At the same time as Chet was going through his strange metamorphosis,
Ivan Decoviak found himself going through a change at least as unnatural.
Ivan,--- a mild, quiet art teacher with the Alberta school system,
just returned from his mother's funeral when he was set upon by three young
hoodlums who intended to rob him and at the same time degrade him in the
manner of the movie, 'Deliverance.' They talked about it for days. Ivan was
a faggot,--- at least they thought so. He wasn't married, just turned thirty
and everything about the man pointed to it. He was a faggot, a pussy wuss
and the perfect target. Decoviak would be too scared to call the cops, but
to be on the safe side they decided to wear ski masks since he might remember
them from school the year before.
Ivan's normal parking spot was on a side street, not far from his apartment.
It was there they grabbed him, dragging him into a vacant lot between two
boarded up houses. He struggled, but it was useless. All three were larger
and stronger than he. They rifled his pockets and then began their campaign
of fear. With his back against a fence, a man holding each arm, Ivan was
helpless. The leader lay a knife to Ivan's throat,
“You faggot,--- cocksucking queer,--- I'll bet you'd just love to get
your lips on a real man's tool, wouldn't ya?” He jeered as he unzipped his
pants.” Ain't gonna happen though, I got something else in mind. Turn him
around, Boys!”
Panic took hold of Ivan. Without thinking, he raised a leg and kicked,
driving the knife wielder back, and with a sudden fury he swung the two
who held his arms. Their heads came together with a resounding 'thunk.' Ivan
dropped the unconscious pair and with lightning speed, grabbed the startled
knife wielder, forcing him to his knees.
“So, you like these kind of games, huh?” He stripped off his attacker's
hood and looked at the assailant, “Bobby, isn't it,--- Bobby Jepson?”
The young man writhed in Ivan's iron grip. Ivan was never a strong man,
and yet, inexplicably, with just one hand he controlled this young, husky
individual and suddenly he knew he could crush the bones of the man's shoulder
with the mere twitch of his fingers. The knowledge so unnerved him
he nearly let go,--- but not quite. These three needed a lesson and as a
teacher, Ivan was bound to give it. He collected his wallet, his keys, then
stripped the would be attacker by simply ripping the clothes off him. His
strength seemed limitless. He just yanked at the clothing and they
parted from Jepson's body. Slapping the other two awake, he did the same
and then pitched the bundle of rags over a tall fence into the next yard.
The three men stood shivering in the weeds, trying to cover themselves with
their hands. He looked at the leader, the one who wielded the knife
and somehow he KNEW what Jepson intended. It was as if he saw a picture
of himself being robbed, beaten and raped. Ivan was furious,
“You three punks should be in jail. My God, have you nothing better to
do with your time?”
The trio quaked, tears lay just below the surface. Ivan realized these
young toughs weren't really all that tough, but the thought he caught from
Jepson's mind disgusted him,
“You nasty little bastards. If you want to play those kind of games,
practice on yourselves!”
And they obeyed him,--- simply at his word, with no threat and with no
further intimidation. Shocked, Ivan watched for a moment as they went through
the motions; three naked teenagers trying to sexually assault each other.
It was then Ivan realized his new found strength was more than physical.
It emanated from his mind. Was he really stronger, or was it just his anger
that caused this sudden surge of power? He picked up a brick, trying to recover
the feeling of strength he had while manhandling the punk. He squeezed the
brick, but all it did was hurt his hand, yet when he let go, the brick disintegrated
into powder the moment it hit the ground. The brick powder left him even
more stunned. Bemused he started back to his car when he remembered the punks.
They were still doing as he commanded, still going through the motions as
though mesmerized, with no passion, nor expressions on their faces. He left
them there involved in their coldly unemotional couplings while he went
to make an anonymous call to the police.
In the days that followed the triggering incident, Ivan tried all sorts
of experiments. His landlady's dog, an annoying little yapper, suddenly
went mute when he saw Ivan. The dog stood there as though in a trance and
never issued a peep as Ivan mounted the stairs to his tiny apartment, and
each time afterward when Ivan approached, the dog went into the same stupor.
