Hi all. My name is Johnson Murrayfield, A.K.A John Murray, and several other names as I’ve made my way around Australia. It’s kind of weird because until I landed on the wrong side of the law, I never imagined that Australia would have a fake ID industry, but it has! In fact, once you’ve found your first ID counterfeiter, he or she will put you in contact with others throughout the country.

So, to answer the obvious question—what did I do to need false ID papers, passports, birth certificates, etc.? Well, that takes some time to explain, but here we go.

It began when I was eight years old. I wanted a particular type of bike for my ninth birthday in about three weeks, and my dad didn’t want to spend that much money. Of course, at eight, I had no concept of family finances or how poor our family was. All I knew was that I wanted that bike! I remember looking at my father intently and trying to ‘make’ him buy that bicycle. We both staggered back, blood pouring from our noses.

I learnt later that I’d ‘Pushed’ too hard, and I was lucky I hadn’t fried both of our brains. Fortunately, neither of us suffered any long-term problems from my attempt to make Dad buy the bicycle I wanted. Other than the bloody noses and a raging headache that took a day to resolve, I mean.

However, it turned out that my mum had witnessed the sudden nosebleeds and us staggering and almost passing out. Terrified, she screamed, ran inside, and dialled ‘000’ (Australia’s equivalent of 911), but by the time the ambulance arrived, Dad’s and my nose bleeds had stopped, and other than a pair of pounding headaches, we were fine. Mum insisted that we were taken to the hospital for scans, anyway. The scans showed nothing amiss, so we were given Panadol and sent home.

My birthday arrived, and so did that bike! My immature reasoning skills were enough to work out that something significant had happened, but I wasn’t aware of what. Also, the headache and nosebleeds scared me, so I was unwilling to try using my mind to make someone do something again.

Time passed, and as kids are wont to do, I pretty much forgot about the ‘bicycle incident’. The next time something abnormal, or more accurately, paranormal, happened was a little after my eleventh birthday. I was at school and had been involved in a bit of a fracas with another boy. The boy accused me of trying to look up his girlfriend’s skirt. Now, I did not know the boy other than knowing he was a grade ahead of me, and, to this day, I could not tell you which of the girls at that school his girlfriend was.

The boy who picked on me made a terrible mistake because my dad was in the army for five years before he married Mum, and she insisted he quit. Dad was twice Army middle-weight boxing champion, and he taught his three kids to box before explaining that boxing was typically worse than useless in a street fight. Dad then proceeded to teach us kids what the Australian Army taught him about unarmed combat.

The bottom line was that the older kid swung at me once, and then I hit him three times before he hit the ground. Unfortunately, the teacher monitoring the schoolyard saw only my retaliation, not the events leading up to it. She immediately put me into detention and threatened to instantly suspend me for fighting, which I saw as grossly unfair.

Mrs Givens, the teacher who witnessed me protecting myself, insisted I accompany her to the principal’s office. Mr Hoy, the Principal, listened to Mrs Givens and then said that he believed my actions warranted suspension until the school could investigate the incident. I did not consider that fair or appropriate, given that all I’d done was to prevent a bully from assaulting me. Remembering what had happened when I’d Pushed my dad too hard, I concentrated on Principal Hoy and calmly ‘told’ him that he was wrong and needed to rescind my suspension.

Mostly, I was afraid of what my father would do because, by this stage in my life, my dad was an alcoholic. I understand that some alcoholics are pleasant when under the influence of their drug. My father was not. He was a mean, abusive drunk who beat his wife and family. I did not want to go home under suspension and face him.

Principal Hoy blinked twice as he felt my Push and then turned to Mrs Givens, “You say you witnessed Johnson punching Greg. Did you see any reason for why he would do that?”

“No,” Mrs Givens replied. “I noticed a crowd of children standing around, and because that typically means a fight is on or about to break out, I swiftly made my way to the area and witnessed Johnson punching Greg.”

“Master Murrayfield, why did you punch Greg Matthews?” Principal Hoy queried.

“He accused me of looking up his girlfriend’s skirt, Sir,” I explained.

“Did you?”

“I could not tell you which girl is his girlfriend,” I replied. “In fact, until I was brought in here, I did not even know what his name was.”

