Then out the door he went.
After he heard the truck drive off, Bo went to check on his mother. He found her sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed with blood all over her face and cradling her right arm. The front of her shirt was torn and bright red scratches slashed diagonally across her chest. All of her clothes were piled in the floor still on the hangers and Bo could tell from the odor that Don had pissed on them as well. All of Patty's jewelry and makeup were dumped in the trashcan and her jewelry box teetered on top of the wastebasket. It was a hell of a sight. Bo got her up on the bed, went for a washcloth, and silently cursed under his breath that they had to live with such violence.
His mom was such an independent woman that she always rebuffed Bo's requests to ask for help from her brothers, 500 miles away. She just moaned there wasn't anything they could do and they just needed to be more careful not to set Don off again. When he got back with the warm washcloth his mom told him to clean up as best he could while she took a hot bath and then she would be OK. From the look of her arm, Bo wanted to take her to the emergency room but she said no, it wasn't necessary but he knew the real reason was she didn't want to deal with the looks and questions that would accompany a hospital visit. He just went back to work on cleaning the kitchen while his mom soaked in the tub.
Around midnight he had the kitchen back in some semblance of order and realized that he had been so into his anger that he had not checked on his mom in a while. He went to the bathroom door and knocked gently asking if she was all right. She replied that she hated to ask, but she needed help getting out of the tub. Bo opened the door and keeping eyes away from his naked mother got a towel out and used it to block most of his vision as he wrapped it around her torso. Even the small bit he saw of her back was splotched with bruises and when he saw her face he temper rose even higher. Her left eye was swollen shut and her lip was swelled up grotesquely. When he reached under her arms to lift her she whimpered in pain. Her right shoulder was discolored and swollen and Bo felt that either her shoulder was either dislocated or broken. He told her that she really needed to see a doctor but once again she refused. Once she was standing he wrapped her robe around her and took her to bed, pulled back the sheets and told her to lie down but she protested that she had to clean up the mess before Don got back. Bo told her he would take care of it and pleaded for her to take it easy for a bit and leave it to him. He made her take some aspirin and turned out the lights. He closed the door and went to sit on the back porch and even though he was almost 17 years old he cried great wracking sobs and prayed for a way for them to survive this.