Chapter 7

I returned to school on Monday with a spring in my step. I had plans -- I had lots of plans. Lists of different women formed and reformed in my mind. There were the rest of Janet's friends and the rest of the cheerleaders (lists which substantially overlapped), a few other teachers and school staff, some acquaintances of my parents, women from my neighborhood. The town wasn't all that big; I had probably at one time or another noticed most of the attractive women in it.

My immediate plans, though, were derailed when Stu Masterson slid up next to me in the hall between periods. Stu was pretty much my best friend, though this year we didn't have too many classes in common. I hadn't seen much of him for the last couple of weeks. Well, I'd been busy.

"Hey, man, what's up with you?" he asked me now. "I've seen, like, nothing of you for weeks! What've you been doing?"

A good question. I looked at him, considering. He was my friend, and it would be nice to confide in someone. And I thought my talent could reinforce a suggestion that he tell no one.

"That's a long story," I said. "I've got a free period right now. Why don't you come to the library with me and we'll talk?"

"Well... we'll need a pass to go there," Stu hedged.

"That won't be a problem. Come on!"

The halls emptied as we walked towards the library. The library was empty, too, except for Mrs. Peters, the librarian. Normally she would have demanded a pass, but she just looked up as we walked in and then went back to her work without interest. We found a seat at a table near the back.

"So, spill it!" Stu said. "What's the big mystery?"

"No mystery," I told him. "For the last couple of weeks, my spare time has all been taken up."

"Doing what?"

"Doing who, you mean." He looked at me without comprehension. "Sex, you dope. I've been having sex."

Stu's look of astonishment wasn't very flattering, but I suppose it was warranted. "Really?" he said, a bit too loud for a library. Mrs. Peters looked up with annoyance. "With who?" he asked, more quietly.

"A bunch of different girls. And women."

"You're kidding me. Why would a bunch of different girls all have sex with you?"

"I don't know why. I don't even really know how. But I've found out I have a sort of talent. I can get them to do whatever I want."

"You are kidding me. That's impossible."

I didn't look up, but I didn't need to. Mrs. Peters put down what she was working on and walked over to us. She wasn't on my list -- she was about 45, and while she wasn't bad-looking, I saw no reason to bother her when there were other fish to fry. She wore her hair, which was graying, on top of her head in a bun, like a stereotype of a librarian. Stu looked up at her guiltily when she approached, then in astonishment as she leaned over the table and kissed me sensuously.

"Can I help you boys?" Mrs. Peters asked in a businesslike tone as she straightened up.

"Umm... no, thanks..." Stu said.

"Why don't you give my friend here a kiss too?" I suggested. Mrs. Peters smiled at that and leaned over to kiss Stu, who seemed paralyzed with shock. Then she went back to her work as if nothing had happened.

"How did you do that?" Stu asked me in a strangled voice.

I shrugged. "Beats me."

"And you can do that to anyone?"

"As far as I know. Some people are harder than others."

"Wow!" Stu shook his head. "I don't believe it."

I thought for a moment. "You know how I told you that I thought your mom was really sexy?"

"Yeah," said Stu warily.

"How about a bet, then? What if I go over to your house while you're at baseball practice today. I'll bet you that I can get your mom into bed before you get home."

Stu frowned, and I gave him a little "push." It took very little. "What would we be betting?"

"Well..." I said. "If I fail, I'll probably never be able to go to your house again. So that should be penalty enough."

"And if you don't fail?"

"Then you let me set you up with a girl of your own... somebody from school."

"It sounds like I should be hoping to lose!" said Stu with a laugh. "But you've got a bet." We shook on it.

Stu's mother, Lynne Masterson, was every bit as sexy as I had said. She'd been very young when she'd married his father, and was only 36 now. Stu's father had left when Stu was only a baby, and Mrs. Masterson had had to raise Stu and his older sister Sheri on her own. Sheri was a freshman in college now, so she was out of the picture. Mrs. Masterson was an artist; she had a studio set up in their house so she could work at home.

