LIAR, LIAR
Prompt - Liar, Liar : Make up a poem or story of complete lies about yourself or someone else
My mother only admitted it to me on her death bed. Very early in my life she had been forced to stop breast feeding me. Not because it was painful, but due to the effect it had on her. Such was the unconscious skill with which I manipulated her nipple that, whilst gaining the nourishment I needed, I was also turning her on. It was only when she had orgasmed during a feed that, tainted with guilt, she gave up on a practice that gave her as much joy as it did me. She died tragically young, from a broken heart brought on by knowing she could never possess, in the way she wanted to, the beautiful, perfect man she had brought into the world, and who would be going on to give so much pleasure to countless others.
I truly was the bonniest of babies, but it was when I first went to nursery, aged three, that the nature of my gift started to become apparent to others. As soon as I entered the room I became the centre of attention for all the females, infant and adult, who were present. Each vied for my attention, for my touch, wanted to be close to me. Several fell out over me in the first week. Infants and adults. I had found my role in life.
On my first day in primary school Miss Anderson, who taught the first year class, took a special interest in me. A very special interest. The extra time she insisted on spending with me not only gave me a head start educationally over the others, but confirmed that I had a power over heterosexual women I could do nothing to turn down. Even at five I knew my destiny. Miss Anderson was sad when I moved on to year two. I became the most popular pupil in the school, loved by the girls, admired and envied by the boys, doted on by the female teachers. And Mr Kemp, the fey music teacher. He loved my ability to pick up his arpeggios.
When the time came to move on to secondary I received special goodbyes from Miss Anderson and Mr Kemp. The latter provided me with a special lesson, showing how his fingers could bring out joyful sounds, and amazed at how swiftly I was able to gain maestro status in the flute play he instructed me in. My final farewell was to my first teacher, a shaking Miss Anderson. She told me that I was the most special pupil she had ever had and there was a part of my education she would love to help me complete. But was I ready for it? It was my twelfth birthday, and she was able to give me the most remarkable present, for her touch, and kisses soon provided evidence that I was indeed well up to the moment. Shocked and delighted by the sheer size of one so young, I then greatly surprised her with my detailed knowledge of biology and anatomy. It was a memorable initiation and a fit ending to my time there.
Secondary was, well, more of the same really. Success came to me in every form. Academic, sporting, popularity. And sexual. Even in my first year I found I could have my pick of the sixteen year olds. And, once my reputation became solidly established, the sixth year as well. Girls. Mostly.
By the time I went to university my mother knew she had given the world her greatest gift and that she could no longer share a part of that legacy, so she passed away. My father, knowing he could not compete with his prodigy offspring, accepted the role of provider until the time has come for me to make my way in the world. He is a good man, and knows he can be proud of his son, who will go places he could only dream of.
So here I am. Graduate, postgraduate, a healthy stream of job offers in my inbox. And a different woman every night. Career options remain open, but whichever I choose I will be brilliant at. But my professional reputation will always be in the shadow of one thing and one thing only. My abilities as a lover. That is why they are calling me Dr Blyth Crawford - the new Casanova.
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