Fan Mail

(c) Copyright 1999 by Wiseguy



For a writer, there is no greater high than positive reader 
feedback.  When a reader takes time out to tell me how much 
he or she liked a story of mine and why, it's like a big 
friendly hug to me.  I don't get them every day, so when 
one does come my way I value it and make it a point to 
reply with more than just a mechanical thank-you.

One message I received a while ago is a perfect case in 
point:


Dear Wiseguy,

I very much enjoyed your story "Quarters".  The story 
is much more realistic than most fictional hypnosis 
stories, although it is a little bit of a stretch to 
have Susan able to participate in the illusion with no 
previous experience as a subject.  

I learned hypnosis from my therapist a few years ago 
and experimented a bit with an ex-boyfriend.  Your 
story reminded me of some of the games we played.

Sincerely,

Susan


To me, this email was the ultimate in feedback.  Not only 
had she liked the story, but she had obviously invested the 
effort to understand the characters and situation I'd put 
together.  The fact that she had a valid criticism didn't 
bother me; if I couldn't take a little intelligent 
criticism, I'd be foolish to keep posting stories.  

The timing of this particular message was especially 
gratifying because it came just after the posting of 
"Quarters" on my Web site and the alt.sex.stories 
newsgroup.  At the time "Intimate Adventures" was in its 
first draft and had a number of serious shortcomings.  I 
was floundering, knowing where I wanted the story to go but 
unsure how to get it there.  Susan's email pulled me right 
out of that quagmire.  Not only was the tone friendly and 
open, but she had also piqued my curiosity by alluding to 
her own real experience.  I dropped everything and composed 
my reply:


Susan, 
 
Thank you for taking the time to write to me about 
"Quarters".  It was really good to hear from you, and 
I'm glad you liked the story.  

It sounds as though you have more hypnosis experience 
than I do; if you don't mind, I'd love to hear how 
your experiments went. 
 
Regards, 
 
-wg 


I was careful to keep it light and easy -- there are a lot 
of freaks and weirdoes on the Internet, after all, and I 
didn't want Susan to think I was one of them.  And yes, I 
admit it, I was hoping she would reply with something that 
would get my creative juices flowing again.  I only had to 
wait a few hours to find out.


Hello, 
 
The best trick I did with my ex was to "run into him" 
(it was pre-arranged) at a bar and not recognize 
him.  He appeared to be a total stranger and, of 
course, he seduced me as such. It was my idea but it 
took a lot of work to make it really happen.  By the 
time we tried that, he had hypnotized me over a number 
of sessions so I was a very experienced subject.  I 
was also a very willing subject because I loved the 
fantasy!  And of course I trusted him completely.  My 
therapist says I am a "somnambulist," the class of 
people most capable of entering a trance and 
experiencing deep hypnosis.   
 
Please write another story with a "Susan"! It was 
great!! 
 
Susan


This latest message was very exciting for me because Susan 
clearly was someone who understood hypnosis from 
experience.  The scene she described fascinated me and went 
directly to my idea file.  I could feel my creative wheels 
starting to turn again.


Susan, 
 
That is a cool trick; thank you for sharing it with 
me. 
 
I envy you for your ability to go into trance -- I'm 
having trouble getting past a hypervigilance problem 
and haven't been able to accomplish much of anything 
yet.   
 
Regards, 
 
-wg
 

Up to this point, I hadn't actually met anyone who had been 
professionally hypnotized (that I knew of, anyway).  I'd 
gone to a couple of stage shows and been fascinated, but 
had never qualified to be a volunteer.  I'd try my hardest 
to relax and follow the hypnotist's instructions, but they 
just didn't work.  I bought books on self-hypnosis, 
downloaded spiral image computer programs, even tried 
making my own audiotapes using induction speeches I'd 
culled from Web sites.  Eventually I reached the plateau I 
was on when I first heard from Susan -- I was able to place 
myself in a light trance and maintain it for a while, but 
any attempt at a useful hypnotic suggestion either woke me 
up or simply failed to work.  A little research in my books 
suggested that my problem was hypervigilance, meaning that 
my mind was so busy watching to see if I would go into 
trance that it was actually keeping me awake.  The more I 
willed myself to let go, the less successful I was at 
actually doing it.   As luck would have it, Susan 
understood.


Way back at the beginning, as I was entering a trance, 
I would start to feel very panicky, as if I could not 
let go and the harder I tried the more panicky I 
felt.  It was like bouncing off a wall or walking into 
a door.  I think I was trying too hard.  Eventually, 
one sleepy day, the wall disappeared and I was able to 
enter a trance.  

You can do it yourself, but it would be a lot faster 
if you see a professional.  That's what I did and we 
got through the wall in the second session.  

I read the draft of "Intimate Adventures" on your 
site.  It sounds like you live in the DC area.  Would 
you like to meet for lunch or something?  We could 
talk about it face to face.

Good Luck!

Susan


I found the idea of actually meeting Susan too compelling 
to pass up.  At that point nobody in my real life knew 
about my writing or my yen for hypnosis; other than cyber-
friends like Artie and a few readers, there was nobody I 
could really talk to about those things.  Susan seemed to 
understand what I was going through and was willing to 
advise, so I figured why not?


Susan,

Meeting for lunch sounds like a great idea.  I work 
downtown, but my schedule is pretty flexible.  Do you 
have a place and time in mind that would be good for 
you?  

-wg


By not telling her exactly where I live or work, I was 
trying to encourage Susan to pick a place where she would 
feel comfortable.  I was expecting her to name something in 
downtown DC or Arlington; her suggestion came as a complete 
surprise:


You didn't say where home is, so it's hard to know 
where to pick.  Are you familiar with Gaithersburg or 
Germantown?  If so, there is a Bare Bones on Rte 355 
in Gaithersburg that would be good for me on just 
about any weekday.

Susan


Fate laughs at probabilities -- Susan had chosen a 
restaurant less than five miles from my townhouse.  I 
checked my work calendar, selected a few potential dates on 
which I could work from home, and offered Susan her choice.  
We ended up agreeing on the following Monday, which gave me 
five days to get over the butterflies that took up 
residence in my stomach the minute she agreed to the date.  
It had been a very long time since I'd shared a meal with 
anyone who didn't have a Y chromosome.



Bare Bones is a good place for a friendly lunch.  The food 
is tasty, the service good, and there is just enough 
ambient noise that you can say whatever is on your mind and 
feel pretty sure it won't carry beyond your own table.  

Our lunch date was for 12:30.  Bare Bones doesn't take 
reservations, so I made sure I was there at noon in case 
they were extra busy.  I gave the hostess the name 
"Wiseman" and waited about 15 minutes before being seated 
at a table for two in the non-smoking section.  I took the 
seat facing the entrance, ordered an iced tea, and watched 
the door as the butterflies went nuts inside me.  

At 12:24 a woman came through the doors.  She spoke briefly 
to the hostess, who pointed in my direction, then started 
towards me.  The closer she came, the better I could see 
her and the luckier I felt.  Susan had given me a basic 
description -- "medium height, light brown hair, average-
looking" -- that hardly did justice to the person now 
approaching.  Medium height was right, and her hair was a 
nice chestnut brown, but to my eye she was more than just 
average.  She wore a simple but elegant pantsuit in navy 
blue with a satiny white blouse.  Her body language 
signaled authority and calm as she made her way 
deliberately through the milling crowd.  

I rose to greet her with my hand outstretched.  "Susan?"

She took my hand and shook it firmly.  "Mr. Wiseman, I 
presume?" she inquired, smiling broadly.  Her smile was 
soft and friendly and involved her entire face.

 "Guilty as charged," I answered, and pulled out her chair.

Susan seized a menu immediately.  "I warn you now, I'm 
famished."

"No problem," I replied.  We hadn't really said anything 
about it, but I was already planning to pick up the check 
for both of us.  

While Susan studied the menu, I made a quick selection and 
then turned my attention to studying her.  She may not have 
been cover-of-Cosmo glamorous, but her friendly face and 
sensual voice certainly appealed to me.  I had to remind 
myself that this was not supposed to be a date.

"So," she began, "what do I call you?"

"Mark," I replied.

"Hi, Mark," she responded with a sweet smile.  "What do you 
do when you're not posting sexy stories on the Internet?"

 "Tech support for a systems integrator," I answered.  "I'm 
what they call third tier; when something really weird goes 
on that neither the field techs nor the senior techs can 
figure out, they call me."

"I'm impressed," she replied.  "You must be a genius."

"Not me," I responded.  "I'm just good at troubleshooting, 
and I'm not afraid to crack a book if I have to.  What 
about you?"

"I'm not afraid of books either," she joked, "but I never 
get time to read them.  I'm a project manager at 
Fairchild."  A very high-tech company -- it was my turn to 
be impressed.  

The waitress interrupted us to take our lunch orders.  Once 
we had that taken care of I tried to steer the conversation 
toward the purpose of the lunch.  "How long have you been 
doing hypnosis?" 

"About five years," she answered thoughtfully.  "I was 
having some problems, and my therapist suggested using it 
to help me deal with them.  She helped me learn to get into 
a good, deep trance state with her and also how to do it by 
myself.  She was right, it helped a lot to be able to look 
at myself that way.  What about you?"

"I guess I've always been interested," I replied.  "About 
eighteen months ago I saw a stage hypnotist for the first 
time and got bitten by the hypno bug for real."

"Is that when you started writing stories?"

"Not right away, no.  At first I just wanted to learn how 
to hypnotize myself.  I saw myself using it to handle 
stress, to get myself to eat better, things like that.  The 
more I read and tried it, though, the more I got interested 
in the sexual side.  I was looking up 'erotic hypnosis' in 
a search engine one night and that led me more or less 
directly to the Erotic Mind Control Story Archive."

"And you stayed up all night reading stories," she 
concluded for me.

"That's what everybody says, isn't it?  Well, I didn't stay 
up all night, but I did spend several marathon sessions 
there over a long weekend."

"Close enough."  She had a knowing smile on her face; that 
first exposure to Simon's archive seems to be a common 
experience that cuts across all boundaries.  For a flash I 
imagined her sitting in front of a computer reading her 
first MC story, her staring eyes reflecting the glow on her 
screen, her nipples perking up as she pictured the scenes 
in her mind.  "But you still haven't answered my question," 
she reminded me, breaking the spell.  "Why write?  
Thousands of people read stories, but only a relative few 
contribute new ones."

I decided to give her the condensed version:  "After a 
while I noticed that there while there were hundreds of 
stories out there, only a few had the romantic touch that 
appeals to me as a reader.  I used to love creative writing 
when I was in school, so I figured I'd write one story, 
send it to Simon, and see if it was any good.  Apparently 
it was; in the first week after it appeared on the archive, 
I got about eight very encouraging emails from people 
telling me how much they had enjoyed the story."  In the 
distance I saw our waiter approaching with two platters on 
his tray.  "So I kept writing."

Susan looked like she had a follow-up question ready, but 
we were both fully distracted by the arrival of our food.  
I had a delicious half-rack of baby back ribs, fries, cole 
slaw and applesauce; Susan had gone with the quarter 
chicken and a side salad.  We were both hungry, so the 
conversation took a back seat to eating for a while.

