Seven Steps To Eternity: Step 1 Out of Death A Love Is Born

By Tessy 47

“Seven Steps to Eternity” is a heptalogy of books depicting a compelling and somewhat sensual love story. It’s a story that embraces intense feelings of joy, sorrow, disaster, and humour. It’s a story that above all depicts the most powerful love between two people that has ever existed. In fact it is of a love that has never been known within the human fraternity.
When I first started writing the series; the intention was that it be simply one book. It was as I continued to write that I have to admit that to some degree I became emotionally involved. This was as the story unfolded. With my emotional involvement, the words continued to flow; and kept on flowing. On that basis; containing the complete story within one book became impractical.
The story is fiction but refers to actual events that have occurred in the world since the 1960's. As an example there are references to real events such as what has become known as "Nine Eleven". There are fictional events portrayed that occur beyond the year 2000. Even though they are fictional; something similar could happen and change how we all live - forever. In fact if we don't all do something about how we treat Planet Earth; it will be inevitably someday and somehow that we will as a civilisation self destruct.
Within the story there are references to real places such as Birmingham in England; and Auckland New Zealand – to name two of many. At these locations fictional events occur. These fictional events bear no reflection on the places themselves. It is simply convenient to use such places to fit in with the story. Apart from the use of real names; there are references to fictional places as well.
In writing this seven part novel I felt it to be high time that there be a change. That is a change where the explicit sensual and sexual feelings between two people exist. What I mean is that the intimate actions between two lovers be expressed as something of great beauty. Too many times I have seen the sexual act being portrayed with a crudity that is beyond belief. There are no “F” or “C” words here. Maybe this crudity came about because of an inherent timidity our society has. These seven books change all that. They take an approach that will no doubt offend or infuriate some and be embraced by others. Please; if it offends don't read on. In addition to what I have just stated; the story has a spiritual aspect that touches on the realms of being science fiction. Even so; “Seven Steps to Eternity” is not a series of science fiction novels as such. It is in essence a love story that differs to anything ever written. The man and the woman in the story have needs that replicate first time love and lust. Those feelings never die for a single moment. No; nobody has ever experienced such everlasting and sustained lust and love before.
For some of us; the challenges the world throws our way can be overwhelming. On that basis we don't make it. The two main characters in this story do make it. This is because firstly the intense love they have for one another gives them the strength to do so. Secondly being loved gives them the courage to survive against all odds. They are also controlled by a higher power that they can’t see or feel. Over time they become aware of such a presence.
At times in writing this story there were tears in my eyes. This was with the deep sensual feelings that prevail. Even so it is not a "doom and gloom" epic. It has humour and in some ways it takes courage to read it. It does so because it makes us take a look at ourselves and how we live as a society. It may in all likelihood even take the reader where he or she has have never had the courage to go in a relationship.
Incidentally; it’s because I’m a private person that I have needed to maintain my anonymity - hence the name “Tessy47”. Tessy47 is my twitter name. “Tessy” and the quintessential number “47” also have much relevance to the story – as will be seen by those who read it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tessy 47
• Release date: Dec 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370552238

Tessy 47

In reality there is not that much to say about me. I’m a fairly private person. I have written several other books under various pseudonyms. I guess that I’m not one that is into obtaining enjoyment from how many books I have sold. The enjoyment I get is from living in another world when I do write. I love it. It’s a wonderful escape. It will be seen in reading Seven Steps to Eternity that I am a sensual person that thrives on intimate heterosexual love. I have a deep respect and fondness for all creatures of the world – hence the inclusion of some very special animals and birds in the story. I love the world I live in – especially here in Auckland New Zealand. One thing that disturbs me is the greed and lack of respect for the world by many. This aspect comes across in Seven Steps to Eternity. Maybe human civilisation is coming to an end. Who knows? Take care of each other out there. Regards Tessy 47

Book preview

SEVEN STEPS TO ETERNITY

A Heptalogy Extraordinaire

Step 1: Out Of Death A Love Is Born

by

TESSY 47

2nd Edition November 2017 (Minor grammatical changes)

PUBLISHED BY:

TESSY 47

Copyright © 2017 by TESSY 47

Please note: Adult Content. Erotic and sensual without crudity.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should delete it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

DEDICATION

To my partner who gave me the courage and encouragement

to publish a story that my peers would undoubtedly lambast me for!

Author's Notes

Seven Steps to Eternity is a heptalogy of books depicting a compelling story. It’s a story that embraces intense feelings of joy, sorrow, disaster, and humour. It’s a story that above all depicts the most powerful love between two people that has ever existed. In fact it is of a love that has never been known within the human fraternity. That is since the inception of mankind or personkind to be politically correct.

When I first started writing the series; the intention was that it be simply one book. It was as I continued to write that I have to admit that to some degree I became emotionally involved. This was as the story unfolded. With my emotional involvement, the words continued to flow; and kept on flowing. On that basis; containing the complete story within one book became impractical.

