Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Inevitable by Wrestlr

   //Begin Standard Headers//

   Author: Wrestlr

   Title: Inevitable

   Summary: Yet another story about a college fraternity, a swim team, and
a hypnotist.  Who comes up with this stuff, anyway?

   Keywords: MC, hypno, MM //End Standard Headers//

   Disclaimer: The naked hypnotist strides confidently into your room.  His
lips curl in what might be a smile as he dangles his shiny crystal pendulum
before your eyes and announces, "Listen and obey.  If you are not of legal
age, or if you offended by sexual situations, you will leave this place
immediately.  From here on, no matter how realistic it may appear,
everything will seem like fiction to you, a pleasant dream where scientific
possibilities and laws may change according to my suggestion.  Now, if you
are willing, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride."
Copyright - 2012 by Wrestlr.  Permission granted to archive if and only
if no fee (including any form of "Adult Verification") is charged to read
the file.  If anyone pays a cent to anyone to read your site, you can't use
this without the express permission of (and payment to) the author.  This

paragraph must be included as part of any archive.

   Comments to wrestlr@iname.com

   Wrestlr's fiction is archived at the following URLs:

   o http://members.tripod.com/~Brock_J (MC and general M/M stories, plus
my home page)

   o /~wrestlr (MC and general M/M stories, mirror
site)

   o /~mcstories/Authors/Wrestlr.html (MC stories)

   * * *

   Inevitable by Wrestlr

   1.

   Night had fallen, like a priceless Ming vase dropped by a clumsy
burglar. Okay, this story has nothing to do with vases or burglars--I've
just always thought it would be cool for somebody to start off a story that
way.  Since I'm telling this story, we start it my way, okay?

   Night had fallen, though.  That part was true.

   It's hard to believe that I nearly changed the world.  By "change," I
mean I tried to affect the course of something already happening.  By "the
world," I mean life here at this campus, which for a college student like
me pretty much <i>is</i> my whole world.  Plus this is the story of how I
lost my virginity ad got hypnotized for the first time, both of which were
sure world-changing for me.  Neither event happened the way I expected, and
trying to change the world didn't last long.  When you're just one guy, a
thing like that can't, you know.

   I'm in a fraternity with a bunch of other athletes.  This university
puts a lot of emphasis on the sports programs, and that means the jock frat
has some major clout, so I go to all the best parties with a lot of rich
boys, the kind where if his name is <i>Bo</i> he spells it <i>B-e-a-u-x
</i>, that type of bullshit.  But mostly, I spent my time in classes
(boring), the library (super-boring), the gym (better), or the frat house.
Let's start there.  Let's peek in on a typical third-floor bedroom at the
jock frat house in the middle of the night.  See that handsome young
athlete studying at the desk there?  That's me.  I'll be your narrator. 
Hi. Welcome to college.  Welcome to the party.

   By now you may be wondering how I wound up nearly changing the world--or
maybe not.  Maybe you wonder how the Internet works and how your favorite
websites know when it's time for an update, or maybe you're wondering why I
haven't gotten directly to the good-and-dirty parts already.  Point is, I
don't see another narrator in this story, so pipe down.  We'll get to the
good stuff soon enough.

   How did it all happen?  See for yourself.

   Like I said, a typical third-floor bedroom at the AThL house.  At, like,
one o'clock in the morning, the frat house was quiet, my roommate was off
God knows where, and I was still up studying for a killer chemistry midterm
I had coming up.  I had the munchies, so I headed downstairs to raid the
refrigerator.  Most of the guys were asleep already--hey, frat life isn't
<i>always </i> drunken parties every night until dawn, even here at a jock
frat like Alpha Theta Lambda.  AThL ...  Athletics, get it?

   So everybody was asleep, and I was trying to be quiet.  I headed down
the back stairway, mostly because it's right outside my room and I was too
lazy to walk to the front of the house and use the main staircase.  I
long-legged over the third step, the one that always creaks, got about
halfway down, and froze.

   Nobody much used these back stairs except me and my roommate Jake, so
the guys must have thought they wouldn't be disturbed back on this side of
the house.  Not ten yards away from the stairs and off to the side stood
Marcel, Peter, and Junior, kinda facing me, and there was this other guy
with them with his back to me, between them and the stairs.

   My first thought was, <i>Kind of a public place for a circle jerk </i>.
I crouched down on the stairs and watched them between the railing slats.

   Here's what I saw, kinda in the order I saw it.  They were standing side
by side, just about shoulder to shoulder--Marcel on the left, Peter in the
middle, then Junior--all facing my general direction.  The hallway lights
on their floor were still on, so I saw them clearly.

   Oh, and they all had their cocks out, hard and stroking--I noticed that
immediately too.  That's why I thought they were having a circle jerk.

   See?  I told you we'd get to the good parts soon enough.

   Marcel, our fraternity president, wore a pair of white boxer-briefs,
white socks with red stripes around the tops, and a baseball cap pulled
down on his nearly black hair and turned backward.  He wasn't wearing a
shirt.  He had his boxer-briefs bunched down at mid-thigh, so his big,
super-thick, hard cock soared proudly in the air.  He stroked it
lightly--index and middle fingers and thumb of his right hand--while his
left cupped his balls.  He had his knees bent slightly, tilting his torso
back, as if displaying his sleekly muscled body.  His eyes were closed,
face bowed downward at his cock.

   Peter looked like he had just gotten back from a date with whatever Miss
Slutty McSlutski he was currently boffing.  He was dressed kind of nice,
kind of preppy: an olive-green polo shirt, loafers, khaki pants down around
his ankles.  His cock wasn't as thick as Marcel's but it was just as long,
and he was using both hands to stroke it.  He had his eyes closed too, head
tilted back, mouth open slightly, enjoying the feeling.

   Junior wore his usual white wife-beater tee-shirt and a pair of
brick-red sweatpants.  He had the bottom of that wife-beater scrunched up a
little on his tight stomach, sweatpants lowered to just below his balls. 
No underwear.  His feet were bare.  His cock was the longest of the three.
He stroked it with his left hand, a good, firm grip, while his right
circled the base of his rod and ball sack.  He had his head bowed forward
too, like Marcel, eyes closed, stroking happily in a world of his own.

   Peter with his head back made this weird little sound.  If I didn't know
better, I'd have sworn he was snoring softly.

   The guy standing between me and them?  He had his back to me--didn't
know I was there--none of them did.  He was an older guy, seemed familiar,
but I couldn't quite see his face.  "That's it," he told them.  "Feels so
good.  Bring yourself right to the brink, but you can't cum just yet.  Not
until I say so."

   I thought to myself, <i>Is this any way to run a frat house, having a
jack-off contest in public like this?</i> I had on a pair of boxer shorts
and my socks.  Now my cock stiffened up inside my boxers, making an obvious
tent.  I didn't dare touch it or take it out, `cause I'd probably cum
instantly if I did; that's how horny I was.

   The man said, "Marcel, how long has it been since you were allowed to
cum?"

   Marcel panted quietly, "Eight days, sir, since you let me."

   "Peter, how long has it been since you were allowed to cum?"

   Peter moaned, "Two weeks, sir, since last time."

   "And Junior, how long for you?"

   "Four days, sir, since you let me."

   "Good, boys, very good.  Just stroke yourselves.  Good.  Feeling so
good, isn't it.  Let yourself go right to the brink ...  but you can't cum.
Not until I give you permission.  You've still got a few important jobs to
do first, don't you.  Yes, a few more very important jobs.  Cumming is your
reward for obeying so very well.  Maybe after you complete the tasks I've
given you, then and only then will I give you permission.  For now, that's
enough--take your hands off your cocks, boys."

   They did, slowly.

   "Let your cocks soften.  Let them go limp.  Tomorrow, after you've done
what I asked, maybe then you'll get your reward.  Cocks going so limp. 
Bodies so relaxed and loose."

   They did as he said.  Their hands fell away from their rods, and their
cocks slowly started deflating.

   "Time to put your toys away, boys," the man said.

   The three of them bent and pulled up their pants, tucking away their
sagging semi-hard cocks.

   The man lifted something into the air between them, something dangling
from his hand on a thin gold chain.  The dangling thing was this faceted
purple crystal of some sort, just like the one I'd seen Coach Cox use on
Jake earlier.

   That's when I put two and two together.  Peter really was snoring,
because they were all three asleep.

   After what I'd seen at practice that afternoon and now this, I said to
myself, <i>What a way to run a college--are all the guys getting hypnotized
except me?</i>

   The man said, "Open your eyes and look deeply into the crystal again,
one last time for tonight." They did.  "So easy to look deeply into the
crystal and stay so deeply asleep.  Let it relax you more deeply.  You have
your instructions for tomorrow--feel them lock in, stronger, ever
stronger--and I expect you to do your best.  Now, it's time for you to go
back to your rooms.  Carry this deeply relaxed, deeply horny feeling with
you.  So easy to walk back to your rooms and stay so deeply relaxed. 
Nothing will interrupt this peaceful, calm feeling that fills you.  Go back
to your rooms, and fall into your beds, and you will sleep deeply, sleep
until morning, and awake feeling refreshed.  Go now."