Eventually we slowed down.  Since I had monopolized the 
early conversation, I tried to get Susan talking.  "Would 
you like to share a little of your hypnosis experience?"

She checked her watch.  "I'm almost out of time now," she 
said, lowering her head in an implied apology.  "It took me 
two long sessions with my therapist to get through into a 
deep trance for the first time.  It took a lot more 
practice before I was able to enter a trance on my own and 
use it effectively.  But I learned some things in the 
process, and I've used that once or twice to help other 
people learn to hypnotize themselves.  If you want, I can 
try to help you."

The butterflies swarmed back.  "You mean, hypnotize me?"

"I could try," she replied.  "It's easier if you have 
someone else help talk you through it the first few times.  
After you get used to being in a trance you learn to do it 
yourself more easily."

"And you would be willing to do that with me?"  I was 
struggling to stay in my seat now -- this was much more than 
I'd hoped for.

"I think so," she said.  "We can at least try it once, if 
you're interested."

If I'd stood up, she'd have seen exactly how interested I 
was in being hypnotized by her.  "Very interested," I 
understated.  "When and where would you like to do it?"

"How about at your place?  You can show me what you've been 
working with so far, and I can tell you some more about my 
experiences."

"Great," I replied eagerly.  "Any time you like."

Reaching down into her handbag, Susan produced a personal 
organizer and consulted it.  "My evenings are pretty free 
right now," she commented.  "We could try tonight if you 
want."

"Tonight works.  I'll even feed you dinner."

She laughed and patted her flat stomach.  "I probably won't 
need any after this lunch," she joked.  We agreed to meet 
at seven; I gave her my address and phone number as well as 
directions from Germantown.  After a brief negotiation I 
covered the check from lunch and she took care of the tip.  
I walked her out to her car then dashed home to start an 
afternoon of frenzied house cleaning.




Susan arrived right on time.  I opened the door quickly and 
did a double take:  the Susan I'd been expecting, she of 
the classy business suit and authoritative manner, was not 
there.  This Susan was wearing faded jeans and a ribbed 
tank top.  Her hair was tied back in a simple ponytail that 
gave an almost girlish look to her face.

"This is the non-office me," she explained as I ushered her 
inside.   

"I take it you live nearby."

"Frederick," she answered with a 'so-so' wave of her hand.  
"I have a condo in one of the newer developments.  Not as 
much room as this, but I don't need much for just me."  She 
looked past me, her nostrils flaring.  "What's that I 
smell?"

"Stir fry, spring rolls, Minute Rice."

"He cooks!" she remarked.  "I'm impressed."

I shrugged.  "He can open a box and follow the directions, 
anyway."

"That's my system too," she replied.  "I couldn't live 
without my freezer and my microwave."

"Would you like to open the wine?"

"Gladly."  Susan took the chilled white wine from the 
refrigerator and opened it, pouring glasses for both of us.  
She stayed in the kitchen with me, sipping her wine while I 
tended the stir fry.  I learned that she was from Fort 
Lauderdale originally and had moved into the DC area three 
years ago after losing her job to merger fallout.  

"So why Frederick?" I asked.  

"I didn't have a job yet when I got here," she explained.  
"I was looking to hook up with one of the tech companies on 
the 270 corridor, but I couldn't afford anything decent in 
Montgomery County.  I can now, but I got myself stuck by 
buying that condo instead of renting.  Still, the commute 
to Germantown isn't bad; it's maybe half an hour on a bad 
day."

"That's about half the local average," I observed.  "You 
must be doing something right."

"I am," she answered.  "I'm keeping out of downtown.  I 
don't know how people put up with that place."

"The city itself isn't so bad," I remarked.  "It's the 
getting in and out that kills you."

By the time I had dinner on the table, I was feeling much 
more comfortable.  The off-hours Susan was softer than the 
professional Susan I'd first met.  I said as much over 
dinner.

"That's my work persona," she explained.  "A project 
manager has to be a little pushy or nothing gets done.  It 
took me a long time to develop that, but now whenever I'm 
dressed for work that side of me seems to come out 
naturally."

"That reminds me of a story I read recently -- 'Lingerie', 
by MC Writer.  Have you seen that one?"

"I don't think so," she replied.  "Aside from the 
occasional hypnosis-related piece, I really don't read mind 
control stories."

"Any particular reason?"  A small lump started to form in 
my throat, as if I was holding a lottery ticket and 
watching the drawing on TV.

"A lot of them are very dark," she said.  "Incest, rape, 
humiliation, enslavement ... I don't get off on that sort of 
thing.  I like stories where people are enjoying 
themselves, having great sex because they want to.  Free 
will and mind control would seem to be mutually exclusive."

"Not necessarily," I argued.  "Read 'Contest Weekend'.  
Read 'Synergy'.  Heck, read anything written by Artie.  It 
really is possible to have a story about a loving couple 
who use MC techniques for their own mutual enjoyment.  
Isn't that what you did with the ex-boyfriend in Florida?"

"Yes," she agreed, "but that was different.  Most of the 
things we did were my idea to begin with.  They were like 
your story, 'Quarters' -- a neat mind trick that led to 
really hot sex."

"Exactly what Artie and I write about," I explained.  "Call 
it romantic mind control if you want; couples using 
hypnosis, or some other technique, to explore their own 
fantasies.  That's what the story I'm working on now is 
about, in fact -- a couple who get hypnotized and find 
themselves living out some of their favorite sexual 
fantasies with each other."

"I know," she replied, smiling into her wine glass.  "I 
read the draft on your Web site.  It needs some work, but I 
love the premise."

"Oh," I replied weakly.  "Then why am I still explaining 
this?"

Susan smiled and chuckled.  Reaching over to take my hand 
in hers, she said softly, "Because I wanted to see if you 
really are the person your writing makes you out to be."  

"Do I pass muster?"

"Definitely," she replied, and suddenly my lottery ticket 
looked mighty promising.  "That sense of romance, of honor 
and mutual respect, is what made me want to meet you.  
Seeing and hearing that you really feel that way makes me 
want to help you."

I sighed with relief at having passed the test.  "I'm glad 
you feel that way," I replied.

It didn't take long for me to clear up dinner; Susan 
helped, and I set aside some leftovers for her to take 
home.  By 8:30 we were ready to get down to business.  

"Before we get started," Susan began, "I need to know what 
your intentions are."

Her face looked very serious; something was up here, but 
what?  "What do you mean?" I asked.

"I want to know why you are so interested in being 
hypnotized.  What exactly do you expect to gain?"

Choosing my words carefully, I explained as best I could.  
"What I really want is the experience itself.  I feel like 
a bit of a charlatan writing stories about erotic hypnosis 
when I've never been through it myself.  I want to know 
what a really deep trance feels like.  I want to close my 
eyes in one place, wake up somewhere else and not remember 
how I got there.  I want to feel a strong compulsion to do 
something out of the ordinary and not be able to resist."

Susan's eyes remained locked onto mine.  "Is that it?"

"That's it," I replied.  "That's not to say that if I can 
learn to put myself under I won't try a few minor 
adjustments."

"Like what?"

I shrugged.  "Eat better, relax more, and maybe improve my 
self-confidence.  Nothing radical."

Susan nodded.  "Okay.  I'm sorry if I put you on the spot, 
but I had to be sure you weren't looking for help with some 
kind of serious problem.  There are very good reasons why 
you need a license to practice hypnotherapy, Mark, and 
amateurs like us have absolutely no business going there."

"I understand," I said.  "The main reason why I haven't 
gone to a professional already is that I don't really have 
a problem.  It's hard to defend spending that kind of time 
and money simply to satisfy my curiosity -- it would be like 
making a dentist appointment just to ride in the chair."

"I'm getting a really strange visual from that," Susan 
joked.  We shared a smile; I'd passed the last test.  "Why 
don't we start with what you're doing now?" she suggested.  
"Show me where you normally practice and how."

I led her upstairs to the spare bedroom, which I had turned 
into a computer room.  Fortunately I'd anticipated showing 
her the setup and had made time to pick the place up a bit.  
The computer, an HP desktop, was already on so all I had to 
do was log in.

"Is this where you sit?" she asked, indicating the office 
chair I was in at the moment.  The chair has a short back 
that comes up just below my shoulder blades, and straight 
arms at its sides.  It tilts backward a few degrees and 
swivels.

"Sure," I replied.

"Where do you rest your head?"

"I don't -- it just kind of balances.  It droops a little 
sometimes, but not too badly."

"And you use some sort of program?"

The computer was done logging me in, so I opened my 'Hypno' 
folder.  "Yep.  I have a couple of things here that I've 
toyed with.  All common stuff that I downloaded from one 
place or another."

"Flasher?" she queried, reading the title of one icon.

"It flashes brightly at programmed intervals," I explained.  
"It's supposed to induce different types of brain wave 
patterns depending on how you set it up."

"Does it work?"

"As far as I can tell.  I used a program like it in my 
first story."

"This one looks promising," she remarked, double-clicking 
an icon of a tiny spiral.  In a few seconds a swirling, 
multilevel pinwheel graphic filled the screen.  "Oh yes," 
she said, "I've played with this one myself.  It's the one 
with the subliminals embedded into the pattern."  She was 
quiet for a moment, her eyes growing a little distant as 
she stared into the screen.  Watching her face, I started 
to remember what the document file for that program had 
said -- it is supposed to be irresistible to women.  "It's a 
very effective spiral," she continued, her voice slowing.  
Then she reached over and hit the Escape key.  "But not as 
all-powerful as the DOC file claims."

I scooted my chair over a little, partly to give her better 
access to the keyboard and partly to conceal my need to 
rearrange certain things in the front my pants.  She tried 
the next icon.  "Does this work?" she asked.

"A little," I answered.  "The slowly descending sound works 
well, and the screen display captures my eye, but as soon 
as I start to really relax my vision gets blurry and I 
think that screws it up.  Either that, or it's just me 
wondering about it that screws it up."

"Very possibly," she agreed.  Indicating another spiral 
icon, she asked, "Is this another pinwheel pattern?"

"Yes.  This one doesn't have the subliminals on it, but 
it's got adjustable speed and number of stripes.  I use 
that one a lot."  To demonstrate, I double-clicked an icon 
that called the program with my favorite settings.  The 
familiar pattern filled the screen and out of reflex I let 
my eyes be drawn into the swirling vortex.

"I might have seen an older version of this one," she said.  
"It wasn't as smooth as this but the look was similar.  How 
long do you usually look at it?"

"Until my eyes want to close.  Probably about a minute."

"Do they want to close now?"

"Not yet.  Soon, though, if I were to stop talking and just 
go with it."

"Go ahead," she suggested.  I let my arms hang down over 
the sides of the chair, took a deep breath, and 
concentrated on the center of the swirling spiral.  I was 
briefly aware of Susan moving behind me, taking the spare 
chair to my right, as the pattern shifted before me.  
"Breathe deeply," she said softly from behind me. "Let each 
breath settle you down a little deeper into the chair."  

After a few seconds I felt my eyelids starting to droop, 
and I concentrated on relaxing my shoulders and face.  
"That's it, just let them close when they want to," she 
continued.  "Keep relaxing.  Pay attention to your face, 
your scalp, you neck."  There was still tension in my scalp 
and face; I willed them to relax, and as I did so my eyes 
dropped shut.  "Relax your neck and shoulders, let them 
droop, as you sink deeper."  Her voice was sweet and 
seductive; as I felt my neck relaxing I became aware that 
my cock was struggling to stand up.  I wondered what 
suggestions she would give me if the induction worked.