The story is fiction but refers to actual events that have occurred in the world since the 1960's. As an example there are references to real events such as what has become known as Nine Eleven. There are fictional events portrayed that occur beyond the year 2000. Even though they are fictional; something similar could happen and change how we all live - forever. In fact if we don't all do something about how we treat Planet Earth; it will be inevitably someday and somehow that we will as a civilisation self destruct.

Within the story there are references to real places such as Birmingham in England; and Auckland New Zealand – to name two of many. At these locations fictional events occur. These fictional events bear no reflection on the places themselves. It is simply convenient to use such places to fit in with the story. Apart from the use of real names; there are references to fictional places as well.

In writing this seven part novel I felt it to be high time that there be a change. That is a change where the explicit sensual and sexual feelings between two people exist. What I mean is that the intimate actions between two lovers be expressed as something of great beauty. Too many times I have seen the sexual act being portrayed with a crudity that is beyond belief. There are no F or C words here. Maybe this crudity came about because of an inherent timidity our society has. That is about expressing deep feelings – something similar to a boys don't cry mentality. These seven books change all that. They take an approach that will no doubt offend or infuriate some and be embraced by others. Please; if it offends don't read on. In addition to what I have just stated; the story has a spiritual aspect that touches on the realms of being science fiction. Even so; Seven Steps to Eternity is not a series of science fiction novels as such. It is in essence a love story that differs to anything ever written. The man and the woman in the story have needs that replicate first time love and lust. Those feelings never die for a single moment. No; nobody has ever experienced such everlasting and sustained lust and love before.

For some of us; the challenges the world throws our way can be overwhelming. On that basis we don't make it. The two main characters in this story do make it. This is because firstly the intense love they have for one another gives them the strength to do so. Secondly being loved gives them the courage to survive against all odds. They are also controlled by a higher power that they can’t see or feel. Over time they become aware of such a presence.

At times in writing this story there were tears in my eyes. This was with the deep sensual feelings that prevail. Even so it is not a doom and gloom epic. It has humour and in some ways it takes courage to read it. It does so because it makes us take a look at ourselves and how we live as a society. It may in all likelihood even take the reader where he or she has have never had the courage to go in a relationship.

It will be realised; this is as the reader comes to know the two main characters; that maybe it is long overdue that we all do take a good look at ourselves. We need to change our culture so that greed, dishonesty, and blind adherence to peer pressure are removed from society.

I sincerely wish that you as a reader gain as much pleasure from reading these books as I gained from writing them.

Incidentally; it’s because I am a private person that I have needed to maintain my anonymity - hence the name Tessy47. Tessy47 is my twitter name. Tessy and the quintessential number 47 also have much relevance to the story – as will be seen by those who dare to read it.

Best wishes – Tessy 47.

SEVEN STEPS TO ETERNITY

Step 1: Out Of Death A Love Is Born

Contents:-

Chapter 1 The Year 2048

Chapter 2 In The Beginning

Chapter 3 Transition To Adulthood

Chapter 4 Out Of Left Field

Chapter 5 A Gift From My Mother

Chapter 6 The Black Dress

Chapter 7 A Night To Remember

Chapter 8 Interim Closure

Chapter 9 I Learn More Of Geneviève

Chapter 10 The River And A Late Lunch

Chapter 11 Final Morning At Carlisle

Chapter 12 Christmas Shopping

Chapter 13 Geneviève's Apartment

Chapter 14 Christmas Eve 1988

Chapter 15 Early Christmas Morning

Chapter 16 The Opening Of Our Presents

Chapter 17 First Day At Home

Chapter 18 Two Meetings

Chapter 19 Intimate Discussion Continues

Chapter 20 We Rationalise Our Sexuality

Chapter 21 An Emotion Filled Day

Chapter 22 Back To The Grindstone

Chapter 23 Geneviève's Great Idea

Chapter 24 A Spiritual Awakening

Chapter 1

The Year 2048

The year is 2048. It’s July in London and thus a time of the year when the joys that summer brings should prevail. Such joy did prevail once; however it’s in these times that that joy has been tempered somewhat. This is due to the fact that Britain has become a party to what has become known as World War III.

The war I refer to is unlike anything in the history of human occupation of Planet Earth. It’s a war that has been simmering as a festering sore since nine-eleven forty-seven years before. Many had said at the time that the world would never be the same. They had been correct in their assumption. Since that time; terrorist orientated religious factions had grown massively and surreptitiously in strength and numbers. They grew without the knowledge of the west; well the west chose to ignore it although it had been suspected by many. Ever increasingly such factions had been using guerrilla type strategies to terrorise the world as a means of taking global control.

Britain for one was now under constant threat of internally contrived terrorist attacks. Some were of the type where an innocent member of the public would be murdered execution style with a knife. Such lone wolf attacks were now in the minority in the overall scheme of things. Most terrorist attacks were being directed via sophisticated independent electronic communication - the dark web in particular. Such communications were originating in the main from subterranean hideouts in the Middle East. They were also originating to a lesser extent from Middle Eastern countries where religious fanaticism prevailed and the west was hated.