   Marcel, Peter, and Junior shuffled off down the hallway, their eyes open
but obviously nobody home upstairs, like they were sleepwalking or
something.  Which I guess in a way they were.

   I stood up, intending to creep back up the stairs until the man had gone
too, like I was never there.  The stair creaked a little-- <i>damn
it!</i>--and that's when the man turned to me.  I recognized him: Professor
Johnson, from the Psychology Department, one of our two faculty advisors. I
grimaced and pretended I was just now coming down the stairs, not trying to
sneak back up.  He grinned, like he had known I was there all along--which
maybe he had.  Who knows?

   "You're up late," he said.

   "Yeah--just heading down to the kitchen."

   "Well, don't stay up too late.  It's past time for you to be asleep.  In
fact, speaking of sleep, why don't you--"

   "It's late--catch you later, Professor," I said, as I slipped by him and
continued on down the next flight of stairs, to save myself further
embarrassment.

   2.

   Lots of porn stories are about colleges, but <i>real</i> college life is
hard to dramatize for several reasons: the ecosystem is too vast, and it's
based loosely around tedious lectures and insufferably self-centered kids.
But the main reason is that only a small percentage of people have a
degree. The majority of readers can't relate to stories about college life,
aside of course from the parts about getting drunk or getting laid, which
is what most porn stories imply college is all about.  Stories about what
college is really like--the lectures, the whiney kids lost in their
soap-opera lives--those stories remind readers of experiences they either
wish they had or are relieved they didn't.  This story, though, is just me
skipping over the dull crap and telling you about the good stuff--it might
not be completely centered around keg-fueled escapades, but it's the story
of nobody's experience but mine, and there's probably enough sex to keep
you entertained even though I obviously wasn't one of the ones having most
of it.  You might like this story if you like that porn subgenre where
debauchery is college's sole reason for existing.  College is one of those
experiences where mundane authenticity is the enemy of entertainment.

   Oh, shit--I skipped something.  Damn it.  I forgot that whole <i>what
I'd seen with Coach and Jake before</i> bit.  I made a big deal telling you
that, and then I totally forgot.  Fuck, this is bad narrating--like a
five-year-old trying to tell a joke: "Wait; back up--I forgot to say the
Martians were purple and had three eyes." Fuck.  Anyway, I don't know if
you want to see it now, but here's the fucking <i>Coach and Jake</i> stuff.
Can I say <i>fuck</i> some more?

   I'd been in the locker room after swim team practice.  I'd already
showered, dried off, and had my boxer shorts on.  Jake, my roommate and
teammate, was running behind, as usual.  He'd been shitting around with
some of the other guys and hadn't done anything except get his locker open
so far.  He still wore his practice Swimsuit, the same school blue that all
of us had been wearing earlier.

   Coach Cox, our swim coach and my frat's other faculty advisor--his
office adjoined the locker room, and this side door connected them.  The
bench where I was changing was right by the door.

   From the doorway, Coach barked, "Jake, get in here."

   "Coming, Coach," Jake said and followed him inside.  Jake is captain of
the swim team, so it wasn't uncommon for Coach to talk to him after
practice.

   Coach pushed the door shut, but it didn't swing closed all the way.  It
stayed cracked open a few inches.

   "Have a seat," Coach said.  Jake sat down in one of the two chairs in
front of Coach's desk, which put his back to me.  Coach sat on the corner
of his desk, in semi-profile.  There was somebody else there too, sitting
behind Coach, at Coach's desk.  All I could see was one of the other guy's
arms.

   Coach fingered at something on his chest.  In addition to the whistle he
always wore dangling between his pecs, there was a purple crystal pendant
on a thin chain--I remembered he had started wearing that a few days
before--<i>For luck</i>, he'd said.

   "You looked good out there," Coach said to Jake.  "You shaved almost
half a second off your time.  See how your performance improves when you
focus?"

   Something distracted me over my shoulder--bare feet ran by, somebody's
balled-up towel whizzed by my head.  Guys horsing around.  When I turned
back to the door, Coach had that pendant and chain dangling in the air away
from his chest a little.  He turned it and it rotated this way a little,
then back the other way.  "That's it," he said.  "Focused.  Deeply
relaxed."

   I couldn't see much of Jake through the crack, just his arm when it
slipped off the chair's armrest and hung there, limp and still.

   <i>That's it</i>, Coach murmured, so quietly I couldn't hear him over
the noise of the showers and the guys fucking around in the locker
room--that part I lip-read.  Then: <i>Go ahead and take it off, if you want
to.  You're going to be taking a shower soon anyway.  Might as well take it
off now.</i>

   I thought, <i>What the fuck?</i> But I got distracted again when
somebody's shoe bounced off my shoulder.  "Sorry," one of my teammates
bleated, scooping up the shoe and retreating.

   "Watch it, fucker," I barked at him.

   When I turned back to the door, I was just in time to see it click shut.
I guess they wanted privacy.

   I finished getting dressed and sat waiting for Jake.  A while later--by
then two-thirds of the team were gone--the door opened and Jake strolled
out, smiling a little, naked, thick semi-hard dick swinging, with his
swimsuit bunched in his right hand.  His eyes looked dazed or distracted.
I'd seen his dick before; it looked normal when it was soft, but obviously
he was a grower.  I'd only sorta-kinda seen it hard before, during rush
last year, and technically I wasn't seeing it fully hard now, but even
semi-hard, his cock was pretty fucking big.

   I asked him, "So what just happened in there?"

   "Pep talk," he mumbled as he dropped his swimsuit on the bench and
picked up his towel, which made his dick swing around some more while I
tried not to stare.  "Yeah.  Pep talk." And then he strolled off to the
showers before I could question him more.

   Okay, I apologize.  That was a terrible scene.  You're probably
thinking, like, <i>Why was that even in this story?</i> Gee, you think
maybe it'll be important later, or something?

   3.

   In my philosophy class last semester, we read Schopenhauer. 
Schopenhauer says there's no such thing as free will, neither in the
philosopher who throws a stone nor in the stone itself, although both of
them believe otherwise.  The stone thinks, as it sails through the air,
that its will is free, but that's only an illusion.  Everyone likes to
believe that he is free in his individual activities, that at any point he
can change his life and begin another one, or become another person
altogether.  But even though the man thinks about change, he does not
change.  Necessity rules him, often necessity of which he is unaware.  From
beginning to end, he acts out his assigned role.

   I was in one of the bathroom stalls that morning, with my shorts and
boxers around my ankles, taking a piss and a dump.  The main bathroom at
the frat house was a big, open space with sinks and mirrors over there, a
couple of urinals and toilet stalls over here, and a shower area over
there. I finished my wiping and cleanup, but I was in no hurry to flush and
leave the stall.  Why?  Well, I'm about to tell you, since that's a
narrator's job.

   Because of the view.  Marcel, the president of our fraternity, stood
under the shower spray, soaping his back.  I kept leaning to the side so I
could peep through the crack between the stall door and wall.  Marcel's ass
was practically a work of art that belonged in a museum, and I didn't want
to miss that exhibition.

   Taz walked in, in shorts and a pair of flip-flops.  He hooked his towel
over a peg, hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, and was naked
on one easy drop-and-step-step motion.  Taz was on the wrestling team, and
while he may have been a huge jerk half the time, he had this really
efficient and sexy way of moving that made up for it.  Taz started the
shower two nozzles down from Marcel, tested the temperature, and stepped
under the water.

   Marcel said something and Taz said something back.  I couldn't make out
specific words over the showers--the acoustics in the bathroom with all
that tile made conversation difficult when the showers were running unless
you were right on top of each other or hollering or shit like that.  But I
heard Taz say incredulously, "Here?  Now?" He looked around guiltily.

   Marcel said something else.  He was soaping his groin area.  When he
turned a little, I suddenly was treated to the sight of his erection poking
out of a sudsy fist--poking <i>repeatedly</i> out of a sudsy fist, as
Marcel stroked himself.

   Taz looked at the door, as if assessing the risk.  He was a sadistic
Neanderthal, but he was an adventurous Neanderthal.  He looked back at
Marcel and grinned and nodded.  His hand slithered into his crotch and he
soaped up his cock.  Pretty soon, this column of flesh was rising from the
mass of bubbles Taz had made in his pubes--rising, rising, and still
rising. Taz's erection was fucking <i>enormous</i>!  He was a muscular
wrestler but--man!--that cock nearly dwarfed the rest of him.

   They faced each other, one empty shower between them, and stroked.  I
had a great view of Marcel's ass and Taz's cock, and I memorized everything
about them.  Yeah, I'd be jacking off over this memory again and soon!  My
cock was already hard.  Marcel kept saying something low.  Taz kept
replying with something curt and hard--from his expression, I imagined he
was saying, <i>Dude, shut up and stroke</i>.

   Marcel kept droning on.  Maybe he turned into a fucking chatterbox when
he jacked off--who knows?--but Taz kept replying with that same
curt-and-hard answer.  But Marcel kept talking, the same drone, too low for
me to make out specific words.