My train of thought derailed when I felt my chin start to 
dig into my chest.  When practicing by myself, I usually 
kept my head upright and just relaxed my neck a little; 
having it bent this severely was uncomfortable.  I lifted 
my head and, as usual, the spell was broken.  My eyes 
opened and I looked back at Susan.  She was shaking her 
head slowly.

"I don't know how you expect to relax properly in that 
chair," she said.  "I'm not sure I could, and I've had a 
lot more practice than you have."

"What do you suggest?"

"How about a different setting?"  She stood up and headed 
out the door.  "Is this the bedroom?" she asked as she put 
her hand on my bedroom door.

"Yes -- but don' t open that!"

She shot me an amused grin.  "Not expecting company?"

"It's a little unkempt," I confessed sheepishly.  "I really 
didn't think we'd need to go in there, so I sort of skimped 
on the cleaning."

She took pity on me and let go of the doorknob.  "Okay.  
Let's try the couch."

I followed her back down to the living room.  The 
centerpiece of my living room is a maroon leather sofa with 
well-stuffed matching cushions.  It wasn't a convertible, 
but my brother has made use of it a few times and praises 
its high 'crash factor'.  I had to agree as I stretched out 
on my back across its length, feeling the cushions 
conforming to my body.

"That looks much better," she remarked.  "But let's lose 
these."  She grabbed my left shoe and pulled it off in one 
easy motion, then did the same for the right before 
settling into the matching padded recliner next to me.  "Do 
you normally sleep on your back?"

"No, on my side."

"Get on your side, then."  I complied, shifting onto my 
left side so that my back was up against the back of the 
sofa.  Susan reached over and tucked a throw pillow from 
her chair under my right arm.  "Comfy?"

"Surprisingly so."

"Let's start by closing your eyes.  Take a deep breath or 
two, make sure you're nice and comfortable."  

I closed my eyes and wriggled a little further into the 
cushions.  Through my closed eyelids I sensed a darkening 
of the room and snuck a peek:  Susan had gotten up and was 
turning off most of the lights.  Only an incandescent 
reading lamp, its shade tilted to minimize the light on me, 
provided illumination now.  I closed my eyes again and 
prepared myself for the next step.

"Okay," Susan began.  "We're going to start with a 
progressive relaxation.  I know you're familiar with the 
process, but don't get ahead of me.  Just listen and follow 
my voice, and try not to think of anything at all.  Don't 
move around or nod or try to speak, just be still and 
quiet.

"Take a deep breath, and let it out.  As you exhale, 
concentrate on your feet.  Feel each toe individually; 
notice how they are touching each other.  Feel the texture 
of your sock over your foot.  Now, take another deep 
breath, and as you let it out tell your toes to relax."

I did as instructed, breathing in and willing my toes to 
rest.  My feet, then ankles, then calves and shins 
followed, and I started to lose myself in Susan's silky, 
sexy voice.  She had been well coached, I could tell; her 
delivery was smooth and even, like a professional.  As my 
thighs and hips settled further into the couch, I noticed 
that even my cock was behaving itself.

Following Susan's words, I continued spreading relaxation 
through my upper body, across my shoulders, down my arms 
into my hands and fingers.  I was limp and loose as a 
discarded puppet, and the welcome buzzing sensation of 
light trance was forming in my head.

"Very good, Mark," her voice continued.  "Try not to think 
of anything in particular; if an idea comes into your mind, 
just acknowledge it and let it pass back out again.  You 
don't need to think right now, you only need to listen and 
relax.  Feel your neck relaxing now, Mark, becoming loose 
and lazy, letting the pillow take the weight of your head 
for you.  It's so nice to relax your neck, to let go.  
Another breath please, and now as you exhale let your face 
go slack and rubbery, like a soft Halloween mask.  Your jaw 
can settle down anywhere it wants to, your tongue can come 
forward if it wants to.  Let your cheeks melt, and your 
eyebrows droop down.  Let the muscles around your eyes 
rest, rest and sleep, becoming so relaxed they wouldn't 
move even if you wanted them to."

The buzzing was getting louder now; it was as loud as I'd 
ever felt it before.  A small trickle of excitement eased 
down my body and my cock began to rise.  I willed myself 
not to think about it, to give myself to the buzzing, to go 
deeper.

"Another deep breath, Mark.  Don't anticipate, just relax 
and be, listen and obey, breathe and let go.  Every breath 
takes you deeper and deeper into total relaxation; every 
breath takes you deeper and deeper into hypnosis.  You 
don't have to think about it, you don't have to force it, 
just let go and it will happen."

I was deeper than I'd ever been before, I was positive of 
that.  I was floating, my body limp and useless but 
surprisingly light.  I noticed my eyelids flickering and 
willed them to relax some more.

"That's good, Mark, let every last bit of tension drain out 
of your face and your eyes.  Your eyelids are very relaxed 
now, totally relaxed, so sleepy and drowsy that they won't 
open anymore, no matter how much you try.  You can try if 
you want to, Mark, but you have done such a good job of 
relaxing that your eyes will not open.  Try now and see how 
successful you have been at relaxing."

Tentatively, afraid of breaking the spell, I tried to open 
my eyes.  They wouldn't budge.  Pleased, I tried a little 
harder and they still felt heavy, too heavy to lift.  With 
a growing sense of excitement, I tried a little harder.  

"That's enough now, Mark, you can stop trying to open your 
eyes.  You've seen for yourself that they will not open, 
not without help, not until you need them to be open again.  
Take another breath and send a wave of relaxation from your 
head all the way down through your toes."

I'd come out of it a little bit, I could tell, but I 
concentrated on relaxing and felt the wave flow through me.  
I drifted back down, enjoying the feeling and the sound of 
Susan's voice.

"Now, Mark, it is almost time to wake up.  I am going to 
count from one to three.  When I reach three, you will be 
fully awake and alert, feeling refreshed and pleased with 
your progress.  However, you will not be able to open your 
eyes at first.  No matter how hard you try to open them, 
your eyes will remain closed until I tell you to open them.  
Only then will they open, only when I tell you to.  You 
will find that you can return to this deep level of 
relaxation whenever you need to, simply by remembering the 
sound of my voice telling you to relax, to let go.

"And now, it is time to wake up.  One ... two ... three.  Awake 
now, alert and refreshed."

I started to lift my head from the pillow.  My eyes were 
still closed; remembering her suggestion, I tried to open 
them.  

They opened.  Disappointed, I dropped back onto the couch 
and sighed.

"It's okay," Susan said, gently rubbing my temple.  "You 
did well.  You'll do better next time.  Sooner or later it 
will happen."

"Thank you," I replied.  "Do you feel up to trying one more 
time?"

"Not tonight," she answered.  "I have to go.  But we can 
try again soon."

She jotted her home address and phone number on one of her 
business cards for me.  We shared a brief hug and I watched 
as she drove away.



We both had busy weeks in our professional lives; it was 
Friday night before we were able to get together again.  
After some haggling over the terms of dinner, we agreed to 
meet again at my house.  I provided the broiled strip 
steaks and baked potatoes; Susan brought a fresh salad and 
some delicious sourdough dinner rolls with her.  

As often happens when people in similar fields get 
together, we ended up talking shop for much of dinner.  
Susan's expertise was in global communications -- satellite 
systems and all the related gear that goes along with them.  
Most of my experience is in landline technologies, but 
there was enough overlap in our skill sets that we were 
able to connect professionally.  At the same time, I felt 
as though we were also starting to connect very well 
personally.

After dinner we shared the clean-up chores.   We were 
rinsing off dishes and loading the dishwasher when Susan 
asked about my after-hours work.  

"How's the new story coming?  I noticed you didn't post any 
updates this week."

"Too busy," I replied.  "Plus, I haven't figured out what 
to do with it yet."

"What's the matter with it?  I think it's nice as it is."

"It started out well.  The more I think about it, though, 
the more I agree with some of the feedback I've gotten -- as 
long as the story is right now, it doesn't really feel 
complete.  There's too much unaccounted-for time, and the 
action peaks too early."

"Maybe you should put it aside for a while and do something 
else."

"I did that -- that's where 'Quarters' came from.  No, I 
just need to let it stew."

"Well," she said, closing the dishwasher, "I'm sure you'll 
figure it out eventually.  Can you empty your mind enough 
for some trance practice?"

"You bet," I replied.

Once again I got settled on the leather sofa, this time on 
my back but with my head turned to the side so that my 
airway would stay clear.  Susan dimmed the lights and sat 
down in the recliner, just out of sight.  

"I'm going to try an awareness induction this time," she 
explained.  "It's the one my therapist used with me, and it 
worked very well for me."

"I'm familiar with it," I said.  "I used that one as the 
basis for the induction scene in 'Photogenic'."

"It's the same basic idea, yes.  Don't try to follow this 
one or anticipate it, just listen and concentrate on the 
words as they come, okay?"

"Okay."

  
We both took a deep breath and then Susan started the 
induction.  "Just make yourself comfortable now," she 
began, her voice dropping to a soft, soothing tone.  "If 
you want to close your eyes, that's a good idea, but if you 
don't, that's fine too.  Just listen quietly to the sound 
of my voice.   Of course you'll be aware of all those other 
sounds, too:  sounds inside the building, sounds from 
outside.  But these won't disturb you; in fact they are 
going to help to relax you, because the only sound you need 
to think about is the sound of my voice.  And while you're 
listening to the sound of my voice, you can just simply 
allow yourself to be as lazy as you could ever want to be.  
Just allow yourself to be as lazy as you could ever want to 
be."

I closed my eyes and listened intently to Susan's voice.  
She was speaking very quietly, using just enough volume to 
be heard clearly.  Every pause between phrases or sentences 
was lengthened, exaggerated, adding to the overall sense of 
laziness that I was starting to feel.

"Good," she continued.  "Now, while you're relaxing there 
on the sofa, you can just be aware of your body.  Aware of 
your hands where they rest; perhaps noticing the angle of 
your elbows and maybe sensing the weight of your head 
against the side cushion.  And, you know, that weight might 
seem to just gently increase as you allow yourself to relax 
more and more.  Just being aware of your ankles and feet 
now, resting on the far end, and wondering if they will 
start to feel heavy too, as you relax.

"Think about your breathing for a few moments.  Notice that 
your breathing is becoming slower and steadier as you relax 
more and more.  Slower and steadier, breathing so steadily 
and evenly, just as though you were pretending to be sound 
asleep.  Breathing so evenly, so steadily, you almost 
wouldn't disturb a feather placed right in front of you.  
Breathing so easily and slowly, so gently, that you almost 
wouldn't disturb even a single strand of a feather placed 
right in front of you."

The dim lighting, the comfortable couch, the softness of 
Susan's voice, and the slow, steady rhythm of her speech 
were all working to put me into a wonderfully relaxed 
state.  My head was already buzzing as I slipped easily 
into a light trance.  I also found that while I had read up 
on the awareness induction some time ago I didn't really 
remember it well, so I wasn't able to anticipate what would 
be coming next; I had to listen closely and focus.
 
