Influence

INFLUENCE

Hello.

Do not consider this to be a confession, because I do not believe that I have anything to confess. But, because others do not agree, I will not give you my real name, for it is not important. However, for the sake of this...memoir, you may call me 'K'.

I am a normal person by outwards appearance. I am about 30 years old, just over 6 feet tall, and topping the scales at about 250lbs. I carry it well, though, with broad shoulders and just the beginning of a paunch. There is almost nothing remarkable about me...at least, on the outside.

Inside however, it is a different story. I guess that you could say that I have a certain talent. No, it's not a talent. It's more of a skill. Ability, if you prefer. It is something that I have had throughout my life, although I must admit that I didn't understand it until my late teens. I freely admit that even now that, even after all these years, I still do not know the full extent of my...gift.

Gift.

I like that. It gives a sense of pleasure upon using it, and I do enjoy using it. I think I'll use that.

I use my gift to my advantage. I'm not saying that I'm a saint, but I only take what won't be missed, from those who can spare. I give to charity, not just to large organizations, but also to people I meet on the street, or those that I hear that are having trouble. And trust me, I hear a lot more then most people.

But alas, as they say, I digress. I am getting off topic. Back to my gift. I am what some people would call a psychic. I do NOT talk to spirits, nor do I get vibes about the future. If you want me to talk to your dead Uncle Herb about where he left the TV remote, fuck off.

Specifically, I am empathic along with telepathic. I can see people's auras, the natural flow of their body's energy, their "Chi" so to speak. I learned about that when I was really young. I could tell when I could push my mother to get me a toy, and also when to avoid my father after a bad day. I can see when their muscles are strained, where they are bruised or injured, or when they are feeling happy and carefree.

I also noticed that one person's aura affected others. As far as I could see, it could work across the room, over a TV, or even on the phone. If one person is sitting in a restaurant and another person, grumpy as hell, came in, there was an immediate change in the first person. It didn't matter if they interacted, but it happened. The first person might be able to dismiss the feeling quickly, but the communication was there.

Even over TV or the phone offered some interaction, but not nearly as much as a full, face-to-face connection. TV could affect the person watching, but the interactions of the phone could do the same for both sides. I figured out that tone of voice was a big part of transmission, but the mind itself contributed a lot also. I could get a sense, almost a flicker of what was on the other end of the phone line when I talked to someone, but face-to-face was the best. Remote connection improved with the popularity of video conferencing, but regular texting did almost nothing. I say almost because everyone knows that the right words can change a mood.

Early on, I would ask my mother why she was so 'happy' after reading one of her mushy girl books, or I would ask my father why he was in a funny mood after watching the neighbor's teenage daughter walk by in daisy dukes and a tank top. They both would stumble, stuttering their words, blowing me off with a simple explanation, so I stopped bothering with questions, keeping them to myself.

I didn't realize the telepathy until I was a bit older. That was a bit harder, and it took me a long time to figure out what it was. Around the mind of everyone and everything, buried in the auras that project from all living things, were patterns in the fields that constantly changed. I could sit on a park bench, watching the patterns shift on people as they walked by. I never knew exactly what they were outside of guessing that it was their minds changing patterns as different thought processes came and went. Imagine trying to translate a paper written in a dead language as it scrolled past like a stock market ticker.

It wasn't until my freshman year in high school that I had begun to decode the patterns. I was sitting in my French class, bored through my skull, until I began to notice the teacher's patterns were repeating. I opened my ears and began to listen to what she was saying, and it turned out that she was repeating the same word in French, again and again, trying to drill it into our skulls. As she went to the next word or phrase, the pattern would shift but it would remain the same for the same words. In fact, it didn't matter what language it was in. If her, or in fact anyone, was thinking of the same concept, the same pattern repeated. I hadn't really paid that much attention to the patterns, so I never really figured it out. It was like finding the Rosetta stone. I was blown away.

I studied harder and harder for the next couple of years, coupling words and ideas, even feelings, to the matching patterns. It was amazing. I learned more about my gift in high school then I had since I began to realize my empathy.

As a quiet person, especially one with certain "insight" as to the moods of others, a couple of the more popular jocks took an interest in challenging my supposed introverted attitude. I have to say that I did get picked on quite a lot during my freshman and sophomore years, but after that, they began to respect me, or, at least, avoid me.

I found early on that not only could a person's mood affect those around him or her, but also that I myself, because I was aware of those changes, could change the moods of those around me just by willing it. Nothing could stop a fight quicker then the larger person sprouting a very visible boner while standing nose to nose with a younger, smaller boy. A case of the giggles stopped verbal barrages, and guilt and sadness halted the teasing of older girls. My first couple of years in high school were interesting, to say the least.

I had quite a few friends, many female, later in school, many with "benefits", just because every time they looked in my direction, or every time I happened to show up, for some unknown reason, their day would brighten up and they would feel a flush of...happiness. Like the opening of the movie "Don Juan de Marco," not only did I have the benefit of skin tone, flushness and breathing to guide me, I had more in-depth clues (not to mention the ability to change those clues). I could tell when a girl was ready for something, or whether they just wanted to cuddle. I did cuddle them for a bit...or until I got bored.

