Call Me Cursed

Mind Control
2005-08-27

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Prologue

Posted: August 15, 2005 - 12:05:57 am

 

Dr. Allison Dickson:

 

I'm a medical doctor, not a historian. In fact, I'm one of the best doctors in the world, although I'm not yet thirty. That's not an idle brag, my brother won the Nobel Prize in medicine when he was 32, barely a year before my father finally located and murdered him. Does that sound like a Shakespearian play? It's not, but then several of Shakespeare's best were based on the "great men of history. "

 

The "Great Men of History" theory has lost popularity recently, but not in my extended family. You see many, perhaps most of the truly great men of history were probably my kin. That's because of the curse. If one of those "Great Men, or Great Women" were childless, or left a child that wasn't even a pale imitation of the great parent, the odds are very good that they were in my blood line. I know for a fact that Alexander the Great and George Washington are my kin. 'The Mule' in Asimov's great work The Foundation Trilogy has to be based on one of my siblings.

 

I've just begun to study the curse, but have verified a few facts. All children born of "THE CURSED ONE" will be born sterile. My brother won the prize for his work in testicular cancer. His study wasn't altruistic. He was born with "immature testes syndrome.

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  " What that means is that his physical development was normal, but he didn't produce sperm. The sperm generator just never got started, same thing for his vas ducts, they weren't there. The vas duct might have been fixed by surgery, vasectomies are reversed routinely these days, but it wouldn't have made a difference. Like all my half sisters, I've been born with immature ovaries. We all seem to have a great love of children, and. . . it's very painful.

 

The exception is the cursed one. My current theory is that some enzyme is released as a cursed one dies. Somehow, that enzyme is absorbed by the child who kills him, probably through the blood. That enzyme triggers the development of the testes, and voila, a new Cursed One is created. Does it sound strange that one mutation could be transmitted through so many generations? Well, think about it, every single ancestor of every single living human lived long enough to pass along his or her genes or. . .

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   you get the point.

 

There's just so much I don't yet understand about the process. Why is The Cursed One driven to mate with so many different women? Why do the women he mates with begin to hate him almost as soon as they become pregnant? Why do all his male children go into a homicidal rages in his presence?

 

I sure it is biological, but I'm also positive that it's nothing like a pheromones or some sort of mind control. The Cursed One is THE Alpha Male and people react to that. If all my siblings are literally THE one in approximately one hundred twenty-seven million, the Cursed One is so far beyond us as to be literally incalculable.

 

I know how that sounds, but let me tell you about the current Cursed One. He's too modest to tout his own achievements, but let me list a few before he became The One. He was a world class athlete. He was offered multi-million dollar professional contracts in soccer, basketball and baseball as soon as he finished high school. He was considered the top college football recruit in the country. Each year there are only three or four high school seniors who score a perfect 1600 on the SAT college entrance exams, my brother was one of them, but he did it as a junior, a year early.

 

He chose to go to the US Military Academy at West Point where he graduated first in his class. He fought in the last two wars and became the most decorated hero in US Army history, surpassing the great Audy Murphy. Yes, Col Brown is The Cursed One! At the time he resigned his commission, he was the youngest full colonel in the Army. He left to become tenured in only two years at Rice University, one of the top ten schools in the country.

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   Oh, and by the way, he is without a doubt the best looking man anyone has ever seen. He was absolutely charming, a moral paragon, incredibly funny, and his voice would earn him a starting role in any opera company in the world. Even before he became THE Cursed One, he could have almost any woman in the world to have his children, now. . .

 

Col Arlan Brown:

 

Call me cursed. I would gladly trade with Ishmael on the hunt for Moby Dick. Hell, I'd trade places with Ahab. I'd even trade places with Oedipus, whose story is a lot closer to mine. I hadn't a clue who my father was. I'm almost certain my mother never knew his name. I was conceived less than five minutes after they met. No, my mother wasn't raped, nor was I the product of a commercial transaction, my mother was an intact virgin when they met. I was conceived in my mother's virgin's blood, born bloody, and became what I am because I was infected by my father's blood as he died.

 

Unlike Oedipus, I didn't marry my mother, I never got to know her.

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   She was killed in an airliner crash before my third birthday. She was almost nineteen when she died, which makes her sound like some sort of besotted teen, but she wasn't. Even pregnant with me, she managed to graduate first in her class at a prestigious, and very expensive private school. She applied to Harvard, and was flying home from Boston, triumphant, after her interview when her plane crashed. I was raised by my grandparents. My Pops was the best dad a man ever had! I had an aunt/half sister who was a few weeks younger than me. Neither of my grandparents got a good look at my father's face. He just waltzed into their hotel suite conceived my sister/aunt, then conceived me, and left without saying goodbye. They didn't call the police. No one ever told me about that night, until after the bombing. I wish they'd explained it to me, it might have saved innocent men psychic trauma.

 

I know I sound cryptic, but that's not my intention. . . I guess the easiest way to explain is to tell you my story.

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   My grandparents were wealthy even before the settlement from the airline. My grandfather, Pops, made his fortune as a land developer/home builder. I had an exceptionally good childhood and early adulthood. I joined the Army right out of high school and loved it. I had the world by the tail and I was the envy of every man, until my marriage fell apart at age thirty-five.

 

I had married a breathtakingly beautiful woman I'd met at a West Point dance my final year. It was only after our second date that I learned her brains were more impressive than her body. Although she was almost two years younger than me, she was just finishing her MBA at Harvard! She was the other half of my heart, and she loved me almost more than life. To this day, especially to this day, I can't say a single negative thing about her. Except, perhaps she should have been a shade less loyal. I wouldn't trade all DeBeers' diamonds for a single day of our marriage, but I wish she'd left me a few years sooner. She would have been happier that way.

