(Years ago, I wrote a story about a college student who discovers the erotic superpower I would want.
My intention was not to create a story for a quick wank but to build interesting characters and something different.
Re-reading it several years later I see many flaws and see the timeline gets a bit confusing. That aside, I would love feedback.
If you enjoy the story, what do you see things going next. The versions I created get a bit on the darkside, and I didn’t care for them.
Thanks. )
From an early age I had an unusual ability to focus and attention to detail. Not simply paying attention, but to truly focus on the details of a situation so passionately I lose myself.
When my grandmother was alive she would call it intensity gone-awry. My mother would call it a problem and take me to the doctor for a diagnosis and treatment. For me the greatest joy in life comes from the small details in any situation.
I try to enjoy every moment of life and relish getting so lost in the details of everything I encounter. This focus and attention to detail took a strange turn several months ago and has turned my world upside down as you will see.
The first time I realized something was extremely out of place or strange about me was playing high school baseball. I would become captivated with watching opposing players.
Often, being the pitcher, I would tend to focus on my counterpart for the game. I would study their mechanics and techniques before and during the game. So engaged would I become I felt it was me standing on the mound. Everyone knows how a small blister on a finger or tightness in the arm or leg could affect performance. I would imagine how it would feel for him if tightness would develop in the shoulder or hamstring. I could image how he would need to stretch or move to try to find relief.
To my amazement this very phenomenon would occur. Soon he would be rotating his arm attempting to loosen the tightness. I mentioned this once to my coach. He was of the opinion I was seeing a flaw in his mechanics and could predict the injury. This seem reasonable to me at the time and thought no more about these occurrences.
In hindsight I am not sure.
Seeing the star pitcher leave game after game my teammates starred calling me “Shamrock” being that when I was pitching I brought the team “luck”; or perhaps only because my last name is O’Shea.
My so called luck and with some ability on my part has been sufficient to help me receive a baseball scholarship to a midsize school an hour from my home. Neither my luck nor ability, has been enough to keep me as a starting pitcher. I have found this is an advantage for me now. Working from the bullpen I find it necessary to focus for a shorter length of time.
A new realization regarding this ability to focus ensued on a visit home from school the last Sunday in September.
Entering the church with my family and taking the regular seats we have for years I recognized the scattered freckles on the neck and shoulder of the young lady in front, Allison O’Neil.
I had stared at those freckles through two years of Spanish, a year of Biology and Chemistry; O’Shea being seated behind O’Neil by fastidious teachers. Allison turned to look as we approached, her smile beaming. She rose and exclaimed quietly, “Robbie! I was hoping to see you. I wasn’t sure when you came home.”
“Hi Allison, this is the first I’ve made it home this semester. I should have given you a call, when will you be coming back next?” I had wanted to say more but the looks we were getting from the people around told me Mass was about to begin. She took my hand and whispered, “We can talk more after Mass.” I slid into the pew to make room for my sister Katie and our parents.
It didn’t take long for me to drift away from the readings and somber hymns and I found myself once again staring at the same freckles. After a tenth grade Astronomy elective I had spent considerable time trying to make out constellations on Allison. I came to the conclusion that Orion the Hunter was the best representation I could find and only when she wore a shirt with a wide neck so I could see freckles often hidden otherwise. This may partly explain my solid C+ average in Spanish.
As Mass got under way I began to reflect on Allison. I had had a minor crush on Allison since my sophomore, her freshmen year. I had wanted to ask her out in worse way but could not manage the courage. Towards the end of my junior year, I decided to ask her to the prom.
I had rehearsed the scenario in my mind for a week. At the end of the day I finally had the courage to ask. I decided to walk her with her out of the school and wait for friends to depart. As I walked up, her best friend Jeannie said, “Hey Robbie, guess who was just as to the prom?” My heart sunk. She and James started going out afterwards and dated for almost a year. By the time my senior prom rolled around I had started dating someone and Allison went to the prom with a group of friends.
I watched her singing and gazed longingly at her profile. I smiled to myself as I looked at her neck. Peaking from beneath her hair I could make out the two top “stars” that made up Orion’s belt. The rest was hidden from view by her sweater.