With the western technology that these groups had copied; and even improved on; they had come together to make a formidable and horrifying global guerrilla force. It had even come to the stage where one didn’t trust one’s own neighbour or work compatriot. In reality the west had become contaminated with hidden traitors. They were traitors who went about normal activities in daily life. They did so while seeking vulnerability and opportunity amongst those who were law abiding and patriotic to King and Country.

Unfortunately the police and the military forces of the world were powerless to stop such activity. The bleeding heart civil-rights legislation that democracy attracted had brought about easy infiltration. This was by those who wanted to destroy western civilisation. Just as an example, consider Britain. Middle Eastern countries forbade the practice of western values and culture in their countries. Yet for decades Britain welcomed radical religious fanatics and cultures with open arms – fools! Then; once they had taken root in Britain they were impossible to get rid of. Radicalised terrorists were in fact then natural citizens of Britain. For years the factions I refer to had continued to undermine western values with subversive activities. It was now in 2048 that they had reached the stage where they were succeeding in taking over. It was a deadly process of demoralisation and subsequent elimination of democracy.

Weapons used for terrorist attacks had become incredibly sophisticated. For one there was the use of silent and remotely controlled drones. Such devices were deployed to attack at night. As far as could be determined by both British and USA defence; they were being remotely controlled from places such as Afghanistan. The drones in being electrically powered used superconductor cells. It meant that the drones had an almost infinite range. They were virtually undetectable in being flown below radar. They were being flown from somewhere on the European continent. The drone itself was literally a flying bomb packed with a lethal dose of plastic explosives. Some would detonate on hitting an object such as a building. Others would be detonated by remote control. Unfortunately for those on the receiving end; newly developed plastic explosives brought about the destruction of matter at something close to an atomic level. Something the size of a matchbox could level a high-rise building.

To further add to the west’s woes there were also highly sophisticated boring machines. Such machines drilled horizontally over huge distances beneath the ground; and rapidly too. I should clarify that the boring machines didn’t as such drill their way through rock and soil. Instead of drill heads they incorporated nuclear fusion heads that produced exceedingly high temperatures. It meant that they melted their way through rock not unlike a hot knife passing through butter.

The boring machines were used extensively to place explosive charges beneath cities. In principle such boring machines were similar to what telecom companies had in the past used to lay fibre optic cables. The difference being of course that the older machines bored their way beneath ground. The terrorist devices melted their way. Many millions about the world were on tenterhooks in not knowing if they were to be next in the tirade of subterranean bombings and drone air attacks. This was not forgetting lone wolf type executions and suicide bombings that continued forever and a day.

In Britain the so called boring machines had become known by the general populace as moles. I suppose they were not unlike the concept of pilotless flying bombs that the Germans had used back at the time of World War II. The so called moles instead of being in the air were beneath the ground. The sound of the moles making their way beneath the surface could be detected by probes that the military had placed about London. In addition if all was quiet; such as at night or on a still day; they could be heard with the unaided ear. There would be faint cracking sounds as surrounding rock would split due to the enormous temperature gradient at the bore head.

Normally if the sound of a mole was detected; the area along the line of drilling would then be evacuated. The police or armed forces would drive about the place broadcasting warnings of Mole detected! Evacuate the area immediately! If the sound of a mole stopped; it was fairly certain that a serious explosion was likely to occur. This would generally be within minutes to half an hour. It would inevitably be beneath some important building or place of civic pride. For one; Buckingham Palace had been severely damaged by such an attack a couple of years earlier. That is in 2046. Believe me; the whole concept was frightening and demoralising. Worst of all was that Britain’s defence forces seemed to be powerless to stop what was happening. The British Navy and Army; this was along with the Royal Air Force; had no place in the new strategy of war. In the past; such forces were perfectly capable of defending against foreign attack by sea or air. However the surreptitious guerrilla warfare that the world now faced was nigh on impossible to deal with.

The seriousness of the situation was more than adequately demonstrated on February the 16th in 2047. This was when within a space of only seconds that both Washington DC and New York City were all but destroyed by nuclear explosions. Such massive destruction had been executed using moles. They were moles that had been run close to a kilometre deep to avoid detection. Eight million people had been killed outright in the attack. Resulting maiming, nuclear fallout, and radiation sickness probably destroyed the lives of another fifty million. Even the anti-terrorist resources of the CIA had been brought to their knees.

The perpetrators had by this time gained inside knowledge of CIA operations. The knowledge had come from traitorous informers who had no doubt been paid handsomely. In effect the world at this time was being held to ransom by the rort that money and capitalism was. I’m not being unrealistic in saying that in the year 2048 the end in some form at least was nigh; it was inevitable. It was simply a case of when.

It was I suppose an interesting coincidence that the attack on the USA had occurred on the forty-seventh day of the year 2047. The number forty-seven had stuck in my mind; possibly subliminally. It resurfaced later in a story that needs to be told.

