Part One

“Everybody has ESP, but some people have a heightened sense of it. It’s just like some people have better hearing and eyesight than others.” That was the way my paternal grandmother, Maggie Palmer, explained her special sixth sense of extrasensory perception. Some skeptical people think it’s purely a myth. “Scientific evidence remains elusive,” says Wikipedia. Anyone who knew my grandmother, however, would immediately attest it is real. Through genetics, I inherited the gift from her.

Beginning in the early 1930s, Grandma knew she was special. She could sense events would unfold well in advance. Some of them were positive; some were not. When she was 20, she woke up one day with this strong feeling that her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Fleming, was pregnant with a boy. Grandma also knew how much the child would weigh at birth, and accurately predicted the day and time it would be born. Unfortunately, Grandma could predict unhappy events, too. She warned another neighbor that something bad would happen to him on a particular Thursday in 1936. Sure enough, that very day he was killed in an industrial accident when a boiler at the factory where he was employed suddenly exploded without warning.

In the autumn of 1938, Grandma offered her services to the local police department when a little boy, age three, went missing after he wandered away from his parents. When she read the story in the newspaper, she knew exactly where he was—two miles away, lost in a wooded area. The police found him alive—but, cold, wet, whimpering and hungry, sitting under a tree exactly where Grandma said he would be. After that episode, the police quietly sought Grandma’s services on a regular basis to help them solve all sorts of mysteries.

In August 1969, Grandma became convinced that a well-known person would soon die in an airplane crash. She even jotted down the identification number on the small aircraft. That night former heavyweight boxing champion Rocky Marciano was killed in a private plane crash near Des Moines, Iowa one day before his 46th birthday. The next day’s newspaper photo of the wreckage displayed the exact ID number that Grandma had scrawled on the notepad: N3149X.

Grandma had two children, a son and a daughter, neither of whom inherited her special talent. Her son was my father. I was born in 1964. By age three I, Corey Palmer, was showing clear signs that I possessed ESP, too. I could not tell when I was going to know something in advance—but when it came to me, there was no doubting it would happen.

As a child, my favorite song was “Puff the Magic Dragon.” It was released shortly before I was born, in 1963. Four years later, it had stopped getting a lot of airplays on the local radio station my mother listened to in 1967. However, I seemed to know in advance when it would be played. Twice within two weeks, Mom was going to take me somewhere, but I asked for her to wait a few minutes so I could hear that famous song. Both times it was played within five minutes of my saying it would. That same year, Grandma was at the house one Saturday morning when I suddenly announced that my regular babysitter, a teenage girl named Judy Evans, would be unable to look after me that night. Two minutes later, Judy’s mom telephoned to say her daughter was ill with the flu. Grandma immediately informed my mother, “Corey has my gift!”

Twice my talent paid off tangibly for my family. When I was six, our church was holding a fundraising raffle. First prize was a new 1971 Ford automobile. Mom was among the many parishioners who was selling tickets. Without even looking at them, I told her to buy ticket #1413 for herself. We enjoyed that car for a decade. On Super Bowl Sunday in 1979, there were a dozen people at our house. An hour before the game began, I announced, “Pittsburgh will defeat Dallas, 35-31.” My Uncle Jim phoned a friend who knew a bookie to have him place a $10 bet on what the final score would be at 100-1 odds. When he collected his $1,000 the next morning, he insisted on giving me half of it for my extremely valuable tip. “I should have bet $500,” he bemoaned. “I’d be buying a house today.”

The occasional financial reward for having ESP was wonderful, of course, but the best part of it was that my gift helped my sex life tremendously! I started young. At age 10, during the fourth grade, I suddenly developed an interest in girls in general, especially the pretty ones who attended my school. At that preteen age I couldn’t really engage in full sexual intercourse. Nevertheless, I could instinctively tell there were young lasses in my class who would be willing to participate in intimate showing and touching sessions in the secluded wooded area adjacent to my primary school. My ESP identified them and told me all I had to do was ask. One May afternoon I confidently whispered to Donna Fleming, an attractive brunette, “After school let’s go to the woods and do some sex things together!” She smiled and readily said yes even though we had barely spoken to each other in the nine months we had been classmates. I enjoyed it thoroughly—and so did she. Two days later I got the overwhelming sense that Carolyn Davis, a freckle-faced redhead, would be just as easy to convince as Donna had been. She was! By the end of the school year, I had gotten to know five female classmates quite personally in those woods.