 

Why did our marriage fail? It was my fault. No, I never cheated on her, even after the heat of the battlefield when the urge is so strong that infidelity shouldn't count. I loved her too much.

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   She was the only woman I'd been with and I wanted it to stay that way. Our marriage failed over our children. . . more correctly, the lack of them.

 

After years of trying, we began to have tests. She was embarrassing fertile, she could have gotten pregnant from a men's room toilet seat. I was shooting blanks. I had more testosterone than the whole French army, navy and air force combined, but the sperm generator was "immature". My wife was loyal, she begged me to adopt, but I couldn't stand the idea of raising a child that wasn't mine. Ironic huh, but that's part of the curse too.

 

My most noble act during the noble part of my life was to divorce her while she was still young enough to have kids of her own. If, as the old country-western song goes "one takes the bow the other takes the blame," I did my best to take all the blame. I told her that I'd fallen for another woman. I offered her all my worldly goods as a settlement but she refused.

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   She fought the divorce tooth and nail, even after I produced an exceptionally skuzzy woman I claimed was my true love. Hell, even after the divorce I couldn't even get hard for another woman, what irony.

 

Right after the divorce, I resigned my commission, I took a job as a teacher. I wanted to give back, and be around young people. If I couldn't have my own children, I wanted to leave my mark by my influence on others'. I think that's part of the curse too.

 

It was a good if quiet life. I had more money than I could spend. My grandparents had both died leaving only my "aunt" and me to split their fortune. I didn't know that aunt was my half sister at that time, although she did. She knew the whole story, because she'd gotten itfrom Pop just before he died. She said Pops was trying to shield me. That was one of Pops few errors in judgment.

 

The night it happened, I was walking home from campus, after the party to celebrate my gaining tenure. I was a little too 'happy' to drive, but my house wasn't far from the school.

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   I was walking past the ROTC building when I sensed a man behind me. Furious, I whirled just fast enough to get knifed in the lung instead of the heart. Because of my history, I have a concealed handgun permit. Somehow, while he repeatedly stabbed me, I drew my gun, shoved it into his chest and shot him. He pulled me down with him, and I lost my gun as I hit the ground. We were both covered in blood and when his mingled with mine, my world changed. A wave of energy nauseated me, and I passed out in a pool of my own vomit.

 

I didn't see him stagger to his car, smash it into the ROTC building and explode. The explosives in the car destroyed the building, his body and made the whole thing look like the work of a suicide bomber. The "car bomb" was his contingency to cover his identity in case his attack on me failed. He didn't want the police to suspect that the man I'd killed was my father.

 

I awoke in the hospital hooked to more tubes and wires than a whole room full of computer servers. A dozen monitors beeped and chirped in a syncopated cacophony of alarm. I felt weak as a kitten and preternaturally alert. More alarms and bells blared, and staff materialized like characters beamed from a Star Trek rip off.

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They spoke medicalese to each other, not exactly ignoring me, but too excited to pay much attention to me. I tried to force someone to talk to me, was immediately enveloped by fatigue and drifted back off to sleep.

 

When I awoke the second time, I wasn't as weak, but I was dead dog tired. Bushed! I was also hungrier than I'd been in my whole life. The alarms had been reduced by an order of magnitude, but still more than enough to summon an army of medical personnel. This time there were security types with them. They didn't look like regular police, more like FBI.

 

The medical types were even more absorbed by the -- what ever their instruments were telling them, than last time. The agents eyed me with that lean and hungry look that so bothered Caesar.

 

The one closest to my bed asked the stunningly obviuos, "Are you awake Colonel? Do you know where you are?"

 

I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry, only croaking sounds came out.

 

Finally, I managed to whisper, "Food. "

 

One of the younger female medical types heard me and dashed out of the room. The agent poured me a glass of water, addeda straw and held it up to my mouth. That, was when I discovered that my hands were bound to the bed by those thick leather restraints that hospitals use. Why?

 

The female appeared with a glass of one of those milk-shake diet food supplements and I chugged the whole thing through a straw.

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Slightly stronger, I said, "Thanks, please sir, more. "

 

She laughed and disappeared again.

 

The medical types went crazy pushing the agents out the door, The female appeared again, glanced at all the monitors, as she gave me my second glass. Again I downed it without a pause while she studied a monitor over my head that I couldn't see. She barked an order that sounded like a series of chemical compounds, and several of the staff left turbulence wakes as they hustled to obey.

 

The young woman, who I'd assumed, in my chauvinist way, was a nurse, turned out to be Dr. Allison Dickson, the head of the whole department. A young orderly appeared with several cans of the diet supplement and a bucket brigade formed as I chugged a dozen cans.

 

Feeling only slightly stronger, I managed, "Where am I, what happened? Why am I still starving?"

 

The last question ledto several orderlies dashing from the room. It also seemed to have exhausted me, and I drifted back to sleep.

 

When I awoke the next time, it was very slowly. I became aware that my throat had some sort of tube crammed down it. Not fully awake, I pulled the thing out. It felt like I'd pulled internal organs with it. I bellowed loud enough to temporarily drown out all the electronic chirps and beeps.

 

  

 

I expected the full contingent of medical personal to appear like the genie from the lamp. Instead, Dr. Dickson rose from a chair next to my bed.

 

She looked at my hand, shook her head in awe then asked, "Are you feeling better? Are you still hungry?"

 

I thought about it, realized that I wasn't hungry. I felt different, but not hungry. I checked my hand to see what had surprised her and discovered that it had a torn leather restraint on it.