Apart from the worry of daily guerrilla type attacks about the world; nuclear fallout was beginning to contaminate the planet. It was doing so at low but rising levels. Regretfully it was seemingly the beginning of a painfully slow end to democracy - and so called western civilisation – or even the human race for that matter. Quite frankly it angered me that past governments had been so complacent. They had not recognised what had been staring them in the face for some decades.

At this time that I write; that is July 2048; Britain was on tenterhooks in relation to a possible massive attack. It was with the small amount of intelligence gathering capability that Britain had; officials had been able to determine that London was next on the list for nuclear destruction. London could have been evacuated I suppose. If it had been; the attack would be directed elsewhere for maximum impact. Life simply had to go on while taking the necessary precautions. Overreaction that might be of advantage to the enemy had to be avoided.

With what was happening about the world it certainly confirmed that World War III was well underway. This was even though war as such had never been declared. It was depressing to think that such a war was being won by brainwashed religious factions and terrorists. What had been a wonderful world of science, technology, and many fine things was now at risk of being taken back to the dark ages. What an unbelievably stupid animal the human being was. For many it was a frightening scenario. This was particularly so with what Britain, America, and Europe now faced.

I say frightening for many because to the younger generation it was. Universities and learning institutions had become significantly underutilised. Seemingly striving for any form of qualification and career had become futile. Drugs and alcohol abuse were becoming increasingly rife as a means of numbing the fear of the future. Crime had gone through the roof as the masses stole to feed their habits and survive. In reality anarchy was close at hand. This was exactly how those driving World War III wanted it to be. It was devastatingly clever.

Was I personally afraid? No not really. For one thing I need to point out that I am an eighty-four year old male. From my point of view I have been gifted with living far longer than many others. What I refer to has nothing to do with terrorism either. It’s at this time in the year 2048 that many have died prematurely because of obesity and poor lifestyle. The average life expectancy at this time in Britain has dropped to forty-nine for males and fifty-three for females. Because of so called human rights; successive Governments never tackled substance abuse and obesity.

Fortunately my beautiful wife; whom I love dearly; didn’t succumb to the stupidity of others. She is eighty-eight years old. She is still exceedingly beautiful and thriving. We have shared a relatively good life; although on reflection it has been somewhat conventional and nothing to write home about. I will explain further in a moment.

My wife whose name is Geneviève; has at this point in time been retired from secondary school teaching for twenty years. As for myself I have been retired for fifteen years having practiced for several decades as a medical GP. Our years of retirement have been spent living in a small but rather comfortable stone cottage we bought in 2020. The cottage in question resides at St Ives on the Cornish Coast. It’s a beautiful little place that I would describe as being a slice of heaven. It’s set on a hillside just up from the sea. It’s beautifully placed amongst heather and wild flowers.

I have to admit that apart from a few overseas trips to Europe and New Zealand that our years at St Ives were nondescript. They were years where Geneviève and I fritted the time away with what was on reflection mindless bliss. We did so by spending many a pleasant hour tending to our flower and vegetable gardens. Then occasionally we would walk to the village to perhaps fetch a newspaper - or maybe fish and chips for tea. I should mention that we didn’t read the news online. This was because terrorism had all but destroyed the internet.

To fill in our days at St Ives; we would spend many hours sitting on our veranda in the sun. While doing so we would read a book and look out at the view we had over the sea. We would reflect on days of the past when Britain had been Great. Neither of us had had particularly pleasant childhoods but that was by the by. As for the remainder of the day it would then be television in the evening before heading to bed; that’s if television was operating. It was a staid and routine lifestyle that we had spent at St Ives although Geneviève and I were certainly happy enough.

Having plenty of money to retire on had I suppose made us complacent. We had accumulated a tidy sum. This was from what we had earned over the years in our respective professions. In reality there was nothing to challenge us. We didn’t rock the boat by looking for challenges either. Well put it this way we weren’t risk takers. We were protective of our monetary savings because they gave us a warm fuzzy feeling of security. It would be many a time that I would be engaged in conversation with our financial advisor. There would be niceties and much drivel talked as to what shares to buy and what was currently the safest investment. Mind you; this was how many retired British people of the middle to upper-class were. We had in hindsight been influenced by peer pressure to become rather snobby citizens. That is those who didn’t associate themselves with the hoi polloi.

It’s interesting to note while I think of it that Geneviève and I led exceedingly healthy lives. It might be thought that this was because I was a GP. Indirectly it was true. It was also in some ways because I was a hypocrite. Over the years I had; this was as it had been dictated by my profession; issued many pharmaceutical drugs to patients to supposedly benefit their health. I knew only too well that pharmaceutical drugs with their side effects probably shortened people’s lives rather than lengthening them. At the very best they kept older patients alive in a living death. Be that as it may; and thanks to my inside knowledge; Geneviève and I avoided pharmaceutical drugs at all cost. It’s a topic I could spend hours writing about. Nevertheless it was as a result of what I knew that Geneviève and I were fit and healthy on through into later life. Being stress free no doubt helped in the scheme of things too. Even with the arrival of World War III we didn’t stress too much about the world’s predicament; particularly not at our age. It was a case of whatever will be, will be. It was a case of live for now and let tomorrow take care of itself.