I could image how her skin would feel, neither warm nor cold to the touch. I knew that if you leaned close you would be able to detect the light fragrance she had applied an hour ago.
I had the overwhelming feeling of wanting to touch the freckles I had known for so long. In my mind I brought my fingertips across her neck and felt her skin beneath.
At that moment, Allison’s hand came up to her neck and she looked back. Our eyes met and I could see the confusion since I was seven to eight feet away and no one else was any closer. Her eyes seemed to inquire, but she said nothing. Allison gave a small smile and resumed singing.
I was puzzled; it almost seemed she felt my touch. How would that be possible” After a short time I was curious if it would reoccur and attempted to re-focus as I had before.
I became aware of my sister looking oddly at me. She whispered, “Why are you being so creepy?” I decided to leave my experiment for another time.
After Mass I had a chance to catch up briefly with Allison. She loved being back at school, although this year was going to be harder than her freshmen year had been.
She told me, “I have decided to double major so I’m carrying 7 classes this semester.”
I resolved not to mention my extra light class load.
She continued, “On top of that I decided to join a service sorority. Of course Dad heard Sorority and starts imagining wild parties or something,” she informed. Laughing, she added, “My dad keeps reminding me I am there for my BS not my MRS.”
Allison always had a way of making me smile at everything she said. I hesitated with my next question, “Speaking of MRS, is there anyone special you’ve found at school?”
“Well there is a guy I met in my Econ class,” she reported softly. “How about you, have you found a girl who can’t live without baseball?”
Hiding my disappointment I replied, “Not yet, no baseball loving girls in my life. I’m really happy for you. I hope things go well.”
“Thanks Rob, I hope things go well for you too. I probably should get going we’re going to my grandparents’ house.”
“Thanks Allison; hey tell your Grandpa O’Neil I still have the old ball glove he gave me, on my shelf in my room, I get it down before every game,” I proclaimed with enthusiasm.
“That’s sweet, he’ll be glad to hear it. Let me know when you come home over winter break we should get together. Bye Robbie,” she said waving as she walked away.
Feeling dejected, I trotted off to my parents’ car. I pondered the situation. If Allison had said she wasn’t seeing anyone, what would I have revealed? Would I have confessed to seeing Isabella? I hadn’t lied in answering, Isabella didn’t care all that much about the sport I loved.
Besides was I really seeing her, or was she just being the world’s greatest tease? These were some questions that I was not going to sort out quickly.
I arrived at the car to see Katie leaning against the door making kissy faces. I simply shook my head and poured myself into the backseat.
The plan was to meet up and have dinner with my Aunt Kristen and Uncle Tony. Of all my aunts and uncles hanging out with them was always a good time. Aunt Kristen was my mom’s younger sister by 13 years. She was the cool Aunt to hang around.
You always got the impression that she was and still is the wild one in the family. Mom felt the need to always protect our virgin ears and went to great lengths to change the subject when Aunt Kristen started telling a story.
Uncle Tony was one of my favorite people in the world. He had been in the Dodger’s farm system when he was younger. He made it as far as Double A before a knee injury ended his career. Uncle Tony had taught me to throw a curve ball back in Little League and it was always great to hear his stories of “Back when.” It wasn’t just baseball we would talk about. He always seemed to know how to bring everyone into a conversation.
I was thinking about the questions I had wanted to discuss with him when my thoughts were interrupted.
“It was great seeing Allison again wasn’t it Robbie?” my mom inquired.
“It was cool. I miss hanging out with her and some of the gang,” I acknowledged.
“Robbie has a crush on Allison,” quipped Katie.
Needing to shut this conversation down I replied, “Shut up. I do not.”
“I think you do, you got that creepy far away glaze in your eyes,” Katie teased.
Coming to my defense Mom stated, “Oh, Katie stop. There is nothing wrong with him liking Allison. I think she is a sweet girl.”
“Can we stop this, please?” I begged. “I was just bored; it had nothing to do with Allison’s neck.” Immediately, I felt my cheeks turning red.
Dad jumped on this, “Who said anything about her neck?”