   Taz blinked, and yawned, kept stroking, and blinked again.  Marcel kept
droning on.  Taz's head bobbed a little.  He blinked again.  I might not be
the sharpest tack in the seat cushion, but I figured it out.  You did too
if you've been paying attention.

   Marcel must have thought they wouldn't be disturbed, because he was not
only jacking off in the showers with Taz, he was trying to hypnotize Taz
too, like they had all the time and privacy in the world.

   That's when the idea hit me.  I could really fuck with them!

   I reached back and flushed the toilet.  The sudden loud sound snapped
them both back to reality.  "Shit!" Taz barked, eyes wide and jaw dropped,
and I heard that just fine because he said it so loudly.  He and Marcel,
back under his own shower again, whirled their fronts toward the wall to
hide their hard-ons.  Right--as if the guilty, scared-shitless looks on
their faces weren't confession enough.  Fucking priceless!

   I had to fight to keep from laughing my ass off!  Nah--I had to play
this cool, real cucumber-cool.  I stood up, pulled my underwear and shorts
up, tucked my hard-on away.  As I opened the stall door, Taz zipped by,
nearly collided with me, flip-flops slapping his feet, towel around his
waist, shorts bunched in his hand.  He disappeared into the hallway.  I
tried to act all nonchalant as I strolled out of the stall, paying no
attention--nope, none at all--like I hadn't seen a thing, certainly not a
two-man circle jerk that almost ended in hypnosis.  I played it Mister
Causal style and strolled out of the bathroom without even glancing at
Marcel.

   Upstairs, with my erection mostly subsided, I ran into the Professor in
the frat house hallway.  He usually wasn't around this time of day, and
almost never on the top floor where my room was.

   "Well, hello." He snaked his arm around my shoulder and ushered me back
toward my room.  "I've been thinking," he said," it's time we had a talk."

   "Uh, okay." I said, hoping the remnant of my Marcel-and-Taz erection
wasn't too noticeable in my shorts.

   "Have a seat there on the bed." I did, and he sat in my roommate's desk
chair.  He fingered this little purple crystal.  "Don't worry--you're not
in any trouble.  You've probably noticed some things happening."

   "Uhm, yeah?"

   "There's nothing to worry about.  Have you ever thought you knew what
was going on, then you turn around and it turns out to be something
completely different?  Like maybe you only knew a little piece of a bigger
picture?"

   "Yeah--sure."

   "How did it make you feel?"

   "I dunno.  Kinda dumb, I guess."

   "That's understandable.  No one can know everything that's going on.  We
all sometimes feel like things are going on around us we aren't fully aware
of.  Like your arms there.  Sometimes you pay attention to one thing, like
my voice, and you forget what your arms are doing or what they feel like.
Or maybe your legs, the way they can feel all heavy and limp sometimes."

   So the Professor was trying to hypnotize me too now, huh?  I wasn't sure
what to make of that.  While I thought hypnosis was pretty damned sexy as
fantasy fodder, my frat brothers didn't know I batted for the gay team, and
I wasn't sure I wanted to get into a situation where they might find out.

   "Listen," I said, already up and heading for my door.  "It's been great
talking to you, but I gotta be someplace.  Maybe later?" Meaning: <i>never,
no way, nope</i>.  And that's how I made my escape and left him sitting
there, probably pissed off at me now.

   I might be in the closet to my frat brothers, but I'm no dummy.  In all
of these porn stories--and the fact that I not only know these stories
exist but have read enough of them should tell you how much of a turn-on I
found all this to be--in all of these stories some professor-slash-mad
scientist-slash-circus clown, whatever, walks into a fraternity house and
brandishes his pocket watch-slash-experimental formula-slash-magic spell,
and he doesn't stop until the whole frat is naked and jacking off at his
feet.  It's inevitable.  Hot too, right?--If you're into that, I mean,
which you probably are since you've read this far already, and for that I
thank you.  But what all those stories lack is realism.  Sure, they're
porn. But where's the reality?  Where's the dramatic tension?  You never
once doubt that the professor-slash-whatever is going to be successful in
his master plan of hypno-seducing the whole frat.

   <i>Hypno-seducing</i>.  Like it?  I just made that word up.  Narrators
can do that sort of thing, and nobody cares until the narrator starts
calling your attention to it.

   Sure, I'm nineteen years old and only recently de-virginized--which,
don't worry, I'll tell you about soon--and way too sarcastic for my own
good, but I'm perfectly capable of making up a word like
<i>hypno-seducing.</i>.

   Well, I decided two things right then and there.  First: If somebody was
going to write a porn story about what was happening at my fraternity
house, it was going to be me.  Why should some other author-slash-jerk get
all the credit?  That way I'd know the writer got it right.  Second: Fuck
Schopenhauer--my story was going to have dramatic tension, even if I had to
provide it myself.  I knew there probably wasn't much I could do to stop or
even slow down the inevitable.  Hell, I'd be going up against a mad
scientist-slash-whatever who probably had that whole <i>master plan
bwa-ha-ha</i> speech thing already thought out, and I'm just a college
student who couldn't manage to schedule his laundry day far enough in
advance to always have fresh underwear in his drawer.  And when did society
decide we have to change and wash a tee-shirt after each individual
wearing, anyway?  If it's not dirty and doesn't smell too funky, I'm gonna
re-wear it.  Whatever.  But at least I could introduce a little chaos into
the proceedings.  That's the role usually performed by the villain, but I'm
too big a meathead to be a real villain.  Real villains could probably pass
chemistry, a class where I was not doing so well, especially if I didn't
ace my upcoming midterm.  I'd make a lousy villain.  No, mischief was more
my speed.  I'm more fun-loving than evil.

   Oh, sure--everybody says they want to play for the Big Dramatic Hero,
but I don't have enough internal conflict to make a convincing hero--well,
aside from that <i>closeted gayboy</i> thing nobody but me knew about. 
Anyway, heroing sounds like a lot of work, and I'd rather have fun.  Maybe
I'd even manage to get my dick sucked along the way, which isn't exactly a
heroic aspiration.  You want a fascinating play about moral ambiguity as
the hero strives to overcome his human failings?--Go read Shakespeare
instead.  So what other major character type is left?  That's right--the
trickster.  An online encyclopedia says a trickster is a character "who
plays tricks or otherwise disobeys normal rules and conventional behavior."
This is an otherwise conventional porn story, so the trickster's role would
be to disrupt the inevitable proceedings, and I was the man for the job. 
Hell, messing with Marcel and Taz in the showers had been fun, and messing
with the Professor in my room had been kinda fun too.  Playing the
trickster is always more fun than playing the hero or the villain.  Ask
anyone.

   4.

   Speaking of laundry ...

   See how all these parts fit together?  This narration shit is easy.

   I hauled my laundry--all nice and clean again--from the far end of the
basement where the little laundry room was, down the hallway to the stairs,
and I passed by the door to the big room where most of our Hell Week and
initiation stuff happens.  It's a big unfinished basement room with a
concrete slab floor, so any spillage "accidents" involving massive
quantities of beer, puke, or other bodily fluids can get cleaned up and
don't ruin anything.

   I stuck my head in, just to see how the proceedings were going, and by
`proceedings" I mean all the wicked shit we make the pledges do in theory
to "prove" how much they want to become brothers--we don't call it "hazing"
anymore.

   I stuck my head in and there's my sort-of buddy Taz putting this year's
crop of pledges through the usual fraternity shit that stops just this side
of outright sadism.

   Taz, this year's pledgemaster, was easy to spot--in room where all the
men, even Taz, were shirtless, he was the only one wearing pants.  He was
also the one hollering orders.

   Most of us got into the frat because we were good athletes who were also
good guys to party with.  Taz--see, he's a different matter.  Some might
say he got into the frat on account of his big dick, which I already showed
you in the showers, but in my opinion, <i>dick-schmick</i>, Taz was
destined to be here.  His fearlessness and latent sadism made him the
perfect pledgemaster.  Taz had been pledgemaster last year too, when I went
through rush, and sometimes I still resented him for the sick shit he made
us do.  But I gotta admit, seeing the pledges being made to do that sick
shit was worth having been made to do it myself.

   "Keep it up, pledge--you're doing good.  Suck that dick.  You like
sucking that dick, pledge?  Suck it harder.  I know you like sucking that
dick, pledge.  Now, switch!"

   Did I say <i>latent</i> sadism?

   Taz called them all <i>pledge</i> because he said he didn't want to
bother learning their names if case they dropped out before initiation, but
I think it was because he wasn't smart enough to remember that many names.
The pledges were the ones in boxer shorts.  He had three of them on their
knees, with the rest lined up in front of them.  The standing pledges had
their boxers pushed down, and the kneeling ones were sucking the dicks of
the pledges standing in front of them.  I couldn't see the details from way
over by the door, but I remembered the drill.  Every time Taz yelled
<i>switch</i>, each kneeling pledge moved down to the next dick.

   "Yeah, that's right.  Suck that dick.  Suck it!  Deeper, pledge!"