When Geneviève and I had married we had elected to not have children. This meant that we were on our own. My parents were long dead just as were Geneviève’s. Even though we had no children or family; the love Geneviève and I shared over the years was far too strong for loneliness to have ever entered the equation. We enjoyed each others company immensely. Generally it was apart from a couple of special friends that we had that we shunned the company of others. To us the complications that the busy-bodying of others brought about was something we didn’t need within the simplicity of our lives.

I now need to point out that by this point in time in the year 2048 I had found myself in a rather grave and compromising situation. This was especially so in relation to my personal circumstances. Bear with me and I’ll explain in a moment. In being in the situation I had found myself in; I couldn’t help but think that Geneviève and I could have done much more with our lives. There had been a myriad of lost opportunities as far as I was concerned. As a consequence I found myself doing much reflecting about our past. Let me begin to explain.

Going back about seven months; it was a few days before the Christmas of 2047 that Geneviève and I had driven to London. This was from our cottage in St Ives. We had done so to not only see the sights of Christmas but to do some Christmas shopping for one another. In order to buy our presents; Geneviève and I had separated and agreed to meet back at a nominated coffee shop in half an hour.

Our separating was something that I sincerely regretted. This was because shopping for Geneviève was about the last thing I remembered. I had headed to Selfridges to buy her perfume and jewellery. It was something as a part of our staid lives that I did every Christmas.

It was while in the process of buying my presents for Geneviève that the store was bombed from beneath by a mole. The explosion was severe. As a consequence the near century-and-a-half old building collapsed. It was then as a result of injuries that I sustained that I lay in a coma. This was in St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington for close to seven months. To add to my woes I had been injured such that I was paralysed below the waist. Fortunately enough I had been far enough away from the explosion not to be burnt. I was fortunate in not being disfigured by the fire that resulted. Many poor souls were. At least I had something to be thankful for.

It was initially when I had emerged from my coma that severe depression set in. Fortunately it was for a matter of only a few hours as I will explain in a moment. Quite frankly I had felt like ending it all there and then. Poor Geneviève; apart from having me in a coma for nearly seven months; her finding me to be in such a negative state on awaking was almost too much. Nevertheless her love for me was undying. Such was her nature that she would do anything within her power to relieve my depression and suffering. She was literally an angel the way she conveyed her love and made every attempt to give me the necessary encouragement to carry on. I have much to thank her for. In fact with how my story unfolds; maybe the world has much to thank her for.

Let’s return to the present. Right now it’s nine o’clock in the morning on Tuesday July the seventh 2048. Three days have passed since emerging from my coma. I can see how the day outside has dawned to be fine and sunny. This is through the window of my room in the intensive care ward. Amazingly enough it’s this particular morning that my disposition is fine and sunny too. This is because I have an idea. I can’t wait to tell Geneviève about it either. She is due to arrive at the hospital in the next few minutes.

When Geneviève did arrive I remember how magic it was to see her beautiful face light up. This was with the delight she felt on seeing me smiling. In fact she couldn’t believe the change in me. Accordingly she sat close to me on the bed. Having flung her arms about me she kissed me passionately. Tears of relief and joy flowed as she did. After all it was for more than nearly seven months that she had thought that she had lost her husband of nearly sixty years. She had had to deal with the constant nightmare of me waking as a vegetable - or maybe not at all. Yes to Geneviève; the smile on my face right then was the greatest gift of all time. Not unnaturally; Geneviève on witnessing my bubbly happiness enquired as to why it was that my disposition had changed so much.

I should mention that Geneviève had always been a strikingly beautiful woman. At eighty-eight years of age her eyes were still of a vivid and vibrant blue. In some ways; this was even at the age she was; she had the eyes of a beautiful child. Right then those eyes were focussed on mine with much intensity and wondrous glee. Those eyes continued to remain focussed on me as I proceeded to explain what it was that had brought about a change in me.

In essence the change in me had been brought about by something that is unequivocally true in life. The war going on around us; this was together with my disability; meant nothing if one thought about it rationally. This was because happiness was purely and simply brought about by three magic ingredients. It was irrefutable that the first was someone to love. The second was something to hope for. Last but not least was something to do. Nothing else mattered in the scheme of human life if one took a moment to think about it.

Let me elaborate a little further. The someone to love was of course my Geneviève. I loved her above all else just as she did me. The something to hope for was to be back at our cottage at St Ives to live a life of new challenges. My disability wasn’t going to make it easy. Even so, Geneviève and I would face the challenge together as a team. At least St Ives was away from terrorist activities. On that basis we could perhaps hope for another few years before civilisation would finally crumble. Besides which; if the end did come; Geneviève and I had agreed to deal to it using euthanasia. Having been a GP I kept adequate stocks of sodium pentothal for such a purpose.

