Chapter 52: Happy Days

I GREW UP in the 50s. “But, Bob,” you say, “you’re 4,000 years old. How can you claim to have grown up in the 50s?” Right. Well, I was recently dead ... I should go back just a little further.

Early in the 1900s, after I’d left the vineyard to Maureen and was free, I decided to do a wine tour of France. We’d been in the wine business for fifty years, switching back and forth as to who owned the vineyard. It worked out well, and Maureen was getting the hang of being a neutral demon instead of being evil. I know she still had a taste for souls, but she’d cut back. Her story was quite different than mine and she’d had a hard time adjusting to impersonating humans without killing them.

Anyway, my wine tour in France took the better part of three years, during which time I met Gabrielle. She was a French beauty who happened also to be a vintner’s daughter and a very knowledgeable oenophile. I visited her father’s vineyard and while tasting wines, got to know Gabrielle, who then mysteriously attached herself to my arm as we toured about a hundred more vineyards and compared notes on what we thought of each wine. I bought several cases of wine on that trip and moved them into the infinity room when I was alone at night.

Yes, I was alone at night. Gabrielle wanted to travel with me and taste wines, but she was a good girl and always had her own room—which frustrated me no end. Which is why I ended up marrying her and then fucking her until my eyes nearly bled. It takes a lot of fucking before a demon’s eyes bleed from it. Gabrielle’s only comment was to ask why I’d waited so long before I married her.

We finished our tour and I proposed that we buy a vineyard in California and make wine together. She suggested we do that while having sex. I agreed.

So, after a very pleasant ocean voyage, followed by an equally pleasant cross-country train trip, we arrived in San Francisco to take over the vineyard that I recently acquired from Maureen. She’d decided to take a break for a while and go back to Ireland to see what was happening there.

I’d dropped a number of hints to Gabrielle about my not being totally human and she nodded. She had no interest in what I might be as long as I had a usable erection. Which was most of the time.

She patted me on the head and said, “Yes, dear. Just keep your hobby in your den and I won’t interfere with it.”

My den was in a shed behind the very attractive villa I’d built at the vineyard. Of course, she didn’t know I’d built it, because that was years ago. The vineyard had been functioning since the Civil War, some fifty years past. Our Goídel Glas Wines were well-received, and Gabrielle pronounced them palatable. French snob.

Anyway, the US declared war on Germany in April of 1917 and passed the Selective Service Act in May. As a new US citizen, I had to register for the draft and was called up as we were harvesting.

I might have pled for a deferment as an agricultural worker, but I could hardly claim wine was an essential service, though later, I decided it would have been. I reported and with my imported French records, I was made a lieutenant after basic training. I was sent back to France where it was considered my experience in dealing with the French would be useful.

I’ll not dwell on my role in that hellish war. Ten thousand Americans a day arrived in France to support the war effort. The losses were high. By the time of the Armistice in November, I was a Captain and was one of the few draftees who were retained in France to help with the reconstruction.

I was given a regional peacekeeping responsibility right back in our old neighborhood. I spent any non-duty time I had acquiring and tasting the local wines, just as I’d done ten years before with Gabrielle.

I was looking forward to getting home and fucking Gabrielle some more, but my departure was delayed when I was shot by an upset local. I will not say if the incident did or did not involve several casks of good wine and his wife. Nonetheless, I ended up in a hospital and made the decision to die there and take on a new identity. I’d done the kind of body swap where I took over the identity of a dead man and disguised his body as my own. That was how I became Odysseus almost three thousand years before.

Thus freed of responsibilities, I spent a few years wandering post-war Europe—a depressing thing to have done. I’d adopted a young look—something noticed by sergeant McAuliffe and his wife when they spotted me. It was mostly to keep myself from being drafted in postwar France. I pled with the Americans to adopt me and thus emigrated to America.

Sadly, the McAuliffes and I ‘got separated’ soon after reaching their home in Georgia. I decided to switch identities when I discovered the McAuliffes were Southern Baptists and expected me to be one, too. I adopted several identities over the next twenty years and moved around the US a lot. That is a different story entirely. But my brief time as a boy left me with a desire to have that experience, and so I convinced Maureen to pose me as her son, a strapping young lad of twelve in 1951.

Hence, back to where I started this harangue. I grew up in the 50s. Maureen acquired the vineyard from my widow, who was ready to retire and return to France.

The hardest part of being a teen was disciplining myself to act the part of a young teen and not a horny old goat. Fortunately, I had access to the infinity room, where my wives and concubines had a perverse pleasure in sex with a teen boy. And Maureen was always happy to welcome me home from school in the afternoon with wide open legs. Between the two, I was kept from fucking several delectable underage girls.