   Now, an outsider walking in and seeing this might think, <i>Wow, how far
has this hypnosis thing spread already?</i> But trust me, that wasn't
hypnosis--making the pledges suck cock is just normal Hell Week behavior
around this frat house.  Taz still had his pants zipped, but once he
thought they'd gotten the hang of it and once he figured out which pledges
were good at sucking, he'd probably haul his dick out too and show those
pledges what a real man's cock was like by getting himself some of that
oral action.  I suspected Taz wasn't entirely heterosexual.

   What I was watching was supposed to be sexual but not sexy, if that
distinction makes any sense.  Just a bunch of pledges being made to gross
sexual stuff.  It was all about humiliating them.  If one of them seemed to
think it was sexy or seemed to like it--or heaven help him, if he
climaxed--he'd have been ejected immediately.  Sucking cock was not about
cumming, but about making the pledges do something they hated, over and
over again.  Still, I remembered when Jake and me were pledges last year.
Sucking dick like that for the first time was a secret thrill that led to
me admitting to myself I'm gay.  But I hadn't admitted that to any of the
others.

   Just a quick look--just enough to store up "inspiration" for a jack off
fantasy later.  Anything more might seem like I was enjoying the view
<i>too</i> much, and I didn't need rumors getting started.

   I was stashing my clean laundry in the closet when Peter walked into my
room.  Peter's one of my frat brothers.  What sport did he play?--Well, it
involved a ball and it didn't involve water, so obviously it wasn't one of
the important ones.  He wore a sky-blue tee-shirt and a pair of light gray
shorts, dark hair partly sweaty and tousled, a volleyball tucked under his
arm.  "Well, well--It's about time you were getting back," he said.  The
way he wolf-grinned made me nervous--like something was up that I wasn't
supposed to know about.

   I decided to play dumb--which definitely wasn't that difficult for me.
"What the fuck're you talking about?"

   He tossed the ball at me, fast.  "Sleep!"

   By reflex, I caught it, right before it would've hit my chest.  "Huh?" I
said.  I shoved it back at him.  "Sleep yourself.  Whatever, dude."

   He snatched it out of the air, eyes slitting just a bit, that grin
widening, more predatory.  "Mmm," he said, savoring something.  "Nice try,
but say it like you mean it." He snapped the ball back at me again and
barked, "Sleep!"

   I caught it.  Did he think the Professor had managed to hypnotize me
earlier?  Maybe he didn't know I'd slipped away before the Professor could
seal the deal.  Or was he trying to hypnotize me himself?  I pitched the
volleyball back, hard and fast.  "Sleep!"

   Peter snagged the ball out of the air.  "Mmm, yeah--That's better--I
almost felt it that time." He snapped the ball back at me again.  "Sleep!"

   I was a millisecond too slow that time--fast enough to block it, but the
ball ricocheted off the side of my hand instead of me catching it. 
<i>Fucking ow!</i>

   Peter bent and scooped it up in mid-bounce.

   "So what's going on here?" boomed a voice from the doorway.  Marcel
leaned against the door frame.

   "Just playing around is all," Peter said.  "Want to join us?"

   Marcel scowled and stalked over.  Was Peter doing something he
shouldn't? I'd figured out the hypnosis but I still wasn't clear on
everything else going on here.  Marcel jerked the ball out of Peter's
hands, saying, "You know that's against the rules.  Nice use of props,
though.  Let's see how you like it." He poked the ball against Peter's
chest and commanded, "Sleep."

   Peter blinked.  That wolf-smile softened--it stayed just as wide but
became a smile of pleasure.  "Mmm ..."

   "Sleep," Marcel said authoritatively as he poked Peter's chest again.

   "Ahh ..." Peter's eyes closed, and his head drooped forward.

   "And you," Marcel said, bumping the ball against my chest.  "Sleep."

   "Dude, what are you talking about?" I decided to play dumb.

   Marcel frowned at me a second, then poked me again.  "Sleep."

   I swatted the volleyball out of his hand, and it bounced out into the
hallway.  "Uh, I'm kinda in the middle of something here.  Why don't you
two go somewhere else.  Seriously."

   "Yeah ...  Well." Marcel practically dismissed me, even though this was
<i>my</i> room.  He turned back to Peter, standing there, gently swaying,
asleep on his feet.  "Come with me," Marcel hummed in Peter's ear.  His
hand, lightly in the small of Peter's back, guided him forward, toward the
door.  Peter didn't seem to mind and went along quietly.

   When they were gone, I pushed the door shut and looked down at the
crotch of my pants.  I had one hell of a boner!

   5.

   Coach called for another special evening practice, the second one in a
row, but I had to miss it again because I had a chemistry study group
meeting every night that week.  Coach knew I had to pass that big
midterm--he'd understand.

   The next day, though, Coach called me aside near the end of our regular
practice and got all on my case about missing the special practices.  He
was calling another one for that evening, he said, but this time he didn't
want me to be there.  Instead, he told me I needed to go see Professor
Johnson right away--go, go, go.

   Well, there was no way I was going to go all the way to Professor
Johnson's office in nothing but my wet swimsuit and track suit, so instead
I went back to the locker room with team.

   Coach whistled for practice to be over, and he led the team as we
trotted back to the locker room and through the double doors.  Usually
Coach veered off to his office--but this time, pulling his shirt off over
his head, he kept going directly back to where the showers were.  The guys
were shedding their track suits and goggles and swimsuits too, so I did the
same thing.

   As he toed off his shoes, Coach hollered, "Listen up, guys!  What comes
after one hundred?"

   "Ninety-nine!" we all shouted back in unison, still shedding our own
gear.  I wondered, <i>What kind of question was that?</i>

   And before I knew it, the rest of the team hollered, "Ninety eight! 
Ninety seven!  Ninety-six!"

   Coach and the team, everybody naked now, including me, crowded into open
shower area.  There were only eight shower nozzles and about twenty-four of
us team members, twenty-five counting Coach.  Usually we spaced out our
shower intervals 'cause there was enough space or shower heads for all of
us at once, but right then we were jammed in there three or four to a
shower.

   And still the guys kept chanting under the spray: "Ninety-three! 
Ninety-two!"

   "That's it," Coach hollered out over the spray as the team called out
the numbers.

   I decided this must have been something they'd covered in the special
practice sessions.  I played along.

   "Eighty nine!  Eighty-eight!"

   "Focus." Coach said.  "I know you're tired after a hard practice.  So
tired.  So focused.  Just like before.  Let it happen all over again."

   Over there, one of my teammates yawned.  Over there, so did another.  We
were all tired, but I wondered if more was going on.

   "Eighty!  Seventy-nine!"

   "So focused.  So sleepy.  Together.  Teamwork."

   A couple of the guys looked really sleepy.  They weren't jostling each
other anymore, just kind of standing there, waiting, letting something
happen.

   "Seventy-three!"

   "Returning to that deep sleep you enjoyed last night."

   A couple of voices went quiet.  Not intentional--they just didn't join
in anymore.  One guy leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, and his
body sank down until his butt met the tile floor.

   "Seventy-one!"

   "Falling so deeply asleep with the team."

   Two others leaned against each other, wet and slippery from the water
spraying down on them, then both sagged until they were on their knees. 
They toppled, slowly, to the floor.

   "Sixty-nine!"

   "It's part of you now.  Part of being part of the team."

   All of the guys looked groggy, even Coach.  More and more of them were
dropping out of the chant.  One by one, their eyes closed.  They sank
against the wall or to the floor.  They seemed to be falling asleep.

   I figured out what was happening.  I figured out what I'd missed during
those "special" practice sessions.

   "Sixty-five!"

   "Sleep now."

   The guys already asleep looked so peaceful.  The ones who hadn't yet
weren't fighting it.  Coach didn't seem to notice I was there with the team
instead of off with Professor Johnson--or maybe he didn't care.

   "Sixty-three ..."

   "Sleep now.  Overwhelming you.  Sleep now."

   Only a few voices were left, and they were slowing down.

   "Sixty-one ..."

   "Deep sleep.  Irresistible.  It's part of being a team."

   "Fifty-nine ..."

   Another teammate slumped down onto the floor, brushing me on his way
down.  I decided the time had come for me to pretend to be hypnotized too,
so I closed my eyes, stopped chanting, and sank down onto the tile floor
too--but not up against any of my nearby teammates' naked bodies.  I'd have
thrown a woody for sure if that happened.

   Finally the last voice went silent.

   "That's it," Coach's groggy voice congratulated them.  He seemed to be
reciting the words, slowly, voice almost sleep-thick himself.  "Deeply
asleep.  Deeply relaxed.  Feel the sleep becoming part of you.  Part of all
of us now.  It's part of being part of this team now.  You love being part
of this team, and you love being this deeply relaxed.  It feels good,
doesn't it."

   A couple of guys murmured.

   "Being this focused helps you feel part of the team.  It feels good. 
Anything that happens when you're this deeply relaxed, this deeply part of
the team, feels good and helps you feel more connected to your teammates."

   <i>What the fuck is he talking about</i>, I wondered, waiting to see
where this went.

   "When you're part of a team, it's only natural to want to help the team
succeed."

   What was it Jake had said about a "pep talk" after I saw him in the
office with Coach?  Yeah, I was pretty sure I knew where this was going,
and my dick started expressing its interest.  <i>Down, boy</i>, I thought
to it, just in case I was wrong.