As far as the something to do was concerned there were two aspects to this important ingredient of happiness. For one there would be much busyness back at St Ives. This was in making wheelchair access for me where it didn’t currently exist. There would be pathways and ramps to construct. By our very natures there would be much teasing and laughter as we embarked on such a project.

Having in part relayed to Geneviève the reason for the improvement in my disposition; we agreed that we would buy a specially fitted van for me to drive and take us on holidays. What had previously been a life of complacency would now have challenges to overcome. There would be much satisfaction and happiness in working through those challenges together. I couldn’t help thinking how fortunate I was. In particular this was to have come out of my coma with my mental faculties in tact. I had come to realise that it could have been one hell of a lot worse.

I mentioned that there were two components to the something to do aspect of ongoing happiness and fulfilment. The second component was one of incredible importance. Although we didn’t realise it then it was ultimately the most precious gift Geneviève and I could have ever been given. In order to explain I first need to elaborate on something. This was that when I had been in a coma; I had literally lived another life. It’s the only way to describe it. It was a life with Geneviève that we possibly could have experienced and lived if we had made the effort to do so.

On first awaking from my coma I had thought the experience of living another life to have simply been a form of a vivid dream. Initially I had thought that it would pass and I would soon forget about it. Let’s face it; dreams usually fade and are quickly forgotten. This one didn’t. In fact over the first two days after waking; the experience I had had became more intense and vivid in detail. I came to realise that without question I had actually lived another life over the near seven months I had been in a coma.

In the main; my reason for thinking so was that my experience covered a complete lifetime in unbelievable detail. I now had first hand knowledge of places that I had never even been to or visited. Amazingly I had even come to know far more about Geneviève herself. There were things that I had never previously known; or had maybe been blind to. One in particular was her uninhibited sensuality. Seemingly she had always had what was a deep need to have me be intimate and love her physically as a woman. I suppose because of prudishness and peer pressure on my part I never recognised it.

The life I had lived with my Geneviève; this was while in a coma; had been unbelievably beautiful and sensually exciting. The experience just kept growing and repeating itself within my mind. This was as the first day or so passed following emerging from a coma. The pleasure it gave me to reflect on that amazing past was enormous. Above all I needed to share it with Geneviève.

I was due to stay in hospital for at least another month before being released. This was for some minor corrective surgery on my shattered legs. It was as well as for some rehabilitation of me by the hospital physiotherapy team. What I intended to do over this month excited me just as it did Geneviève when I told her of my plan. It related to the experience I had had when I had been in a coma. Geneviève could see the excitement in me. She kept pleading with me to tell her what it was. I felt incredibly happy because what I had in mind was a perfect means of making the remaining month in hospital a positive one.

I explained to Geneviève how while in a coma I had lived another life. I made sure that she was aware that it was a life that she and I had both shared. I also implored with her to believe me that it wasn’t simply a dream. It was indeed a life we had both lived and shared that was of unimaginable love and excitement. Not unnaturally she pleaded with me to tell her.

I suspect initially that Geneviève had thought that it would be perhaps over a period of an hour or so that I could relay what I had experienced. It was far too complex and detailed to do that. Once again I couldn’t believe the amount of information that had been implanted within my mind. It excited me because the end of my story was unbelievably important. I desperately needed to share that end with Geneviève. Something spiritual within me was driving me to do so.

Because of the complex nature of my story; what I proposed to do was this. I committed myself to every day for the following month to write as many chapters as I could. This was covering the life I had experienced. It was no problem for me to do so. Let’s face it there was nothing else to do while lying in hospital. It would give me a positive frame of mind. It would give me a purpose to life in spite of my predicament.

Geneviève was excited by what I had suggested. She promised that she would call in several times a day to see how I was progressing. I had set a target of finishing my writings by the first week of August this particular year. I had made up my mind to even write twenty-four hours a day should it be warranted. Actually I had to finish my story by the target date because of what will be revealed at the end of my story.

So it was with Geneviève’s agreement that I set about documenting my other life. I worked exceedingly hard and with purpose. Ultimately I was proud of my efforts. I had completed the task on Wednesday the 5th of August. It had been a supreme effort on my part to do so. It was that very day that I began to relay to Geneviève the amazing tale I had to tell.

Before I do reveal the story I wrote; consideration needs to be given to how in normal dreams that it’s everyday events and feelings we experience that influence those dreams. If one is depressed; more often than not dreams will be depressing. Emotions and feelings such as guilt, inferiority, happiness, love, and lust are often reflected in dreams. The brain creates scenes and phenomena that can’t even be conceived in day to day living.

