Chapter 9

I take a deep breath and walk into the kitchen, where the aroma of roast chicken fills the air. My mother is plating dinner with a grace that’s both familiar and comforting. She looks up and smiles at me, her eyes filled with warmth. It’s a stark contrast to the heated gazes of the women I’ve just left behind.

“Thank you, mom,” I say, taking my seat at the dinner table. The wood is well-worn, a testament to countless meals shared and memories made. It feels like a lifetime has passed since I sat here as a naive teenager.

“How was your day?” I ask, feigning interest as she starts to recount the mundane details of her job. But my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, racing back to the events of the afternoon. The feel of Mrs. Simmons’ soft skin under my fingertips, the sound of Mrs. Baker’s moans as she reached climax, the power that pulsed through me as I claimed them as my own.

As she sets down a plate of steaming roast chicken, my mother brings up the topic of spiritual healing again. “I’ve been hearing about this new method that’s been helping people,” she says, her eyes hopeful. “Could you tell me more about it?”

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. I can’t lie to her. Not after what I’ve seen in the mirror universe, where deceit and manipulation are my currency. “It’s ... complicated, mom,” I reply, my voice tight. “It’s not something I’d want you to get involved in.”

Her smile falters, and I can see the hurt in her eyes. “But if it can help people,” she insists. “Surely, it can’t be that bad.”

I sigh, pushing my plate away slightly. “Mom, trust me,” I say, my voice gentle but firm. “It’s just not something I’d want you to experience.”

Her expression is a mix of curiosity and concern. “Why not?” she asks, her gaze searching mine. “Is it dangerous?”

For a moment, I hesitate. The urge to confide in someone, to share the truth of my existence, is overwhelming. But the risk is too great. If word got out, everything I’ve worked for could crumble. Yet, there’s something about the way she looks at me, the trust in her eyes, that makes me want to believe she’s different. That she would understand.

“Mom,” I begin, my voice heavy with the weight of my decision. “What I’m about to tell you can’t leave this room. It’s ... it’s something that could change everything.”

Her eyes widen, and she sets the serving spoon down, leaning closer. “What is it, son?”

For what feels like an eternity, I remain silent, my mind racing. I can’t just come out and say it. She’d think I’m insane, or worse, that I’ve been corrupted by some dark force. But if I don’t give her something, she’ll never understand why I’ve become this ... this ... sexual prophet to these women.

With a deep breath, I concentrate, focusing my mana. The kitchen table, a simple wooden slab that’s seen countless breakfasts and dinners, begins to hum with energy. The fibres in the wood vibrate under my fingertips, and a warm glow emanates from my palms. I close my eyes and envision the transformation, a silent incantation of will and power.

“An earthquake...” says Mom, her eyes wide in surprise.

Slowly, the wood beneath my touch cools, the grain smooths, and the rough edges begin to gleam. It’s working. I can feel it. The table is morphing, changing, becoming something it never was, something it was never meant to be. I channel more energy into the effort, my mind a whirlwind of focus and intent. The air around us crackles with an unseen force.

My mother gasps as she feels the table shift beneath her. She looks down, her eyes wide with shock as the wood turns to cool, smooth, white marble beneath her fingertips. The plates rattle, the silverware clanks against the suddenly unyielding surface, and the room seems to hold its breath. I open my eyes, meeting hers, and for a brief moment, I see the awe and fear dance in her gaze.

“What the hell happened?” she asks, shocked.

“I turned the wooden table into marble.”

“It’s ... it’s beautiful,” she whispers, her voice shaking slightly. “How did you do that?”

I take a deep breath, the gravity of what I’m about to do settling over me like a cloak. “Mom, I need to tell you something,” I begin, my eyes searching hers for any sign of judgment. “This isn’t just about me. It’s about all of us, and where I come from.”

Her eyes never leave mine as I recount the tale of my life, starting with the tragic day she was taken from me. The years of pain and longing, the relentless pursuit of knowledge that led to the creation of the teleportation machine. The world I’ve just left, where sexuality was completely normal unlike in this world. The accident that brought me to this mirror universe, and the journey that has unfolded since.

As the words spill from my lips, she listens, rapt. Her hand trembles as it reaches out to touch my face as if to make sure I’m real, that I’m truly here. And when I reached the part where I had the car fixed, the moment that saved her life, her eyes filled with tears. She stands abruptly, knocking over her chair, and rounds the table to embrace me, her arms wrapping around me in a fierce hug.