Mrs. Ketchum lost track of Ivan's comings and goings, her little tattletale
a mute failure.
That he had control over both thought and to a certain extent, physical
matter, Ivan went about to prove to himself conclusively it was so,--- and
it frightened him. At forty, his Uncle Boris had a similar 'gift' thrust
upon him. Overnight, his previously tone deaf uncle, a statistician for
the Province, became a musical genius. Within two years he became a concert
pianist as well as the composer of a great number of modern works. Boris
took Canada by storm and and soon after, the rest of the world; however,
four years after that he was dead from a brain tumor. All types of Cancer
ran in Ivan's family. His father died of liver cancer, and a second uncle
died of Hodgkin's disease. Was his gift just another manifestation of the
old family plague, he wondered.
The gift also frightened Ivan by the pure ease with which he could control
people's minds; he could make them see and hear what he wanted them to.
He realized he could rob banks or jewelry stores and no one would even notice
him. It truly scared Ivan. Must absolute power corrupt absolutely? Could
he live with this 'gift' for however long he had and remain a decent human
being? He had to try; all he could do was try.
When cutbacks came to the school district, Ivan knew he could have kept
his job with a mere thought in that direction, but instead, he made sure
Jules Ashram stayed employed. Jules had four children and needed three more
years to lock in tenure. If anyone questioned why, at that point in time,
the school board offered a three-year contract to Jules, no one could've given
a rational answer; however, there it was in black and white and quite
unbreakable in its wording.
Ivan moved on to Vancouver, then to the U.S. and the State of Washington.
He didn't even bother to update his expired license plate. When stopped,
he simply looked at the officer and the whole thing was forgotten while Ivan
rifled through the man's mind as thoroughly as the young hoods went through
his pockets. On occasion, Ivan was quite startled by what he found, sometimes
delighted, sometimes disgusted and as he got better at it, he could hold
an ordinary conversation with a person who never knew his deepest secrets
and desires were being read or his eyes saw one thing while his mind told
him another.
Ivan took full advantage of his powers only twice. Once with a handsome
Canadian Mountie, Steven, and once with a Washington police officer, Bart.
Both men carried the same secret as Ivan. The boys were right of course,
Ivan was gay, but so repressed he seldom acted on his desires. Now that he
could do anything he wished, he still acted cautiously. The Mountie's mind
told him all he had to do was touch the man, reach out and stroke his manhood,
which he did, and they ended up far from the highway on a blanket in the
woods for a couple of hours of soul-satisfying sex. No mechanical motions
this time, this was the real thing, not love of course, but wonderful, uninhibited
sex,--- and both parties enjoying every moment of it.
With Ivan's ability, it was simple to provide Steven with precisely the
things he relished most and to enhance it to an almost unbearable intensity.
In return the emotions fed back to Ivan building his climax to a peak he
had never known before. Almost dazed by the encounter, Ivan still had presence
of mind enough to provided the Mountie with an alibi for those missing
hours. With a single thought he drained the police car battery, fusing
the plates in the process, and then drove his new friend back to the highway
and to the nearest phone, some ten miles away. If Ivan was selfish, he could've
said a word and Steven would've accompanied him to the ends of the earth.
He thought about it. Steven was handsome, sweet tempered and wonderful in
every way, but he was also married and had a son he loved with all his heart.
As his last act, Ivan removed the memory of their encounter in the woods,
and in its place left an impression of a long walk to the highway and flagging
down a passing motorist for a ride to the phone booth, and yet when Steven
shook Ivan's hand goodbye, he clasped it within both of his and looked deeply
into Ivan's eyes,
“Thank you.” He said with such warmth and feeling Ivan was never sure
if he completely erased the memory or not.
With Bart Ludlow, it was a completely different encounter. Bart was forty-two
and still as repressed as Ivan was. Like all people who feel a calling for
police work, Bart had a slight power complex he handled better than most
by relegating it strictly to his fantasies. He might dream of wielding power,
of having someone do his every bidding, but would never act upon the impulse.