 

Nodding at the torn restraint she said, "You've been tearing those regularly. We've been contemplating surgery to install a peg. You've gained almost sixtypounds, not that we can see where it's gone. Your body fat percentage has actually gone down. The breakthrough was when you woke up and said you were hungry. No one had noticed you were suffering from extreme malnutrition. Starving to death right before our eyes. You seemed to stabilize an hour or so ago. I think we're over the hump, but we don't have any idea what's caused this.

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   There are some gentlemen from Homeland Security who are very anxious to talk to you, if you feel up to it. "

 

Looking at the doctor, I was struck by two thoughts simultaneously, she was beautiful, and she was a younger version of my aunt. More alert, I wondered why I'd thought she wasn't in charge last time. The aura of command radiated on her like sweat on a marathoner. All of that authority was focused with laser intensity on me.

 

Responding to her unasked question, I tried to assessmy physical condition and delivered the succinct line, "I feel funny. "

 

She smiled wryly and said, "I'm not surprised. Early on we thought you might have been the target of a terrorist attack and not the ROTC Building. We pumped you full of every type of antibiotic and tranquilizer we thought wouldn't kill you. Not having any idea what we're facing, we gave you everything but the kitchen sink. We'd still like to run some more tests on you. There are other physiological changes that have been going on that we can't explain. Your weight gain being the most obvious. However, the only signs of pathogens have been you lack of energy. "

 

What followed was a week of medical torture, and Homeland Security interrogation.

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   The Homeland people at one point got rather combative. I didn't have any explanation for why a "terrorist" would attack me before blowing himself up in a building. I didn't want anyone to know that I was certain I'd killed my father. I rather thought that was a hallucination and didn't care to undergo a full psychic exam on top of having every orifice prodded and poked. They did pull out most of the tubes and wires, but the tests were never-ending.

 

My first clue tothe curse came on my last day in the hospital as I was waiting to be released. The medical people had reached a dead end and I was going stir crazy. One of the Homeland Security people became belligerent. He was insisting that I must have some idea what my attacker looked like because I had his blood on my gun. I'm not in the habit of lying, and because I was lying, I lost my own temper. When I roared back, the man acted like a defeated cur.

 

The vision scared me, and using some of my service privileges, I demanded that the army medic I summoned escort them from my room. As they left muttering, a 'pink lady'volunteer came in to help me get home. Getting home involved more than a cab ride, since I'd been flown to Walter Reed Army Hospital in Washington D. C.

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   Because of one more foolhardy acts during my Army career, I was entitled to free transportation on military aircraft, so oneof the staff had made arrangements for me to get back home that way.

 

Flying military is a hassle, and I only do it if I'm going to a base for some reason. Since money wasn't a problem, I'd asked for a hospital volunteer who might know something about booking flights to help me.

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As she walked through the door, the curse erupted. Need drenched every cell of my body. My cock got harder than and diamond edged drill bit, and as thick as a core sample. I was dumbstruck! The woman was very attractive, but not beautiful. She was mid thirties, and looked more like one of those TV moms than a sex sensation. She was dressed modestly, her figure trim, her hair and make-up understated. She was far from the best looking or sexiest woman to enter the room that morning. Several of the nurses and younger doctors who had made a point of calling on me to say good-by, were more attractive. Several of those made sure I knew they were 'available', and left notes on how to contact them. Yet I hadn't reacted like I wanted to rape any of them.

 

The woman couldn't hide her awareness of my reaction to her. Her eyes got wide and for a second, I expected her to run screaming down the hall.

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   Instead, she shocked me. She walked back to the door to my private room, but instead of leaving, she closed it behind her, then leaned against it to lock it, and announced, "I'd planned to stop taking the pill at the end of this cycle. "

 

I swallowed hard; I was trembling more violently than during that foolhardy moment I mentioned earlier. Which was the most scared I'd been in my life up to this point. I couldn't speak. I just stared at her.

 

As the silence lengthened she said, "If you don't have to leave town today, you could come to my house tonight. "

 

I blinked hard, she looked disappointed but continued, "My daughter is in a wedding tonight, but she'll be home later; you can stay for her if you'd like. "

 

She paused again and then pleaded, "Please!"

 

Her eyes never left mine, but I think she saw my erection pulse. I knew she was aware of my musk when she wrinkled her nose. I've always had a strong crotch odor; I'm the guy that "personal deodorants" were designed for. Now it smelled like I hadn't changed underwear in a month.

 

I was embarrassed. I intended to apologize, instead I said, "Get me a rental car and directions to your house. I'll be there at seven.

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  " I was flabbergasted that I used my 'command voice. '

 

I hadn't meant to sound so demanding; I just knew that I had to get her out of the room, I was holding on to my control by my finger tips.

 

She gave me a lottery-winner's smile and gushed, "I'm so honored, we'll be ready for you. I'll have a rental here within an hour. I'll have a map to my homein it for you. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

 

She hadn't placed any untoward emphasis on the word "anything" to make it suggestive, but I knew her offer was all inclusive. I waved my hand in dismissal. I wasn't being rude, but the only words I thought I could form were along the lines of, "Turn around, drop your panties and bend over!"

 

When she left, closing the door behind her, I felt my blood pressure drop to normal levels. What didn't drop was my erection, or my awareness of that woman. I pictured her hurrying down the hall, rushing to get me a rental car, using her cell phone to call someone to help her. I hadn't been the only one in that room who needed a personal deodorant. What I didn't know was the curse was the cause.

 

Less than a half hour later a male orderly arrived to help me checkout. It was as smooth as the Army could make it. The Army takes care of its own, and I would always be welcome.