“Oh, my son,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “What have you done?”

Her embrace is warm, her touch reassuring, but the question hangs heavy in the air. I can feel the weight of my deception lifting from me. But I’ve come too far to turn back now. “Mom,” I murmur into her hair, “I had to do it. To save you.”

She pulls away slightly, her eyes searching my face. “But what does this mean for us?” she asks, her voice small. “For the world?”

I take her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin. “It means that I’ve changed things,” I explain gently. “I’ve given some people here a taste of what love and intimacy truly are. And in doing so, I’ve found a way to gain power, to make a difference.”

Her eyes searched mine, trying to comprehend the gravity of my words. “But you’ve ... been with these women?” she asks, her voice trembling. “How could you do that?”

“It’s complicated, mom,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “In this world, sex and intimacy are ... they’re just not understood. They think I’m a healer, that my touch can bring them closer to the divine. And in a way, I guess it can. But it’s more than that. When I’m with them, I can feel their energy, their mana, and I can absorb it, use it to do things I never thought possible.”

Her gaze falters, and I can see the questions forming in her mind. “I’ve impregnated some of them,” I continue, my voice low. “It’s the ultimate expression of life, of creation. It’s not just about me, it’s about the future of this world.”

Mom’s eyes widen, and she squeezes my hand tightly. “But isn’t that ... wrong?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, Mom,” I reply, with a gentle squeeze back. “It’s natural. Sex, natural conception and natural births must have happened before these gestation machines were here? How did people create life without machines?”

Her eyes widen as the implications sink in. In this world, the concept of natural pregnancy is as foreign as my own existence. “But, that’s ... that’s impossible,” she stammers, her eyes searching mine for any trace of deceit.

“Not anymore,” I reply, my voice firm. “When I’m with these women, I give them a gift that no one else here can. I fill them with life, with a connection to creation that they’ve never felt before.”

Her cheeks flush, and she pulls away slightly, her hand dropping to her side. I can smell her arousal, faint and sweet, and it’s all I can do to keep from reaching for her again. My twin erections throb, pushing against the fabric of my pants, a stark reminder of the power that lies between my legs. She notices the bulges, her eyes going wide, and she takes a step back, her hand flying to her mouth.

“What are those?” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes are glued to the twin bulges in my pants, and I know that she’s trying to piece together what she’s just heard with what she’s seeing. It’s a lot to take in. For a world that’s never seen a penis longer than two inches, the sight of my diphallic member must be nothing short of terrifying. I bite my tongue, keeping the truth of my unique anatomy to myself for now.

“Mom,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, “it’s better if you don’t know. It’s part of the ... part of the spiritual transformation.”

Her eyes linger on the bulge before she nods, her cheeks still flushed. “Okay,” she whispers, stepping back to give me space. “I trust you, but ... please be careful.”

“Goodnight, mom.”

Relieved, I make my escape, practically sprinting up the stairs to my room. My heart thunders in my chest as I slam the door shut behind me, leaning against it heavily. The weight of her gaze still burns into me, the memory of her hand on my cheek a stark reminder of the line I’ve drawn.

I close my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to calm the storm inside me. It’s one thing to manipulate and deceive the people of this world into accepting me as a sexual being, a bringer of divine pleasure. But my mother? That’s a line I can’t cross, no matter how tempting it might be. Despite the power I hold here, she’s still my mother, and the bond we share is sacred, untouched by the perverse nature of this mirror universe.

As I lean against the door, I can hear her footsteps retreating, the soft murmur of her voice as she cleans up the dinner mess, her movements measured and careful. I know she’s trying to process everything I’ve just told her. It’s a lot to take in, but she’s always been strong and resilient. I have to trust that she’ll keep my secret, that she won’t push for answers that would only bring her more confusion.

In my room, I collapse onto the bed, my thoughts racing with images of all the women I’ve claimed. Mrs. Mace, her eyes glazed with ecstasy as she bore the fruit of our union. Gwyn, her body arching in pleasure as she discovered the depths of passion. Louise, her walls tightening around my cock as she cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. Mrs. Baker, her cheeks flushed as she whispered sweet nothings into my ear. Mrs. Simmons, her eyes filled with love and devotion as she felt me impregnate her. Bethany, her eyes wide with wonder as she felt life blossom within her. Angela, her body shaking with every thrust, her asthma cured with every touch. Gemma, her nails digging into my back as she screamed out my name. And the two school staff members this afternoon.