   Coach said helping out the team was a major part of being a team.  There
was nothing more important in our lives than this team.  If a teammate
needed help with something, anything, we had a duty to provide, just as our
teammates would help us when we needed it.  No boundaries, no secrets, and
no shame.  Each one's need was everyone's obligation.  One goal.  One team.

   I lost the fight against an erection, and my cock continued to swell,
heading toward full mast.  I regretted going down against the wall where I
could peer through nearly closed eyelids at what was going on, because it
meant my boner was on full display.

   No boundaries, no secrets, and no shame.  Coach kept coming back to that
part.  Everything that happened was teammates helping out teammates and
would bring us closer together, tighten our bonds as a team.  He told us to
open our eyes and look around at our teammates.

   Uh-oh!  I was seconds away from the whole team seeing my erection!

   I opened my eyes, thinking I'd find some discrete way to use my hand or
arm to hide my dick.

   I opened my eyes, and I saw Coach standing across the showers, the only
one of us still on his feet, naked except for that little purple crystal
pendant around his neck.  He wasn't paying attention to me.  He was looking
at the mass of swim team members in front of him.  And Coach had himself a
fat erection too!  His dick stuck directly out in front of him, thick,
crimson-headed.

   Somebody's arm reached up from the shower floor and a hand wrapped
around Coach's cock and stroked it slowly.

   Somebody else's hand slid across my hip and circled my shaft.  I jumped
and sucked in a breath, reminding myself I was supposed to be all relaxed
and hypnotized.

   I reached out and touched a butt cheek.  My fingers followed it around
and found a navel, then the erection below it.  I wrapped my hand around it
and tugged on it, slow and gentle.  My other hand wandered out and found
another cock, already being jacked, so my fingers stroked the nut sack
instead.

   Everything was a mass of writhing male flesh on the shower floor. 
Somebody pulled Coach down into the tangle, and he willingly let himself be
drawn in.  Hands were on cocks, and across the way I saw a couple of my
teammates, including Jake, going at it with their mouths.  I wasn't sure
who I was jacking, or who was jacking me, because all I could see was a
shoulder, part of an arm or two, and somebody's calf as the bodies squirmed
in front of my face.  Besides, I thought it best if I didn't appear too
interested-or awake.

   Coach told us it was okay to cum.  Okay to help a teammate cum; okay to
cum ourselves.  That last part he got kind of strangled, like he was
cumming.  I could see part of his torso, his head thrown back and mouth
open, orgasming, definitely orgasming.  I heard a couple of the guys groan
as they probably climaxed too.  That did it for me.  My balls pulled up. 
My dickhead fired off that first blot of pleasure, and I gasped, and then
my dick sent waves of ecstasy through me while my balls squirted out my
load.  My body bowed, muscled clenched as I came, and then everything went
loose and helpless as my orgasm was spent.  The warm shower spray rinsed
away my semen.

   So there you have it--that's the story of how I lost my virginity in the
showers with one of my teammates.  I'm not sure which one, but I'd like to
take this opportunity to say: <i>Thank you, anonymous teammate</i>.

   But this little event was not yet over.  Coach told us how easy it was
to stand up, and we did.  He marched us out to the locker area, had us sit
down on the benches.  He walked the team through an induction to strengthen
the trance.  I wasn't hypnotized, but I just played along.  I recognized
what Coach was doing from my Internet research.

   I played along like I was just as hypnotized as my teammates--and maybe
Coach too from the way he looked--because I was thinking I might be able to
get some clues to why this was happening.  I didn't pick up on anything
useful about their larger agenda though.  Mostly I was fascinated by this
lingering pearl of cum dangling unnoticed from the head of Coach's fat
cock.

   It seemed to be just Coach reinforcing the hypnosis, reminding us that
we were not to jack off or have sex, that cumming was restricted to our
team-building "pep talks." Connecting what was happening here up to what
I'd seen at the AThL frat house, I decided the strategy was to hypnotize
the new "recruits" and give them lots of sex to get them indoctrinated,
then to use withholding sex to get them to accomplish tasks.  That would
make their orgasms become a powerful incentive to encourage obedience.  But
it still left the big question of why.  Why were they doing this?  Why the
swim team and the AThL fraternity?  Who else were they pulling in?  Okay,
that last question is a <i>who</i> rather than a <i>why</i>, but you get my
point.  Maybe stories don't tie off all the plot threads they raise, and
maybe narrators don't always have all the answers.  You'll just have to
wait and see, won't you?

   Anyway, at the end, and by then we were mostly air-dried, he told us to
wake up, get our asses dressed, and get out of there until that night's
special practice session.  So that's when I officially "woke up."

   So if you're thinking, <i>That's it?--Is that all that happened?  </i>
Let me remind you: I lost my virginity in that scene.  That's a plenty big
deal.  Trust me--I waited nineteen years for it.  It wasn't how I imagined
my first time would happen, but I've got no complaints.  None at all. 
Let's move along, shall we?

   6.

   My roommate Jake dreamed about fucking--a lot.  Some nights I'd look
over and he'd be pumping his hips a little under the sheet as he lay on his
stomach, maybe grinding his cock into the mattress, sound asleep and
fucking some dream girl.  Other times he'd be on his side, and I'd watch
his hips thrust--fast, then slow, then fast again--against the sheet.  The
boxer-briefs he always wore to bed and the sheet over him kept me from
seeing anything definite about his hard-on, but I imagined every vein and
detail about it.  I liked watching him on his stomach best, because
sometimes I'd dream about climbing onto his bed with him, pulling the sheet
back, sticking my hard dick up his butt, and fucking him while he fucked
the mattress under us, fucking him while he begged me at first to <i>take
it out, it's too big, it hurts</i>, gradually changing to <i>deeper, fuck
me, harder, don't stop, deeper, more, please</i>.

   Yeah, I had a wicked crush on him.  I figured <i>that</i> part out a
long time ago.

   After that time with Peter and Marcel, I figured out what was happening
too.  It wasn't the crystal.  It wasn't the ball or any of the props.  It
was the voice.  The authority.  Say it like you mean it, and they respect
the authority.  Obey it.  Fall under its spell.

   I figured it out from watching, plus some research online.  How the hell
did people manage to find out stuff before the Internet?

   I thought about this a while.  If the Professor and his minions were
trying to hypnotize me, it was probably just a matter of time until one of
them did.  I was okay with that.  I was kind of curious what it would be
like.  I'd been thinking about getting my dick sucked by a dude for a while
now and was scared about what would happen if my frat brothers found out.
Sure, they made me suck cock when I was a pledge, but that was
different--they made <i>all</i> the pledges suck cock to prove how much we
wanted to join the frat.  But now I was thinking I wanted to get my dick
tongue-waxed by a guy just for the fun of it.  Maybe sucking cock would be
okay if I was hypnotized into doing it.  But hey, before the Professor or
Coach managed to nail me, maybe I could turn the tables and take advantage
of the hypnosis they were doing with some of the others.  I bet they
weren't planning on me fucking with their plans!

   I went downtown to this woo-woo New Age-y spirituality and incense shop
that sold crystals, and I'd found a purple one not quite like the ones
Coach and the Professor used but close.  I bought it for ten bucks and
tried it out on my roommate Jake.  I bought something else while I was
downtown too, and I'll tell you about that in a minute, but right now I'm
telling you about trying the crystal out on Jake.

   In our room at the frat house, late, nearly bedtime, we were winding
down.  The Professor hadn't dropped by tonight.  Seemed like the perfect
time.  I held up the crystal and said, "Look what I got." I made it turn
back and forth just like Coach did.

   Jake, digging through the bottom drawer of his desk, glanced over and
said flatly, "Cool." Not the flat tone of being hypnotized, but of being
completely uninterested.

   So that's when I figured it out, and I came up with a Plan B on the
spot.

   Jake shut the drawer, having not found whatever he looked for.  "Hey,
Jake," I announced in my best Voice Of Authority.  "Sleep!"

   He turned to face me.  "What?"

   I poked his chest with the crystal.  "Sleep!"

   He looked at me, confused, and blinked.

   "Sleep!" Poke.

   He blinked again, a couple of times, quickly.

   "Sleep!" Poke.

   "Whaaa--" His voice sounded sluggish, thicker.

   "Sleep!  Sleep now.  Sleep!"

   His eyes closed.

   I poked him again just for good measure.  "Sleep.  That's right. 
Sleep."

   He swayed, asleep on his feet.  I'd seen this enough by now to know.

   Jake wore a white tee-shirt and a pair of red shorts, drawstring in
front, white stripe down the sides.

   "That's it, Jake.  Focus on my voice.  Sleep deep, buddy.  Just let
yourself sleep.  Maybe you'd be more comfortable if you took your shirt
off. Maybe you'd be able to sleep deeper.  You'd like that, I bet.  Go
ahead and take your shirt off, Jake."

   And he did.  His hands moved slowly.  They took hold of the tee-shirt
and lifted, pulled it up and off smoothly, and dropped it.