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   I didn't see the woman, but a top of the line luxury car was waiting for me as I was wheeled to the hospital exit. The keys were in the ignition and a rental agreement was on the front seat. One of those computer maps was evident, and the GPS system had her address programmed into it. I checked the rental agreement, it was in her name. Mary! I was listed as a driver, operating under my insurance and license. I have no idea how she got that information, I assume the hospital had it, or perhaps she had access to my wallet.

 

As I started the car, I checked the clock. I had five hours to kill before I was due at her house. I thought about going straight over there, but I was sure she wouldn't be home. I don't mean to imply that I had some sort of ESP connection with her, I didn't. I had just had strongest feeling that she wanted me as much as I wanted her and that the time she'd given me was the earliest she could make herself available. It was all non-verbal, but stronger for that reason. I knew that she was going make me her top priority and the devil take the hindmost. She had wanted to get pregnant before she entered my room, and when she saw me, she decided that I was to be the father.

 

Later I wondered why that little fact didn't bother me at the time.

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   I knew I couldn't give her a child. Even if I could, I wasn't the type of man to make a baby and abandon it. I believe that all babies need their fathers living with their mothers. I wasn't the type to lie to a woman or to take advantage of her. Yet, I was acting worse than a penned bull next to whole herd of fresh cows.

 

Now, I that I was feeling a little more normal, I tried to decide should make my own flight arrangements. After a small internal debate, I decided I wanted to stay the night in Washington. I had some very good friends here, working at the building of fives. (The Pentagon has five concentric, five sided rings, each, five stories tall. ) Those jerks at Homeland Security had classified my presence in Washington as 'secret', so I hadn't seen any of them. I knew I wasn't being fair in my resentment of those agents. I knew that what happened to me wasn't part of the war on terror, but they didn't. I admire the job they're doing to keep us as safe as we are. Still -- I had buddies in town and I wanted to see them.

 

I drove out to the Pentagon, showed them my service ID.

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   I'd forgotten that the hospital personnel had attached a small miniature service ribbon to my civilian suit. It was the pale blue one with all the white stars. The sentry checked my ID saw the ribbon and rendered a very snappy salute. It embarrassed me that I couldn't return the honor since I wasn't in uniform. I tried to hide my annoyance when he directed me to VIP parking lot. I'd told the sentry that I didn't want any honors, I was just there to see some buddies, but the halls soon filled with folks being deferentialanyway. My buddies arrived and we went to one of the cafeterias, where I ate too much and practically drownedin bullshit. I felt wonderful. I missed the service, and was almost tempted to try to go back.

 

Before I realized it, it was time to fight the traffic to Mary's house. She lived in Georgetown, one of the most posh sections of Washington. When I got there the house was one of the more impressive, and I wondered why I didn't feel in the slightest intimidated. I had money, all I needed, but this house bespoke serious wealth. The kind that gets you listed by Forbes Magazine as one ofrichest in the country. I parked in the driveway, and as I rang the bell, I wondered if there were servants.

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   As I waited a whole host of questions surfaced. Why had the security gate been open? Had this woman worn a wedding ring? Why was she a volunteer at Walter Reed? This kind of money wrote checks; they didn't spend their time taking care of soldiers. Could she be an employee here? It never occurred to me that she might have sent me to the wrong place, just as it never crossed my mind that the solid man who opened the door was anyone other than her husband!

 

Our eyes locked and I took the man's measure. I had never believed in the 'Alpha Male' theory, but this man was an Alpha Male's alpha male. He exuded confidence and power. I liked him immediately. I didn't know why his wife was willing to cheat on him. . . openly! As our eyes locked, I knew something else. He would defer to me. Itook charge. I wondered that his deference didn't make me feel uneasy. I hate wimp husbands. The idea of a man watching me take his wife sickened me.

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   I realized, after a second, that this man would never do that; he'd kill the man who tried to hang horns on him.

 

As he looked at the floor and shuffled his feet, I wondered again. An idea flitted through my mind that perhaps he had a problem that even Viagra couldn't fix. He exuded ex-military and I wondered if he'd given more to his country than any country should ask. If that was the case, he was the type of man who wouldn't stand for his wife running around behind his back, he'd meet them at the front door in person. He'd kick their ass if they weren't up to his standards. No, I shook my head, while that image was right, this didn't feel like that sort of situation, and they had a daughter. I couldn't understand what was going on. He didn't want me here, didn't want me to see his wife, but he wasn't going to stand in my way. I then wondered if he'd cheated and this was a condition of her staying with him.

 

Whatever it was, I didn't want any part of it. I was just about to offer my excuses and leave when Mary appeared. It happened again. I went into full rut, practically pawing the ground.

 

Her husband might as well have been an automatic door opener, except I heard him growl, "Don't make me watch this!"

 

Irritated at the distraction, I said, "Go sit quietly in your chair, stay there until I'm done.

 

   Don't get out of it except to go to the bathroom. "

 

I wasn't aware of using my command voice, or what I was saying. I only know because of what happened later and what they told me.

 

I saw Mary flash a look at her husband, it was lament not lust. I've never seen a look show such remorse, and regret. I didn't see him leave, but her regret gave me the slimmest margins of control.

 

I looked at her closely, and I said, "Did I miss-read you? Did you have another reason for inviting me here?"

 

It didn't seem possible for a face to change so quickly.

 

She positively beamed, "I didn't think you'd come for me. I was hoping you'd come, but I thought it would be for Kristin, our daughter; she should be ovulating," her face positively radiated, "I did tell you I'm still on the pill; not that it matters. "

 

I know now that the curse wasn't at full strength yet, or I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from taking her on the floor, right in front of her husband. I would have had no more control than baseball headed for the bleachers. No more control than my father had had with my mother. When the curse completely controlled me, going a week without impregnating a woman would send me into a state similar to the Viking berserkers. Encountering a woman who wanted to have a baby, with me in full rut, and not doing the deed on the spot would be like trying to stop a sneeze once it was started.