In relation to what I have just stated; I touched on it earlier that sexual fantasies I had had in relation to Geneviève had been stifled over the years. This was due to societal convention and peer pressure. It had been the same for Geneviève with her feelings for me. Over our whole married life we had in effect lusted for one another but had never had the courage to talk about it or act upon it. We had never had the courage to act upon what in reality were completely normal needs of the human animal. This aspect had certainly been corrected in the other life we shared. In fact in the other life the greatest love of all time was born. This very factor and all its sensual beauty was the underlying key to the other life Geneviève and I had lived. There was no holding back with the desires we felt for one another. If only we could have done the same over the life we had already lived. Well with the way it panned out; seemingly and amazingly it appeared to be that we were to be given a second chance.

I say second chance because something of great spiritual significance happened. This was when I began reading back my story to Geneviève. What happened was in effect proof of the fact that I had lived another life with her. The event I refer to will have to wait until the end of the story when all will be revealed. In the meantime; let’s get on with the other life Geneviève and I lived. I can’t wait; it needs to be told because with what I know now it’s a true story.

As a means of clarification; I should mention that what I relay commences just as our lives originally were. What I relate is perhaps a little staid and boring initially but it needs to be told. Even so; what I relate ends up being vastly different to the conventional life Geneviève and I had led up until the year 2048. I warn also that if religious principles or maybe peer pressure prevents the acceptance of enjoyment through sexual intimacy; then this is not the story for you. Otherwise buckle up and come for an extraordinary ride over a passage of time.

Just one final thing before I do begin; it’s important to keep in mind the threat of the moles that I mentioned earlier. It has some relevance at the end of the story. Enough said. Let us begin:-

Chapter 2

In The Beginning

My name is James Robert McDonald. I was born in Birmingham England on the 15th of March 1963. My father was Scottish and my mother Welsh. My father; Robert Dundas McDonald; was at the time I was born; thirty-four. My mother; Megan Elaine - née Bufton was thirty-two.

My father; a boilermaker by trade; was of medium height, thin, and in a rugged sense good looking. In his younger years he had possessed a thick crop of black hair. This was with a little premature greying at the temples. He was thin because he smoked and drank more often than he ate. Externally he was hard. Inwardly; this was especially when it came to my mother; he was a little soft centred. Deep down he really loved her. However once the lust of the early days of their relationship had faded; and I had been born; it was for some reason that my father withdrew to the company of his mates and his work. He found it hard to express his true feelings for Mum.

My mother was slim and marginally taller than my father. This gave her a slight advantage whenever she got mad with him. She could be feisty if she wanted to be. From photos I had seen of my mother when she was young; this was in her twenties and early thirties; she was exceedingly beautiful. She had dark almost black hair, fair skin, and hauntingly beautiful blue eyes. She had the looks that any red-blooded male would fall for. My father who lived in Glasgow did exactly that. This was when my mother was holidaying there. My mother was born and raised in Cardiff Wales. When she met my father in Glasgow she worked in an office for UK Rail in Cardiff. It was later she moved north to Glasgow to marry my father.

Mum; as I shall refer to her; smoked fairly heavily in early times. As far as alcohol was concerned she would have a Scotch and dry on the rocks on social occasions or sometimes with Dad. Dad would rubbish her for ruining perfectly good Scotch with ginger ale. Even so; Mum ignored him and took such criticism in her stride. Mum would have actually much preferred the pleasure of a glass of fine wine. In particular she liked red wines from the wine-growing region of Bordeaux in France. With limited finances, Dad's Scotch was all the budget would allow.

It was a pity in relation to my mother’s smoking. Originally Mum only smoked because Dad did. It stemmed from the time when they had first met and had socialised together at parties. Then it hadn't taken long for it to become an addiction. Smoking as time passed; this was to a small degree; took a toll on Mum's good looks. It was particularly so as she advanced into her forties. Her face if one looked closely had become prematurely lined as well as being thin and drawn. This was not entirely due to smoking. In fact it related in part to the day to day stress of money worries; and Dad's heavy drinking. Even so; that's just the way it was and there were thousands of other families just like us at the time.

As matter of interest, it was some years later; this was when I had started to become interested in the opposite sex; that I saw the classic film Gone With The Wind. It stunned me when I realised that when my mother had been young she had looked just like Vivien Leigh.

So that I don't miss out someone who was very important to me I need to mention that a year or so after I was born; this was on the 18th of April 1964; my sister Mary arrived. Mary Anne McDonald was a special sister and a companion during some lonely and difficult times we both had as children. Mary and I could talk about things that troubled us in those early days. My sister consoled me on many occasions when I was bullied at school. We could actually talk to Mum too; this was when Dad wasn't around. Unfortunately Mum was caught between a rock and a hard place in that Dad insisted that she not be too soft with us kids. We nay wan' no namby pamby stuff woman he would say in his insensitive arrogance. His insensitiveness I believe reflected the hard upbringing that he had received as a child.