That same summer, I was especially eager to get to our family’s cottage on Lake Huron, but I didn’t tell my parents why. We always rented the same cabin and spent two weeks there every July. This summer I absolutely knew there would be a very pretty blonde girl my age in a nearby cabin, whose initials were M.K. Furthermore, she would go skinny dipping with me during a rainstorm! Within 24 hours, Meredith Kramer, age 10, arrived with her parents at the cabin situated in the lot immediately to the left of ours. I made a point of saying hello to her. On a day that featured drizzly, unpleasant weather, Meredith and I got permission to go to the beach by ourselves for a swim. Since no one else was there, it was she who boldly suggested we discard our swimsuits to make the experience more enjoyable. Despite the drizzle gradually escalating into a full-blown thunderstorm, the physical contact I had with this cutie was unprecedented in my life—and great fun, indeed!

Occasionally, my friends benefitted from my gift, too. In the seventh grade I told Darren Peterson that a girl in another class whom he didn’t even know, Zoe Maguire, had a huge crush on him and would be very agreeable to having a romantic roll in the hay with him. He took my advice, discovered where her locker was, and said to her amazement, “My psychic friend says we ought to be together.” A day later in home room just before opening exercises, he happily flashed me the thumbs-up sign to indicate I had been correct, as usual.

Grandma died suddenly of a heart ailment in 1978. She went to bed one night and simply never woke up. On her nightstand was found a hastily scribbled note. Fittingly, she had predicted her own demise. The missive said, “I sense I might not see tomorrow. My will is in my safe deposit box at my bank.”

Part Two

I have a sister, Janet, who is 2½ years younger than I am. One June day in 1985 when I was 21 and enrolled in university, my ESP kicked in strongly. Janet, age 18, was in her final month of her last year of high school. I knocked on her bedroom door to tell her she ought to invite her classmate, Rachel Middleford, to our house for dinner, preferably this coming Saturday when we were hosting a barbecue.

“Do you know Rachel?” Janet curiously asked me.

“Nope,” I said. “I only became aware of her about five minutes ago.”

Janet began to ask me how that was possible—and then she realized how. “Ah, Grandma’s gift is at it again!” she noted.

I nodded. I also smiled and said, “I think it will be another very intimate occasion.” I had confessed to Janet my remarkable success rate in predicting, well in advance, my sexual romps with girls I often did not even know yet. I was never wrong, not a single time.

“Should I tell her to strap a mattress to her back?” Janet joked.

I laughed and said, “That won’t be necessary. I sense it will happen outside somewhere. I’m going to enjoy running my fingers through her long brown hair and caressing her nice boobs as part of our sexual foreplay. She’s not especially tall though, is she?”

Janet attested that my description of her classmate was quite accurate. “That’s Rachel, alright!” Janet declared. “She’s a short brunette with a set of perky tits! I envy her sometimes.” My sister was not especially busty. “I’ll call her right now to find out if she can come to our barbecue on Saturday night.”

“She can attend,” I stated with the utmost confidence. “She had something planned for Saturday, but it’s been cancelled. Now Rachel has nothing to do all day.”

When Janet phoned Rachel, she quickly accepted the invitation. She also added, “I was supposed to attend my cousin’s wedding on Saturday, but both she and her fiancé got cold feet. They postponed the ceremony indefinitely.”

Janet told me I had been right about Rachel suddenly being available on Saturday. Then she added, “Corey, why can’t you know the winning lottery numbers in advance instead of which girls you’ll soon be screwing?”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” I commented. “That might just happen someday. Besides, I did tell Mom which raffle ticket to buy to win the 1971 Ford about 14 years ago. Remember that? That’s sort of the same thing.”

Rachel lived about 20 blocks from our house. Janet volunteered to drive to her home on Saturday afternoon to transport her to the barbecue. My aunt, uncle and cousins were there too, but I hardly noticed them. I was instantly transfixed by Janet’s classmate the moment she arrived. My ESP had already provided a good picture of what she looked like—which was quite appealing—but Rachel just had a unique aura about her that I found irresistible. She was only about 5’3”—but that didn’t bother me in the slightest. Since hitting puberty, I had always found short, busty girls to be incredibly sexy.