Katie self-congratulated herself in the seat next to me, “Ha. I knew it.”
“Grow up Katie, it was nothing,” I said defensively.
I felt the need to turn the direction from Allison, protecting her from my family, “Besides, there is a girl I’ve been going out with at school.”
This of course brought my mother to full attention, “Who is this girl? You haven’t said anything about dating a girl. What’s her name? When will we get to meet this young lady?”
“Jeez Mom, this is precisely why I don’t say anything,” I said becoming incensed. “I didn’t say we were dating; we’ve gone out a couple times. Everyone in this family always blows things out of proportion.”
Mom retorted coolly, “I am sorry that I still want to be a part of your life. Does this young lady you have gone out with have a name?”
Feeling chastised I replied, “I’m sorry I wasn’t sure how to bring it up and this sure wasn’t it. Her name is Isabella. We met in class, had pizza few times, it’s nothing serious. I help her with Calculus that’s about it.”
Not being content to let big brother off the hook, Katie felt the need to join in, “It sounds serious, because when have you ever taken pizza causally? Is she a sweetie like Allison or a real babe like me?”
Mentally thanking Katie for alleviating the tension, I remarked, “Well she’s pretty hot, but she can’t hold a candle to you dear sister.”
Being the ever annoying sister, she added, “If she’s so hot why is she hanging out with you dear brother?”
Katie punched me lightly on the arm and whispered, “I’m just teasing Robbie. Be careful though, I don’t want my big brother having his heart stomped on. If a girl smiled and asked for help you would never say no.”
All I could manage was a weak smile and shrug; she hit the nail on the head. I wasn’t sure myself what Isabella wanted. I wasn’t sure how much she liked or how to define our relationship. I found it easier to try not to think too hard about Isabella and me.
Katie grabbed her phone and put her ear buds in and settled into the car ride. I was trying to do the same however was not finding it so easy to relax. My thoughts kept coming back to what had happened with Allison in the church. I was positive that it was not just a coincidence, the exact moment I thought of touching her neck she seemed to have felt the touch.
Thinking over the situation I became aware of how vivid everything around me was at the church. I could recall clearly the sounds and smells of that exact moment. I hear the organ as it played. I could recall the young boy behind us whispering to get a drink and could hear the eloquent singing by Allison. It all seemed so real, reaching my hand out, brushing past the few wisps of hair and drawing the fingers across her skin. I could practically feel the touch in my mind again.
I wanted to see if I was losing my mind completely. I looked over at Katie. Her eyes closed, head resting against the window. I could make out her ear in the midst of her light hair. I allowed my breathing to steady and slowly drew my focus to her ear. I observed the shape and could imagine how it felt. Picturing the small gold stud in the earlobe I thought about how it would feel between my thumb and forefinger. I could detect the slight citrus smell around the base of her neck. I mentally gave a small caress to the lobe.
Katie’s hand went up to the ear and brushed the imaginary fly away. I smiled inwardly at what I had discovered.
Being an almost 21 year old male of course ear lobes were not the normal anatomy on my mind. I glanced at Katie’s chest and watched it move with her breathing. I watched the curve of her breast beneath the dress and watched the sunlight and shadows playing across her chest. I realized that I could see the small outline of her nipple and this is where I now focused. To be honest I cannot say why I did what I am about to describe. Never have I had any feelings for my kid sister. Not quite two years younger I always pictured her as the annoying sister who wanted to tag along with me and friends.
The only other time I had even the vaguest of feelings was the year before. She was having a pool party after graduation. She and another girl were on the shoulders of two guys in the pool. The object was to try to knock the other girl into the water. We always referred to the game as “Chicken.” Dad had asked my help. Reluctantly I agreed and was carrying bags of ice to refill the coolers.
I looked up in time to see Katie’s bikini top get pulled partially undone. She was intense enough in the competition to not notice immediately, however I got an eye full.
As I focused on the outline I recalled how her breast had looked with the pale pink nipples. I imaged her fading tan lines created by her favorite bikini top. My friend Moose had once commented that Katie’s tits were just the right size, slightly more than mouthful but not quite a handful. This resulted in me knocking him off the tailgate on which we were sitting.
