Bhuddist Do-over
Copyright© 2026 by Duncan Mickloud
Chapter 11: The Double Oops & a Hurly-Burly
Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 11: The Double Oops & a Hurly-Burly - A novel-length do-over about a man born in 1955: he lived until 2038. A retired Buddhist monk befriended Mason and caused strange things to happen. Mace died normally, only to wake up at age 13 with all of his old memories. But he's not living his life over. Everything is really different. He's on a parallel planet with a completely different history and bizarre morals. It is the polar opposite of feminism. Succinctly stated: it's a raunchy romp. 33 chapters. Slow start.
Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa Coercion Consensual Rags To Riches Restart DoOver Time Travel Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Anal Sex Analingus First Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Pregnancy Safe Sex Voyeurism Hairy Size Small Breasts
I enjoyed helping Breeze to many long, extended orgasms. We were slowly moving against each other when there was a knock and the door opened expectantly to see Windy and Marcy looking right at my butt. I still rose and fell steadily on Windy’s mother.
I quietly said, “Rude, girls, you lose your allowance for the next week.”
They tittered at us and shut the door.
Breeze chuckled, and I didn’t miss a beat.
For some reason, I worried that I might be putting a baby inside Breeze. It really niggled at the back of my mind.
Little did I realize Breeze had not been taking birth control shots. She thought she was safe last night because she was midway between her bimonthly menses.
That is another difference here. They have a short, two-day menses here. They bleed less often here, plus each menses occurs between 56 and 61 days apart. It’s like half the blood and twice the time between their periods. Only the horniness of the people here keeps the population level up.
We would later figure out that my healing her inflamed and painful clit, may have accidentally made her drop an egg out of sequence. Maybe it was me thinking about her not having a baby. I had just purposely impregnated Mara. That was in the back of my mind. Something primal about the situation with Mara has my juices running.
In any case, Breeze would very soon be pregnant. We didn’t learn what my magical power is until later. I am an emergent healer. The dropped egg accident or incident was a side effect of me thinking about possibly impregnating Mara and then going to bed with Breeze. It is evidently in every man’s mind to impregnate their paramours.
I knew she was near; her inner muscles writhed, squeezing and relaxing over and over.
OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH ... Mmmmmmmmmmm...
Her cunny action triggered my spending.
I moaned loudly like I was in pain. I stayed right with her through the first part of her climax.
My body went rigid when my deeply embedded penis began to spew its load into her womb. She had triggered one hellacious climax in me.
This was Oops Number One.
We finally stopped making love around 9 a.m. the next morning. Breeze had to go into work. She took a cup of tea and a thick piece of buttered toast with a dollop of orange marmalade. She drove her Lincoln Town Car to work.
I closed the gate for her.
Inside, Mara made us a meal. The girls ate something simple: one egg over buttered toast and hot tea.
Mara made me a Full English breakfast. We may have broken away from England, but old habits die hard. It’s only been 22 years since we broke away from England.
Mace seemed to think “England.”
Great Britain isn’t a term used often here. We are mad at England; not at Ireland, Scotland, or Wales. I had no idea about the politics over there or why some things here are slightly different.
I had 2 slices of bacon, 1 sausage, breakfast beans, 2 eggs over well, black pudding, fried tomatoes and mushrooms. I also had fried bread dripping in butter. I drank hot breakfast tea like everyone else. My God, the food is so good here.
As much as Marcy and I wanted to stay, we needed to go do some household chores. Two hours later, Marcy and I were finishing up the house when we heard screaming outside.
A young girl’s voice cried, “I don’t want to! No — stop IT!”
A man’s voice yelled, “You’ll do it or I-will-beat-you-to-hell!” There was a slap.
I stepped outside while Marcy watched from a window.
I loudly said, “Mister, you need to stop beating that little girl. My sister has the phone in her hand and is calling the police now. This is not that kind of neighborhood.”
‘Uh-oh, I smelled the booze on him from 35 feet away. He’s a drunk by the look of him and the smell of him. He is dirty, disheveled-looking ... a real *&#%$ bum.”
“Who’s gonna make me? You, ya little pipsqueak.”
“I don’t want any trouble. You’d best be moving along.”