"And now as you allow yourself to relax even more, I wonder 
if you can perhaps sense the beating of your own heart.  
Sensing the beat of your own heart and just seeing whether 
you can use the power of your mind to slow that heartbeat 
down just a touch.  Just see whether you can use the power 
of your mind to slow that heartbeat down just a little, so 
that you can then feel your whole body slowing down, 
becoming lazier and lazier, because you've got absolutely 
nothing at all to do except to relax now.  Nobody wants 
anything, nobody's expecting anything, so you can allow 
your whole body to continue to relax and become steadier 
and easier until it's just ticking over like a well 
maintained machine of some sort or another.  Just ticking 
over, smoothly, easily, quietly, comfortably, so that you 
can become gradually more aware of your whole self.  Aware 
of your hands and arms, just sensing how they are now; 
aware of your legs and feet, too, again just sensing how 
relaxed they might be, and wondering if it's possible to 
relax them even more -- to be so in touch with yourself that 
you can actually get your whole body, perhaps, to relax 
even more, yet remaining totally alert."

The buzz in my head was getting stronger, and I found it 
hard to keep my mind from wandering as I followed her 
instructions.    

Susan continued in the same vein, talking about how I might 
be noticing my face relaxing, my breathing slowing down, 
how comfortable I was in the softness of my leather couch.  
All the while I felt myself letting go a little more, 
approaching some kind of threshold that I couldn't see but 
I knew it had to be there.  I willed myself to relax, to 
let go, every idiom that came to mind, but I never felt the 
sensation of actually crossing the threshold.

Then I realized I'd lost track of Susan; she had finished 
the induction speech and was starting a standard staircase 
deepener.  I refocused on her voice and followed her down 
the imaginary staircase, feeling my body remaining limp and 
still as I tried to sink downward.  I didn't feel much 
different at the end of the deepener than I had at the 
beginning.

Susan spoke some more:  "Now you are in a deep, delicious 
state of hypnosis, Mark," she was saying.  "This is where 
you wanted to be.  You will find that you can reach this 
wonderful state much more easily in the future, and it will 
be easier and easier to do this every time you try.  Every 
time you go into hypnosis you will relax more completely, 
more deeply, and do so more quickly.  This is a skill, like 
writing, and the more you practice the more satisfied you 
will be with the results.

"Now I'm going to help you see how deeply hypnotized you 
really are, Mark.  You remember the last time we worked 
together I told you your eyes would be unable to open, and 
you found that I was right -- they would not open, not while 
you were still in hypnosis.  If you try right now, you will 
find that they are even more firmly closed now.  You cannot 
open your eyes now, the harder you try the more firmly your 
eyelids will remain shut.  Go ahead and try now, you'll see 
that they will not open."

Susan was right; my eyelids wouldn't budge.  I tried 
tentatively at first, then more seriously, to get them to 
open but my lids remained sealed.  It was a little 
unnerving, and I started to try harder, but Susan stopped 
me.

"That's enough, Mark, you can stop trying now.  Your eyes 
will open when you are ready for them to open, but they do 
not need to be open right now.  Just relax, let them stay 
asleep and continue to listen to my voice.  Take a deep 
breath now and reward yourself by sending a deep, delicious 
wave of relaxation through your body from head to toe."

It did feel good, exhaling slowly, letting myself sink down 
some more.  I was pleased at how my body had begun 
responding to Susan's suggestions.  That thought got my 
cock responding in its usual way, and I was secretly 
grateful for the dim lighting.  

"Soon it will be time to wake up," she said.  "But before 
you do, I want you to do something for both of us.  You 
have been having trouble working out what to do with your 
new story with your conscious mind.  I want you to let go 
of the problem with your conscious mind and hand it over to 
your subconscious instead.  Your subconscious knows how you 
want the story to come out, how you want the characters to 
feel and act; let your subconscious work on the problems 
for you, and it will solve them.  Maybe not tonight, but 
tomorrow or the next day your subconscious will let you 
know what to do.  Until then, just let it be."

She made perfect sense.  I pictured myself looking in a 
mirror, seeing the reflection as my subconscious self.  In 
my mind, I handed the reflection a stack of papers -- the 
story -- and watched it walk away, reading.

"Now I'm going to count to three, Mark.  When I reach the 
count of three, you will wake up completely, feeling 
relaxed and refreshed.  One, two, three."  My eyes popped 
open on "three" and I was awake.  "How do you feel?" she 
asked.

"Great," I replied, twisting a bit to try and see her.  I 
tried to adjust my semi-erect cock discreetly to avoid 
detection.

"Don't get up yet," she said when she saw me moving.  
Instead, she came over by my head and knelt on the floor 
beside me.  "What do you think -- was that what you were 
looking for?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully.  "I was certainly 
buzzed and very relaxed physically, and the eye test worked 
again, but I still had this feeling like something was 
holding me back.  You were telling me to go deeper, but I 
don't think it was working anymore.  I remember everything 
you said."

"Not everyone experiences amnesia during trance," she 
argued.

"True," I conceded.  "It would help to convince me, 
though."

"Okay.  Next time, we'll try an amnesia suggestion."

It was getting late, so we decided to call it a night.  I 
got up from the couch slowly, giving my cock plenty of time 
to stand down.  It didn't matter -- when Susan hugged me at 
the door again, it sprang right back up.  If she noticed, 
she didn't say anything.



The next day started out like any other Saturday -- I slept 
in, getting up just in time to catch New Yankee Workshop.  
After my weekly Norm fix and a ham and Swiss omelet, I hit 
the shower.

There I was, standing under the shower, when it all fell 
into place.  I knew exactly what I wanted to do with 
"Intimate Adventures" and how to go about it.  The whole 
story line rolled out before me from start to finish; I 
could almost watch it on the big screen in my head.  Then I 
realized I'd been standing there like a dork with the soap 
in my hand doing nothing while gallons of water ran down 
the drain.  I finished my shower quickly, pulled on some 
sweats, and hit the keyboard.

I won't bore with you with the details of my inspiration -- 
if you really want to know, read the story.  Suffice to say 
that I was deep into it hours later when the phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered, only half paying attention.

"Hi."  I recognized Susan's voice and came to a full stop.  

"Hey!"

"You sound animated," she observed.

"I'm writing again."

"Did you figure out how to tackle the story?"

"Yep -- it hit me while I was in the shower this morning.  I 
want to get as much committed to disk as I can before I 
start to forget everything."

"Then don't waste time talking to me," she said.  "I need 
to do some serious housecleaning anyway, and today's as 
good a day as any.  Why don't you call me tomorrow, or 
whenever you come up for air?"

"Definitely."

I stayed up way too late Saturday working on the story and 
then posting the results on my web site.  It was well after 
10:00 Sunday morning when I awoke to the ringing of the 
phone.

"You sound semi-comatose," Susan's voice said.  "Late 
night?"

"Early morning," I volunteered.

"I'm sorry.  Should I let you sleep?" 
 
"No, this is better," I replied.  "If I don't get up now 
I'll really throw my body clock out of whack."

"Shall I bring you some breakfast?"

"You're an angel."  I got up and unlocked the front door 
for her, then hit the shower.  

While in the shower I got a strange sense that I was not 
alone in the house.  I wrote it off to the paranoia of 
living alone and knowing that I'd unlocked the door; Susan 
couldn't possibly have driven from Frederick to 
Gaithersburg that quickly.  I dried off and returned to the 
bedroom to dress.  I was standing in front of my dresser, 
underwear in hand, when I heard a quick knock on the 
bedroom door.

"Huh?" I grunted, and instinctively turned around to face 
the door.  

It opened and Susan's head popped in.  "Wake up, sleepy—
oops!"  She turned away as soon as she got an eyeful, 
blushing.  

I ducked to one side of the dresser and hid behind my 
briefs.  "I'm awake now," I remarked.  "Give me 30 seconds 
to get decent and I'll meet you downstairs, okay?"

"Deal."  I caught her stealing a quick peak as she 
retreated.  

It took me a lot more than 30 seconds to throw on a T-shirt 
and jeans, mostly because I needed time for my cock to 
settle down.  Being caught like that had pushed a button I 
never knew I had.  

"Sorry about that," Susan said as I came down the stairs.  
"I was trying to surprise you with breakfast in bed."

"I was surprised all right," I replied, grinning as I 
watched the redness creep back into her cheeks.  "What did 
you do, call from the parking lot?"

"Close," she answered.  "From McDonalds' parking lot."  
That's when I looked past her to the dining table and saw 
the paper bag and little cardboard tray with coffee cups.  
"Are steak and egg bagels okay?"

"A woman after my own heart," I remarked and attacked the 
bag.  We each devoured a bagel sandwich and a hash brown 
patty.  I passed on the coffee and poured myself some apple 
juice from the refrigerator instead.

After breakfast, I told her about my new ideas on the 
story.  I brought up some of the new material on my 
computer screen and she read it over my shoulder, approving 
of the direction I was taking things.   Then, at Susan's 
suggestion, we went back to the bedroom where she had me 
lie down and we tried the awareness induction again.

The induction worked about as well as it had Friday night; 
I listened and worked with it, paying close attention to 
the condition of my body, my breathing, my pulse; her words 
soaked in, slipping just under my conscious awareness 
sometimes.  As before, we tried the eye catalepsy test and 
it worked very well, although I had total memory of the 
experience.  

"Now, Mark," she continued after the test, "I am going to 
give you another suggestion.  This suggestion is one that 
your conscious mind does not have to remember.  You can 
forget to remember this next suggestion, because your 
conscious mind does not need to remember; your subconscious 
will remember everything and will act on my suggestion for 
you, while your conscious mind forgets it.  Do you 
understand?"

"Yes," I replied.

"The suggestion you will not remember is this:  when you 
resume working on your story, you will find it very easy to 
keep writing.  The ideas will come to you naturally as you 
need them, for as long as you want them to.  Your 
subconscious will continue to supply you with inspiration 
even as your conscious mind concentrates on forming the 
words and sentences. 

"And now Mark, it is time to wake up.  When I count three, 
you will be fully awake and feel refreshed and alert, but 
you will not remember the suggestion I gave you about your 
writing.  Only your subconscious will remember that.  One, 
two, three."

My eyes opened and I was awake.  

Susan was watching my face closely.  "How much do you 
remember?"

"Everything, I think," I replied.  "We did the eye test 
again, and it worked again.  Better, even.  Then you told 
me I wouldn't have to remember the next suggestion you 
made.  And then you told me that I'd no problem working on 
the rest of the story, that the ideas would keep coming to 
me as I needed them.  Then you woke me up."

Susan's face fell a little when I recounted the writing 
suggestion.  "That's about it," she confirmed.  "I was 
hoping the amnesia suggestion would work, but it obviously 
didn't."

"I guess I didn't get deep enough for that," I remarked.  
"I'm trying, I swear."

"That's probably part of the problem," she commented.  
"Stop trying so hard and just let it happen."

I thought about it.  "I'm not sure how to do that," I 
finally said.

"And I'm not sure how to teach you to," she answered.  "But 
if we keep practicing, sooner or later you'll figure it 
out."

We worked on it a little more with no breakthrough and then 
called it a day.  Susan went back home to get ready for the 
workweek, and I went back to writing.  I got a heck of a 
lot of writing done that evening; the story almost wrote 
itself.


