(bryanism on: Intuitive Experiences---> Go Ahead, Read my Mind)
Go Ahead, Read my Mind (story)
Lots of friends were interested in what I was into lately, since it seems I'd momentarily put aspirations as published singer/song writer aside. Back then in describing new interests, I threw the word psychic around a lot more than now, probably for the part-controversial connotation, since I was more than willing to do my part in dispelling debunkers. Yes, I was putting way too much energy into that aspect of it. 
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It was a busy day out of town visiting old college friends, but there was finally time near nightfall to spend with Larry in his newly purchased house, now watching TV like old times, while catching up. I talked about intuition, animal communication and psychic readings. Of course, disproving my ability to mind read was suddenly Larry's objective, perhaps so I'd be too embarrassed to bring it up in conversation with him again, since he admired me more for my science background and professional advice on medical and health matters. 
Both of us were lounging on the floor in the living room with no lights but what came from the TV flashing, and Larry didn't even bother to lower the volume before closing his eyes and demanding that I tell him what he was thinking. Was I bothered by the crude approach? No. I believed in human ability, so I settled myself and started talking: 
"I see the contours of a woman, her curves, her physique, the admiration of her shape, curvature, physicality, desire..." 
He broke my train of thought to ask, "desire to be a woman?" 
"No," I chuckled with my eyes still closed while continuing, "her hips, breast, thighs, neckline, her physique, her curvature...." 
Then he barged in with a personality description of a colleague, a teacher who had a grievance at work, asking me to reveal out loud what she'd said to him; but instead I explained why she'd said it, which made Larry pause to wonder something he hadn't yet considered, something that suddenly helped him settle whether she'd been completely honest (with him). 
Now, Larry began understanding that intuition comes across like the one being intuitive, meaning this was like having a conversation with the Bryan he'd always known in regard to a situation I'd full knowledge of; but the only difference was intuition connecting all the dots, even dots he hadn't yet connected. I watched with empathy, as Larry made realizations he wasn't prepared for. 
I quickly changed subjects to remind, "You might not remember, but I was the first to mention your wife's most recent pregnancy." 
He denied it, but I continued, "Remember when you were in town visiting last year, and I asked your daughter, Thyme, if she was finally ready for a little brother or sister?" 
I could tell Larry was counting backward, months then weeks from his son's birth to the time when I'd said that. He didn't argue. Instead he went back to the situation involving his colleague at work. There was more he wanted to know, and now I was giving him a full reading, since that's what he solicited from me, in essence. 
After clearing up a few concerns in that regard, it wasn't about intuition any more. It was about Larry and Bryan connecting like old times. Things felt good with him accepting me and the abilities I'd use to process life from here on out,... without fear of mental intrusion on his part. He could tell it was only for the good, relieved I hadn't changed fundamentally. 
He sat up to say, "Wanna know what I was thinking, while I had you read my mind?" 
"Yeah, maybe," I said, hoping he wasn't going to yank my chain or tell me that everything spilling from my (intuitive) mind for the last hour or so had no basis of truth in it...that I shouldn't quit my day job. 
He smiled at my skepticism but went on to describe, "Around nine (years old), my mom walked into my bedroom and caught me with a magazine I shouldn't have had...that I kept hidden under my mattress. I thought she'd hit the roof, but instead she sat on the bed and asked what I was doing. She already saw that I had my pencil in hand pressing against the sketch pad she'd bought me on my last birthday, so I went on and said, 'I'm drawing (these women in nude).' 
Larry paused to reflect, "And ma seemed impressed with what I'd done so far." 
Then I said, "Not surprised, considering you're an excellent artist now, Larry..." 
He acknowledged and leaned in asking, "Guess what my mom said?" 
"What?" I prepared for the worst (but hoped for the best). 
"All she said was, 'Okay,' before getting up and then closing the door behind her. Let me keep the magazines. Never brought them up again." Larry was still amazed. 
"Wise woman," I said. 
"Ahead of her time," he agreed.