Repairing The Past

By Matt P McMurphy

Can John repair the sorry state of his current life by going back to the past and altering events? Sexual events? Visitors who have been watching out for him for almost his entire life think he can. His first crush? He needs to bed her. That girl that humiliated him... Now he can show her a thing or two. The time he couldn't perform up to his expectations... What if he could leave her a quivering puddle of post-orgasmic bliss? His visitors are there to help him understand himself and to help him make repairs.

This is a different kind of book for Matt P McMurphy. It delivers plenty of hot sex, but it adds an element of philosophy and personal growth, as well as a good dose of science fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matt P McMurphy
• Release date: Jan 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301067701

Matt P McMurphy

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Repairing the Past

By Matt P McMurphy

© 2013 Irish Lad Productions

All rights Reserved.

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Table of Contents

Visitors

The Ship

The Past

The Cheerleader

Shannon

One More Time

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Visitors

At 1:30 in the morning I was lying on my couch, staring listlessly at the glow coming from the television screen. Who the hell knows what was on? Something about making a fortune without putting out any effort, no doubt.

The house was untidy, as usual, and I was in my boxer briefs and a t-shirt. I wasn’t really up late because I have insomnia or anything. I’ve always been a night owl, and on this particular day my after-work nap got away from me. I always take a nap after work, because work is so fucking boring that, given I can’t sleep there, I need to refresh my mind afterward.

Given I’m single, I also take the opportunity to give myself a good, mind-clearing jack off before I close my eyes for 20 to 40 minutes. Would I still nap if I didn’t precede it with masturbating myself to orgasm? Which is more important? Doesn’t matter. I enjoy them both. I read some smutty stories, sometimes coat my throbbing hard-on with baby oil, and run my hand up and down my hard shaft while I read about some chick who loves to suck cock, or a wife taking on her husband’s softball team after a party. I dig the girl-on-girl ones, and even secretly enjoy the two friends get a little too drunk, strike out with the ladies, and suck each other off stories. Whatever the erotica, I usually can shoot my load onto my own belly within five or ten minutes, then I clean up with some tissues, and roll over for my nap.

How much jizz have I deposited in Kleenex instead of some sexy lady’s mouth, pussy, or asshole? It’s gotta be gallons.

Would I prefer the lady? Absolutely. But I don’t do well with women. It’s not that I’m not pretty good looking. I’m told by my female friends that I’m pretty damn handsome. When I look in the mirror I can’t deny it. I’ve got a nice cock too. Hell, if I had the flexibility, or could clone myself, I’d suck it. I like watching it slip through my hand, the head getting bigger and the shaft getting harder… I like the girth and the length and the way it drools my pre-cum. If it wasn’t for the fact that the rest of a man just does not turn me on at all, and everything about a woman does, I could probably be gay, or at least have gay sex.

So, I’m pretty attractive, I’m told. I’m just a smidge over six feet in my bare feet. I have a full head of hair with just a few gray ones appearing even though I’m pushing my late thirties. I work out, so I have muscle tone, and I’m not fat. My face is pleasant, or at least the guy I see in the mirror is not bad to look at. I’ve been told I’m sort of a Burt Reynolds type. From the Smokey and the Bandit days, before he had work done. I just always seem to shoot myself in the foot around women.

It’s not that I’m not a nice guy either. I have loads of friends, both male and female. I’m always being told what a good guy I am. I don’t even drink to excess and I really do try to be kind to people. My only really bad habits are the chronic masturbation (which I don’t even consider a bad habit), and that I’m a little sloppy.

There was a knock on my door, which freaked me out at that hour. I live in a quiet neighborhood. My job is dull, but it does pay pretty well and I live in a nice house in a good area of town. I couldn’t imagine a friend stopping by at 1:30 in the morning on a work night. I’m friendly, but not really friends with my neighbors, so they’re unlikely to stop by. I answered the door with my softball bat in my hand and a pair of gym shorts hastily put on over my undies.

Hello. Can I help you?

I saw two people on my front porch. A relatively slightly built guy whose ass I assumed I could kick if he wasn’t armed, and a smaller one with an obviously feminine figure standing behind the guy in the shadows.

John. Can we come in and talk? the guy asked, like he was an old friend.

The weird thing was that I sort of recognized the guy. I couldn’t place him at all, but he seemed weirdly familiar. And, he knew my name.

I’m sorry. You look familiar, but I can’t place you, I answered, continuing to stand in the opening of the doorway.

I can explain that, he said.

Let us in, the female behind him said in a soothing tone. You won’t regret it. I promise.

That almost sounded seductive. Had I met this couple online when I was browsing the sex personals? How the hell would they have my address?

I was seduced by the promise of possible seduction (if that makes sense). I opened the door and let them in. In the light of my house, there was something odd about them. Their skin was a little bit strange in color, like a cheap spray on tan. His ears were a little small and too pointy. Sort of elf-like. His hair seemed abnormally thick, like the follicle itself was thick, not the amount of hair. They weren’t plugs, though. She was smokin’ hot, even with the small ears and weird coloring. Long dark brown hair, big eyes that were so dark they almost looked black. She had a little pug nose and a beautiful smile on her full lips. The only thing really weird about her was that she was wearing a sort of jump suit, not exactly in fashion, but it was so form fitting that I wished in the moment that more women would wear them.

I’m Kron the guy said, and this is Sacrit.

I reached out to shake his hand, wondering what the fuck was wrong with their parents for giving them those names. John, as you already seem to know.

I took Klon’s hand and found it to be surprisingly long. A third again as long as mine, despite him being several inches shorter than I. I looked down at his hand. He didn’t pull it back as I held it and examined it,