Susan and I talked on the phone daily during the week, but 
couldn't get together again until the weekend.  I worked on 
the "Intimate Adventures" revisions and by the weekend I 
had six completed parts and the story line was very close 
to what would become its final form.  A steady flow of 
feedback from Susan and several other readers had melded 
well with my own ideas, and I was pretty happy with the 
result.

I was also pretty happy with the way my relationship with 
Susan was developing.  With each phone call, it was 
becoming clearer that there we both had more invested in 
this than a mutual interest in hypnosis; we were becoming 
friends.  Underneath, of course, I still fantasized about 
her leading me to the bedroom for other reasons.  The idea 
always lurked just in the background of my mind, and I 
often awoke from trances with a hard-on.  Susan must have 
noticed, but she never commented on it.

We had several sessions that weekend with no noticeable 
increase in my trance depth.  Susan tried a number of 
variations on the amnesia suggestion, but none worked; I 
simply wasn't getting deep enough for that degree of 
control.  The more I tried to force myself into a deeper 
state, the less successful I was at doing so.  I was 
starting to get frustrated, which was not going to help 
matters.  

Fortunately, we had to take a break anyway because Susan 
was going back to Fort Lauderdale for about a week to 
attend her sister's wedding.  While she was gone I used the 
time to catch up on my real job -- I have a tendency to let 
other things slip while I'm working on a story.

Susan was due back on a Wednesday evening.  The arrangement 
was that I would pick her up at BWI, we would have dinner 
somewhere, and then I would drop her at home to crash.  
When my phone rang at work in the early afternoon, I was 
surprised to see Susan's home number on the display.

"Hi," I answered.  "You're home early."

"Sometimes you get lucky," she replied. "I caught an 
earlier flight and shuttled home."

"Do you still want to do dinner, or would you rather just 
crash?"  

"Actually, I'm in pretty good shape.  I was thinking it's 
about time I cooked for you for a change."

"You sure?"

"Positive.  See you at seven?"

"I'm there."



I knocked on Susan's door promptly at seven, my pet 
butterflies doing their usual dance in my stomach.  Her 
welcoming smile was dazzling, and when she embraced me in 
the doorway with a big, tight hug I was surprised to 
realize how much I'd missed her.

Maybe she was feeling the same thing, I thought.  She was 
certainly more animated than usual as she gave me my first 
official tour of her condo.  The main living area featured 
an upholstered sofa and matching recliner in a subdued 
floral print.  The coffee table and end tables were a 
matched set in golden oak with glass inset tops.  The 
dining table had a thick, round glass top on an oak 
pedestal and four simple matching chairs.  We passed over 
the bedroom  -- "You'll see that after dinner," she promised 
cryptically -- and ended in the kitchen.

"The place is immaculate," I remarked, looking around 
again.  "You must have been cleaning all day."

"Just a couple hours," she replied.  "Visiting my mom 
always seems to bring out my domestic side.  Give me a week 
and everything will be in chaos again."

Dinner was also a strong expression of Susan's domestic 
side:  pot roast, mashed potatoes ("Made from real 
potatoes," she announced proudly, "Not flakes from a 
box!"), fresh baked rolls, and assorted steamed vegetables.  
It was truly delicious, and more than worth the amount of 
time it took us to clean up afterwards.

"You didn't have to do all this," she said after I'd helped 
put the kitchen back in shape.

"Yes I did," I disagreed, smiling.  "If I'd sat down 
somewhere I'd probably be asleep right now."

"Feeling a little stuffed?" she teased gently.  "Would you 
like to take a nap?"

"Is that a proposition?" I countered.

"Follow me and find out," she replied, winking at me as she 
turned and left the kitchen.

Naturally I followed her; my cock was already on the rise 
even before she led me through the bedroom door.  The 
chamber inside had a light, pleasant feel to it.  The 
centerpiece was a queen-size waterbed with a standard 
bookcase headboard.  An oval mirror in the middle of the 
headboard reflected my image back at me.

Susan slipped off her shoes and plopped down onto the bed, 
prompting me to do likewise.  I rolled in carefully, 
expecting a lot of sloshing and shifting, but this was one 
very well baffled waterbed; it conformed to my shape and 
settled down almost immediately.  "Nice mattress," I 
commented, impressed.

"It's great for relaxing," she agreed.  "When I'm really 
stressed, I like to just stretch out across the whole thing 
and zone out for a while."  She spread her arms out to 
illustrate, and I copied her.  It did feel nice.

Susan rolled over onto her side facing me.  "Want to try 
something?"

"Sure."  

"Close your eyes."  I felt a slight shifting in the bed 
after I did; Susan was moving around.  My cock grew another 
half inch as I imagined what she might be doing. I told 
myself to take it easy -- after all, aside from our shoes we 
were still fully dressed.

"Now," she continued, "I want you to start counting 
backwards from 100.  Here's how I want you to do it:  with 
each number, I want you to take a deep breath in and let it 
out slowly, speaking the number as you count.  At the same 
time, I want you to picture the number visually somehow.  
It doesn't matter how; you can picture a hundred of 
something, a sign with the number on it, an elevator 
display, or anything else you want.  Just make sure you are 
actively visualizing the number somehow.  Can you do that?"

"My visual imagination isn't all that great," I hedged.  "I 
can give it my best shot, though."

"That's fine.  I'm going to talk quietly while you are 
counting, but I don't want you to pay any attention to what 
I say.  Just concentrate on your counting and your 
visualizing."

"Should I try to relax a little with each count?"

"No," she replied.  "It will probably happen anyway, but I 
don't want you thinking about relaxation or anything like 
that.  Just focus on the numbers and the images.  You can 
start whenever you're ready."

I spent a few seconds trying to come up with an image I 
could maintain for my numbers.  After a little fumbling, an 
image formed in my mind's eye:  a large, white "100" 
against a mosaic background of pink, yellow, green and red.  
It looked vaguely like something I might have seen on 
"Sesame Street" as a child.  Whatever the source, it was a 
strong enough image that I could see it pretty clearly 
right then.  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as 
I counted, "One hundred."

I expected to hear Susan's voice, but everything was still 
silent so I continued.  The picture changed to a 99 against 
the same background.  "Ninety-nine," I said as I exhaled 
again.  The picture in my head faded a bit as I noticed how 
my body had sunk into the bed a little more; I had to 
concentrate to bring it back into focus.  Slowly, 
deliberately, I continued counting.

Sometime in the low nineties, I became aware of Susan's 
voice speaking in a soft tone.  What she was saying didn't 
make much sense:  something about being completely aware, 
yet unaware; remembering, but not remembering; sleeping, 
but staying awake.  Instinctively I tried to make sense out 
of it while still focusing on my picture, but it was too 
confusing.  By the mid eighties I had tuned Susan out in 
order to concentrate on my job.

As I approached 70, I found myself losing track of the 
numbers.  I think I repeated 73, and maybe 72.  Then again 
in the sixties, I forgot where I was and decided to start 
again from 69.   Somewhere in the low sixties -- or was it 
the high fifties? -- I lost my picture of the numbers 
completely.  Instead, I found myself standing on a wide, 
gently sloping hill looking down into a green valley.  I 
was walking down slowly, easily, on a pleasant afternoon 
walk.  As I strolled down the side of the hill I noticed 
that there was a stone wall running across my path.  It was 
tall and imposing, and ran as far as I could see to either 
side.  The more I approached the wall, the taller it seemed 
to get.  I could see that it was made of large, roughly 
rectangular blocks like a castle wall.  As if to confirm my 
observation, battlements appeared at the top of the wall.  
I hadn't noticed it before, but now I could make out the 
outline of a door in the middle of the wall, right where my 
path would lead me.  The door grew more distinct and 
recognizable as I came closer; it was wood, not stone, but 
painted to blend in with the rest of the wall.  It had no 
knocker, but there was a crest in the center of it 
featuring a bust of a man.

Soon I found myself standing in front of the door, 
examining the crest.  The bust looked familiar somehow -- 
then I realized, it was a picture of me.  I reasoned that 
the castle must belong to me so I simply pushed on the door 
with my hand.  The door opened effortlessly, allowing me to 
enter with no resistance.  

Immediately I found myself in a beautiful garden, walking a 
stone path between rows of well-tended fruit trees and 
shade trees.  In the center of the garden I found a hammock 
woven from soft white rope, suspended between a pair of 
thick oak trees.  My feet were tired from walking, so I 
climbed into the hammock to relax for a while.  I felt 
myself swaying lightly in the breeze and closed my eyes...

"... wide awake, feeling great."

My eyes popped open and blinked heavily a few times.  After 
a second or so they remembered how to focus and Susan's 
beaming face came into view.  "Well?" she prompted 
expectantly.

"Wow," I croaked through a dry mouth.  

"Here," she said, and held out a bottle of water.  I took a 
sip, careful not to spill it on the bedspread.

"That's better."

"Tell me everything."

I told her what I had experienced with the counting, and 
how the numbers had eventually given way to that vivid, 
dreamlike vision of the wall and the garden.

"That's it?" she asked, grinning.

"That's it," I confirmed.  "As soon as I closed my eyes in 
the dream, I woke up."

"Look at the clock," she said.  I turned my head to see the 
alarm clock on her headboard.  My jaw dropped when I saw 
that it was almost 10:30 in the evening -- I'd been zoned 
out on Susan's bed for almost an hour and a half.

"What the --"

"Amnesia, anyone?"  The Cheshire Cat had nothing on Susan's 
face as she relished my confusion.  

I wracked my brain trying to recall something, anything 
that had happened after I fell asleep in the hammock.  I 
came up empty.  "What did you do?"

"You're under a posthypnotic suggestion," she said.

"I realize that," I protested.  "I mean, how did you get me 
under?  It was so different this time."

"With a little outside help.  While I was in Florida, I 
stopped in to visit with my old therapist.  We talked a 
little about what you and I have been doing, and she 
suggested the technique we just used as a way to sidestep 
your tendency to think too much."  She showed me small, 
laminated index card.  "While your conscious mind was busy 
visualizing and counting, I kept repeating the short 
confusion induction on this card.  After a while, your 
attention flagged and your subconscious took over.  Once 
you had lost track of the count, I knew you were halfway 
there.  Since you were already in a visual thinking mode, I 
tried the same exercise that worked for me to get past the 
barrier."

"So the stone wall was your image?"

"No no no," she said.  "My image wouldn't have worked for 
you.  All I did was suggest that you could see the 
obstruction ahead of you, and then asked you to describe 
it.  You provided all the details.  And when I told you 
that it was your wall, your castle, you had no problem 
opening the door and going inside."

"And once I was inside?"

"You just dropped.  It was a little spooky to see; I 
thought you were relaxed before, but when I told you to 
close your eyes and let go in the hammock you really sunk 
into the bed.  Your hand got cold and you went right into 
REM, just like the therapist said you would."

"So what did you do with me once I was in your power?" I 
asked half-jokingly.

"Do you really want to know?"  The secretive smile was 
back.

"Yes."

Still smiling, Susan scooted closer to me.  Stretching one 
arm across my chest, she put her mouth right up against my 
ear and whispered, "Remember."  My head buzzed for a 
second, and then the information came flooding through my 
mind.