“Why do you think Greg decided to accuse you? Or are you in the habit of peering up girls’ dresses?”

Blushing bright red, I mumbled that I wasn’t and didn’t think I’d been doing that when Greg attacked me. Then I pointed out that I’d seen him bully other kids and assumed that was what he was trying to do to me. I could see that Mr Hoy was equivocating on his decision to let me off, so I concentrated and sent, ‘I am innocent of anything other than defending myself from a bully’.

Principal Hoy blinked twice before saying, “Master Johnson, wait for me on the seats outside my office.” He turned to Mrs Givens and said, “Find Master Greg Matthews and bring him here. I believe we have some questions for him.”

Mrs Givens nodded, and I followed her from the office. Sitting where I’d been told to, I waited to see what would happen next. Greg entered with Mrs Givens a few moments later. He’d been in the infirmary, but other than bruised pride, he hadn’t suffered any serious injury.

The discussion between the Principal, Mrs Givens, and Greg was loud enough for me to hear, and even though I was only eleven, I figured out that Greg had made a stupid mistake. Without thinking it through, Greg vehemently stated that he’d tried to punch me because I’d peered up his girlfriend’s dress.

“You admit to trying to punch Master Murrayfield?” Principal Hoy chillingly stated.

“Yes!” Greg stated firmly. “He was being a perve, and I wanted to teach him a lesson.”

“Why did you decide to take things into your own hands?” Mr Hoy said icily. “Why did you not bring it to the attention of Mrs Givens, who was monitoring the yard?”

“Because she’s my girlfriend,” Greg answered, unwittingly digging his hole deeper.

“And this mysterious girlfriend,” Principal Hoy stated. “What is her name, and will she back up your story?”

And, of course, that confirmed Greg’s lie because he stammeringly refused to answer Mr Hoy’s question.

The end result was that Greg was suspended for fighting and lying. Unfortunately, because I’d retaliated, my parents were phoned and informed I’d been spoken to for fighting. Luckily, my dad was having one of his better days. After questioning why I’d punched Greg, he congratulated me for successfully defending myself and said no more about the subject.

Again, I tried to put my seeming ability to make others do what I wanted out of my head and concentrated on living my life. High school was coming in another year, and I looked forward to attending a larger school where, hopefully, I could have a few friends. I think that knowing I was different from the other kids had made me a bit of a loner, and I hoped I’d find more kids I could relate to in a more populated school.

I was fourteen the next time I used my ability to Push people into the decision I wanted them to make. I’d already gained some fame and popularity in the school because, in my first term at my new school, I’d won the Greater Brisbane Secondary School’s under fourteen 400m and 800m championships. Plus, I’d won the Queensland championship in those same two events. Unfortunately, I’d developed a massive crush on Sheryl German, a girl a year and a grade ahead of me. I wanted to take her to the school dance, but she was reluctant to be seen with a boy a year younger than her, even if that ‘boy’ had some admiration and approval from the rest of the school.

Clearly, I couldn’t Push her whilst she was in a group of her peers, so I needed to get her alone, but how? I considered turning up at her place and knocking on her door, and in a fantasy world where I had lots of self-confidence, that’s what I would have done. Well, I didn’t have that kind of self-confidence, so that idea was a non-starter. Then I considered sneaking around her house, figuring out what bedroom was hers, and trying to Push her from the nearest window. But what if I got caught? Not only was I mildly afraid of what the cops and courts would do, but I was terrified that I’d have to face my father’s wrath.

Part of my daily athletic training took me past the German’s place, and one day, Sheryl happened to be outside as I jogged past. I pretended not to notice her until I was only a few metres away. Then I caught her eye and firmly thought, ‘You will go to Friday’s school disco with me when I ask you tomorrow’. I continued running as if I’d done nothing, but when I turned my head to look back, Sheryl was looking at me wonderingly.

Sheryl had her ‘girl posse’ at school, and during the lunch break, I approached her and said, “Sheryl, will you do me the honour of being my date for the disco on Friday?”

I’m sure her posse expected her to brush me off with disparaging remarks, but Sheryl blinked and replied, “I’d love to, but I need you to call and ask my parents. Will you do that for me?”