   "It's time to sleep.  You're ready to sleep.  You need to sleep.  You
need to get comfortable to sleep.  It's time to take off your shorts.  Go
ahead, Jake.  Take them off."

   I reached out and pulled one end of the drawstring, because I thought
that was sexy, and the knot unfurled.  Jake hooked his thumbs under the
waistband, and his shirts dropped to his ankles.  He stepped his bare feet
free of them.

   That left a pair of white boxer-briefs.  "Take your underwear off too,
Jake.  You'll sleep much more deeply, more comfortably, if you take off
your underwear too.  Take it off." So he did.  His cock was half-hard.  I'd
seen it hard before, of course, but not this close-up, and not just for me.

   "You sucked my dick a couple of times when we were pledges, didn't you,
Jake.  Did you like it?"

   He sighed, "Yeah ..."

   "You want to suck it again?"

   "Oh, yeah."

   Okay, enthusiasm is fucking sexy.  Even hypnotized, he sounded like he
wanted it.  Hearing Jake say he wanted to suck <i>my</i> cock was fucking
sexy!

   I've got to admit: When Jake's eyes closed, I started boning up.  Now,
my cock was hard in my underwear.  I sat on the edge of his bed.  All I had
on were my briefs.  I pulled the front down, tucked the waistband under my
balls, and spread my legs.

   I told Jake to kneel between my knees, and he did.  I told him to lick
my balls and he did.  I told him to suck my cock, and he did--badly.  I
mean--<i>man!</i>--somebody was obviously a rank beginner here! 
Enthusiastic, but a beginner.

   "Teeth," I warned quietly as that somebody's teeth rasped painfully on
my shaft.  "Ow!--Teeth ...  Watch the teeth ..."

   This was one of the worst blow-jobs ever.  Fuck!--Didn't he remember
anything from our pledge Hell Week last year?  Hadn't I seen him blowing
one of the other swim team members in that shower scene I just told you
about?  How the hell was Jake so bad at this?

   "Teeth!" I hissed again.  "How about you just jack me off instead."

   Jake's mouth slid off.  His hand replaced it, sliding spit-slicked up
and down my shaft.  The warm, wet grip felt a lot better than the mouth,
and I moaned appreciatively.  What he lacked in cocksucking skills, he sure
made up for in the hand-job department.

   I let him jerk himself off with one hand while he jerked me with the
other.  After a while, I was ready to give him another shot at blowing me
and told him to kiss the head.  "Lick the shaft.  Now lick the head.  Open
your mouth and put the head inside.  Don't try to take so much at one time.
Watch the fucking teeth, dammit."

   Soon he was managing the basics--mouth riding up and down on my cock,
one hand playing with my balls or the base of my shaft, other hand playing
with his dick.

   Figuring out how to take advantage of the hypnosis was risky.  I knew
the Professor would probably be mad as hell if he found out I'd even done
this much!  I let Jake suck me a while.  I could tell he was ready to cum
from the way his hips were bucking, fucking the air as he jacked--he was
close.  All he needed was my permission.  I didn't care if Professor
Johnson got pissed at me.  Jake deserved some relief.  "Cum, Jake," I said
in my Voice Of Authority.  Yeah, the Professor would be really pissed if he
found out I told Jake to cum, but I didn't care.  "Cum," I ordered again.

   Jake had my shaft in his mouth at the time.  "Nnnnph," he said, and his
torso stiffened.  His dickhead spat out his cum in hard, fast bursts, so
hard I heard them strike the floor.

   I pulled my cock out of his mouth and jacked it in a hurry.  My load
spurted out and most of it landed on the floor.  A couple of drops landed
on Jake's discarded tee-shirt.

   7.

   Good stories all have this thing, this formula, that's so cool.  See,
there are always two or more plots.  One's normal, and the other's some
wild shit, and then you find out that they're connected, that it's all one
plot.  That's the essence of-

   Okay, okay.  Let me show you instead.

   Coach's office, the next day.  Coach Cox told his assistant to take
over, and Coach called Jake and me into his office as soon as practice
ended.  I heard the assistant coach holler out, "What comes after one
hundred" and the guys answer "Ninety-nine" as the door shut.

   I was ready.  I took the purple crystal out of the pocket of my warm-up
jacket and pulled the cord over my neck.

   Jake and I both wore just our practice swimsuits and warm-up jackets,
but now I wore a crystal pendant that was just like Coach's except for the
cord.

   "Have a seat, boys," Coach said as he parked his butt on the corner of
his desk.  Jake sat down.  I didn't.

   Coach spoke to me, "So, Professor Johnson tells me he's been trying to
have a talk with you but you've been avoid him." Then he realized what he
saw on my chest.  "Where'd you get--"

   "Let me take this one, Coach.  You just sit back and enjoy the show." I
didn't give Coach a chance to say anything.  I turned to Jake, held up the
crystal as if it was going to do the work, and ordered him, "Sleep!"

   Crystal or Voice Of Authority, it didn't matter.  Pretty soon, I had
Jake asleep, just like the night before.  Naked too, just like the night
before.  And hard--that boy seemed to get hard the minute the hypnosis
began.  Maybe they'd trained him to do that.  I worked my jacket and
swimsuit down and off, one-handed, so I was bare-ass and erect too.  No
reason not to give Coach the whole show.

   I leaned back against the desk and had Jake kneel and demonstrate his
oral skills on me again, really putting on a show for Coach.  At least Jake
was starting to get better at blowjobs.

   Then I had a wild idea.  I turned the crystal toward Coach and poked his
chest with my other hand.  "Sleep!" I ordered him in my most authoritative
voice.

   Ambushed, he said, "What?  Stop that."

   "Sleep!" I commanded, poking his chest again.

   I'll skip right to the good parts.  I figured if Professor Johnson had
gotten to Jake, he probably got to Coach too.  It was just a matter of
convincing Coach I was the authority here.

   "Sleep, Cox!  Focus on my voice, and sleep."

   I kept at him, kept drilling at him.  The process took longer than with
Jake, because I guess Coach was used to being in charge, but soon I had him
blinking.  When he stifled a yawn, I knew I had him.  Soon I had his eyes
closed, and I had him.

   I talked him through the process I read about on the Internet, deepening
the trance, settling him down into a nice state of hypnosis.  Coach didn't
put much must resistance at all after those first few minutes.  I guess the
Professor had him pretty well-trained too.

   Soon, I had Coach Cox naked and hard and kneeling before me too.  I
pulled my cock out of Jake's mouth and offered it to Coach.  Maybe Coach
would be better at sucking cock than Jake.

   He was.  Coach Cox leaned forward on his knees, his chin brushing my
thigh as he took my cock into his mouth, one hand guiding my shaft in, the
other cupping my hip and the edge of my ass.  I felt his lips sliding down,
then back up, caressing the shaft.  I was so fucking horny I had to start
fucking his face a little.  Where Jake was a rank beginner, Coach was an
expert at sucking.  His tongue flicked all around my cock.  The sensations
were feathery and light, then strong and determined.  I moaned my
appreciation as I pumped my hips toward him.

   Coach was deeply hypnotized, but he still took charge of the suck-job,
and I let him.  He reached up and gently ran his fingers across my chest.
Pinching my nipple, he eased me back until I was sprawled on the surface of
his desk.  I put my knees over his shoulders while his strong hands rubbed
my upper body.  He was under my hypnotic control, but I let his expert
hands and mouth take over.  His mouth slurped away as it plunged up and
down on my rod.  I could feel the cum gathering in my overstuffed balls.  I
reached that magical point where my orgasm began.

   "That's it, Coach," I panted.  "Make me cum!  Get ready to swallow it."

   Coach's mouth locked tight around my cock head.  My spunk fired into his
mouth and his throat muscles worked, swallowing, taking everything my balls
pumped at him.

   I pulled my cock out of Coach's mouth.  I needed to catch my breath.  I
told Jake and Coach to suck each other, and they coiled into a sixty-nine
position on the floor in front of the desk.  I could tell Coach was getting
close; he started slowly on Jake but now he increased the speed and suction
of his mouth, taking all of Jake's dick down his throat and holding it
there, softly shaking his head back and forth.

   Jake was in pure hypnotized ecstasy too.  So I said, "Cum, Jake," and he
couldn't stop himself from shooting.  Coach swallowed the first shot, then
quickly took his mouth off Jake's cock and ran his tongue up and down the
bulging veins.  Jake shot again and again, and the gooey, white gobs landed
on his chest and abs and on Coach's face.

   Jake kept sucking on Coach's rod, working the bottom half of the shaft
with his hand.  "Cum, Cox," I told Coach.  "Cum now." Coach's body
stiffened and twitched, and a hip-jerk made his cock pop out of Jake's
mouth.  The first spit of Coach's cum landed on Jake's jaw and shoulder;
the rest dribbled down his cheek and neck.

   8.

