The first time it happened, I was watching my old baby-sitter, Emma Smith, sunbathe. She was back for summer break from college, and every day she put on a bikini and laid in her backyard by the pool after lunch. I lived in the house next to hers on the second floor. From the desk in my room, I could see into the Smith’s kitchen, living room, their backyard, and Emma’s room. I tried not to be a conspicuous pervert, but in hindsight, she probably understood why every time her patio door opened, I found something to do at the window above.
Emma went to a state school on a volleyball scholarship. She was tall, lean, tan, and blond with a friendly, easy smile. Her black bikini was a size too small, so she had to keep re-adjusting the black triangles of her top. I watched the struggle intensely and tried not to remember that I was just the neighborhood kid to her. I fantasized about texting her and that she would text me back to join her by the pool. But I knew the most likely outcome would be an uncomfortable conversation with my parents. Even more upsetting, the afternoon sunbathing might stop.
It happened when I tried to imagine what she was thinking. It felt like a vivid fantasy. In my mind, I was rummaging around in her mind like it was a shoebox of memories, sensations, and attitudes. I imagined she was irritated that she didn’t have the spare cash for a new bikini, that she could feel sweat trickling down her chest and smell the newly cut grass in the yard. After a few minutes of digging through sensations and stray thoughts, I found what she thought about her bikini top. It didn’t fit wel anymore and would give her tan lines, which she didn’t like. I also found myself feeling that she worried about being photographed topless if she took it off, or that her mom would see her from the kitchen. I pinched those attitudes down and down to a small ball and squeezed it under her concern about tan lines, which I made bigger and bigger until it nearly filled the whole of her box.
It took me moment to realize that what I saw beneath me in the yard was not my imagination. Emma propped herself up with one hand and used the other to pull loose the string that tied on her top. The black squares hung untied over her boobs for a second that felt like forever. Then she pulled off the whole top and tossed it beside her on the grass. From her mind, I could feel the adrenaline from exposing herself outdoors. My heart was also racing.
When she lay back down, I watched her boobs change shape to lie to her side, and I wondered if I could make them jiggle like a plate of jell-O. Where here top had covered, she had tan lines, but I felt like they just made her look more naked. In the moment I looked away to find my binoculars, her mom slid open the patio door and I heard through my closed window, “Emma, put your top on this instant!”.
I let go of Emma’s brain, and I could see her realize the show she was giving the neighborhood. One arm went up to cover her boobs, and the other felt around beneath her chair for the discarded top. Her mother held open the door for Emma and I could see the beginnings of a lecture as Emma’s bikini clad bottom disappeared into the house. My own heart was racing because I had just seen tits for the first time and possibly controlled someone’s mind. But I wasn’t sure I wasn’t crazy. I spent the rest of the afternoon locked in an erotic, existential struggle.
Emma’s dad, Ted, came home much later as it was getting dark. I could see him eating at the table with Chelsea, his wife and Emma’s mom. Ted from his first marriage had twin daughters, Tracy and Stacy, who were my age and a son, Sam, who was a year younger. The twins were stylish, bitchy, and popular. I avoided them. The son was sporty, had problems with his grades, and had once got in trouble at school for talking about how he ogled Emma when she came out of the shower. I empathized with him. He was still teased by his friends, who I suspected were jealous. Emma was from Chelsea’s first marriage but had lived with her stepsiblings since they were very young, they all referred to themselves as brothers and sisters.
Tracy, Stacy, and Sam were watching TV in the living room. Emma was in her room painting her nails. I was at my desk. I did what I did next without thinking too much about it, you must remember I was a teenager. I imagined as I did before what was going on in the Smiths’ brains. There was a lot more chaos because there were many more people at once, but I got used to the jumble.
I looked for what they thought about me and found very little. Emma thought I was a nice neighborhood kid who liked spying at her body, which she felt was flattering but worried I might post photos online. Chelsea had noticed me watching her daughter and felt she should do something but wasn’t sure what. Tracy, Stacy, Sam, and Fred hardly knew who I was.