Mum could have done so much more with her life. She was sensitive and intelligent. It was a tragedy that she had ended up with someone like my father. Her sensitivity and intelligence were no better demonstrated than at one time when I was four years old. To elaborate; Dad frequently used the f word when expressing displeasure about something. Not unnaturally as a four year old I thought it appropriate that I did too. I had done so on one of many unpleasant occasions when I had been told by my father to go to your room laddy. This was for some mild misdemeanour. Dad just didn't appreciate my response on this particular occasion when I had said, I don't want to go to my fucking room. Dad was close to giving me a severe thrashing when Mum intervened. This was before he could do to me what absolutely terrified me. This was especially so when his rage was fuelled by alcohol.

I'll deal with it Robert! I remember Mum shouting at the time. He’s only bloody well copying what you say. Can't ya bloody well see!

It would never fail that Dad would back off when Mum's Welsh feistiness had been ignited. She was a force to be reckoned with. Not that I was off the hook either on this particular occasion. Mum in being not only fed up but fired up as well, subsequently demanded of me; James, you will go to your room as your father has said; now! I want to have a serious talk with you young man!

The serious talk that Mum had with me went along the lines of, James, I never ever want to hear you say F-U-C-K or F-U-C-K-I-N-G in my presence again. Mum had spelt the words rather than saying them. You don't know what they mean - is that quite clear!

Even though I was young and my knowledge included only a smattering of the alphabet, I knew what Mum was saying. Nevertheless in being curious I had to ask what F-U-C-K meant. Mum with her cleverness in dealing with the likes of me knew I would ask exactly that. Accordingly she proceeded to explain what the offending word meant. I had listened in stunned silence.

Having listened to Mum in amazement; and having screwed up my face as a child does when perplexed; I remember mumbling the words; I have to put my thing in where? I didn't want to know about that! Consequently I never mentioned the word again; well not for a few years at least. Clever Mum!

At the time my parents were married; this was the year before I was born; Dad worked for the Scottish company Fairfield's Shipbuilding and Engineering Company Ltd. It was located at Govan in Glasgow. Fairfield's as it was generally known was a major shipbuilder on the Clyde River. They had built warships extending back to the time of World War I. This was as well as passenger ships such as transatlantic passenger liners for Cunard and Canadian Pacific.

Dad was strictly a union man. He was unquestionably bigoted and arrogant. He was particularly bigoted if it ever came to bringing into question union policy. It was for most of the time that he spoke quickly in an extremely broad Scottish accent. It was an accent that others found difficult to understand. One could easily understand where the term blather came from just by how he spoke! Mum didn't want Mary or me to grow up speaking like Dad. It was on that basis that she later paid for us to suffer elocution lessons. This was so that we could learn to speak proper as she had said. Dear Mum; she really cared about Mary and me. I had to admit that the elocution lessons were actually of great benefit to me in later life.

Typically throughout his post marriage years; Dad was in his element when he drank whiskey and dark malt ales while playing darts with his mates. This was usually twice a week or more at the local tavern. Apart from dark malt ales, his favourite drink was neat Macallan's single malt Scotch.

My father smoked incessantly; he was far worse than Mum. There was always a lit cigarette in his mouth - usually Capstan Navy Cut. It always fascinated me as a child how when he spoke his cigarette would stick fast to his lips. It would bob up and down like an out of control railway signal arm. With the way Dad had the ability to speak with a cigarette stuck between his lips; I felt that maybe he had missed his vocation. He could have been a ventriloquist!

When Dad smoked; the blue smoke from his cigarette would rise and curl up his face. It would then irritate the living daylights out of his bloodshot eyes. This was so that they then squinted through the wisps of blue. Drawing in breath would bring about extended bouts of coughing. This was as smoke would be drawn into his nicotine and tar soaked lungs. Even with me having the mind of a child I wondered to myself as to why would anyone want to do this to themselves.

Ship building on the Clyde at the time was unfortunately going to the wall. To avoid the inevitable point of demise; Mum and Dad moved to Birmingham a month before I was born in 1963. It was to a place called Stirchley. To me in my growing up years the name Stirchley portrayed a depressing stoicism. Many of the buildings and houses were old with some dating back to the early 1800’s. In reality Stirchley wasn’t as depressing as I have portrayed. It was simply the circumstances at home that made it that way in my mind.

The move to Birmingham was made for my father to take up position as a foreman at the British Motor Corporation Longbridge plant. This was a place where they made cars. There were Morris Minors and Austin A40's for the hoi polloi. This was as well as top of the range Wolseley and Riley cars. The latter were primarily for the tweed-jacketed, pipe smoking, pheasant shooters and fox hunters!

Dad was reasonably well paid in the new job. The union had seen to that. Things seemed quite rosy at the time. He and Mum were able to afford a mortgage on a lovely two-storied three bedroom terraced house of brick construction. Terraced I suppose was a nice word for the depressing concept of a long line of houses joined together. It was a means of cramming more people into a limited space.

At the rear of our architectural delight was a pocket-handkerchief sized rectangle of land. This was enclosed by a crumbling stone wall. The wall was maybe a metre and a half high. The area in question provided a small amount of space for me and my sister Mary to play on fine days during early pre-school