He was a lonely man. His wife left him, but outside of the embarrassment
of losing her to a fellow officer, he really didn't miss her much. He especially
didn't miss the constant quarrels that seemed to be their only way of communicating.
His loneliness, like his repression, followed him from boyhood to manhood,
into marriage and out of it, and he lived with both for so long they were
no longer recognizable as such. It was simply an empty feeling that never
went away. When his ex left, she took the cash and left him with a mortgaged
house that never saw children, or for that matter, never saw any real passion.
It was just a house, an investment, a place to hang his hat and nothing more.
All and all, Bart was a good officer, he didn't abuse his power and after
ten years on the force he still hadn't taken on the attitude of so many
younger officers. 'Them against us' did not fit his understanding of the
job; instead, he developed a minor Messiah complex where he was always helpful
to motorists and if a ticket had to be issued, it was done with the utmost
benevolence.
When Ivan passed Bart's parked patrol car, he took an instant reading
of the man and an instant liking for him as well. He could see himself in
Bart. At least the Ivan he was until a few months ago. The loneliness, the
fear of acting out his hidden desires was the same. And then Ivan saw something
else. He saw the future, a future that held no Bart. Bart would be dead within
two years. Ivan knew it as well as he knew his own name; yet, he had
no idea how this knowledge came to him. It just WAS,--- the same as his
power over people's thoughts. He decided then and there for a while at least,
Bart would have all his fantasies come true. It bothered Ivan not a bit
Bart's fantasies were on the weird side, he saw beneath them, he saw the
man Bart would become once he looked at his fantasies for what they really
were; simply the reflections of a confined and hampered soul.
Ivan made sure Bart followed,--- a little nudge was all it took. He pulled
off the main highway onto a secondary road and up under a stand of trees.
It was dusk the sky still showing light, but fading fast. Bart pulled in
behind, got out and came up to the car as Ivan rolled down the window,
“You know your plate has expired.” he said, shining his flashlight in
Ivan's face.
“Yeah, I know,--- I'm moving and I thought I'd wait until I resettled
to renew it.”
“Moving to the States?” Bart asked.
“I might,--- I haven't decided yet.” Ivan replied as he again read Bart's
deepest fantasies. He then proceeded to turn them on for Bart bringing
them rushing to the surface. With the onset of those hidden thoughts bursting
into his mind, Bart stood tongue-tied as he stared at the good-looking young
man in the car. The hair on his arms tingled, he felt light-headed. Blood
rushed to his groin. He was mortified and couldn't believe what was happening
to him. This was no jerk off fantasy,--- this was real! What was wrong
with him? He tried to suppress his sudden raging emotions, clamping down
on them with every bit of self-control he possessed; yet, his entire being
screamed, 'Pull this man from the car and force him to his knees.'
Ivan unlatched the door. Stepping out, he went to the heavy breathing
Bart, unzipped his fly and dropped to his knees,--- all in one motion. Bart
nearly lost it right then. ”Oh, God,” he cried as Ivan started to do
things Bart only dreamed about. It was exactly like his fantasy, the one
he jacked off to so many times, but never dared try for; the lone motorist
forced to do anything Bart wanted, to be his sex slave to answer his every
whim. He threw his head back in ecstasy. Roughly grasped Ivan's hair, he
plunged deeply, pumping himself toward climax and with a great hoarse shout
he emptied himself into the compliant stranger. His knees shook and he felt
weak. Ivan rose and moved Bart to where he could lean back against the car,---
then he began unbuttoning Bart's uniform shirt. He unbuckled the belt and
slid Bart's pants and shorts down below his knees.
'What are you doing?” Bart asked weakly. Ivan lay he head against Bart's
heaving chest and held him tightly,
“Anything you want” He replied as he started to kiss and suckle Bart's
nipples. He worked downward stopping to lave his bellybutton dimple, then
downward still to take each manly egg in his mouth and rinse it clear of
cooling sweat. He reached into Bart's mind, speeding up the process he
was attempting and once more Bart's large cock began to swell. He played
with it a moment until he saw a bead form, then again touched Bart's mind,
this time loosening all inhibitions, letting Bart live out his fantasy.