I’m unsure who was more surprised, Sheryl or her posse, but as her girl gang gaped, I said calmly, pretending a suaveness and maturity I didn’t possess. “Of course, I’ll call them tonight.”

“Dad will never say ‘yes’,” Sheryl assured me. “He says fifteen is too young to be going on dates.”

However, when I called Sheryl’s dad, Bastian, he immediately asked if I was the one who had been in the local paper for winning those athletic championships. When I replied that I was, he agreed to let me take his youngest daughter to the dance as long as I had her home by ten-thirty.

Unfortunately, I was still too young to drive, so I had to do almost the most uncool thing ever and ask my mother to take us. Of course, that meant she phoned the Germans to make sure I had asked for and received permission, adding to my embarrassment. However, Sheryl, too, was too young to drive, so she graciously accepted that we’d need a lift. Mum confirmed that the disco ended at 10:00 p.m. as she dropped us outside the school and promised to be there when we came out.

The dance went well, mostly because, unlike my contemporaries, I’d practised the dance moves from Saturday Night Fever and Grease and could actually dance with Sheryl as opposed to doing the typical ‘farm boy shuffle’ that most did. In fact, it went so well that Sheryl’s friends, all of whom were in the ‘hot girl’ clique at our school, all took turns dancing with me that night. The absolute highlight for me was that I Pushed all four girls into French kissing me that night, which, of course, raised my social standing at the school immensely.

Sheryl and I dated throughout the rest of our time at high school. However, she wouldn’t allow me to have sex with her until we’d both reached an age when her father couldn’t object. Unfortunately, she’d left school before I’d reached that age and met a guy at her first workplace that she married almost immediately. Sheryl had a baby about seven months later, so you do the math.

Now, there were some events between fourteen and eighteen that I can’t discuss in this forum, so we’ll move to my final year at high school and the School Formal (Prom for you Americans).

In my final year of high school, I was the School Captain, captain of the athletic and cross-country teams, and on the school debating team. I was averaging an A- across the six subjects I’d taken and was primed to go to university. I’d won several middle-distance national athletic championships and numerous Queensland ones, and my standing in the school was about as high as it could get. However, my dating record could be described as sparse at best. It wasn’t that I couldn’t have had any number of average girls but that none of them could hold a candle to Sheryl, who had graduated the previous year.

I’d decided to attend the school formal but hadn’t decided who I’d take yet. My first choice was Jaqueline McGhie, but she’d taken up with my best friend, Mark Bocock, about a month before. Jacquie had made it clear that she’d dump Mark in a heartbeat if I wanted her to, but I didn’t think I had enough friends to lose one over a girl with what I felt were dubious morals.

In the end, I took Susan Doyle, or ‘Fish’, as she was often cruelly called. Susan was the female equivalent of me at our school. Susan had won one national swimming championship in her preferred event, the 200m freestyle, but held almost as many Queensland titles as I did. Susan was the house leader for our school’s Selwyn House. Her swimming training had made Susan look a little top-heavy, with wide, muscular shoulders, a broad chest and tiny tits. The chlorine had given her honey-blonde hair an almost green tinge.

Susan, who lived about eight houses farther up the street than me, and I had been friends since state school, but there was no romantic interest between us. On one of my daily runs, I’d heard Susan sobbing behind the 180 cm high wooden fence surrounding her front yard. I guessed she hadn’t been asked to go to the school formal and felt similar to how I felt, i.e., left out and somewhat alone.

Getting home, I soaked in our pool until I’d cooled down enough not to sweat anymore, and then I looked up her parents’ number in the phonebook. “Hi, Susan,” I said when she answered the phone. “Johnson Murrayfield. I was wondering if you’d like to be my date to the school formal?”

“Why me?” Susan almost wailed.

“Well, Fish,” I teased. “We’ve been friends for like ever, so I thought it would be an appropriate way to end my schooling by spending it with the only girl who was there when it started.”

“You could date any of the hot chicks. Why aren’t you asking them?”

“Because I’m asking you,” I replied, ignoring her assertion because it certainly wasn’t true. Yes, I’d dated the ‘hot girl crew’ during grade eleven, but the ‘hot chicks’ in my year that I’d ignored for the ones a year ahead had turned their backs on me en masse this year.

“Okay,” Susan replied.