Once again I let my mind drift. I could make out mom talking to dad about attending a festival in the coming weeks, although the conversation did nothing to distract me. I recognized the slight scent of the citrus wash again. I knew the warmth created by the sun coming through the window made her breast warm to the touch. I envisioned her pale nipple. I fantasized taking my hand to her breast and cradling it softly.
Katie’s eyes shot open and looked at me. I was quick enough to have my own eyes shut. “Robbie. Hey.”
Feigning sleep I mumbled, “What?”
“Did you just touch me?” she scrutinized.
Fabricating my innocence, “No, you probably were dreaming.”
“Seriously did you touch my boob?” this time demanding.
Becoming aware of the questioning, mom chimed in, “What’s the problem back there?”
Quickly I jumped in, “Nothing Mom, Katie was dreaming someone touched her.”
Katie now imploring her own case, “I wasn’t sleeping so I wasn’t dreaming.”
Dad came to the rescue with his often used solution, “Everyone calm down, we’re almost to the restaurant.”
I had mixed feelings what had taken place. On one hand I felt rather creepy for having just felt up my younger sister, but at the same time there was an energetic feeling coursing through me know that I had done it with just my mind.
Meeting up with Aunt Kristen and Uncle Tony was awesome as always. Dad always joked more around them and often we would hear a new story or two about when mom and dad were dating. Mom of course was always on guard with this group and quick to deflect any accusation that she was once a young wild woman.
Aunt Kristen was as much fun as ever. Joking and carrying on in a way that my mom called childish. This made me realize that since mom had me when she was 25, Aunt Kristen was closer to my age than my mom’s.
During dinner I realized how much Katie was starting to look like Aunt Kristen. They both had light brown hair with a natural wave. Aunt Kristen’s a little shorter but very similar. Katie was forever trying to make it straight. More mornings than I care to remember Katie would storm out of the bathroom raving about her hair.
Aunt Kristen was more content to let the hair have its way. It did not look unkempt but gave a hint of wildness. Aunt Kristen was a few pounds heavier than Katie, but not at all in a bad way. She had more curves and accented them with her attire. A perverted thought crossed my mind. I was wondering if Kristen’s nipple would look or feel like Katie’s, not that I had touched Katie’s nipple but at least how I imagined it would feel.
At this point I must have been getting that creepy look Katie had accused me of earlier. When I came to my senses everyone was silent and looking at me. My mom blamed Tony for giving me too much of his wine even though I was under age. Uncle Tony being defensive started explaining the legal drinking age in many countries. Katie announced I was in love. Thank goodness Dad and Aunt Kristen kept their opinions to themselves.
I mumbled an excuse that I had not slept much the night before and silently cursing myself for not having more restraint.
If I was going was going to continue experimenting I was going need to control my outer appearance.
Dinner with family went better than I expected. The food was amazing, conversation lively and to top it off we heard about the time Aunt Kristen and my grandparents came home to find mom and dad skinning dipping in the pool. Mom went nine shades of red getting Kristen and dad to shut up.
The ride home was not so eventful. I knew I needed to stay away from all body parts on Katie. Instead I spent the time practicing without looking so creepy; I managed to get my dad to use the f-word because of the “fly” that kept bothering his neck and ears.
The evening was a quiet one. Katie was off in her room and mom sat at her desk working bills. Dad was engrossed in the baseball game and chatted to me about different pitches and how they look to the batter. I enjoy the strategy of watching baseball, but just watching on TV doesn’t have the same effect for me. I need the sounds and smell not just the action on the field.
My dad is responsible for the beginning of my love of the game. He would take me to Major League games a few times each year, but a few times each month we would go to one of several minor league teams that played not far away. I think in those early years it was the love of the popcorn and soda and hotdogs with mustard! He recognized how I appreciated the little things in the game. When I was high school we would walk to the nearby field on Saturday morning and toss the ball or he would be my catcher as I warmed up.