During the car trip, Janet had informed Rachel, who was also 18, about my inviting her to the barbecue because I had developed a strong sixth sense about her. (Janet tactfully left out the part about my predicting that we’d be having very intimate relations before the day was done.) Of course, Rachel was initially skeptical—as most people are. However, she became a believer when I told her I knew what her mother’s maiden name was and the name of her beloved pet cat she’d had a decade earlier.

“That’s absolutely unbelievable!” Rachel declared after a moment or two of being dumbfounded. “What else do you know about me?”

“Well, let’s see...” I began. “You are an only child. You were born in another country; it was South Africa, I think, but you left there when you were an infant. You used to take flute lessons, but have stopped. You enjoy reading Agatha Christie’s mystery novels. You’re an enthusiastic card player who is learning how to play bridge. How am I doing so far, Rachel?”

“Wow, just wow!” Rachel muttered. “Do you know what I had for breakfast today, too?”

“Nope,” I said. “But judging by the way you look, you take good care of yourself and eat sensibly. You probably had a granola type of cereal, some mixed fruit, and maybe some yogurt.”

Rachel said, “You forgot whole wheat toast and raspberry jam, Corey. You’re slipping!”

“Well, my gift doesn’t tell me everything,” I explained. “That way I can have the fun of getting to know you a little bit at a time. That’s a good thing because we’ll be married in five years—right in this backyard. Mark the date on your calendar: Saturday, August 11, 1990.” After a bit of a pause, I said, “It smells like the hamburgers are ready. Can I get you one, Rachel?”

Rachel gave me an incredulous look that was difficult to gauge. She replied, “It’s a good thing I like you, Corey, or else our getting married would be very awkward for me.”

Part Three

Of course, Rachel and I sat beside each other on one of the picnic tables. Within five minutes we were holding hands and looking at each other with love in our eyes. Everyone else left us alone. We talked about my gift of ESP, my late grandmother, Rachel’s family, her interests, and whatever else came to mind.

Rachel was still stunned at how I knew so much about her without even meeting her until that day. I explained that is how my gift from Grandma worked. Suddenly something would pop into my head without any notice. I told her, “On Wednesday I suddenly knew I had to meet one of Janet’s classmates—but I didn’t know which one. About two minutes later, a name popped into my head and a fairly clear vision of what you look like—which is fabulous, by the way. You are a very desirable and sexy girl, Rachel. I also knew we’d be having sex somewhere outside tonight. So, basically, that’s why I told Janet to invite you to the party. I also was vaguely aware that you had previous plans for today that had been cancelled.”

“You’re absolutely sure about us having sex tonight?” she asked me.

“Yep, absolutely. No doubt about it. It’s a certainty. It’s fate,” I said with a smile.

“Well, everyone knows you can’t change fate,” Rachel conceded. “Where are we going to fuck?”

“There’s a big public park about a 10-minute walk from here,” I informed her. “Once the sun starts to set, we can go there. There probably won’t be anyone in the park then, but there are plenty of secluded spots where we can be intimate in private even if a few stragglers are still there.”

She laughed and said, “Aren’t you a thorough planner! I’m a little bit worried because I don’t have any birth control pills or devices. Do you have condoms?”

“We won’t need them,” I said firmly. “You won’t get pregnant tonight. That won’t occur until late 1991. Brenda, our first daughter, will be born in June 1992—about seven years from today. I don’t know the exact date yet, but I’m sure it will come to me sometime.”

Rachel just giggled at my detailed predictions—which I knew would undoubtedly happen. She told me, “Corey, I’ve only known you for about two hours, but I want to fuck like crazy with you.”

“I knew that too,” I said, “but I didn’t want to sound overly boastful.”

Part Four

Rachel and I did not even bother to excuse ourselves from the barbecue. After we had eaten, we just left—making a beeline to Meadowview Park. It was nearly dusk, so the whole park was empty—except for us. There was a hidden slope behind the playground equipment which was perfect for fucking. I had used it before when I screwed Helen Fontana in the eighth grade—another girl my ESP told me I was destined to deflower. That night my instinct cautioned me not to come inside Helen’s pussy. I heeded the warning and shot my jism across her face. Helen did not approve of that development and we were never intimate again. With Rachel, I absolutely knew I was free to launch as many cum shots as I could into her vagina without the slightest fear of creating a baby.