 

I didn't understand all that at the time; ignorance is not bliss.

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   I think the reference to her daughter drained some of my pressure as well, but I wasn't sure why. With that control came serious confusion. "What do you mean about your daughter?"

 

She smiled, "I thought you had turned me down, that it was my daughter that brought you here. She is one of the bridesmaids, but if you want her now, I can go get her for you. By the time I get to the church the service should be over. "

 

I felt my pulse rate surge, that hollow excitement began in my chest, the one I always got just before the biggest of games or the smallest of combats. Before it overwhelmed me, my voice of reason kicked in. "Are you offering your daughter to me, knowing she might get pregnant? What is this? Some sort of sick game? What kind of slut are you? How old is your daughter? I had visions of some junior high kid. Does she know what her mother has planned for her?"

 

It was the second major misjudgment since I stepped through the door. I normally don't make those sorts of mistakes, but I was thinking with the wrong head. It would be months before I learned enough to prevent the curse from leaving behind the havoc I was in the process of creating that night. At the time, I let a mild concern about the willingness of a child to engage in a slut mother's plan lead me into a greater mess. "Just tell me where the wedding is, I'll see if she's -- suitable. "

 

I'd meant to say 'if she's old enough and willing'; what I said had a very different connotation. I still hadn't gotten with ten feet of Mary, much less touched her.

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   If I had -- I would have left.

 

As I left the house, I told her I'd return; her husband never crossed my mind. But then I didn't know that he was virtually chained to his chair, unable even to speak. I'd like to think that I wouldn't have done that to a man I detested; I know I would never have done it to someone I respected. Despite the shortness of our meeting, I respected Mary's husband. I'm pointing this out to show how the curse was influencing me, not just those around me.

 

Safely out of sight of Mary, my other head began to do some of my thinking. Mary and her husband obviously wanted me to get her or her daughter pregnant. I tried to come up with a rational explanation of why they'd want that. Seeking to eliminate false modesty, I could see why someone might want a smart war heroto father their child, but that just didn't ring true in this case. Nor could I explain why she and her husband were trying to make me think that I had some sort of power over them. . . No, I realized that they weren't trying to make it JUST over them, they were trying to convince me that my attraction extended to everyone. I don't believe in things like witch-craft, spells or mind-control, but I wondered if she was using some sort of pheromone to control me.

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   Certainly, I could smell her excitement, but at some instinctive level, I knew that it wasn't something like pheromones.

 

With that though, I was so close, I so wish that I'd been able to unravel the clues to the curse as I drove to the wedding. Instead, I reviewed my actions since I'd left Mary the first time. I'd encountered any number of women, and I hadn't noticed that any others seemed anxious to have my baby. If I had only known. . . the saddest words in the English language.

 

I've never crashed a party in my life. Part of that is I can't remember a party I wanted to go to that I hadn't been invited to. It never even occurred to me that I was crashing now. When I got there, the reception had already started. There was a large engagement picture of the happy couple as you signed in. I studied the pair. Their happiness was obvious.

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   The young man looked promising. No, nineteen year old could ever be described as an alpha male type, but the promise was there.

 

No doubt influenced by the curse, I decided that instead of trying my 'appeal' on Mary's daughter, I would confirm my lack of 'appeal' by trying to charm the bride. I joined the end of the reception line. When I reached to shake hands with the bride, I tried to project the same desire for her I'd felt for Mary.

 

I was embarrassed, but relieved when all that happened was that she gave me a look that said, "You must be one of Steve's people, I'm so glad you're the last one. "

 

When our hands touched, what she said aloud, was, "I can't tell you how excited I am that you're here. I'm flattered beyond words. "

 

Giving me a conspiratorial look she added, "Would it be alright if I talk to Steve privately about how we're going to do this and get back to you? I don't want to hurt him, please?"

 

The pleading was now as evident on her face as in her voice.

 

Startled, I moved to shake hands with the groom. As our eyes locked. I saw that same surge of anger that I'd seen in Mary's husband. This time it was gone much faster, and a pleading expression replaced it.

 

He whispered, "Please don't let anyone know. It's my wedding day -- couldn't you wait till we get back?"

 

Again, I felt an irrational surge of anger.

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   I'd always encouraged subordinates state their cases vigorously, yet now I was getting furious when an unreasonable act of mine was being challenged!

 

I replied in my command voice, but pitched so only he could hear, "Bring her to Mary's house as soon as you can get away. "

 

As I saw acceptance in his face, my anger evaporated and I added, "You don't have to let anyone know, leave at the normal time. "

 

The part of me that still wasn't controlled by the curse was aghast that I was telling a groom that I was taking his wife on their wedding night.

 

Trying to soften my intolerable action I added, "I'll make it up to you, I promise. "

 

The relief on his face was so profound I fled before he could embarrassed us both by an inappropriate display of gratitude.

 

Those were mistakes in judgment numbers three and four. I've probably been that wrong about that many people before in one day, but I don't remember when. Never have there been the consequences like the one caused my miscalculations.

 

Again, once I got out of sight of the bride, I seemed to come to my senses. Realizing that I didn't know Mary's last name, and since she wasn't at the wedding, I figured there was a better than even chance the bride and groom would have no idea where I'd told them to meet me. The further I got from the young couple the more outrageous the whole idea seemed.