He was an amateur photographer when I was growing up, not so much in recent years. He has a black and white, grainy picture of a pitcher’s mound with a ball lying on the ground. That photo captivated me. I loved the contour of the mound, the imperfections of the small pit the pitchers dig out with their shoe. The rough texture of the mound and that perfect white ball sitting there waiting for someone to pick it up. I could stare for hours at the photo. I used to make up stories around the image. Sometimes the game had just ended, the star pitcher coming one out from throwing a perfect game only to give up a bloop single.
Thinking of that photo I got up and walked towards mom and dad’s desk.
Mom had commented that she had a tension headache. As I walked near she asked, “Robbie would you be a dear and massage my neck and shoulders?” I walked behind her and explained, “I want to try something I picked up from one of the trainers is that okay?”
“That’s fine, just no snapping or cracking.” She requested.
I walked behind her began my focusing. Just as before I let all the feelings and senses wash over me. I pictured in my mind her neck and how it would feel. In the background I could hear the announcer discussing the errant throw by the shortstop; I could detect the slight aroma of the wine coming from the glass to mom’s right.
In my mind I took my hands and laid them on my mom’s shoulders. I let her feel the weight of them. I mentally let them get warmer and knew she could feel it as well.
“Mmmm, that is nice. What’s it called?” she queried.
“Ah, I don’t know the name. I’ll ask next time,” I stammered. “Just keep your eyes closed and relax.”
I continued to let my mental hands massage her shoulders, down her arms and up her neck. I varied the heat and pressure. After a few minutes mom exhaled, “Robbie that was wonderful. I feel completely relaxed. You’re hired.”
With a smug satisfaction I started back to the hall only to see Katie standing outside her room looking at me. “What the heck was that?” she asked accusingly.
“What do you mean?” playing the innocent.
“I just watched you stand behind mom and her saying what a wonderful massage that was. Only I didn’t see you touching her. What’s going on?” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Guiding her gently with my hand I said, “Okay I’ll tell you come in here.”
We sat on her bed across from each other. “What I am going to show you has to be kept secret, just between us. You promise?” I implored.
“Yeah okay, you’re scaring me Rob, what is it?” Katie said tentatively.
“It’s nothing bad I promise, in fact it’s amazing. Sit still and quiet for a minute” I urged.
Letting my mind drift this time I pictured Katie’s hand. I focused on her slender fingers. I could see the small scar she got when she was five. I knew that she had just showered and it would feel cool to the touch. I could smell the lotion she had used and could detect her shampoo. I imagine taking her hand in mine and holding it, the warmest between our hands. I let my mental hand reach out and take hold of her hand.
Jerking with fright, Katie’s snatch her hand to her chest and leaped to her feet. At the same time she exclaimed, “Holy crap!”
Dad passing coming down the hall asked, “Everything okay, Katie?”
“Robbie just startled me, I’m okay” she revealed.
I mouthed, “Thank you.”
“What the hell was that? It was like a ghost or something,” Katie challenged.
“I couldn’t tell you, you wouldn’t believe me. I had to show you” I declared. “I really can’t explain it.”
“How did you do it? Do it again,” she pleaded.
Once more I let everything wash away except her hand and gently took it in mine.
“Holy shit, that is unbelievable. If I wasn’t looking at my hand right now I would think you were holding it,” she said amazed.
Proudly I responded, “I know. In my mind I can feel it too. It’s not like just thinking how it feels. I can feel the coolness and pressure of your hand and fingers. If I really concentrate I can feel your ring against my finger.”
She queried, “How long have you been able to do this?”
“Just today” I shrugged. “In church I was thinking about how often I’ve seen Allison’s freckles sitting behind her in school.”
Katie was grinning at this, “You still have a crush are her don’t you?”
I acknowledged, “She been a great friend for a long time, but the timing has never been right between us. There is always someone else; maybe someday.”
“Damn, this is all so weird” I admitted. “I can’t figure any of it, first with Allison then in the car.”
“So that was you in the car, you pervert!” she accused.
Sheepishly I replied, “Yeah, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean anything. I was just experimenting. After you woke up I sure couldn’t admit I had just mentally felt up my sister.”
Katie continued inquiring, “I guess not, but why did you go for my boob; my arm would have worked too you know?”