I started small with suggestions. First, tonight would be a good night for everyone to sit down and watch a movie, I thought about an unlikely movie for a few minutes, a musical I knew they had on DVD but never watched. Once the idea was enlarged, Fred acted and pulled everyone into the living room. Emma sat on the floor by the couch next to Stacy, Tracy, and Sam. Fred and Chelsea cuddled under a blanket on the loveseat. If Fred chose the musical, I thought, I’m probably not crazy. When its menu screen popped up on the screen, I let out my held breath in a whistle that was half relief and half disbelief.
I could still see the Smiths in the blue light of the TV. For my next trick, I introduced the idea that it was normal for me to come over unannounced and treat their house like I lived there. Without the courage of a teen’s hormones, I couldn’t have done what I did next. My heart was pounding as I let myself out of my front door and walked through my yard and theirs. I was wearing sandals and the grass tickled my feet until I got to their front porch. I stood at the front door paused and wondered if I was about to be grounded and have to explain myself to a psychologist. I opened the door to their entryway, visible from the living room, and stepped inside.
Fred looked up at me and said, ”Oh, hi Andrew. Would you mind shutting the door for the air conditioning?” “Sure,” I said, shutting the door. I did not feel casual, but I did my best to fake it as I walked past the Smiths in the living room behind them to the kitchen. Their house smelled like the same sandalwood candles my mom got from the local craft store. I opened the fridge door, got myself a coke. They had the kind in cans, not bottles. I popped the lid, took it back to the living room, and sat down on the floor next to Emma. She was sitting cross legged in a white tank top and terry cloth shorts and smelled like eucalyptus conditioner. She looked up from her phone, and gave me a quick smile and a wave. Her thighs were straining against her too tight shorts and guessed that she had outgrown her wardrobe while at college.
I dove into mind editing mode and found everything just as I had left it before my walk over. For the remainder of the movie, high on adrenaline and hormones, I made a lot of poorly thought-out risky changes that have turned out to still work very well years later.
By the end of the musical, the Smiths knew that I had mind control, but also believed the fact was uninteresting and irresistible and had already been the case for a while. In the Smith’s world, it was death, taxes, and a teenage mind controller. I had worked out for them some implications of our new relatonship—that I was a normal teenager and would use my influence to satisfy my urges and that it was pointless to hold that against me. Trying to tell anyone about my powers would be embarrassing and pointless. I also built up a reservoir of good will towards me, I would have to do a lot to get on their bad-side. I also built in three failsafes—a command preceded by “Simon says” had to be obeyed, it would go directly to the part of their brain that acted. The command, “tell me frankly,” would cause them to tell truthfully exactly what they thought without considering the consequences. Lastly, they would compulsively tell on themselves to me. Consciously they didn’t know about any of the failsafes.
I released the group from my mind and they looked no different than they had a few minutes ago. Fred had snuck his hand to cup Chelsea under the covers, the twins had brought their feet up on the couch to sit hugging their knees, and Emma had pulled out her phone and was texting. The movie was almost over. The tableau was anti-climactic I was beginning to have doubts. I wondered if they would question why I was in their house when they talked after the movie and discovered no one had invited me over. My anxiety for confirmation became overwhelming.
I pulled out my phone, held my breath, and texted Emma’s number.
“Hey, would you take off your bra?”
I saw the message appear at the top of her screen and she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and texted back,
“Would you mind not in front of everyone? Go back to my room later?”
I had an instantaneous erection. Emma’s braless chest was hot, being able to make Emma do whatever I wanted made my heart pound.
I texted back, “Emma, it’s up to you how obvious you are going to be about it.”
Emma put her phone face down, looked straight ahead, gave a resigned sigh, and reached back to unhook her bra through her tank top.