 

Determined to leave before someone recognized me, and before I could make a bigger asshole of myself, I almost ran over Mary's daughter. She had the same coloring and the same solid good looks. She was older than I'd hoped. A young woman in that age range where guessing was impossible.

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   She could have been as young as sixteen or as old as twenty-seven. I don't know how she spotted me, but she'd blocked my path.

 

Standing with arms akimbo she said, "You're Col. Brown aren't you? The man my mother told me about?"

 

Once again my system flushed with lust, my hands moved to rip her clothes from her. My body planned to take her right there in the lobby, my hand actually grasped the neckline of her bridesmaid dress before my brain caught up with what I was doing. Using every erg of the iron control I'd been taught at West Point, I forced my hand to my side. So locked had been my eyes with hers, that it took several more seconds to realize that she hadn't been prepared to struggle. In fact as my hand dropped, it appeared she was about to remove her dress on her own.

 

I was breathing hard, trying to hold a semblance of control, images of her mother and the bride, naked and draped open in the same bed flashed through my mind. Normally, an image like that would ensurean erection. Curiously, it had the opposite effect. I'd just learned that one way to control what I now call it THE FLUSH is to remember that you have waiting and willing partners. As I struggled for the decorum that I expect of myself, I saw fear creep onto her face.

 

In a trembling voice she asked, "Don't you want me? I didn't believe mom when she told me what she'd done. I thought it was some sort of sick practical joke.

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   Then I saw you talking to Edna and I knew. Mom said that if you came, it would mean you wanted me, please don't change your mind now!"

 

As I looked in her eyes, I had my next insight into the curse that will control the rest of my life. This young woman also wanted my child. By displaying THE FLUSH as I'd done, it encouraged her.

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If I didn't at least give her the opportunity to try to get pregnant, it would be worse than an Olympic favorite, prepared to compete watching the event cancelled. No worse than that, far, far worse. It probably would make this bright, cheerful young woman suicidal.

 

I understood that, temporarily I had the ability to say no to Kristin, but she would bear a heavy price if I never gave her the opportunity. I marveled at the arrogance of that concept, but I knew that I was right. As much as it bothered my sense of ethics, I knew that I would need to -- Then as if from nowhere, I felt a new concept develop. While the attraction between us was far more powerful than what I'd felt for my wife on our honeymoon, but it might be possible to postpone consummation for a few years.

 

I asked, "How old are you Kristin?"

 

Her smile was blinding. She knew she'd won. She knew I'd give her the opportunity to have my child and I could see her tension drain.

 

Ebullient, she gushed, "I'm 18 but I'll be 18 in less than a month! Mom was only fifteen when she got pregnant with me.

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   We De Mille girls produce good kids young. Tonight would be fine, a monthdoesn't matter!"

 

She might not want to wait, but -- I wondered just how old the bride was, if her bridesmaid was only seventeen. It might be another out.

 

Looking at her I promised, "I'll come back for you the day after your eighteenth birthday. If you aren't already pregnant or --"

 

I paused and tried to think, there was something else that could keep me away, but I quite grasp what it was. I left the sentence incomplete, it didn't matter the promise was made.

 

She studied me intently, making sure that I wasn't trying to use a verbal slight of hand, then shocked me by asking, "Did you offer Edna a baby?"

 

I nodded, I hadn't known the bride's name, but now, Edna would know where to find me. I hurried to my car, and drove aimlessly for the next couple of hours trying to understand what was happening to me. Doing my best self-analysis, I decided that I could sense when a woman wanted to have a baby, or was at least open to the idea. I knew that when I Flushed I was broadcasting my desire to father that child. What I couldn't figure out is why any woman would respond to such an outrageous arrogance.

 

Around midnight I thought I'd managed to regain a measure of sanity, and with a growing sense of horror I headed to Mary's house, still determined to find some way to mitigate the evil I'd set in motion.

 

Despite my best intentions as I rang the front bell, I felt THE FLUSH blossom as Kristin opened the door. Seeing her and not one of my two intended, I felt it ebb. Although I didn't understand how, I was grateful to gain some measure of control.

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   Unfortunately as soon as I'd FLUSHED, every one of my plans had been subsumed by my passion; leaving me physically and emotionally drained. Even as that mindlessness receded, I could only remember the barest outline of what I'd intended to do. I remembered planning to send Edna and her husband on their honeymoon, concentrating my lust on Mary. There had been more too it, but I couldn't remember. I did remember rationalizing that since she was already a slut, I would use that to limit the damage at least a bit.

 

Entering the foyer, I saw all of them. Mary stood by herself, Edna huddled with her arm locked through her groom's arm. Kristin walked to her mother's side and looked like she also wanted to hold her mother's hand for comfort. As I closed the door behind me, I FLUSHED again. I have no memory of moving but suddenly I had my arms around Mary. As I pulled her to me her scent repulsed me. It was the foulest odor I've encountered in my life. Much worse than the exploded stomachs and putrid odor of rotting corpses, I've encountered after battle. I shoved her from me, a different kind of rage descending upon me.

 

"You have sperm in you! When did you get it?"

 

I had no idea where that had come from, or why it caused such furious revulsion.

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She was horror struck, her expression pleading for understanding.

 

She was near tears as she said, "Please it was five nights ago, my husband -- I didn't know you then. I didn't know it would matter, I'm not pregnant. "

 

I heard my voice growl, "Sperm can live for six days inside you. I will not be polluted by another!"

 

That sounded true, incredibly stilted, and arrogant, but true. However, it wasn't a piece of information I'd ever remembered reading, and I certainly wouldn't have bet a plugged nickel on its validity. Some tiny portion of my rational brain filed away the datum that any woman who had living sperm inside her was safe from The Curse. Although as Mary proved, that woman wasn't safe from her attraction to me.