Thus, I was pretty confident of finding her there when I walked over after school. In general, my confidence had grown considerably. I now had faith enough in my talent that I didn't worry about it suddenly failing with each new attempt. Still, as I rang the bell, there was a little shiver of anticipation as I waited for her to answer.

After a few moments the door swung open. Lynne Masterson wasn't tall, and her curvy frame might have made her seem plump if she hadn't worked out assiduously to avoid it. She had obviously been working, wearing an old t-shirt and pair of cutoff shorts that did nothing to conceal her figure. A fringe of dark hair surrounded her pretty, freckled face, and there were smudges of dried clay on her face and arms.

"Hi, John!" she said brightly. "Long time no see. Stuart's at baseball practice right now."

"Oh, right," I said, as if I'd forgotten it. "Would it be okay if I waited for him here? I brought some books and stuff."

"Sure," she said, stepping aside and letting me in. "It'll be a couple of hours, though."

"That's no problem," I said, truthfully enough.

"Do you want something to drink? There's lemonade in the fridge."

She went into the kitchen herself, and I followed. Mrs. Masterson had been working at the kitchen table, cutting out coupons and sorting them, when I rang. She sat down there again while I helped myself to lemonade.

I sat across from her with my glass, sipping thoughtfully. I had decided on a rather slow, subtle approach here, making everything seem to follow reasonably from what went before.

Mrs. Masterson seemed in a chatty mood, which fit well with my plans. "So, I haven't seen you for a while. I was asking Stuart the other day if you two had had a fight or something."

"No," I said lightly. "I've just been kind of busy."

"Doing what?"

"Oh, just," I waved my hand, "stuff." I exerted a tiny "push."

"Hmmm," she said slyly, glancing up at me. "Got yourself a girlfriend?"

"No, not really," I said. "But I've been dating a bit."

"I'm not surprised," she said, looking down at her coupons again. "You're a good-looking kid."

Since this remark was in no way due to my influence, it pleased me disproportionately.

"Wow!" I said, laughing. "Do you really think so?"

"Sure!" she said, laughing too. "You and Stuart, the two most handsome young men in town."

This was working out better than I had hoped. I began exerting some real influence, and found the resistance surprisingly small. This was something I'd learned about a more subtle approach: it was a lot easier, and met much less resistance, sometimes none at all. I know now that it is much easier to work with a person's natural inclinations than against them. More like persuasion and less like coercion. But even then I had intuitively grasped the idea.

"So what about you?" I asked boldly. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Not right now," she said. "Working at home, I don't meet too many people. And most men don't want to date a woman with two kids."

"Then they're idiots," I said with real feeling.

Lynne laughed again. "Thank you for your gallant defense!"

"Honestly," I said, "I think you're incredibly good-looking. And fun."

"Well, I'm glad to know that you think I'm fun." She had put down the scissors and was leaning back in the chair, enjoying the conversation."

"But not that I think you're good-looking?" I asked.

"I already knew that you thought that," she said, smiling.

I tried to look embarrassed. "How did you know?"

She laughed, and unconsciously leaned across the table. She was flirting with one of her son's friends, but it felt completely natural to her. And indeed, she had displayed little resistance so far, though that still might change. I shifted my influence slightly.

"I've seen you looking at me," Lynne said, "when you thought I wouldn't notice. Haven't you?"

I found myself actually blushing, but she wasn't at all upset. "Does that bother you? That I look at you?"

"No, not really," she said easily. "I was a teenager once, too."

Now for the real test. "Then, would it bother you if I looked at you now?"

Lynne hesitated for only a moment, then laughed. She got up from her chair and stood behind it.

"Not at all," she said, throwing wide her arms. "Look away!"

I did just that. With no need for concealment, I stared at her body, drinking in every detail. Her large breasts were contained in some kind of sports bra under her t-shirt; I could see its outline clearly through the worn cloth. The shirt was tucked into the waistband of her shorts, very well outlining her narrow waist and the sudden flare of her hips. Up to her breasts again, where her nipples were now visibly poking forth, as she found this scrutiny surprisingly arousing. She shifted her stance slightly, a subtle sway of hips. I looked up at her face, staring into her eyes, that looked back into mine with increasing intensity.