“Okay, I am sorry. I had done it in church to Allison, NOT grabbed her boob. I mean I mentally touched her neck and she felt it too. She turned around and looked but I was too far away. In the car I had touched your ear. Then I wanted to see if I could mentally touch something I couldn’t see. I’m sorry it was stupid.” I appealed.
“It’s ok. I suppose if I had just developed a superpower I would want to try it out too” she advertised.
“I don’t think I would call it a superpower” never thinking in this term before. I admitted, “It does give me a hell of a rush.”
Katie responded, “What else can you do?”
“I’m not sure yet, you heard dad swear driving home about the fly?” I asked.
“That was you?” Katie laughed.
“Yeah, I was practicing without looking so intently; and you saw the massage I gave mom. That’s about all I’ve tried,” I informed her.
“Do you have to be in the same room or can you be further away?” Katie questioned.
I conceded, “I don’t know. Any time I’ve tried it has been right there in the room or car.”
Katie excitedly responded, “Go into your room and see if you can touch me; only my hand!”
I left and went into my room. Lying down on the bed I started to focus, again thinking of how Katie’s hand looked and would feel. It did not take much effort in recalling all of the small details of her hand. I could picture the light pink polish on her nails and knew how it would feel as my hand closed around her hand.
I heard a small yelp from the other room. Not as nearly as startled as the first time. I continued to hold her hand and allowed my fingers of my left hand to drift up and down her arm. As a kid, Katie always asked for “butterfly kisses” as she called them. She loved the light, tickling of fingers up and down her arms or legs and feet. Any time someone was sitting on the sofa she would plop down and throw her legs across yours and ask for butterfly kisses.
I continued these finger kisses up and down each arm several times. I knew in my mind she would have goose bumps on her arms now. I let my hands travel up her arms to her neck and stopping there I let my hands make their way to her legs. I imagined her lying there in her shorts. I could picture her slender legs as my fingers danced from her knew down her calves.
I sensed that without have done this hundreds of times I probably could not have done this on another person to the same extent.
I let my fingertips drift up each calf and onto her thigh. I let them drift slowly up and down the top of her thigh. Each time I started traveling back up I let them travel slightly further. I felt myself getting aroused as I caressed her legs. I let my fingers drift slightly inside her thigh I heard an exclamation from the next room, “That’s enough!”
A few minutes later I received a text from Katie, “That was incredible. Thank you.”
I replied, “You’re welcome, I liked it too. Good night.”
A minute later another admission from Katie, “Big brother, I hope you and Allison do get together someday. I think you would make a great couple. G’Night.”
The next evening I returned to school. I hesitated when I arrived. I was tempted to text Isabella but decided against it right then. I settled into my room and sent a text to Katie, “I want to see if works this far away, you ok with that?”
“Wait 30 minutes for me to get home from work. Then you can try.”
Thirty minutes later I was again trying to repeat what happened from our bedrooms. After several minutes I realized it was too far and let her know.
So here I sat with my dilemma. Do I reach out and call Isabella. Will she have decided what she wanted yet? Do I tell her what I have discovered, do I tell no one? Part of me wanted to tell her, but a larger part said to keep it secret. A growing portion of my mind wanted to have a little pay back for an incident the week prior.
When in doubt, go with your heart. I sat on the sofa, turned on the TV and found the ball game was only in the first inning.
My mind was not on the game and soon I began to think back about all that had transpired between Isabella and me. My mind was not on the game and soon I began to think back about all that had transpired between Isabella and me.
In most other situations Isabella and I would probably not have spoken nor gotten to know each other. I tend to be attracted to cute, girl-next-door type. Usually she has blonde or light brown or even reddish colored hair. Isabella is dark haired, has amazing body that grabs a tan and never lets go. She knows her body is rocking. I usually fall for the girl that is genuinely surprised when someone mentions how beautiful she is. I love the girl with the personality as bright as her smile. I’m not saying Isabella doesn’t have an awesome personality because she does. There are times she is deep, thoughtful and insightful. Other times she reminds me of the girl whose self-worth is measured in how many yards her boyfriend threw for in the game.