Rachel had come to the barbecue dressed appropriately for the occasion. She was wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt bearing the logo of Columbia University, a pair of old blue jeans, well-worn sneakers, and red socks. My wardrobe wasn’t much classier than hers. We both undressed each other, which I’ve found is always good for heightening sexual arousal. Even with her bra still on, I had to comment, “Rachel, you really do have a lovely set of big tits. I’m going to enjoy them in every way possible.” Then I undid the brassiere’s clasp, freeing her jugs. They bounced sexily for a moment. “See, I already enjoyed that!”

“I hope you have excellent sexual equipment. too, Corey,” Rachel commented. She placed her right hand inside my shorts to lovingly grope my anatomy’s most important feature. My penis was already partially erect; her fondling it made it more so. “That seems adequate to me,” she noted. “Probably more than adequate.”

I haven’t had any complaints from any girl yet,” I replied somewhat immodestly. “I’ve only had satisfied customers in my 11 years of fucking.”

Rachel did the arithmetic and became somewhat alarmed.  “You’re 21 now and you’ve been fucking girls for 11 years!” she said. “That means you’ve been sexually active since age ten!  At age ten I was playing with Barbie dolls!”

“Yeah, I couldn’t resist my little blonde sweetheart, Meredith Kramer,” I confessed. “We went skinny dipping together in Lake Huron one late afternoon. I was totally turned on by her flat chest. Just gaping at it made my dick hard. Once I started to caress her tiny tits, I had to put my penis somewhere—so I put it in the obvious place.”

“You prefer flat-chested girls, Corey?” Rachel asked and then quickly commented, “I’m not close to being flat-chested!”

“I like the tits on every girl—enormous ones, minuscule ones, and every size in between,” I insisted. “Variety is the spice of life! Now let me sample your goodies, Rachel! I’m sure I’ll enjoy them!”

Once I had removed Rachel’s shoes, socks, faded jeans, and pink panties, I focused on her tits, as promised. They were magnificent things to fondle and nibble on. I made a point of giving each one equal treatment: sucks, licks and ample squeezes. They were ideal playthings. At one point I stuck my face between her breasts while Rachel pushed them against my cheeks. My future wife was having just as much fun as I was.

“Having more fun than you did with Meredith Kramer?” Rachel playfully asked me while I was busily licking her left nipple.

“You definitely rank ahead of Meredith in size, but quality is a completely subjective thing,” I told her between licks.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” she declared.

“Of course I’m kidding, Rachel. Your lovely, perky tits could entertain me all day. Meredith’s nearly flat chest, sexy as it was, only held my attention for about 10 or 12 minutes at best.”

“When I was ten, I was wearing something slightly more necessary that a training bra, ” Rachel told me. “Therefore, I must have had bigger tits than Meredith, right?”

“Oh, sure,” I agreed. “Still, Rachel, I wish I could turn back the clock to when you were ten. I would have fucked your little boobies just like I’m going to fuck your terrific 18-year-old set right now.”

I repositioned myself on Rachel so I could slide my thoroughly aroused penis between her breasts. Rachel knew what to do, squeezing her jugs around my dick as I thrusted it upward. The sight of her two hard nipples pointing at me was truly beautiful.

“Are you going to come, Corey?” Rachel inquired. “Let me know so I can prepare for it!”

“Nope, not yet. I’m going to come in your pussy—likely more than once, too. I think I should start penetrating you right away.”

“I’m all in favor of that!” Rachel stated enthusiastically, which I appreciated.

I again repositioned myself on the incline to mount Rachel and drive my penis inside her. She was a fabulous lay. Her pussy was reasonably tight and very wet. It seemed like nature had created it for my personal pleasure. About three minutes of ramming my manhood inside Rachel brought me to a climax. I could feel three blasts of semen leave me and enter her. The sensation was fabulous.

Neither one of us had any desire to stop copulating, so we simply changed positions. After about five minutes of being flaccid, my penis became erect again when Rachel mounted me. About 20 minutes of her slowly riding on me was precisely what I needed to reload my weapon before firing it again. This time I let loose with just one long, high-quality cum shot. We then spent the next half hour hugging and kissing while still nude.

As we both got dressed, I felt the need to tell Rachel she was a terrific sex partner. Then I joked by stating “almost as good as Meredith Kramer.”

I knew Rachel and I were meant to be a forever couple when she zinged me right back, saying, “Thanks, Corey. You were almost as good as Robbie Barlow.”

“Who is Robbie Barlow?” I asked her.

She calmly replied with a smile, “At age 12, he was my first-time sex partner...my version of Meredith Kramer.”