 

As a waves of fatigue engulfed me, I learned something else about the curse. I didn't know what happened to me when I broadcast my desire, but it physically drained me. I was almost as tired as I'd been that first time in the hospital. My brain was so leaden; I was near the hallucinations stage. I'm not trying to excuse what I did next, but I'm trying to explain. I crossed to Edna and smelled her. She smelled like honeysuckle and Jasmine, but I knew she wasn't wearing perfume.

 

   She was sweet and ready for me. I wasn't ready for her.

 

"I'm going to have Kristin help me to the guest room. I need to rest, take a nap. When I'm ready, I'll call for Edna to join me," turning to the bride, I added,"While I'm sleeping show hubby you love him. . . nothing that could contaminate you. He can suckle you, kiss you, but don't do anything that might let a single sperm come in contact with you-- from anyone!"

 

I saw the stricken face of her husband, remembered my promise and said to him, "Use Mary when you want Edna. She's a slut; it won't matter. Cum in her, it'll take the pressure off, she'll do anything you want. "

 

I turned to Mary and said, "You will take care of all of his sexual needs until he can make love to his wife. Make him very happy. It's your audition for me. If he isn't ecstatic, I won't be back for you.

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  . . or for Kristin. I want you leaking from all three places. It's the least I can do. "

 

"Now," I said in my command voice, making sure I had everyone's full attention, "all of you go watch dirty movies, have sex, whatever until I send for Edna. "

 

I didn't know what I was saying, I was babbling, I just wanted them to relax until I called for Edna. I wanted Edna and her groom to be able to enjoy each other to the extent they could. I never thought that Mary would do anything with him before I woke up, I assumed they would retire to one of the bedrooms after Edna came to me. It also never occurred to me that they were going to the TV in the den. Going to the den where Mary's husband was stuck in his chair. I wouldn't have done that to him. I certainly didn't intend to make Kristin or her father watch Mary. . .

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   do what she did.

 

When I was a second lieutenant, my squad was cut off and in continuous contact with the enemy for thirty-six hours. That's the only time I ever remember having more difficulty thinking. I never considered that the groom might not want to have sex on his wedding night with someone else. I will never forgive myself for ordering him to make love to another in front of his bride. I certainly understand why she hates me now. I don't understand why she still came up to me when I called for her.

 

As Ilay on their guest bed I dreamed, and I begin to learn. The curse was worse than my most terrifying nightmare. I was THE Alpha Male! I wasn't even subject to challenge. My children would be the pinnacle of human evolution. That fact was somehow communicated when I felt 'the flush. ' Most women would be drawn to me at a sub-conscious biological level, desperate to have my child. Most important, they would love and raise my child as their own. Sounds like some adolescent boy's wet dream doesn't it.

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   It's a horrible curse!

 

The curse is that it is ONLY biological. The curse doesn't make the women like me, or desire me. They want my sperm, some are willing to literally crawl on bare hands and knees over broken glass to get it. But, once they've got it, and are pregnant, they aren't in the least hesitant to let their true feelings erupt. The same is true of the men. They won't try to hinder me, or try to kill me later. They will just consider me as fondly as they would someone who had used drugs on their loved one to get her pregnant! That woman will get pregnant. The only thing 'magical' effect of the curse was that any fertile woman I slept with, will have my child. It won't matter if she were ovulating at the time or not. It wouldn't matter if she were on the pill or not. That was a universal response to my unique DNA. It causes ovulation, almost like some sort of fertility drug.

 

That same DNA causes other responses; all my children will hate me. I don't mean the normal child/teenager friction, I mean we can't live in the same house, even newborns. This response is transmitted through the placenta to the mother.

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   So, even if the mother and I married for love she'll hate me while she's pregnant. Were I to marry, my wife and I could have a loving day once every nine months, tops.

 

Then there's another little part of the problem. Should I encounter a woman who is trying, or even has just decided to have a baby, I will sense it and I will respond like a sex starved sailor given the privilege of the harem. My only defense to the urge is if I either have a previous engagement, or I've created a child in the last few days. Because both Mary and Edna had decided to become pregnant, and I hadn't had sex since my divorce, neither they or I had a chance.

 

Last but certainly not least, should I get a healthy non-virgin pregnant, she will have a girl. All of my daughters will be barren, and will hate me. My sons are worse; their DNA will induce a rage if they ever encounter me, and they'll try to kill me. I think it has to do that in order to produce a son, my sperm must pass through the woman's blood, for example an intact virgin. Female blood destroys the 'female' type sperm.

 

It's all biological, geared to the survival of the child, and the benefit of the human race. Each year hundreds of millions of children are born. By any criteria you chose to use, my thirty or forty children will be the top thirty or forty born that year. That's good for the species.

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   Yet there's no danger that a 'super species' will evolve because they're sterile.

 

The child's DNA level distaste for me, that is transmitted by the fetus to the mother helps rebuild the bond to her real mate. The child, even as a newborn will be a daddy's girl, or boy in the extreme. Which also helps bond the family to give the child the support it needs from a 'Daddy', that's only aided by the child's extreme antipathy for me.

 

It all makes perfect sense biologically, but it dooms me to a life with no companions, male or female. I'm driven to have children, to want the very best for them, to attempt to make sure that they have everything they need. I yearn to be a 'Daddy' yet I can have no part in raising them. Could there ever been a man more cursed?

 

When I awoke, I had two overwhelming needs, the first was to procreate, the second was to find out if my dream was true. . . and if it was, some way to fix it.