I remembered her voice congratulating me on finally 
reaching a deep trance state, and letting me know that in 
the future the gate to my garden would always be open for 
me, allowing me to enter my deepest hypnotic state easily.  
I remembered my arms getting lighter and lighter at her 
command, floating up from the bed.  They became stiff and 
rigid and unmovable until she told me otherwise, then they 
fell gently back down to the bed unassisted.  I remembered 
her telling me my entire body would be highly sensitive to 
touch, and that every touch would bring me a powerful wave 
of pleasure.  Soon after that I was overcome by pure 
physical joy as I felt her hands running over every part of 
my body.

And then I remembered a conversation.  Susan had asked me 
how I felt about her, and I said I was falling in love with 
her.  She asked if I wanted to sleep with her, and I said 
very much.  She had laughed at that, saying that she wanted 
it too but my timing was off, we would have to wait a few 
days.  I remembered her gently cupping a hand over the 
circus tent in my pants and asking me how long had it been, 
how many women, what were my favorite ways to make love and 
why, and I remembered answering in plain, unvarnished 
detail.  Then I remembered listening as she told me the 
same things about herself.

Finally, I remembered her telling me that I would recall 
none of these things until she whispered the word 
"remember" in my ear.

Susan watched my face as I recalled and assimilated all of 
this, her body still up against mine.  I could smell her 
and feel her and hear her breath, and the closeness of her 
had me so hard I thought for sure my pants would rip.  Our 
mouths met in our first real kiss, and without any 
conscious direction I found my hands starting to explore 
her body, looking for an opening.

"Soon," she told me, breaking off gently as she rose off 
the bed.  "It's already late, and you have to get up early 
in the morning."

I nodded.  "You're right, of course."  Slowly, reluctantly, 
I climbed out of the bed and put my shoes back on.  

We kissed once again at the doorway.  "Don't plan anything 
for the weekend," she advised in a voice that held great 
promise.  I watched the door close, then trudged back to my 
car for the trip home.



I woke up the next morning to the ringing of my telephone.  
It took me about five rings to recognize the sound and find 
the phone.

"Hello?" I croaked.

"Rise and shine," Susan said.  "Since I kept you up late, I 
thought the least I could do is give you a wake-up call."

"You're too kind," I said, looking at the clock:  5:35am.

"Didn't you say you needed to get an early start this 
morning?"

My brain finally engaged.  This was Thursday -- I had an 
eight o'clock meeting that I needed a least an hour to 
prepare for.  "Jesus, I almost completely forgot.  Thanks!"

"My pleasure.  Am I still invited to the party?"

"Sure, if you want to come."  We were having a farewell 
gathering for Robb, a coworker who was heading off to 
greener pastures.  I had invited Susan because I knew she 
would have the day off following her trip, but since the 
party was being held downtown I told her I would understand 
if she begged off.

"I think I'd like to go," she said.  "I don't get downtown 
much, and this way it wouldn't be in traffic."

"Cool," I replied.  "Do you want me to come get you?"

"That's too much driving.  I'll take Metro down, and you 
can drive me home."

"That works.  I'll meet you me at the station and we'll 
walk over to the party together."


Thanks to the pleasant wake-up call, I was in the office by 
6:45 and in better spirits than anybody should be at that 
ungodly hour.  My good mood lasted through the entire 
workday.  By mid afternoon, when I am sometimes prone to 
start talking to myself and begging people to just kill me 
quickly, I was still chipper enough that it drew a few 
surprised looks from my colleagues.

A guy named Simmons stuck his head into my cube at one 
point to ask, "You finally getting some, Mark?"  I just 
grinned at him and said nothing.

By about 5:15 I was ready to call it a day.  Most of the 
crew were doing the same; this was Robb's last day and we 
were taking him out to Brickskeller's, one of his favorite 
haunts, to applaud his wisdom in choosing to take a higher-
paying job with a company in the suburbs.  I headed up to 
the Brick just in time to grab a legal parking spot nearby, 
then walked over to the Dupont Circle Metro station to wait 
for Susan.  

She emerged from the station at 5:50 looking none the worse 
for wear.  She was in a long denim skirt with a clingy 
wrap-style top that showed off her figure very nicely.  The 
skirt came to well below her knees but had a high slit on 
right side, giving me a nice flash of leg with each step 
she took.

"Will I pass muster?" she asked after an embrace and a 
quick kiss.

"That was never in question," I replied.  "The real 
challenge will be keeping some of these guys from trying to 
carry you off themselves."

When we entered the Brick my group saw us immediately.  As 
we worked our way along the long, polished bar to the end 
where our party had staked out its place, I could see their 
eyes shifting from Susan to me and back to Susan.  The guys 
looked envious, the women approving.  I introduced her 
simply as "Susan", letting them assume whatever they liked.  
Given her nature, I knew it would take them only a few 
minutes to welcome her into the group.

By the time we'd all eaten and the second round of beer 
bottles was empty, Susan was family.  We toasted Robb and 
told a series of increasingly ribald stories, and generally 
had a great time.  When it was time to go and Susan and I 
were leaving hand in hand, it occurred to me that I hadn't 
had such a good time in months, maybe years.

When we reached my car, Susan asked for the car keys.  "I'm 
okay," I assured her.  "I only had one beer, and that was 
early on."

"I know," she said.  "I'm just in a driving mood.  Trust 
me?"

"Sure."  There was no traffic to speak of at that hour, but 
if Susan wanted to drive I wasn't going to argue about it.  
I handed her my keys.  "Do you know the route?"

"I think so," she replied with confidence.  She was as good 
as her word; within minutes we were well on our way out of 
the city.

We started out quiet; it's easier to concentrate on the 
complexities of the DC streets that way.  I found my 
thoughts wandering back to my latest writing project, 
"Boxing Day".  I'd posted a partial draft while Susan was 
away, but I wasn't sure if I really liked the way it was 
developing.  I was venturing outside of my comfort zone, 
and I wasn't sure if I'd gone too far.  When I'm in that 
state with a story, it tends to take up more or less 
permanent residence in the back of my mind; any time I'm 
not actively thinking about something else, it tends to 
creep forward and steal my attention.  As I sat there next 
to Susan, watching the city blocks flow by, my idle brain 
cells brought up the story and went to work on it, worrying 
at it like a puppy chewing a bone.

I pictured the main characters, Lucy and Dan, and watched 
them go through the action as I'd written it so far.  A 
third character came in, someone with a bit of a hard edge, 
and the scene I was concerned about played through in my 
mind, the car's dashboard becoming a stage for the action.  
For a split second I thought I heard Susan say something, 
but when I looked over she seemed to be concentrating on 
the road.  My mind drifted back to Lucy and Dan.

The longer I thought about it, the more vividly I saw the 
characters interacting on the stage.  I closed my eyes and 
the picture was complete; the dashboard was gone and Lucy's 
bedroom took shape.  I watched the already-written scene 
unfold and heard imagined voices speaking dialog I'd 
written a few days before.  As the scene continued the 
image grew and clarified, becoming almost like a waking 
dream.  I saw the third character, Denise, finish her piece 
and take her leave.  Then, like a child playing with dolls, 
I began to direct Lucy and Dan in my mind, telling them 
what to do next.  

I tried several scenes this way, rejecting some ideas, 
keeping others.  After a while I started to feel tired, 
weary from the effort of maintaining the vivid pictures in 
my head.  I felt myself sinking back into the car seat, 
breathing deeply, and slowly closed the curtain on my 
little play.


A sharp clapping sound shocked me awake.  I was disoriented 
for a second; when my head cleared, I saw Susan looking at 
me with that knowing smile again.  

"What?" I asked.

"Look outside," she answered.  I looked out the window and 
then realized we were in the parking lot in front of my 
house.  

"Oh, Jeez!  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tune out on you."

"It's okay," she assured me.  "I could tell you were deep 
in thought.  In fact, I took advantage of it."

"Oh?"

"Let's go inside."

I got out of the car, then stopped.  "Hey," I observed, 
pointing to the car in the next space.  "This is yours, 
isn't it?"

"That's right," she replied.  "I got someone to follow me 
here, then drop me at the Shady Grove station.  I figured 
this way I wouldn't need a ride back to the Metro to pick 
up the car."

"You could just stay the night here," I suggested.  

That brought another of those knowing smiles.  "I didn't 
bring my toothbrush," she answered in mock innocence.  

"I'll lend you a spare," I promised.

"We'll see," she said, jingling my keys and turning to open 
the door.

Once inside, Susan called dibs on the powder room.  I was 
in no hurry, so I used the facilities upstairs and then sat 
down on the living room sofa, a chilled bottle of wine and 
two glasses at my hand.

"We won't be needing that tonight," she said, indicating 
the wine.  "I have a better idea."

"I'm all ears," I replied, setting the things down on the 
coffee table.

Susan hitched her skirt up and curled herself up on the 
couch next to me, holding her body upright but against 
mine, my head at her shoulder level.  I stared unashamedly 
at the swell of her breasts, longing to put my mouth over a 
nipple.  One of her arms went around my shoulders as she 
pulled my face up to hers for a long, promising kiss.  

"Ready?" she asked, rearing up over me a little as she came 
up for air.

"Ready for what?"  I asked in return, thinking I knew the 
answer.  

Boy, was I wrong.  With a wicked gleam in her eye, she 
reached out with an index finger and placed it at the top 
of my forehead, right at the hairline.  "For this," she 
said softly, and I felt the finger start moving in a 
straight line down my forehead, over the bridge of my nose, 
and on down.  As the finger moved, I felt a sudden 
dizziness come over me; my wits clouded up, and my body 
suddenly felt like I was wearing a lead suit.  The further 
down her finger moved, the more the feeling deepened.  My 
eyelids became unbearably heavy and slammed shut as her 
finger moved past, and the image of my stone wall came 
unbidden back to my mind.  This time the door was already 
open; I rushed right through it into blackness.


When I came to, Susan was still sitting on the sofa 
grinning at me.  Something seemed wrong with this picture, 
and in a moment I realized what it was:  Susan was still on 
the couch, but I wasn't -- instead, I was sitting on the 
recliner next to it.  

"When did I move?" I asked myself out loud.

"About ten minutes ago," she answered.  "Don't you 
remember?"

"No, I don't," I said truthfully.  I also didn't remember 
when I'd developed the raging hard-on I was sporting, but I 
saw no need to draw attention to it.

"Can you stand up?" she asked.

"Of course I can stand up," I told her, and decided to 
prove it by doing so.  Deciding is as far as I got; when it 
came to translating desire into action, my body ignored me.  
I didn't feel heavy, or glued to the seat, or anything like 
that -- the muscles just didn't move in the way I was 
telling them to.

"Are you sure?" she asked playfully.  

"Cute," I remarked.  "Are you going to set me free any time 
soon?"

"You're free now," she said.  "Stand up."

I tried again; this time my body obeyed and I was quickly 
standing erect in every sense of the term.  "That was a 
trigger phrase, wasn't it?" I asked.

She nodded.  "You're getting very good at responding to 
those.  How much do you remember?"

I gave it some thought before answering.  "Nothing," I had 
to admit.  "Not a thing after your finger passed my eyes."