“Suck my balls!” Bart commanded harshly and it was done. “Harder” he
ordered and it was done to perfection, almost but not quite to the point
of pain. Without orders, Ivan began massaging Bart's thighs letting his
hands slide around to feel a firm ass as he laid his face in Bart's pubic
hair and began kissing the base of his very hard member.
“Suck my cock,--- all of it,--- take it down your throat.” Bart demanded
and Ivan with great difficulty took it all. Again Bart roughly grasped Ivan
hair and began to pump, driving his cock deeper and harder into Ivan's unprotesting
mouth.
“I'm coming.” Bart moaned, “I'm coming,--- take it all,--- every
last bit.” And his release was as powerful for him as the first time. Ivan
made sure of that. Sex is mostly in the mind and Ivan now had full control
of Bart's libido.
Ivan kissed his way upward to put his face against Bart's heaving chest,
his arms around the man.
“Do you know where I could stay for a few days? If you feel the same,
I'd like to see you again.” Ivan said, knowing exactly the right thing to
say.
“My house,--- I live alone.” Bart gasped, somehow his arms were now around
the young man squeezing him possessively.
Bart called in sick. He took the young Canadian home to his empty house,
Ivan's car went into the garage out of sight, the cruiser he parked in
the drive, and once inside the house, Bart played out his every fantasy.
Bart's merest wish was fulfilled, he only had to think of it and it was
being performed with more intensity than Bart experienced in his entire
life. He'd lie naked on his bed while Ivan went about bringing on total
sexual saturation to the point where one only wants to sleep. He achieved
that, then curled up in Bart's arms for the sleep he, too, needed. Sweet
dreams he laid upon Bart and perhaps a little more, for in the morning, Bart
had his nose buried in Ivan's hair as he breathed in the scent of the young
man, the sweet stranger who opened the doorways of his mind. It seemed so
right, lying here beside this young Canadian, so perfectly correct. He thought
of all the years he was afraid of this and nearly laughed.
'Why, I don't even know who he is,' he thought and the name Ivan
Decoviak popped into his mind. 'How do I know that?' he wondered,--- that
troubling thought went away never to return.
In two days, Bart's fantasy changed to include doing to Ivan what Ivan
was doing for him. He still loved it when Ivan kissed his way down to his
hard cock, played with it a while, took it in his mouth; he still loved
to grasp Ivan's hair and pump himself to climax in his warm, tender place.
He could hardly get enough of that, but he now wanted Ivan to return the
favor and the first time Ivan came in his mouth, Bart came as well. The taste,
the feeling was so overwhelming, had there been a dozen men in the room,
he would've done the same for all of them. After all his years in denial,
Bart was now insatiable. Luckily, Ivan could use those emotions himself to
keep up with a man who now acted like a boy half his age.
They didn't dress for four days,--- just wandered naked through the house,---
eating when they felt like it,--- showering, and having sex when the urge
struck. Bart would lie with his head in Ivan's naked lap while they talked,
then he might suddenly turn over to take Ivan in his mouth. They kissed,
they held hands, they had sex until they wore themselves sore and at last
Ivan started slowly turning down the heat, lowering Bart's libido a notch
at a time until he could think of things other than sex and touching.
As Bart emerged from the haze of sex it was firmly etched into his soul
he loved Ivan. With all his heart he loved this young man and he didn't care
who knew it. He would have shouted it from the rooftops if Ivan hadn't set
a block to it. This love was not of Ivan's doing, no thought of that was
ever implanted into his mind. It came strictly from Bart being released
from his years of loneliness; yet, there it was, and as Ivan learned, love
can become a two way street when one dares enter the soul of another. Without
really understanding how it happened and with no control over it at all,
Ivan found himself trapped. All he intended to do was relieve Bart's loneliness,---
give him a little joy, open his mind to a world of possibilities,--- instead,
he found himself hopelessly in love with a dying man and completely helpless
to do anything about either condition.