My Sensual Power

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.