“Okay, what?” I asked.

“I’ll go with you to the stupid formal. But you’re not getting anything other than a few dances!”

Of course, that had my gander up immediately because I hadn’t expected anything other than company and a few dances in the first place, so I instantly vowed to seduce her that night. “No worries,” I told her, all the while internally declaring the night would end with my cock shoved up her cunt! “A few dances it is. See you at school tomorrow, Fish,” I needled, hanging up before she could respond.

The days passed, and it was the night of the formal. I wore one of Dad’s suits because we couldn’t afford to buy me one. It was a little tight across the shoulders and short in the legs, but it was the best I could hope for. Despite my mum’s objections, Dad had allowed me to drive his XB Ford Falcon to take Susan to the formal. It was a school event, so he was confident I wouldn’t be drinking.

At 6.00 p.m., I knocked on the Doyles’ front door. Susan slid out, spinning to pull the door shut before turning back to me. “Let’s go,” she said breathlessly. “Dad’s in one of his moods, so let’s get the hell out of here before he starts yelling at us.”

“Problem?” I asked as I opened the passenger door for Susan.

“Only if he figures out I’ve gone before we’re gone,” Susan replied nervously.

“What about when I drop you home?” I queried.

“Drop me at the corner. Trust me,” Susan explained. “You do not want to let me out outside my place because Dad might have his shotgun loaded.”

‘Daddy’s little girl is going home with a cunt full of cum,’ I thought but only smiled and said, “Well, that sounds like a problem for later. Let’s go to the school, have a good time, and enjoy the night!”

We went to the school hall and joined the other seniors who were already there. The rules were that a senior could ask anyone from the school from grade 10 and up, seniors from other schools, and previous students of this school who had left the year before. That meant that quite a few of the senior girls had their older boyfriends in attendance. There weren’t any real problems other than some muttered cutting remarks about Susan. Krista Cairns made the mistake of mouthing her insults loudly enough to cause a rippled titter across the ‘hot girl’ group. Strangely, Krista suffered an unexplained nosebleed almost as soon as she uttered her insult and had to go home.

Susan was quite standoffish for the first part of the dance, but I continually sent out low-grade comforting Pushes, and she soon relaxed and began enjoying herself. Disco had died in the last couple of years, but I’d studied the latest dance trends. Susan proved to be a quick learner and moved beautifully with me. Things went well, except that she would stiffen and move irritably away if I brushed her breasts or muscular ass.

“Just the dances,” she hissed after I apologised for ‘accidentally’ brushing the sides of her globes again.

I increased the strength of my Push and changed it to horny from calm. Then, I began gently inserting images of her surrendering and kissing me. I knew I’d won when I felt Susan relax against me. Her hips moved to press against me, and her tiny breasts, the nipples fully extended and rock-hard, pushed against my leanly muscled chest.

Now that I had Susan responding to me as I wanted, I began touching her more intimately. Finally, with less than thirty minutes of the formal dance left, Susan tilted her head back with her lips pursed and pouted, hoping for a kiss. I was happy to oblige, of course, and this time, when I brushed my hand along Susan’s globes, she moaned and pushed her body tighter against me.

I suggested we leave now and go to a ‘parking spot’ I knew. I accompanied the suggestion with a soft Push, and Susan immediately agreed to my plan. We went to the Mount Gravatt lookout and parked as far away from the other couples already parked there as possible.

We kissed as my hands explored Susan’s muscular body. Susan responded enthusiastically without me needing to Push her. But when I tried to slide my hand up her dress, Susan literally freaked out. “No, Daddy!” She screamed. “I will not let you fuck me again! I don’t care what Mum says!”

Panicking, I immediately mentally Pushed Susan into a comatose state. Lights had come on in several cars, so I quickly started the car up and drove away. Getting a little way out of town, I used an empty truck stop to park the car and try and figure out what the fuck had happened.

Using a soft Push, I woke Susan up and asked about what she’d screamed about. She froze and refused to answer my questions, demanding I take her home. However, the thought that my friend’s father, that any father, could, if my surmising was correct, could do that to their children had me fuming. Although I’d never used my ‘gift’ that way before, I knew I could easily use it to punish Matt Doyle’s actions.