"Excellent!"  She rose up from the couch to give me a 
congratulatory hug.  "Do you know why I did that?"

My own words came back to my mind:  I want to close my eyes 
in one place, wake up somewhere else and not remember how I 
got there.  "You were fulfilling one of my wishes," I 
replied.

"That's right," she said.  "Ready for another?"

I barely had time to say "sure" before I felt her finger on 
my forehead.  My brain clouded up again; I felt my body 
pitching forward, but strong arms caught me and held me 
upright as the blackness closed in.

This time when I came to, we were both sitting on the 
couch.  "'SMF'," I cited, recognizing the forehead 
induction.  "You've been reading Artie's stories."

"I like that one," she explained.  "It's a little bit like 
what's happening with us."

I was going to offer some kind of witty comeback, but I was 
distracted.  In the space of a few seconds I began to feel 
unbearably hot and sticky.  My body started to sweat, and 
my clothing felt increasingly constricting and 
uncomfortable.  "You didn't!" I protested, knowing full 
well that there could be no other explanation for what I 
was feeling -- a fierce, irrational desire to take off my 
clothes.

"Yes, I did," she admitted sheepishly.  "I asked if you had 
a specific compulsion you'd like to experience, and that's 
what you suggested.  Not that I wasn't thinking in that 
direction anyway."  A little extra color crept into her 
cheeks as she added the last part, and her nostrils flared 
a little.

"Sometimes I'm my own worst enemy," I complained as the 
itchy, scratchy feeling continued to grow everywhere that 
clothing covered my body.  

I held out as long as possible.  In a way, it was an 
interesting and instructive experience and not at all what 
I expected from a hypnotic compulsion.  At no time did I 
feel as though I was not in control of myself; my need to 
get out of that clothing just kept mounting until it no 
longer made sense for me to resist.  I grabbed my polo 
shirt and undershirt together, pulling them off as one, and 
was immediately rewarded by a feeling of relief as my upper 
body cooled down and stopped itching.  With that positive 
reinforcement it was only seconds before my shoes and socks 
were also cast off, with my pants falling on top of them.

Susan watched me closely the whole time.  From the way her 
legs seemed to be clenching under the skirt and the way her 
nipples pushed against her blouse I concluded that we were 
both getting a charge out of this.  I stood before her, 
fascinated and horrified and exhilarated all at the same 
time, my cock extending forward like the boom on a 
sailboat, and decided to see how long I could resist the 
pressure to drop my boxers.  The answer:  about 30 seconds.

As my boxers fell Susan gazed hungrily at my anatomy for a 
few moments, then rose from the couch and came over to me.  
She took my cock in one hand and hugged me to her with the 
other as we kissed.  I thought I was going to explode in 
her hand.

"You've been very patient with me, Mark," she said softly.  
"I want you to know that I'm just as eager as you are, and 
tomorrow night will make it all worthwhile.  I have a very 
special surprise planned for us."

I was too distracted by the hand on my cock to reply right 
away.  Soon it was too late; feeling her finger on my 
forehead again, I took a deep breath and let go.


The next thing I remember is waking up to the squealing of 
my alarm clock.  I was in my bed, alone.  Damn!

As soon as I was fully awake, I felt something stirring in 
the back of my mind.  Something I needed to do.

The phone.  Without thinking, I picked it up and dialed 
Susan's number.

"Good morning," she answered.

"Hi," I responded, still not sure why I had called.

"Did you sleep well?" 

"I guess so," I responded.  "I don't remember going to bed.  
I don't even know why I'm calling you.  What did you do to 
me last night?"

I heard a low, satisfied chuckle from her end of the line.  
"I told you to go to bed, go to sleep, and call me when you 
woke up.  And you did.  Are you impressed?"

After thinking a moment, I had to admit I was.  To feel the 
impact of a hypnotic suggestion immediately after coming 
out of trance was one thing; to have one be equally 
effective several hours later was quite another.  In the 
last couple of days I had become quite a skilled hypnotic 
subject.  

"What's our agenda for tonight?" I asked, remembering her 
promise.

"Let's start with dinner," she answered.  "I've got a 
project team meeting in Silver Spring that may run over, so 
let's meet at the Outback about seven thirty.  Wait for me 
in the bar, I might be late."

"Pack a bag," I advised in my best suggestive tone.

"Already done," she replied in kind.  "Not that I'll be 
needing much."

I didn't get much work done that day; my mind was too busy 
anticipating what the evening -- or with any luck the whole 
weekend -- would hold.  I ducked out of the office early and 
spent some time sprucing up the house, especially the 
bedroom.  It never hurts.


The Outback is always busy, especially on a Friday night, 
so I showed up at 7:15 to put my name down for a nonsmoking 
table.  Even then, the hostess warned me that the wait 
would be 45 minutes or more.  I was expecting that and 
assured her it was no problem.  She issued me a little 
plastic box studded with red LED's, which I carried with me 
into the bar.

Figuring it would be a good two hours or more before I 
needed to drive anywhere, I ordered a rum and Coke and sat 
back to wait for Susan.  My eyes swept across the bar 
absently while my mind wandered back to the adventures of 
Lucy and Dan, my "Boxing Day" couple.  

About ten minutes later a woman entered the bar.  The 
height and hairstyle were enough like Susan's to grab my 
attention, but as she came closer I could see she was a 
total stranger.  A very interesting total stranger, I 
judged, noting the clear eyes, the confident posture, not 
to mention a very nice figure, but not my girl.  

I was about to dismiss her and go back to my plotting, but 
for two things.  First of all, the closer she came to where 
I was sitting the more I was struck by her physical charms.  
She had a beautiful, athletic figure and was showcasing it 
in a classic little black cocktail dress with spaghetti 
straps and matching heels.  She walked with her entire 
body, like a dancer, and the dress moved with her in a way 
that touched me at a primal level.  I found myself staring, 
alternating between her hips and her chest, as she worked 
her way through the crowd.  The second thing that kept my 
attention was that she was approaching me.  I realized this 
just a little bit too late to avoid making an ass out of 
myself; my eyes snapped upward from her body to her face, 
and I knew that she'd caught me gawking at her like a horny 
teenager.

She looked at me in a friendly, inquiring way and held out 
her hand.  "Tom?"

Out of reflex more than anything else, I took her offered 
hand.  "No, I'm sorry," I answered. 

"Oh."  Her face was confused and embarrassed; that made us 
even, I supposed.  She took a quick look around the bar, 
then back at the entrance.  The way the muscles in her 
throat and shoulders moved when she did it was enchanting.  
Then she turned back to me.  "Do you mind if I sit here 
anyway?"

"Please do." 

She gave me a grateful smile as she took the stool next to 
me.  Like me, she took a position that allowed her to watch 
the entrance.  She glanced over at me several times, which 
was only fair because my own eyes kept wandering over to 
her.  "Looks like you're waiting for someone too," she 
observed, noting the call device next to my glass.

"Yes," I answered, ever the smooth conversationalist.  "I'm 
Mark, by the way."

"Call me Donna."  She extended her hand again, and I was 
more than happy to take it.

"Blind date?" I guessed.  After all, she had mistaken me 
for Tom.

She nodded.  "You?"

"Not blind, just a date.  She's probably on her way.  So is 
Tom, if he has any brains at all."

"I hope so.  I'm counting on him for my ride home."  

With nothing better to do but wait, we made casual 
conversation.  In due course a second round of drinks 
appeared, and we both made jokes about our absent dates.  
By 7:50 I noticed that she had stopped watching the door 
and seemed content with my company.  A sense of conflict 
started to grow within me; my hormones were responding to 
this girl in ways that my conscience couldn't sanction.  I 
started to pray that Susan would show up soon.

A few minutes later, my pager went off.  My heart sank when 
I read the message on the display:  "Very sorry, held up 
and can't get free tonight.  Call me in the morning, I'll 
make it up to you.  S"

"Your date?" Donna asked. 

I nodded grimly.  "Looks like I'm on my own."  

"Same here," she replied, looking at her watch.  

My head was telling me to get up and leave right then; my 
balls were telling me there was no reason to hurry.  The 
debate was interrupted when the red lights on my little 
plastic box began twinkling.

Donna looked resignedly at my little toy.  "Looks like your 
table is ready," she observed.  

"Table for one," I deadpanned.  "How exciting."  I looked 
back at Donna with every intention of telling her goodbye, 
but my balls took control.  "Look," I said, trembling a 
little as I spoke.  "I don't want to have dinner by myself, 
and it's a shame to waste the table I waited for.  Why 
don't you have dinner with me?  If Tom shows up, you can 
let him buy you dessert."

Donna consulted her watch one more time.  "If Tom shows up, 
he can wait around for an hour like I just did.  I'd love 
to have dinner with you, Mark."

My balls congratulated themselves as we wove our way 
through the bar to the hostess' stand, and then to our 
table.  On the way I got many opportunities to steal covert 
glances at Donna's body, and every one confirmed what I 
already knew -- this was possibly the sexiest woman I had 
ever laid eyes on.  

Dinner was delicious.  I'd like to tell you in detail what 
we ate and what we talked about, but the truth is I don't 
really remember a lot of the specifics -- I was preoccupied 
by the escalating conflict between my libido and my 
conscience.  The longer we talked and ate, the more at ease 
I felt with Donna and the more I reacted physically to her 
presence.  I found my thoughts drifting, imagining taking 
her back to my house and stripping off that black dress.  

After a while, I started to sense that Donna knew at least 
some of what I was thinking and feeling.  She seemed to 
smile more broadly, make eye contact more often and for 
longer times.  She asked leading questions, encouraging me 
to keep running my mouth, and listened as though my inane 
ramblings were fascinating to her.  Every once in a while 
she would touch my hand, or her foot would brush against my 
leg under the table, sending a shockwave through my body.  
There was no doubt about it:  I was being seduced.

That realization woke up my conscience again, and it 
started to berate me.  I had a lot of emotion invested with 
Susan; from what she'd said the night before, I could 
probably show up on her doorstep in the morning and spend 
the rest of the weekend in her bed.  How could I even think 
about cheating on her?

I was doing more than thinking about it, of course -- in my 
mind, by my code, I was already cheating.  From the moment 
I'd laid eyes on Donna at least part of my mind had been 
fixated on her body.  I felt drawn to her in a way that I'd 
never experienced before, and that I was totally unprepared 
for.  I wanted Donna in the worst possible way.  I might 
hate myself in the morning, I thought, but I really need 
this.  My conscience retreated to the back of my mind, 
sulking, while Donna and I had coffee.

Finally, it was time to go.  I stood up slowly, trying to 
make my hard-on as unobtrusive as possible, and walked out 
with Donna right beside me.  "Would you like me to take you 
home?" I asked, remembering that she had been counting on 
Tom for transportation.

"Sure," she replied, her tone and her look letting me know 
that she was interested in more than a car ride.  I walked 
her to my car and opened the door for her.  She flashed me 
a generous amount of leg and cleavage as she folded herself 
into the passenger seat, robbing my higher brain functions 
of even more precious oxygen.

Making my away around the car to the driver's side, I slid 
in carefully to avoid catching my extended member on the 
steering wheel.  "Where to?" I asked, trying to be 
nonchalant.

"I think I've changed my mind," she said.  "I'm not ready 
to go home yet.  Why don't we go to your place instead?"