The jocks and others who normally would have gotten their pick of the girls were quite jealous of me, but, as I stated before, there wasn't anything they could do. The most puzzling thing to them was the fact that no matter how many women I was seen with, not one was jealous of the others, not even when they were let down (easily, of course. I'm not an asshole). I did respect them, and can remember each and every one of their names...or most of them, and I never chatted about my experiences in the locker room. That was different enough from the others that at least a little respect came naturally from these girls.

In college, I took a few psychology classes, teaming them up with classes dealing with brain functions and it's electrical workings. In addition, I found a few clues to cracking the code further by studying dream interpretation seminars. They provided other areas of interest.

My knowledge grew.

And along with my knowledge, my abilities.

I had started compiling a kind of dictionary of the different patterns that I had been able to decode, and I had begun to realize that different but similar situations would produce different but similar patterns. It seems elementary, but next time, when you're flipping through the dictionary, compare the words "punch" and "slap". These are two words that mean similar things, but are quite different in spelling and pronunciation.

With my dictionary, coded with my own version of shorthand, I began to be able to read specific thoughts from people. It was amazing to sit behind someone in class and realize that throughout the lecture, all they would be doing is singing "Oh I wish I were and Oscar Mayer Wiener" again and again in their head. Or, for that matter, just how much women think about sex; with whom, what they would do, and where. And this was without my "help".

Questions in class were easy, for I just read the answer that the instructor wanted. For tests, listening in on the better studies student's thoughts allowed me to reword their answers and paraphrase. For multiple-choice tests, in order to not end up with a paper that was a mirror image of another, I would take a kind of majority rule of the whole class, taking the most popular answers and using them.

One of my favorite pastimes in college was, between classes, if the weather was right, I would sit on a bench in the quad, watching students and faculty pass, peeking into their heads as they went. I wasn't really mean or anything, just curious. The ones that were in a good mood I would peek in, looking to see what they were so happy about. For amusement, I would change their thoughts over to something sexual, usually something weird and deviant. They would blush, grin to themselves, and then move on, the guys holding their bags and books in front of themselves.

For the grumpy ones, I would look and see if they truly needed to be grumpy. If it was for a sick family member, or an unpaid bill, I would cheer them up a little, but not enough for them to feel guilty. For the stupid ones, like the girl who would be worried about whether someone was wearing the same outfit as her, or the one who was late for a hair appointment, I would do the opposite, filling them with a deep riding guilt about their materialism.

Money was never really a problem for me. I would swing by a bank, usually out of town or in the next, and go in. I would enquire about checking accounts, safe deposit box prices, even getting paperwork for loans, but in reality I would be "looking" at the managers. I didn't try to bug the nice ones, but let me tell you, there are some down right evil men out there. A week or so later, I would show up again, this time dressed in something outrageous. I would go as a clown, or maybe in a big gorilla suit, but always something so far out there it could see the curvature of the earth. There was a reason for this. The thing about it is that most people, subconsciously, ignore things that don't belong in their world. A six-foot tall gorilla walking into a bank and up to the counter just doesn't fit, and therefore doesn't exist. Because of this, with just the minimum of fuss, I could make people not see me at all. As I walked up to the counter, I would ask for the manager that I had picked out a week earlier. When they came by, I made them see me as one of their best customers and then get greeted most warmly. After a rather large withdrawal I would leave, and the only thing on the cameras was the manager giving a gorilla a bunch of money, willingly and without regret. Trust me, these guys deserved it. Plus, can you imagine them trying to explain to their superiors, or even the police, as to why they handed over thousands of dollars to a clown, complete with a balloon parrot on his shoulder and two-foot-long shoes?

As I got better at actual thoughts and scenarios, I began to experiment more broadly. If I found someone who was thinking something or doing something that I considered inconsiderate or wrong to someone who didn't deserve it, I had a little trick. If the transgressions were minor, I would set a sort of post-hypnotic suggestion that would make them believe that the next day, as they left the house, they would be fully clothed while in reality, they would be missing their pants. They would only realize this after a random number of people, usually ten or so, would mention it. It was funny to watch them run, screaming, back to their car to rush home. For the darker wrongdoers, those that picked on the underdog, or conmen and the such, they would forget their underwear too.

Sometimes, I would pick a stuck up snobby woman, usually well to do, and do the same thing, only backwards. I would send them a thought, and the next day they would come out with the shortest skirt they had. It wouldn't be tight, because that would defeat the purpose. I would pick a thigh length skirt that was billowy. Not overly, though, but something like a sundress. Underneath, however, would be, or not be, the forgotten item of clothing. During the day, they would walk over every vent, by every leaf blower, and drop almost every item they carried, showing, inadvertently, what shouldn't be shown. They would walk along their way, totally oblivious to the spectacle that they were causing. And I would be there for at least part of it.

On rainy days, I would sit in the campus library, supposedly reading a book. I would pick a young lady that was near enough for me to see but far enough away to keep me anonymous. I would slowly give her an excited feeling, not controlling it but watching what entered her mind as she became more and more aroused. Some of the things were quite surprising. One woman, a librarian, started thinking about her dalmatian. That surprised me a bit, but I had been peeking around into a lot of people for a while, so nothing truly came as a shock to me anymore.