“Tell me what he did to you, Susan,” I said, sending a gentle, soothing Push in her direction.

Susan refused to answer, and ultimately, I had to Push her to the point of pain before she broke down and told me her family’s story. Susan, who was the eldest, explained that it had begun not long after her eighth birthday. Her father had done some unspeakable things to her. Then Susan had turned thirteen and, with her swimming training, had become strong enough to resist, he’d started on Michelle, Susan’s younger sibling.

In today’s environment, I could have taken Susan to the nearest police station and have her tell the officer there what had happened, and her father would probably have been arrested that night. However, this was rural Queensland in the very early eighties. Not only was it likely that Susan would be labelled a liar, but she’d be handed back to her parents. If the police had insisted on a medical examination, and it was found that Susan was no longer a virgin, the blame would likely fall on me. Given the abuse had been ongoing for most of her life, I’d be tried for statutory rape. So, instead, with some judicious use of my ability to Push Susan into answering me, I got the whole sordid tale.

I cannot tell the whole story in this forum, but needless to say, Susan’s mum, Angela, was complicit in the rape of her daughters. Susan also explained that there was a paedophile ring that her parents were involved in. Susan, her sister, and several other girls I knew were exchanged amongst this group and used abhorrently. To say that it was almost a miracle that Susan and Michelle were basically ‘normal’ teenagers was an understatement by magnitudes.

By the time Susan had finished her story, I was beyond anger. My mind burned with a white-hot, righteous fury that I knew I could use to fuel my Push. Starting the car, I drove back to Susan’s home and parked in her driveway.

As Susan had predicted, Matt Doyle stepped out onto his porch carrying a pump-action shotgun. Almost frothing at the mouth, Matt turned the gun in my direction and snarled, “Just where the fuck have you been with my daughter?”

I’d told Susan to remain in the car and accompanied that instruction with a Push to ensure she’d stay. Stepping away from the vehicle so Susan wasn’t in the firing line, I replied. “Susan and I went parking where she told me everything, you sick fuck!” With that, I Pushed Matt Doyle as hard as I could. Blood gushed from my nose, and I struggled to remain conscious.

Matt’s face went blank as he tried to fight back from my Push, but the gun slowly lowered. Then, Angela slammed open the door and joined her husband on the porch. She screeched at Susan, “Get inside here, you dirty slut. We know you’ve been fucking this boy, and your Daddy will deal with him!”

“So,” I drawled innocently despite my blazing fury. “It’s okay for her mother and father to fuck her and to hand her off to their equally sick friends, but not okay for Susan to have sex with someone she chooses. Yes, Angela and Matt, I fucked your daughter, and she loved every second of it!”

Matt broke from my Pushed instructions and brought the gun up. But before he could fire, I Pushed him with everything I had. Blood burst from my nose again as Mr Doyle turned his shotgun onto his wife and fired, hitting her in the chest. He then turned anguished eyes to me before reversing the gun and holding it to his chin. Our eyes locked as I prepared to Push him again if needed. It wasn’t. There was a muffled thud, and the shotgun blew half of Matt Doyle’s face off.

Michelle screamed and rushed out the door. I managed to send a soothing mental image and told her to phone the cops before my world turned grey, and I passed out.

I woke up in the hospital with my right wrist handcuffed to the bed. A detective sat in a bed next to the bed, waiting for me to wake up. He acknowledged me with a stern nod before getting up to inform the nurse I was conscious.

A few minutes later, a doctor accompanied by a nurse filed into the room. The doctor picked up my chart and read through it before saying, “Hi, Mister Murrayfield. I’m Doctor Pavel, one of the residents on shift tonight. Can you tell me how you feel?”

“Other than a horrific headache, I feel fine,” I replied. “What happened?”

“You were there,” the detective informed me. “I hoped you could tell me.”

I considered how much I should say. After all, what if this detective was in the paedophile ring? If I had told what Susan had told me, would it make things worse or better? It would be better if the detective were one of the good guys; worse if he was in the ring. How extensive was the ring? Susan indicated that she had been passed to several families and used by many more men and couples.

“I remember taking Susan home after the formal had finished,” I carefully admitted. “She’d warned me that her dad might become unhinged if I dropped her off out front of her house, but I also didn’t want to drop her in the street and make her walk home alone.”