The only reason she struck up a conversation in the first place was that her other neighbor in Calculus class didn’t have a clue, by default I was “It”. I was blessed with a mother that loved mathematics and could get me to appreciate the flow and beauty in it as well. I will never love it the way she does. I can appreciate it. With the right theorems and formulas I make college Calculus manageable. I will never be a mathematician spending weeks over some proof; however I can appreciate the uses and techniques of Calculus.
I sat nearest the windows in Calculus. Luck of the draw or hands of fate had Isabella sitting beside me. It had started with her asking for some help with a lesson. Once it became clear the simple explanation was not sufficient, I agreed to meet the next day at my “Calculus place”.
My favorite location to work on math is in the small bakery in town. I had gotten to know the owners, Simon and Ines Shaffer, quite well my freshman year. They took over the bakery a few years earlier when Simon’s father had become ill. They seem to me to have been born to run the bakery.
I started calling Simon, Al when I first met him. For some unknown reason Paul Simon’s “You can call me Al” popped into my head. It is a silly song I remember my Dad singing from time to time; it still puts me in a good mood. When he introduced himself as Simon I couldn’t help myself but to call him Al. Ines laughed at this and has started referring him as Al, at least in my presence.
I would estimate Al to be in his late 30s or early 40s. Through hard work he is thin and fit. I remember my grandmother commenting about never trusting a skinny baker. I wonder what she would say if she met Al.
Ines I would guess is probably eight to ten years younger, but I’m not always great with ages. She would never be described as thin. She is full bodied and has curves that make my mind wander. Her normal appearance is hair pulled back in a bandana and the inevitable dash of flour on her cheek or forehead. Al and Ines are my favorite couple in the world.
She is sensual and flirtatious and 100% in love with her husband. She can flirt with every customer, make them feel they are the most special customer in town and turn to her husband and reassure him he is the only man in her life, which I believe with all my heart.
One weekend my freshman year I was extra short on funds. I had been certain I had a few dollar bills in my wallet. I had gone in to the bakery for a small coffee and a Franzbrotchen, never call it a French roll I learned by mistake.
I soon discovered my wallet was empty. Ines assured me it was not a problem and I could pay another time.
After class that day, I came back and worked off my debt by carrying bags of flour, sweeping the floors and being helpful where I could. After that our friendships bloomed. I would often lend a hand simply because I enjoyed their company. They had a small loft above the bakery that had been used as storage.
I had a wonderful idea for that loft and asked often enough Al relented. I cleared out a nice size corner and found an old desk. This became my ideal place for studying Calculus, and physics, although I had never studied physics I feel it would be best in here.
The smells of the bakery work their magic and put me in just the right frame of mind. Of course coffee and rolls were only a dozen steps away. Al made certain there was a constant supply of both.
I met Isabella in the bakery. I bought half a dozen rolls, snagged some of the homemade honey and butter they kept in the pantry and up to the loft we went. She could not believe I had a different location for each subject I studied. I laughed and joked that I couldn’t believe she could study at all in library.
About an hour into our work, Ines came up with a tray of freshly made berliners and a pot of coffee for us.
As she left and Isabella was eating the pastry and said she now understood why I loved working here! After putting in a couple hours of Calculus tutoring I invited Isabella to join me in a culinary experience of “Make what-you-have pizza.” She begged off the invite saying she had plans for the evening.
The following Saturday found us in the same place. After putting in another two hours, I again offered to make Isabella pizza. She surprised me by accepting the offer.
Al often will make a premade pizza crust for me. I relish creating new varieties of pizzas and having the crust premade and semi-baked cuts the amount of work more than in half.
She did me the favor of stopping buying a six pack of Yuengling beer. I was surprised for some reason to find that she was older than me. I knew the Yuengling would go well with the pizza toppings I had chosen for tonight’s pizza.
We made a quick stop at the market and grabbed some asiago cheese, and fresh mushrooms. I planned to add to this some roasted garlic and thyme I had at the apartment. I baked the pizza in the over then the last ten minutes on the grill the prior tenant had abandoned.