   The big downfall of campus life is that everyone's constantly moving,
everyone's in a continual state of transition.  One semester you're in
classes together and see the same people all the time and get to be
friends, and the next you're in different classes, or they transfer to a
different college or graduate or drop out, and you never see each other
again.  Shit like that.  People are always coming together then moving
apart, combining and recombining.  I thought joining a fraternity would
give me a sense of stability, a place to belong.  Rush was hell but I made
it through.  At first I felt lost, overwhelmed--I had studies and the swim
team, and then moving into the frat house and life in the frat itself got
thrown on top of that--but I found my footing soon enough.  I had no idea
my brothers and I would get to know each other so intimately just from
sharing bathrooms and hanging out and shit like that.  After I started
accepting that I was gay after rush, I realized life might be trickier in
the frat house than I'd anticipated.  I needed something to take my mind
off my body and my need for sex--and my need for a place to fit in, which
went beyond my need for sex.  I threw myself into studying and swimming.  I
didn't think hanging around the guys would make me so hot; I didn't think
I'd meet people this intense and this sexy.  I was terrified that I'd be
taunted by all that rampant nudity and blurred sexuality and still wind up
not getting laid and not finding a boyfriend.  Then, when Jake and I
started rooming together and I found myself saddled with a huge crush on
him ...

   Let's change the scene.  Narrators can do that--we can move the story
forward and backward in time, or change the setting entirely.  That's what
narrators do.  If you don't like it?--Well, like I said, I don't see any
other danged narrator here.

   The next day was Saturday, the weekend--I didn't have classes or swim
practice.  What I had was a bladder that woke me up with a need to piss.  I
needed a shower too.

   I staggered down to the stairs.  The bathroom, a big light-filled place
that was perversely free of privacy, had been converted into a
communal-style shower room, complete with a bench.  Mornings, I usually ran
into some of my frat brothers naked there, like it was the most natural
thing in the world.

   I stumbled into the bathroom and found Junior standing in front of one
of the mirrors nude, putting in his contacts.  His roommate Peter, also
naked, was at the sinks shaving the last third of his face.  "Check it
out--it's Sleeping Beauty risen from the crypt," Junior called out as I
shambled in, mixing his metaphors, in his booming voice that ensured none
of my frat brothers would be sleeping off a hangover with him around.

   "What's up?" I said, as if this scene was normal; as if every day
closeted gay guys in frat houses all over the world walked into bathrooms
landmined with naked jocks.  Which I guess does happen.

   "Hey, did you hear about last night when we went through the McDonalds
drive-through completely naked?" Junior asked, looking at me in the mirror
as I cozied up to a urinal and began to piss.

   "It was the stuff of legends," Peter added.

   My peripheral vision took in Junior's smooth, hairless ass, the legs of
a Greek statue.  His freshly showered hair had gone wild and hadn't been
combed yet.  "So what'd you guys order?" I asked, reeling from the daily
effort of being the house faggot walking into this locker room peep show
and trying <i>not</i> to get hard.

   Junior ran the razor through the last bit of shaving cream and rinsed it
under the faucet.  "I was in the passenger seat with my feet up on the
dash. I ordered a double cheeseburger and fries.  Peter here ordered a pack
of condoms."

   I laughed, flushed, and walked toward the showers, which were really
just nozzles sticking out of the wall.  I hung my towel on a peg, turned on
the water, and stripped out of my tee-shirt and shorts.  From under the
spray I had a full view of Peter and Junior and their dicks.  My dick began
growing, and I turned my hips away so they wouldn't see.  Peter and Junior
were two of those guys everyone's jealous of because they have it all:
looks, popularity, buckets of masculinity, and in this case really nice
dicks that I'd seen hard just a couple of nights ago and was seeing soft
right in front of me.

   Junior scratched at his neatly trimmed pubic hair.  "The problem is," he
said, "there weren't any chicks working, and the guys there refused to
serve us." He looked me right in the eye, as if we weren't all three nude,
like we were having beers.  I could feel my dick perking up a little, and I
prayed for it to go down.  "We were really hungry."

   Peter hollered to be heard over the spray.  "I was out of condoms and
really needed to get some.  I was told McDonalds sold `em"--and here he
scowled at Junior--"but I guess I was misinformed by <i>someone</i>."

   They laughed.  I laughed too, and I kept trying not to look at them
below the waist--unsuccessfully.  It was my daily battle of ecstasy and
torture all at once, and I was a willing participant.  My dick managed
somehow to not get hard.

   Junior caught me glancing at their dicks though and smirked at me, like
he figured something out.  Time to change the subject.

   "So," I said, "what were you doing naked in the car that you needed
condoms for?"

   Peter grinned.  "We were drunk off our asses.  Driving around naked was
a joke.  It was funny as shit at the time."

   Junior smacked Peter's arm.  "It was nearly as wild as that time I
walked in and caught you with your dick stuck in the vacuum cleaner hose
when you tried to use it to suck you off.  It would have been funny--if it
wasn't so totally pervo."

   Great.  As if I needed the image of Peter with an erection fucking a
vacuum.  Not getting hard was hard--er, <i>difficult</i>--enough already.

   Peter smacked Junior back.  "I was <i>not</i> getting my dick sucked by
the vacuum cleaner.  I thought the hose just happened to be the right size,
but I didn't use enough lube and got stuck.  I had to wait `til my dick
went down to get free.  I still jizzed, but out of spite, not pleasure."

   Junior howled his laughter.  "Aww, look--now he's all upset because I
told the vacuum cleaner story.  Don't be so uptight.  Everybody masturbates
...  just, uhm, not with household appliances." Junior smacked Peter's arm
again.  "C'mon, let's go tell Marcel about McDonalds." And then they were
gone, running off naked to find Marcel.

   Whew!

   I finished my shower and dried off.  I headed naked into one of the
toilet stalls, closed the door, dropped my clothes, towel and little pack
of toiletries on the floor, and had a seat.  I didn't need to shit--I
needed to masturbate.  I had lube in my pack.  All I needed was a few
minutes with nobody else in the bathroom and I'd pump out a load so I could
face my frat brothers without throwing an erection.

   I heard somebody rush in and head to the urinals, then a steady stream
of piss.  Which went on for a while.  Then pledgemaster Taz's voice boomed:
"This has got to be the longest piss <i>ever</i>.  I'm such an asshole for
not timing it!" Yeah, that's our Taz.

   Marcel walked in.  He and Taz said hey to each other.  For once Marcel
<i>wasn't</i> wearing a baseball cap--in the showers was about the only
place I ever saw him without one.  Marcel dropped his maroon shorts and
claimed one of the shower heads.

   Taz flushed the urinal, hung his shorts and towel on a peg, and
sauntered into the showers too.  They didn't know I was there.  I couldn't
make out what they were talking about over the shower noise, and I couldn't
see much through the crack between the stall door and partition wall.

   I was still nude and I'd retreated into that stall to jack off, so my
dick was already expecting some attention.  Looking at Taz and Marcel all
naked and showering had my dick interested.  Were Marcel and Tax going to
do another shower jack-off?  My prick stood up, proud and hard, waiting for
a little bit of lube and the nice hand-stroking it expected.

   I couldn't hear what they were saying but Marcel seemed to be doing most
of the talking.  Nearly all the talking, in fact.  Taz blinked and blinked
again.  He seemed disoriented.  Marcel kept talking, and Taz kept blinking,
only each time his eyelids were less and less open.  <i>Shit, Marcel's
trying to hypnotize Taz again</i>, I thought, which made my dick really
stand up and notice.

   Remember that other thing I said I bought at the New Age novelty shop
along with the crystal?  The thing I said I'd tell you about later?  Well,
guess what: it's later.

   I reached into my pack and pulled out the little palm-sized canister. 
It was one of those anti-rape air horn things--you know the type: You get
in some trouble, and you push the top of the can, and it makes this really
loud blaring noise to scare off your attacker and summon help.  I pointed
it toward the ceiling, covered my ears as best I could with my free hand
and opposite shoulder, and pressed.  It let out a BLAAART!--so deafening I
nearly dropped it too.

   When I peeked back at the showers, Marcel and Taz were holding their
ears.  Marcel was yelling at the door about what fuck-heads Junior and
Peter were.  He thought they were responsible?  Whew!--he didn't suspect
me.

   Taz shook his head and said something about needing to get to class.  He
cranked off his shower, grabbed his shorts and towel, and disappeared
toward the door.  Marcel just stood under the spray, chagrined, watching
him go.

   Marcel shut off his shower, dried himself, stepped back into his maroon
shorts, and walked over to the sink where he'd left his toiletry stuff.  He
smeared shaving cream across his jaw and began to shave.

   I sat there with my boner practically vibrating with a need to be
touched.  Would Marcel ever hurry the fuck up and leave so I could jack
off? I risked giving my cock a couple of slow, silent strokes, just to keep
the interest level high, while I peeked at Marcel's nearly naked body. 
Yum!

   "Hi, sir," Marcel said, looking in the mirror at somebody coming into
the bathroom.  Who would Marcel call <i>sir</i>?

   Professor Johnson walked up behind Marcel.  Marcel bent and rinsed his
face and straightened, still looking at the Professor in the mirror.

   "Look into my eyes," the Professor said, a voice of quiet authority. 
"That's it.  Sleep, Marcel.  Sleep." The Professor slipped closer, until
his body was against Marcel's back.  He slid a hand around to stroke his
fingertips in a lazy circle over Marcel's taut stomach.  "So easy.  Just
sleep.  Sleep."