He chased after the girl again, and she ran around me a couple of times, trying to evade him, screaming “Nooo Daddy, Nooo!”
He got pissed and thought he would get me out of the way. He swung at me, and I ducked and got behind him. At least he is leaving the little girl alone now. He’s so drunk that I realized I could easily whoop him.
So the dumb-ass started chasing me around, and he cussed at me because he is no match for a sober, healthy 14-year-old boy when it comes to running around and turning on a dime.
He finally got a hold of me after several minutes of this, so I back slapped his balls. An old trick I had used in the Navy, back when I was an enlisted man.
“OH FUCK, OH FUCK THAT HURT, YOU SONOFABITCH!”
He was much slower now, and I knew Marcy had called the cops. Probably a few other neighbors called them as well. Some of our neighbors were standing outside, watching the noisy goings-on in our front yard. It was only minutes before a patrol car rolled up quietly. I had been thinking about taking him down hard.
The cop got out. “Enoch, are you at it again? Are you going to go in easy this time, or do I need to use my nightstick on you this time?”
Sobbing in frustration and pain at the same time, he just sat down.
The officer approached him with cuffs in hand and cuffed him while he was sitting on the ground. None of that screaming, “Get on the ground, shit,” from the officer. The cop was calm as a cucumber.
I saw he had a .38 snub-nosed revolver. I could tell it by its small size. He had only handcuffs and a 15- or 16-inch nightstick; those three things were it.
Our cops in the future wore 50-pound belts with mace, tasers, a big walkie-talkie, and leather pockets attached to hold who knows what else. I don’t see how a modern cop can drive sitting with all that shit between him and the seat.
He loaded “Enoch” into the back of his police car, then came over and asked my sister, “Are you the lady that called in, ma’am?”
Marcy said, “I am. We heard screaming outside, and he was beating and screaming at that little girl out there. My brother tried to get him to stop, but the man attacked my brother.”
“You are...”
“Marcy Carpenter, I live here,” she pointed to the house number next to her on the door.
He asked her, “And your brother’s name?”
“He’s Mason Carpenter; we’re twins.”
He said, “Can I get you to take little Bella inside and give her a little cleanup?”
Marcy said, “Sure,” and went to the still-sobbing girl, hand outstretched. Bella took her hand, and Marcy took her indoors.
The policeman turned to me.
He asked me, “Did he hurt you at all?”
I said, “No, sir. I am sure he’s very drunk; he only grabbed me once for a second. I back-slapped his nuts, and he slowed down real slow after that. I tried to hold in my smile.”
I must not have done a good job of hiding my smile. The policeman grinned broadly.
“Good, good. Glad to hear it.”
By now, some of the neighbors drew near.
He asked, “Have any of you neighbors seen anything different?”
Lots of heads shook negatively, and they mumbled: “No’s.”
He said, “Excellent. I need to take Mr. Swain to the hoosegow, Mason. Can Bella stay here for an hour or two with your sister?”
He continued, “I need to get someone to come out here for her. Her mother died a few months back, and her daddy has gone over the edge with his drinking. Juvenile Services will get here as fast as they can. Do you have a phone number here?”
I told him our phone number: “Our number is JU6-5112.”
He wrote it down in a small notebook, then took off in his car with Swain.
I went inside and heard splashing in the tub.
I knew that, being chased around in the hot Florida heat, little Bella would need a drink and something to eat. I made a PB&J sandwich and cut off the crust. I cut it from corner to corner, then cut each half sandwich in half again so she would have 4 baby sandwiches. First she lost her mom, and now her father is treating her like a punching bag.
I grew up with Kool-Aid, but they don’t seem to have it here. Mace drew a blank when I imagined it. Who knows what’s in Kool-Aid? Maybe they just haven’t invented it here. It seems the people here are a lot more mindful about what they eat and drink.
Bella came out draped in one of my old T-shirts. It was huge on her. I didn’t ask questions; I just got a book and sat on the couch at the front wall of the trailer, close to the trailer hitch and two tall propane bottles.
Marcy and Bella talked about her favorite radio station. Marcy turned on the radio as Bella enjoyed her impromptu lunch. I found out she is only seven years old. She is in grade two here. I worried about what we would do with her.
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