This is my first attempt at a follow-up story.
For those without time to read the original tale. Brent, our narrator, sustains a baseball injury resulting in his ability to sway some people's thoughts. He hasn't a clue how to use this ability responsibly. He initially plans to use his talent to get sex, but falls in love. The love of his life is headed to England to further her studies as she is very intelligent. He abandons his college baseball career for an attempt at cricket. Music silences his telepathic ability. I would recommend reading the original tale as I doubt I've done an adequate job of segueing from part one to two.
The medical conditions and solutions are fiction. Don't get your hopes, dander, knickers, or panties bunched up.
Not much sex in this and I'm posting in the same category as the original. This is more an exercise is storytelling than an erotic adventure. Please read my profile for my stance on feedback. Feel free to email suggestions or start a conversation.
Thanks to anon Jay Jay for some inspirational thoughts.
Richard Leigh: "Sometimes think 'I love you still'. Wonder if I always will. But I know it's just until, I get over you."
+ + + +
I HATE my telepathic talent. I just want to be normal again. I've found the happy zone using it though. When I don't have earbuds trickling music into my head, I sit thinking 'FOCUS'. I've had too many close calls with bus and cab drivers being affected by my thoughts and nearly causing accidents. Inadvertently affecting people, too close to me, bothers me greatly.
My friends are wondering what kind of mental problems I have, as I am never seen without earbuds.
As Steph and I planned our migration to London, I learned it was her father funding my excursion. He's a partner in a Washington DC based firm. Nothing spared for daddy's girl.
Steph and I have spent many nights exploring how we want our lives to turn out. I still hold out hope for using my athletic ability to make a living. Steph has been approached by several think tanks, and there's no doubt in my mind that she will end up working at one of them.
We both want children. For Steph, it's her number one priority. If she could choose, it would be a son, followed a year later, with a daughter. We go hot and cold on whether we should live in London or back in the US. Too many unknowns. Until my athletic career fizzles, next week or ten years from now, it's ludicrous to even discuss many of our concerns. Likewise, Steph is in high demand. Whoever makes the best offer, and can she afford to ignore it, will bring us to a major crossroad.
At times a crystal ball would make these discussions easier to resolve. What didn't need resolution was our sex life. I was always horny and some days Steph was even hornier. The love making, with and without music blaring, makes us oblivious to our surroundings.
We packed our lives into two suitcases each. Anything else of value was sent to our parents. London was calling and we were both psyched. Steph was attending classes in Oxford England which is an hour train ride from London. We stayed in a hotel for the first week.
+ + + +
The second day in London I had my tryout with the professional cricket team I'd spoken with a month earlier. Foster was the old man calling the shots. He had scraggly white hair and smoked a pipe. He was exceptionally difficult to understand with his gravelly voice and accent.
"Dja thing you kin pay?"
"Excuse me?"
"Dja thing you kin pay?"
When I looked confused "Do you think you can play?"
"Sorry about that. I'm still having some problems with the British accent. Yes, I know I can play."
"Lessee how fast ya be."
After warming up I dusted my competition when we ran around the inside of the fence line. I finished so far in front of the others they cut it off and were walking back across the field.
"Ye kin run. Grabba bat."
I picked up one of the heavier ones, which was also one of the longer ones. It was obvious I didn't know where to set up. I had watched videos but failed to realize how close to the wicket I should stand. The bowler had the decency to wiggle his finger at me until I was where I should be. Some of the players were watching and snickering.
"Just hit, don't run" came a voice from the side.
After clocking a dozen throws one of the other coaches came over and started giving me advice. He had the bowler move the delivery from very outside to behind my back. My instructions were to hit every pitch. The coaches kept changing the bat I was using, some short, some light, but I kept swatting the balls.
Every ball bowled was sent somewhere. Most were sent very sharply. This attracted another of the coaches. The speed and spin on these balls was different than baseball but I wasn't having trouble getting the fat part of my bat on them. They brought in another bowler and then a third. I needed a break as my arms were getting weary. Somewhere along the line a suit had joined the coaches.
Mr. Coat and tie "How quickly can you get your agent here?"
I bluffed "Tomorrow?"
"Be back here at noon. Does that work for you?"
"Sure. What do you want me to do next?"
Foster spoke up "Go shag a few."
I spent the next ten minutes shagging what they called dollys. They were what baseball players called cans of corn. The easiest to track down and catch pop flys. Then they had live batting practice and I covered a section of the field. The other players were pretty enthusiastic about me playing with them.
The team had a hit around and I felt pretty good about myself. There was very little interaction at close quarters so I rarely had to worry about what I was thinking.
Overall, I spent three hours with them. They appeared satisfied with my tryout.
+ + + +
I didn't have an agent so I sent a text to Steph as soon as I left. She texted back a few minutes later and let me know her father would get me the name of a reputable one.
Gordon was the agent I met at a pub around supper time. I was happy that I couldn't get him to blink. It was too loud in the pub so we crossed over to the park. I was hoping like hell that this guy was competent since his questions had me doubting my intelligence. Whatever he could get me I'd owe him sixteen percent. There were bonuses he could earn based on certain financial benchmarks. I looked at the numbers and thought 'Yeah right, like I'm going to make that much.'
After Gordon and I met with the suits for the cricket team, all I could say was 'Holy shit. Good job Gordon.'
+ + + +
Every day I spent four hours practicing, and three more hours watching videos. I'll spend a little time here giving my American friends back home a quick cricket primer.
Cricket is played on a very large field, something like two baseball parks. There's a 'pitch area' centered in the field. That's where all the action starts and ends. It's roughly the same distance as a baseball mound to the home plate umpire. At each end of the pitch area is a set of three stakes called a wicket. Precariously balanced between the three stakes are bits of wood. If those hit the ground, the nearest offensive player is out. There is one offensive and one defensive player at each wicket.
The defensive player, doing the equivalent of pitching, is called a bowler. He bowls six balls, which is called an inning. Then the other defensive player bowls six balls. The defensive players bowl in opposite directions, back and forth. The offensive players are protecting the wicket from the bowled ball. The bowled ball must bounce once before it reaches the batter.
When the batter hits the ball, both offensive players try to reach the other end of the pitch area before the ball is back to the wicket. They run with their bats. That's called a single run. If the hit is good enough, the offensive players will go down and back. That's called a double run. If the ball is hit out of the playing field on the ground, it counts for 'four' runs. If the ball is hit out of the playing field in the air, its worth 'six' runs.
An offensive player is out when the defense is able to tap the wicket with the ball before the offensive player is within reach of the wicket. Very much like a force out in baseball. Actually there are many ways a batter can be out. A common one, exactly like baseball, is catching a ball before it hits the ground. Swinging, missing, and the ball hits the wicket is an out.