There it was, right out in the open.  No more rationalizing 
that it's only a meal, no more pretending that I didn't 
want to jump this woman's bones more than I'd ever wanted 
anything.  If I gave any answer but no, I would be throwing 
away a chance at a solid relationship for what was probably 
a one-night stand.

"Okay," I said, and braced myself for a backlash from my 
conscience.  It never came; I was almost taken aback by how 
little guilt I was feeling.  Then her hand came to rest on 
my thigh and all I could think about was getting her to my 
house immediately.

The trip was quick and silent.  Donna sat beside me with 
her legs crossed, making the most of the high slit in her 
dress, and her left hand resting on my lap.  She was 
watching my face and probably my crotch, but I had to keep 
most of my attention on the road.  After the longest 
fifteen minutes of my life, we pulled into the lot in front 
of my house.

I jumped out of the car and went around to open the door 
for Donna.  She smiled up at me and gave me another 
generous eyeful of cleavage and thigh as she climbed up out 
of the car.  

Arm in arm, we walked up to the front door.  I fumbled 
nervously with my keys for a few seconds, then managed to 
open the door.  As soon as we were both inside Donna turned 
off the light switch and pushed me up against the back of 
the door.  Her entire body pressed up against mine and our 
mouths locked together in a kiss that raised the hair on 
the nape of my neck.  I could feel the granite of my cock 
pressing against her as she ground herself into me.  My 
arms went around her and headed directly south, pressing 
and squeezing her ass.  I could feel her hands tugging at 
my shirt, pulling up on it, and I let go of her long enough 
to peel it off along with my undershirt.  I started to 
reach around her, feeling for the top of the zipper that I 
knew had to be in the back of that dress.

I really shouldn't be doing this, I thought as my hand 
found the zipper and started slowly pulling it down.  I 
should apologize now, get a grip on myself, and call her a 
cab.  My hand stopped, and was even about to reverse 
direction, but then a hand slipped down into the front of 
my pants and all thought of stopping went completely out 
the window.  I eased her zipper down, feeling nothing but 
soft skin beneath.  I felt my pants open and fall as I 
parted the back of the dress, slipping it off her 
shoulders.  She lowered her arms long enough to let it fall 
off, and I dropped down to one knee.

With my head now at her chest level, I opened wide and took 
an erect nipple into my mouth, sucking hard and running my 
tongue all over the sensitive tip.  She drew in a sharp 
breath and pulled my head closer, mashing my face into her 
breast.  I let my hands run up and down her body, catching 
slightly on the tiny strings that held her panties in 
place, and adored her.  I breathed in deeply, filling my 
lungs with her scent while I explored her exquisite body 
with my hands.  

In an act of pure animal hunger, I grabbed her around the 
torso and stood up, lifting her in place with my mouth 
still full of nipple.  My shoulder caught the light switch 
on the way up, an unintended benefit that made it much 
easier to do what I had in mind.  Holding her aloft, I 
marched into the living room and dropped us both down onto 
the couch, using my arms to catch my own weight.  Once she 
was securely down I ran my hands along the sides of her 
body one more time, this time deliberately catching the 
panty strings and stripping them off her in one motion.  
They were soaking wet.

Donna started to get up; I put a quick stop to that by 
spreading her knees apart and burying my face between her 
moistened thighs.  I kissed her mound, took a deep, 
delicious breath full of her and plunged in with my tongue.  
Donna gasped and fell back against the leather sofa.  A few 
minutes of probing and testing were enough for me to locate 
some of her favorite spots; I zeroed in on those, licking 
and sucking and stroking, listening to her moan and gasp in 
response.  As the pace and the volume of her appreciative 
sounds increased I knew she was close to her climax and 
applied myself even more to my work.  Her legs squeezed 
around my head and her hips began to gyrate; I stayed with 
her, adapting to her rhythms.

Just when I thought my head would burst from the pressure, 
I felt her body loosen and sink a little deeper into the 
sofa.  She took several heavy, deep breaths, moaning with 
each one, and then suddenly cried out as she gave in to her 
first orgasm.  I backed off, helping to support her weight 
as she continued to writhe loosely, and when I judged that 
she was starting to come down I plunged my thumb into her 
slit and straight up her canal.  The edge of my hand parted 
her outer lips and my fingers clamped down on her mound.  
She shrieked again as I hooked my thumb inside her, finding 
and exploiting a sensitive spot inside her tunnel to send 
her into another climax.  I kept up the pressure and she 
rode my hand for half a minute before she finally stilled.

"Hold on," she gasped as I started to dive into her once 
again.  "Just let me catch my breath."

"Say when," I told her, running my fingers through her 
mound.

"Come up here," she said.  "I want to get my hands around 
that cock I felt a while ago."

"You will," I teased, "but I'm in no hurry."  I wasn't -- I 
knew that if she got her hands on my cock again I'd be 
blasting away in no time; I wanted to hold that moment off 
as long as I could.

"You may not be," she chided, "but I am."  I was about to 
silence her by diving into her again, but before I could 
her index finger reached out and touched my forehead.  All 
the strength left my body instantly; I felt dizzy and 
woozy, and as her finger traced down my forehead I felt 
myself slipping away...

"Wake up, Mark!"

My eyes opened and I found myself overwhelmed by the flood 
of sensations.  I was on my back, in my bed.  Donna was on 
top of me, rocking back and forth, my cock buried to the 
hilt inside of her.  There was an exultant gleam in her 
eye; she was trying to grin, but her face was melting as 
another wave of passion took hold of us both.  I felt the 
pressure in my groin and I knew that an explosion was 
imminent.  Still, somehow I managed to form a rough 
question:  "How did you do that?" I gasped, confused.  

Donna reached out and placed a palm over my face.  
"Realize," she said, and removed her hand.

Somewhere in my head a gate opened and a flood of 
information came through.  It was too much to assimilate 
immediately, and I just stared at her face in wonder.  She 
clamped down her muscles around my cock and gave a good 
hard squeeze, and any attempt at coherent thought became 
impossible.  My head jerked back and my eyes rolled up into 
my forehead as I came harder than I'd ever come before.  My 
whole body tensed and released in spasms, bucking under her 
like a mechanical bull.  If my prong hadn't been lodged 
inside her I probably would have thrown her off.

An eternity later, my entire body let go at once and sank 
into the bed.  My eyes fell shut, and I slowly opened them 
again.  Looking up, I got the shock of my life.

I saw Susan's face, atop Susan's naked body, gazing down on 
me with a look of pure triumph.  She, too, was gasping for 
breath.

"What the --" I stammered.

"Surprise," she said softly.

In that moment I understood everything.  There was no 
Donna; the woman I'd perceived as a total stranger, whom I 
had been smitten by and seduced by, was Susan herself.

All I could do was shake my head in wonder.  "You are 
unbelievable," I said.  

"You're pretty good yourself," she replied, and yielded as 
I pulled her down onto me for a long, languorous kiss.



"Do you know what really scares me?"

It was a good hour later; we had recovered from our initial 
frenzied encounter and had spent the time cuddling, 
kissing, and just delighting in the feel of our bodies 
against each other.  I could feel the erotic energy 
building and knew that if I kept my mouth shut we'd be 
coupling again soon.  For good or ill, though, there was 
something I had to get off my chest first.

"What?" she asked, her fingers toying with my chest hair.

"There I was, waiting for you, fully expecting you to come 
meet me, fully expecting that an incredible weekend was 
about to unfold for both of us, " I explained.  "And yet, I 
was willing to risk throwing all of that away just to get 
into the pants of a total stranger for one night.  And the 
worst thing about it is, I really didn't feel all that 
guilty about it."

"Why does that bother you?"

"Why?  Because that's not who I'm supposed to be.  I've 
always prided myself on being one of the last of a dying 
breed:  loyal, monogamous, honorable guys.  Tonight I found 
out that all it takes is the right body in the right dress 
to turn me into a faithless jerk who only thinks with his 
dick.  I don't like that one bit.  It bothers me a lot, and 
it should probably bother you too."

Susan rose up a little, pulling back just enough to make 
good, strong eye contact.  "Don't think of yourself that 
way," she said.  "You really are a loyal, monogamous, 
honorable guy."  I started to argue, but she shushed me.  
"Listen," she continued.  "You know perfectly well that 
hypnosis can't make you do anything that isn't in your 
nature.  If I'd told you to sleep with someone else, even 
in your deepest trance, you never would have done it.  The 
only reason you let Donna seduce you is because your 
subconscious knew all along that you were really with me, 
doing something we both wanted to do."

I let that sink in for a few minutes.  "Is that how it was 
for you, when you did it before?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure.  I really don't remember a lot 
of that night very well.  That's one of the drawbacks to 
these hypnosis games -- sometimes the memories get spotty."

"In that case," I suggested, "Let's try it the old-
fashioned way a couple of times."

Her hand reached down and found my cock, which was already 
well on its way to full length.  "That's the best 
proposition I've had all night," she answered, as her hand 
began to work magic on my stiffening member.

The pleasure was intense.  Susan's palm was rubbing down 
hard along the length of my cock while her fingers played 
lightly with my balls.  For a few moments all I could do 
was lie back and enjoy while my body succumbed to the 
delicious feelings her touch induced.  

"That's right, darling," she whispered to me, "just relax 
and enjoy, relax and let go."  She thrilled me some more by 
dropping light, gentle kisses along my neck.  As the 
pressure began to build inside me again I reached down with 
my own hand and found her again.  I snuck my fingers into 
her slit and probed carefully.

I knew I'd found her button when she gasped once and her 
hand suddenly clamped down hard on my shaft.  That hurt, 
not enough to bother me but enough to bring me back a 
little from the edge; I saw that as a good thing and 
pressed my advantage.

Reaching a little deeper into her secret place, I teased 
her clitoris with both extended fingers, circling it and 
brushing it from every angle in every way I could think of.  
Before long Susan was moaning loudly and squeezing my cock 
in time with her moans and my finger movements.  When we 
were ready, I rolled Susan onto her back, knelt between her 
legs, and slid into her.  

She gave a passionate groan as I buried myself in her and 
began to pump in and out.  Her legs went straight up 
against my chest, tilting her pelvis to increase my 
penetration.  I put both hands under her, lifting and 
supporting, loving the sensation of how deeply we were 
coupled.  I felt Susan relaxing again and held on, pressing 
into her once more as she started to climax.  Feeling that, 
I let my head fall back and relaxed as much as I could as 
my orgasm came crashing through me.  Finally we both 
collapsed back onto the bed, our energy spent -- at least 
for the time being.  



It's been three weeks since that incredible night, and I 
can honestly say that the relationship is growing better 
and stronger each day.  I love this girl with a depth, a 
passion, that I've never felt before and will probably 
never feel again.  

Yes, she still hypnotizes me from time to time.  There are 
a lot of erotic fantasies I want to explore.  She has a few 
of her own as well, and she's let me put her into trance 
once or twice.  Mostly, though, I just love having her with 
me and making love with all of our senses and memories 
intact.  

Susan is across the hall in my bed right now, sleeping 
soundly while I write this.  Tomorrow I'll post the 
finished story on my web site and let her discover it on 
her own.  With any luck, I'll get some very positive reader 
feedback.


-wg
9/28/99