 

Mrs. Mary De Mille:

 

It is extremely painful to remember what happen that night in our den.   I've always thought of myself as a moral woman.   I've had my lapses, I'm thirty-four and my daughter is almost eighteen.

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  Â  Still, despite all the problems, my husband and I have been happily married for eighteen years.   I'm not sure that our marriage will survive to our nineteenth anniversary.   I desperately wanted another baby; I just never thought that I'd ever be an unwed mother …

 

I had known my husband all my life, but he didn't know I existed until I seduced him when I was sixteen and he was twenty-two.   We both lived in River Oaks, one of the wealthier sections of Houston.   He was the local golden boy.   He went to the exclusive The Kinkaid School and was a senior when I was in seventh grade.   He was all-everything, and of course, my fantasy.   After he graduated valedictorian, he played football at Rice.   Several polls selected him as an all-America, but since he was in ROTC, he went into the Army instead of the NFL.

 

He came back to Houston Christmas looking like a modern day cavalier in his Army dress mess uniform but I managed to catch his attention at one of the Christmas parties.   (I had what they are now calling a costume malfunction, back then we called it flashing. )  I'd just turned sixteen, and was already a junior at The Kinkaid.   (I'd skipped fourth grade. )  I told him I was a freshman at A&M and he never found out any different until I discovered I might be pregnant three weeks later.   I know he didn't want to marry me, but I made it work.

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  Â  He was my sun and my moon, and by any standard, we had a very happy marriage.

 

The only problem was that since I'd had Kristin so very young, I had trouble getting pregnant when we decided to try again just before my thirtieth birthday.   What followed were four years of frustration and tests.   Finally, I had micro-surgery to repair some problems with my plumbing, only to begin having wildly erratic menstrual cycles.   The doctors recommend that I go on the pill for three months to see if I could get them regulated.   When I met Col. Brown, I was on my third month.

 

I've tried several times to explain my attraction to Col. Brown, and I can't.   I know that I love my husband, I would never do anything to hurt him, I'd never dreamed of being unfaithful, but it was like I was Cinderella and Col. Brown was the prince.   Saying no simply wasn't an option.

 

I'd done everything I could to raise Kristin to understand the dangers of getting pregnant before she married, but when I came home from the hospital, I told her that she had the most wonderful opportunity.   She was scandalized by what I was saying, but then she hadn't met him.   When I told Rodger, my husband, he thought I was playing an elaborate practical joke.

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  Â  He had attended several military soirées where Col. Brown was a guest of honor, and knew his history.   He admired him immensely, although they'd never been introduced.   My husband isn't easily impressed; he's built the family business to a size where he has personal meetings with Presidents, Princes and Potentates.   Generally, they end up marching to his drum.   When Col. Brown walked through our front door Rodger looked like he'd been pole axed.

 

I wasn't surprised when Rodger agreed to leave the room after Col. Brown arrived at our house.   We Americans have the idea that all men are equal, and they should be as far as rights and the law is concerned, but Col. Brown has no equal.   I spoke with Dr. Dickson at Walter Reed.   I've heard her theory that out of all the billions of males on the planet somehow he is the #1 male by any measure, by orders of magnitude.   I don't understand all that, I just know that I was bowled over by just meeting him.

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When I asked Rodger about it later he said, "I had always believed that if I couldn't win a fight, I could hurt the other guy enough that he'd back off.   That whatever he won, wouldn't be worth the cost I'd force him to pay to win.   I'd make sure the other guy knew fighting me would, at best be a Pyrrhic victory.   When Col. Brown walked in, I knew I couldn't win, and my best shot wouldn't faze him.   What was worse, since I'd seen him in person several times I wasn't prepared for the force of his personality one-on-one.   He was just overwhelming.   I would have gone after any other many with knives, guns or brass knuckles, with him, I was almost ready to give support him.   I was actually grateful that he wasn't going to make me watch what I was willing to allow. "

 

I was grateful Col. Brown sent Rodger away too.   I was acting like a preteen around a rock star, and I didn't want my husband to see that.   When Col. Brown left to get Kristin, I went upstairs to get ready.   I still wasn't positive he was going to be willing to get me pregnant, but I wanted to be prepared.

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  Â  First, I showered, and I took my time washing.   In fact, I was so careful washing my twat that it almost constituted masturbation.   I didn't think that Col. Brown would go down on me, but I'd been smelling myself ever since I'd met him, and I wanted to be fresh.   I then took a long soak in a bubble bath using scented oils.   I shaved my legs and under my arms.   For the first time, I was tempted to shave my twat.   Roger had asked me to do that once, but I had resisted.   I had a horror of being in a car accident and having someone else see me that way, and yes my mother always insisted that I have clean underwear on before I left the house.   I actually had the razor poised when I decided that I didn't want Rodger to know that I'd done that for someone else when I wouldn't do it for him.

 

After my bath, I redid my make-up and hair.   Then I had to decide what to wear.   I have a few Victoria's Secrets outfits, but I didn't have the courage to wear them.   Besides, those were for my husband and I didn't want to give that, even to Col. Brown.

 

  Â  I thought about several dresses, but I wanted to show off my figure and the only ones I had that did that were not something you'd wear around the house.

 

Finally, I decided on a jacket and trouser outfit by Bernard Zins.   The trousers were loden green with full leg and a regular raise waist.   They didn't have pockets and I thought they showed that I wasn't carrying any extra weight.   I chose an almost black Dana Buchman pullover blouse that make it clear that I wasn't wearing a bra, and would allow easy access to my very average boobs.   The jacket was a black and white tweed with a notched collar and three buttons.   The jacket would let me cover what the blouse showed if Col. Brown was only interested in Kristen.   I didn't own a thong.   .