Isabella mentioned several times about her boyfriend back home, so I was dually warned. Despite the ever presences of “The boyfriend” we had a pleasant evening.
This became our routine more or less. We would spend a couple hours over Calculus, grab some ingredients at the market and head to my apartment for pizza and beer. Occasionally we would invite my best friend Josh or her friend Eve, on this one occasion they both came along.
That evening we were all sitting on the floor enjoying the last of the pizza. Isabella was sitting crossed legged and I was admiring those legs. She was tossing a baseball up and catching it. Out of the blue she asked, “How many stiches are on a baseball?” She had no idea what she was getting into that night.
I explained, “If given a bucket of a dozen baseballs, most people would glance at them and quickly report the 12 balls are identical. Closer examination will show that while each ball has 108 red stitches, they are far from identical. Each will have its own flaws and characteristics. A stitch a little out of place or slightly higher than the surrounding stitches can make all the difference in a curve ball that is good and one that makes the knees of the batter buckle.”
I was so enthralled with my dissertation I failed to notice the laughter coming from Josh, while both Eve and Isabella were grinning like clowns. She giggled, “While you were out making the pizzas Josh told me if I asked about the baseball you would go off about the characteristics of the ball and how it changes the pitches.”
I had been set up and they all roared with my predictable behavior.
I think it was at that moment it hit me, I was falling in love with Isabella.
So lost in the realization of my feelings I muttered, “I’m in love.”
All three went dead silent. I quickly recovered and tried to dig myself out of the pit I had just fallen, “I’m in love with the game of baseball. I fall in love again every summer. The sounds and smells on the baseball field are like heaven to me. I find baseball to be close to perfect in every way. It is bizarre to say, but for me it is the imperfections found all over the ball field that make it so perfect. If you have never closely examined a baseball I highly encourage you all to take one with you.”
I am not certain any of them believe my tangent on baseball, however no one said anything. Isabella held my eyes as she took long drink from her beer bottle.
The following week I had suggested inviting Eve for pizza and beer, I knew Josh was going to be busy. Isabella said Eve had gone out of town so it was just us.
We decided to change up our routine; Isabella found a pizza recipe she wanted to try. She sheepishly admitted it was the saddest thing that the Italian girl was sitting on her ass every weekend while the Irish boy was making pizza. Who was I to argue?
She hit on a winner with bacon, sun-dried tomatoes and grilled asparagus with a creamy ricotta. I told her she had by far redeemed herself and was fine with sitting on my ass watching hers. This prompted a quick look but no admonishment.
I was setting up Netflix to watch a show when she came in with another beer for each. I was acutely aware of her sitting down next to me. I was finding it more difficult to pay attention. I could smell her hair as she scooted closer to me, in an attempt to see the TV better I pretended to tell myself.
I cannot tell you of any of the dialogue that occurred during the show. I was mesmerized by the rise and fall of her breasts. I was acutely aware of the small space between us on the sofa and could feel my heart racing. All through high school I had been insecure around girls and college wasn’t showing much promise.
I knew what I wanted to do but could hear her repeating she had a boyfriend. I had made it a point to never bring him up. Somehow in my mind, if I never said his name he didn’t exist and she was here with me alone.
I wanted to ask why she was here if she was in a relationship, why was she always here every Saturday night. Not out partying, not hanging out with girls from her classes or old friends. She was here every Saturday with me.
As the show came to an end she reached the remote and turned off the TV.
We sat there in silence. I couldn’t speak, I could barely breathe. I wanted to hold her in my arms. I wanted to say her name. I wanted to hear her say my name.
We sat quietly in the near dark; I reached over and picked up her hand. Using both hands I caressed her fingers with mine. She shrank in close to my side. I whispered, “May I kiss you?”
I held my breath as she answered, “Yes please.” She turned to me and looked up into my eyes. I took her face in my hands. Feeling the softness against my skin, I leaned in closer.
In the far back reaches of my mind I could recall the girl I had first kissed whispering with a friend. I can remember hearing her say, “It was okay but he rushed in like bull charging.” I was always fearful of making the same mistake.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/lk3z8o/feedback_wanted_my_sensual_power_str8