Sam noticed the movement and watched out of the corners of his eyes. Emma shimmied in her shirt to get the straps over her arms and pulled the bra out of the bottom. Her tank top hugged her boobs, and I could see the outline of her nipple through the fabric. She tucked the bra under the couch and went back to texting.
“Wow!” I texted, “so hot!”
I could see Emma redden, but otherwise she ignored my text.
“When you go to bed tonight,” I texted, “would you take a topless photo and it to me?”
The one letter reply came back after a long pause and just as the credits to the musical started, “k”. Sam was looking directly at Emma now and at risk of being noticed by the twins, but then Fred turned on the lights and everyone began to get up. I and Sam stayed seated for a few seconds after everyone else had stood, I guessed we had the same reason.
“Well,” said Fred, “I have a flight to catch tomorrow, you kids can stay and watch whatever you’d like.” “Good night,” said Chelsea, but she leaned in close to Emma and whispered, “There are condoms in my room if you need any.” I think she meant to be inaudible, but everyone heard.
“Mom,” said Emma, rolling her eyes. Chelsea recognized her mistake, made a nervous flutter with her hands, and followed Fred out of the room.
Emma and Sam were trailing the twins out of the room when I said,
“Emma, Sam, come join me at the kitchen table.”
Sam said, “ok” and Emma said, “sure.” I thought she must be wondering what was going to happen, but I couldn’t tell if she was nervous, irritated, or what. Her boobs bounced once when she plopped down at the kitchen chair. I turned on the kitchen light and closed the blinds.
I didn’t know what I wanted to do next, but I did know telling my old babysitter what to do felt good.
“Emma, would you get me a beer?”
Emma and Sam looked up at me, from Emma, “Those are Fred’s, off limits.”
I grinned at her and asked, “to me?”
“I guess not,” she replied, and got up. My and Sam’s attention simultaneously went to her ass, which was barely covered by her shorts.
“Your sister has a great ass, doesn’t she, Sam”
Sam, in forbidden territory, said nothing.
“Sam, everything that happens with just you, I, and Emma is a secret. Tell me frankly.”
“He reddened and said in a small voice, “yes.”
“And tits?” I asked.
In an even smaller voice, he said, “and tits”.
Emma came and sat down handing me the open beer. She was glaring at Sam, and he wilted under her gaze.
“Emma,” I said, “Does it bother you that Sam and I think you have a great ass and tits?”
“No,” said Emma with a red face, “but it’s not ok that he’s talking about it.” I’m not sure if it was red with anger or embarrassment.
I didn’t want my attention to be a constant irritation to Emma, but I was worried if I kept making mental changes, she would end up a brainwashed bimbo. I said, “I want you to help us admire you.”
I met Emma’s eyes and she glared at me for a long second before lowering eyes and saying, “I don’t know what that means.”
To be honest, I didn’t either. Sam was stealing glances at Emma’s braless chest.
I said, “Like when you choose what to wear, push yourself to be a little sexy. Like don’t wear a bra or tie your shirt up. You don’t have to go around naked, just push your-self out of your comfort zone to look sexy for us.”
“Ok,” said Emma, still looking down, “I can do that.”
I was getting into the spirit of the command, and I rolled on.
“Also, don’t try to stop us from looking. Don’t try to get Sam in trouble for taking peeks. I want you to try and give us good views of your body.”
“Oh my god,” Emma said, and then after a pause, “I don’t get it.”
“Emma, look at me?” She met my eyes and I noticed her brown eyes had green flecks in them.
“Like now,” I said, “You’ve taken off your bra, but you’re hunching over and we can’t hardly appreciate what we’re seeing. How would you sit if you wanted us to see how great your tits are?”
She briefly put her hand to her forehead before sitting up, back arched, I could see the outline of her boobs through her t-shirt and remembered how epic they were free from earlier in the afternoon. I thought Sam’s eyes were going to bug out of his head. She was looking to me for confirmation, but I was staring at her chest.