Until I was sixteen. What a glorious year!

I found school to be quite informational. I was nearly four thousand years old and had never had formal schooling. It was not what I expected at all! They lie! Oh, they talked about history as if they understood it, but half of it was wrong. They simply skipped over the racism in California as if the Chinese weren’t still discriminated against. The Japanese had only been released from concentration camps ten years before and many never got their homes and property back. During the California gold rush, more than 150 Mexicans were lynched because they were successful miners. And whites invaded Chinatown in San Francisco to kill eighteen Chinese people because some white idiot choked on a wonton. California had a history of enslaving people without calling it that and I attempted to set the record straight.

I was sent home from school and suspended for a week for causing trouble.

I guess, like students of every generation, I learned to keep my mouth shut. It hurt to see so many of my fellow students accepting what they were told without question. The ‘A’s they received on tests were a kind of badge of ignorance.

But not everything was bad. I moved into San Francisco to an apartment Maureen rented for me over a little store on Haight Street. Yes, that one. She registered me in public school for my junior and senior years of high school and then didn’t really show up again in San Francisco until I graduated. By that time, I owned the store and was using my girls to operate it. I, on the other hand, had a new T-Bird and was a popular date on Saturday nights. I didn’t play sports because I didn’t think that was fair. It was too easy to enhance my body to make it faster, stronger, and more durable. On the other hand, some of the faster girls at my high school liked the idea of a fast car and a guy with a big dick.

“Bob, I can’t believe your mom just takes off and leaves you in this fab pad. She won’t be back and spoil our fun, will she?” Bernice said.

I don’t actually remember if her name was Bernice. It seemed like such a common name at the time. I’ll just call whoever I was with at the time Bernice. I might have to use Bernie for short.

“Mom says I’m sixteen and the trouble I get into is my own problem to deal with. I don’t mind getting in trouble with you,” I said.

“But if I got in trouble, you’d do the right thing, wouldn’t you, Bob?”

I kept kissing her as I opened her blouse to display her very padded bra. There wasn’t nearly as much under that as she made it look like. I didn’t mind. That was one of the differences between San Francisco girls and Los Angeles girls. Girls near Hollywood were often augmented in order to get considered for parts in movies. The Bay Area girls were usually all natural, whatever they sported. Fashions, however, wanted everything pushed together, up, and out. This bra made her look like she was wearing torpedoes on her chest.

“Do you mean trouble like pregnant?” I asked. “If so, you don’t need to worry about it. I had mumps when I was little and it left me completely sterile. I can’t ever have kids.” It was only a little lie.

“Oh, that’s so sad. Does it ... all work okay?” she asked, stroking my cock.

I finally managed to get the catch on her bra opened—don’t laugh; it was my first time opening one of those—and revealed two absolutely delectable champagne glass breasts, which I worshiped with my tongue and hands.

“I think you’ll find it’s all in operating condition.” She had my cock out of my pants and was trying to get her hand around it. “Now, if you’re worried about getting in trouble with your parents, I’ll do all I can to get you home before curfew, but other than that I don’t know if I can help you with any trouble.”

“I’m not worried about that. Right now ... um ... I’m worried about this. It’s huge. We might have trouble ... um ... I don’t think it will fit.”

Her skirt was lying on the floor around her ankles as I continued to undress her. I debated leaving her stockings and garter belt on, but she’d put the panties on first and I’d have to unfasten the contraption before I could get them off.

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. Gee, you’re pretty, Bernie. I just can’t believe how beautiful you look. I want to make you feel so good you’ll forget your name.” I was working on the four hooks that held her stockings up and trying not to get frustrated.

“You’re so sweet. You know it doesn’t work that way for girls. Boys get a big blast and forget about everything else, but it’s something girls just do to please their guys.”

What? Bernice had told me she wasn’t a virgin and I just assumed she knew about sex and pleasure. I was going to make especially sure she had a different opinion about it before our night was over. The stockings finally came loose and I started working her panties down. She pushed away and stripped them and the belt off. Then she jumped on the bed as I finished pushing my own trousers down.

“Are you sure it won’t hurt, Bob? None of the other guys were as big as you.”

Other guys? It took a while before I found out Bernice was kind of the school bike. Well, she was going to find a new standard on this evening. I started kissing her and let my fingers explore. Hmm. If she was no more turned on than this, she’d never have any pleasure from sex. I worked my way down her body, paying special gentle attention to her breasts. I was sure she’d been mauled a lot, but I didn’t think she’d ever been made love to. It was time to bring 4,000 years of experience to bear on this sixteen-year-old slut. When I continued down across her belly and between her legs, she gasped.