I would see how long it would take the woman, sitting there, squirming and fidgeting, her cheeks blushing to the point of bursting, to finally give in, get up, and either run out to her car, rush to her home or to her boyfriend or girlfriend, or, if they had held on for too long, they would rush to the bathroom at full speed, and I can tell you, I could still read her thoughts in there too, they were strong enough. It was most entertaining when they were sitting with someone else or in a study group, conversing with someone across the table. When the group had a sort of leader, or just a primary talker, I would concentrate on them, watching them try to maintain their train of thought while their minds...drifted.

Also, I'm not discriminatory. I would do the same thing with guys, but they were much too easy. They would leave after only a few minutes, holding whatever books they had in front of them, trying to be nonchalant and failing miserably.

A couple of years ago, I found something that I had never seen before...or rather, someone. I had started working as a masseuse. It was fun and easy too. Women would come to me, asking me to rub their naked bodies with oil as they lay there and moaned...and this was without my help. I would look to see what was stressed, working out any bad spots while 'encouraging' a relaxing feeling. Even though I didn't need it, I received some outrageous tips, let alone the ones that insisted on a 'happy ending'.

Everything had been going fine when she wandered in. She was a curvy auburn brunette, about 5' 6'' She was rather fetching with a girl-next-door beauty, and carried herself well, and even though it was obvious that she had money, she didn't try to show it. She was dressed simply in a t-shirt that showed off her ample and voluptuous bust and jeans tight across her ass, and I can tell you that she looked good.

When I first saw her, she was signing in at the front desk so I sent a little persuasion her way to request a man. The other workers at this shop were women so there wouldn't be any confusion. What was odd, though, was her reaction to it. I saw her thoughts change, and she was about to say something but, suddenly, her mind switched to a cautious but curious tone. I sent some relaxation over to her and repeated the thought but this time a red flag went off in her head. She started to look around and, as she scanned over in my direction, I stepped back through the doorway I had been standing in.

What was going on? This was the first time I had ever failed to sway a person to my whim. I had connected with her, that was for sure, but for some reason it was overridden, being replaced by questioning.

While I was pondering this, I started to step back out to the front desk. I stopped myself, though, wondering why I had moved. I backed up but, once again, I began to step forward. I came to a decision and moved around the corner and then stopped. I stood there in the hallway, looking towards the front desk. There stood the brunette, one eyebrow raised in curiosity and thought, staring straight at me. I kept my cool and probably returned the look, trying to figure this woman out.

All of a sudden, a new thought entered my mind. This one wasn't really a feeling or a movement, but a statement. I had an instant image in my head of a diner across the street. Along with the image was another of a clock showing five minutes from now. As I cleared the thought, she turned, picked up her purse from the counter, and walked out.

I checked out with the front clerk, saying I was going for lunch and that I had an appointment afterwards so she shouldn't expect me back, and then went outside and crossed the street.

The diner was something out of an old Bogart movie. Retro in design, it was shaped like a train's dining car, with booths along the front wall and sides and a counter with stools. I blinked a couple of times, getting used to the darkened interior, and then looked around. As I did, I got another picture in my head of the booth at the far end. I walked over quickly but not trying to attract any attention to myself.

She had her back to me and was mostly hidden from everyone else. I slid over the plastic seat, scooting in across from her as she watched me. The look on her face was one of curiosity now, the caution still there but lessened. The waiter came over with a pot of coffee and two mugs, setting them down and leaving without a word.

We sat there for a few minutes, looking at each other, sizing each other up until she finally extended her hand across the table.

"I'm Alex."

I took her hand, shaking it as I replied, "I'm K."

Over the next few hours, she and I had a rather interesting conversation. We sat and putted around for a few minutes, asking polite but inane questions until, this time, I took the leap.

"So," I said during a lull in the conversation, looking around to make sure no one was within earshot. "You can do what I do?" She thought for a moment, taking in all of the aspects of the question before answering.

"What can you do?" she said.

I thought again. Where did I begin? I glanced around at the almost empty diner, taking in the few other patrons in the place. I hadn't been paying attention to anything else in the place, but now I noticed that at the other side of the restaurant, sitting at the end of the counter sat a man. What drew him out was the fact that he was getting loud. Apparently he had ordered a burger, but instead of slices of pickles, his plate had a pickle spear lying next to the burger itself. He was angry and taking it out on the waitress, who was apologizing profusely and about to break into tears.

I nodded, pointing out the scene to my companion. As she turned, I focused on the man. In mid-sentence, a strange look of confusion overcame his face, and then it changed to horror. He stood up, grasping his crotch, and ran towards the bathroom that was over near us. As he passed, it was obvious that a large dark spot was growing on his pants, his hands helpless as it spread down his legs.

My companion looked over at me, her eyebrow lifted again, this time with a look that said that she was at least a little impressed, but she turned back and focused on the waitress. I saw a feeling of calm and peacefulness settle over the waitress, and soon her tears stopped. She took a deep breath, relaxing herself before moving to continue her day's work.