“Ok,” I said, “I know what I want tonight.” Emma sucked in a quick breath. I know she was thinking sex and didn’t realize I was as tired and overwhelmed as she was. Too tired and overwhelmed for sex.
“Emma, lift your shirt up over your boobs.”
She closed her eyes and said, “Oh my god, I can’t.”
“Simon says,” I said, “lift up your shirt so your brother and I can grope your boobs.”
She took a deep breath, grabbed the edges of her shirt, and lifted it up Girls Gone Wild style above the front of her chest. For me, the situation unfolded in slow motion. First, I saw her flat, tan stomach, then her under boobs, then where whole chest, boobs wobbling once after being released from the shirt.
She had literally taken a deep breath and held it, cheeks bulging from the effort of holding it in. “Breath, Emma, breath.” She let out the breath and gave a nervous laugh and let her hands fall to her lap, her arms pushed together her chest creating cleavage.
“Wow, Emma. Wow,” and I meant it.
Emma mumbled, “Thank you,” while looking down at the table.
I pulled my chair up next to hers, cupped her boob and lifted it in my palm. It felt great. I gave a flick with my thumb against the nipple and Emma gasped.
“Don’t you want to touch?” I asked Sam.
He didn’t need more encouragement and lifted her other boob in his palm. The three of us were sitting in a row at the Smith’s kitchen table, Emma between us. It was my first time and Sam’s first time to touch a boob and we felt them all over, lifting and squeezing. Tickling with our fingertips until Emma giggled and gasped for us to stop. The kitchen clock ticked off the minutes, but the experience felt like it lasted seconds.
The nape of her neck blushed a little, the red showing where there were tan lines. I looked in her mind and found a kind of a faucet that our caresses had turned on enough to create a small trickle. I opened it until it was flowing and stepped back out of her mind. The blush at her neck spread and deepened until her whole chest was flushed. She pressed her legs together and flexed the muscles of her inner thighs. She kept her eyes glued to mine, but mine where on her squirming body. I twisted her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and she yelped.
“Emma, tell me frankly, ok?”
“Ok” she said like she was having trouble getting a full breath of air.
“Why is your chest flushed and why are you squeezing your thighs together?”
The flush spread up her chest to her cheeks and she looked mortified. She said,
“You and Sam touching my chest is making me horny. I can’t help squeezing my thighs together.”
I smirked which got a little flash of anger from her eyes which faded back into an aroused glaze. She began grinding her hips into the chair in circles. “How aroused are you?”
“I’m soaking wet, and my pussy is throbbing.”
“Emma, I don’t want you to bring yourself to orgasm tonight without asking me for permission.”
In reply Emma made a desperate little mewing moan, arched her back, and looked up. She was kneading her hands together in her lap. Through my erection and my excitement, I could feel exhaustion and emotional overwhelmed ness begin to crest over my arousal and adrenaline. I was about to crash and needed to get to bed.
I was too embarrassed by my erection to stand up, so I asked Emma and Sam to go to bed first. Emma pulled down her shirt, her face reddening with the embarrassment of self-awareness as I turned off the arousal faucet in her brain. Following my instructions from earlier, she didn’t pull it down all the way but tied it up just under her breast showing off her slim torso. She pulled her shorts up making them even shorter and rolled the top down until the line of her pink panties was visible. Sam watched Emma pull down her shirt like a starving man looking at his fallen ice cream cone melt on the sidewalk. I realized I hadn’t had a sip of the beer Emma had got for me. They both said, “uh, goodnight” awkwardly, Sam tucking his erection in the band of his shorts as he stood. I admired from the back how Emma’s torso poured into her shorts. Just as they rounded the corner, I saw Sam give Emma a pat on her ass and she turned to fuss at him, but I couldn’t hear what she said. I guessed what he was going to do next in his room.
I let myself out of the front door into my own house to bed. Before I was asleep, I heard my phone buzz. From Emma was a topless selfie. Her back was arched, and she was feeling up her boob with one hand and holding her phone with the other. The flash obscured her face.