“Did he become unhinged?” The detective asked.

“Why would you ask?” I countered.

The detective checked his notes and replied, “At 11:06 p.m., a Michelle Doyle called ‘000’ in hysterics saying her father had killed her mother and then turned the gun on himself. Ambulance officers and police attended the site, finding a Mister Matt Doyle and his wife, Angela, dead on the front porch. A Miss Susan Doyle at the scene, unconscious in the front seat of a Falcon registered to a Mister Jamieson Murrayfield, and you, who Susan identified as Johnson Murrayfield, in front of the car, unconscious.

In addition, attending officers comforted a hysterical Miss Michelle Doyle, eventually handing her over to the ambulance officers to transport her to the hospital. Now, Mister Murrayfield, it has been a long, difficult night, and all I want to do is discover what happened after you got to the Doyle residence.”

I decided that I didn’t want to tell the detective everything. Instead of answering his question, I said I felt woozy and Pushed him to accept my assertion. The detective’s eyes widened, and he immediately asked the doctor and nurse to leave. I didn’t want to be alone with the man, so I Pushed him to allow the medical people to stay. Simultaneously, I tried to encourage the doctor and nurse to remain. Unfortunately, the detective insisted they left. I wondered because I would have thought, in a hospital, the doctor’s decision would reign over the detective’s. But, the nurse and doctor left docilely.

I tried Pushing the detective again, but he irritably said, “Stop that! You’re much stronger than I, but I have many years of training and experience, whilst you have none. Your feeble, amateurish attempts to manipulate my mind will not work without extensive training.”

The detective shut the door before retaking his spot on the chair beside my hospitable bed. “My name is Detective Travers, but you may call me Jeff. I’ve felt a fellow Pusher for a number of years. However, I could tell the Pusher was either new or very young. Your power, Johnson, is enormous but unskilled and unchannelled. The interesting thing is that most Pushers who learn as young as you either become power-crazed or sexual perverts. Somehow, you’ve managed to avoid both of those pratfalls. Tell me, how long have you been able to Push your thoughts onto others?”

I felt Detective Travers’ Push for me to answer, and I grinned at him. “I know how to shield my mind,” I told him.

“How?” Jeff asked quizzically. “As far as I’m aware, I’m the only other Pusher in Midwest Queensland. I’m certainly the only sanctioned one and would know if someone in this region was receiving training.”

I grinned at the detective and said, “I guessed that if I could do it, others could, too, so I practised throwing a wall up. Seems like it worked!”

Detective Travers blustered momentarily before grinning and saying, “Okay, you got me! Your block was so deep and thick that I assumed you were trained.”

“How many others can do what we can?” I queried.

“Unknown,” Jeff answered. “I guess there might be quite a few, but not many take the time to develop their abilities. When was your first time?”

“Consciously, probably eight, but less than a month before my ninth birthday. I wanted a particular bike, but my dad had other ideas. I used my mind to make him buy the one I wanted.”

“What happened?”

“Bloody noses for both of us and terrible, migraine-like headaches.”

“Your father, too?” Detective Travers asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “We both had bloody noses and terrible headaches.”

“Probably lucky you didn’t burn both of your minds out,” Jeff muttered. “Nine is very young for this ability to manifest because it usually doesn’t until you hit puberty. Did you use it again soon after that event?”

“No. The headache and bloody nose terrified me, so I suppressed any thoughts about what I did and pretended that it didn’t happen.”

“When did you use it next?”

I explained that incident, and then he enquired about the other times I’d used my abilities. Finally, he asked me about the previous night. I admitted that I’d been using my power to Push Susan into going further than she’d stated she wanted to. I then explained how she’d freaked out when my hand had grazed her pussy lips and how she had appeared to flashback to a confrontation with her father.

After I’d described what Susan had told me about her mother and father’s incestuous acts and the paedophile ring she’d told me about, Detective Travers’ eyes were like twin ice cubes.

“I’ve been trying to crack that ring for years,” he growled. “But they’re so tight-knit, and their kids are so terrified of saying anything that I’ve had no luck investigating them at all.” He thought for a time before saying, “The next question is absolutely off the record, but did you Push Matt into killing Angela and himself?”