   Marcel's eyes closed.  "Yes, sir." He swayed slightly against the
Professor.

   The Professor pulled at the front of Marcel's maroon shorts and soon had
Marcel's hard-on standing free.  It was hard and thick, hovering at a
forty-five degree angle over the sink.  The Professor's hand wrapped around
Marcel's cock and began to stroke.

   "Where is Taz?" the Professor asked.  "You did not accomplish your job,
did you?

   "No, sir."

   "Why not?"

   "Peter and Junior ...  interruption ...  air horn ...  interrupted ..."

   "Peter and Junior were with me.  Whatever the interruption was, I don't
think they were responsible.  But no matter.  Skip Taz for a while.  Go to
the next name on your list, and that is your new objective.  How long has
it been since you were allowed to cum, Marcel?"

   "Ten days ...  sir ..."

   "It'll feel so good to cum when you finally accomplish all of your jobs,
won't it."

   "Yes, sir," Marcel sighed.

   "You won't fail again.  You only have a few more jobs to accomplish
before you can cum.  You'll accomplish the next one very soon, won't you?"

   "Yes, sir.  Soon ..."

   "Good.  Now, let your erection soften.  Let it soften and fade, and let
yourself slowly wake up."

   The Professor slipped his hand away from Marcel's rod, and he stepped
back, and he was gone.

   Marcel's dick softened and sagged.  He took a deep breath and his eyes
opened.  He looked at himself in the mirror.  He looked down at his shorts.
He tucked his half-hard cock away, closed his fly, grabbed his stuff, and
left.

   Finally, I had some privacy.  I drizzled a few drops of lube on my cock.
Images flashed through my head as I stroked: Peter and Junior naked, Taz
naked and nearly hypnotized, Marcel naked, Marcel hypnotized, Marcel's
erection.  Fucking hot!  I came in less than thirty seconds!  Shot myself a
big load too!

   9.

   I roused up when somebody sat down on the edge of my bed.  I'd been
asleep on my stomach, so it was kinda hard to turn my head to peer at
whoever this was in the dark.  Jake said, "That's right.  Sleep.  No need
to wake up.  Just sleep.  Deeply asleep."

   I muttered, "Jake, what the fuck ..." I tried to turn over--hard to do
since he was sitting on the sheet.

   "Shh." He pressed his hand on my bare shoulder blade, a comforting
weight, to keep me from rolling over.  "Just sleep.  So easy to just close
your sleepy, sleepy eyes and go back to sleep.  You know you want to. 
Sleep."

   "Seriously, Jake, you need to go get in your own bed, man.  What the
fuck are you doing?" But I knew exactly what he was trying to do.  Man, if
they could hit me when I was trying to get some shut-eye, sooner or later I
wouldn't wake up in time and they'd get me.

   I managed to roll over on my back anyway and pulled myself so I was
sitting up.  Time for the Voice Of Authority.  "No, you listen, Jake.  You
may think you're hypnotizing me or giving me a pep talk or whatever, but
you're really hypnotizing yourself."

   "Huh?"

   "It's true.  You tell me I feel sleepy, but you feel it too.  You feel
sleepy too, don't you, Jake?"

   He didn't say anything.  I reached for the crystal on the little table
beside my bed and held it up in the semi-darkness.  "It's okay.  It's okay
to feel sleepy.  It's okay to sleep.  Sleep, Jake."

   Soon, I had Jake's eyes closed again.  I fumbled with the boxer shorts I
sleep in, fumbled my happy hard-on out into the night, then guided Jake's
mouth to it.  After all, my hard-on needed a blowjob, and he needed the
practice.

   "Go slow," I told him.  "Watch your teeth."

   Jake worked his lips up and down my pole.  I loved seeing my cock
disappear between those pretty lips.  Watching him made me want to cum then
and there, and I wanted to blast my load down his throat.  I intended to do
exactly that.

   Jake had trouble taking in my entire length.  My dick is only average
thickness, compared to the other guys I've seen hard, but it's about seven
and a half inches long.  Jake just about couldn't handle that last inch or
so.  Hypnotized like this, he wanted it badly though and sucked on my cock
like a nursing calf.  When he finally managed that last inch, he nuzzled
his nose in my pubes and I patted the top of his head and sighed my
approval.

   I let Jake nurse on my tool.  He was starting to get the hang of blowing
me.  I loved watching him go at it.  I loved that I could control him.  He
was beautiful, and he was mine.  I ran my hands over his muscular
shoulders. When he'd been sucking only a few minutes, my dickhead and balls
started that familiar buzz.  I moaned and fucked my cock at Jake's mouth a
time or two, which nearly made him gag.  I pushed my dick all the way in
between his lips.  I started to cum.  I planted my seed in his throat,
claiming him for my own.  My hard cock pumped out spurt after spurt of
jizz, filling Jake's sweet mouth.  My eyes rolled back in my head as I shot
my man-juice deep within him.  It was so intense!

   When I came down from my orgasm, I realized I had a problem.  Jake had
nearly gotten me while I was asleep.  If I hadn't woke up, he <i>would</i>
have gotten me!  I had to sleep sometime, but if they could make another
try any time they wanted, they'd get me sooner or later.  It was
inevitable. Maybe I wanted to experience being hypnotized too, but I didn't
want to make it so simple for them.  I wouldn't have a problem yielding to
it but only after they worked for it.  After all, stories need something
called a plot, people.  Try to keep up.

   I needed someplace else to sleep, someplace safe, someplace they'd never
think to look for me.  I pulled my sheet off the bed and grabbed my pillow.

   The attic wasn't used much, except for storage and for roof access when
we wanted to sunbathe out on the shingles and shit like that.  In the back
there was this little forgotten alcove that Jake and I had found months ago
when we'd been sent up in the attic searching for something.  In front of
it was all this furniture that hadn't been touched in years.  I moved a
couple of things to block the path as I went.  I might be barricading
myself in, but at least I'd have plenty of warning if somebody came up
there looking for me.  They wouldn't catch me asleep.  Hey, just because I
knew they'd get me eventually didn't mean I was going to make it easy!

   I pulled the protective plastic sheet off an old couch in the alcove. 
It smelled musty and dusty, but it would do.  I bedded down there for the
rest of the night.

   Oh, and I slept pretty well, all things considered, if you want to know.
Thanks for asking.

   10.

   Every good trickster needs a sidekick or a foil.  Someone who helps the
audience figure out what's going on in the story.

   I ran into Taz.  "Hey, can I talk to you a minute?  In private?"

   "Sure."

   Taz wasn't really a close friend, but I knew him well enough and
considered him a friend, in spite of all the shit he put me through during
rush the year before.  He wasn't that smart, not by a long shot, but I
thought he was my best shot at an ally who could help me figure this
out--or at least help me interrupt the agenda.  What I didn't know exactly
was how to describe what was going on and how to get Taz on my side.  I
planned to figure that part out as I went along.  I pulled Taz into a side
room.

   "What's up, study-boy?" he asked.  "You still got blue balls from
playing online Scrabble games instead of getting laid?"

   I decided to ignore his comment--protesting that I did not play Scrabble
would just encourage him to make more comments.  Taz knew I was studying
hard to get my grades up, and he knew I'd still been a virgin--and he never
missed a chance to rib me about both.  What he didn't know was that I'd
lost that virginity burden the day before with my anonymous teammate.  I
wasn't about to enlighten him about <i>that</i> fact either.

   Taz continued, "You need some help brushing up on your seven-letter
Scrabble words?  Here's a few for you.  Sexless.  Flaccid.  Drydick.  Shall
I go on?"

   Did I say Taz was a "friend"?  Maybe I should have reconsidered.  At the
time, though, this Neanderthal was the only potential ally I had, and I
decided to ignore his taunt.  "Listen, you may have noticed there's
something going on around here ...?"

   "Well, yeah.  It's called `rush.' Maybe you've heard of it?  Oh,
yeah--you have--you went through it last year.  I'm pledgemaster.  It's my
<i>job</i> to make sure there's always something going on around here.  Are
we done here?--`Cause I got a bunch of pledges using power tools to build
some shelves in the basement, and I need to go make sure they don't hammer
off an arm or stick a screwdriver in someone's eye or something."

   "I'm not talking about rush.  Coach Cox and Professor Johnson ..." How
to bring this up?"

   "Our advisors," Taz prompted me, scowling.  "I've met them."

   "Can it with the snide comments a minute, please?  This is serious.  I
think they have a secret agenda going on.  They're hypnotizing the swim
team and some of the frat brothers like Marcel and Peter and Junior, and
they're making them hypnotize the other frat brothers."

   Taz stared at me like I was crazy.

   I decided to head that thought off.  "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but
it's not"--which I realized too late was exactly what a crazy person would
say.

   "How much of those drugs have you been smoking?"

   "Listen--I'm serious here.  I've seen them doing it.  Marcel even tried
to hypnotize you in the showers yesterday, until I blew my air horn and
interrupted."

   Taz narrowed his eyes at me.  "So that was you?  Marcel thought it was
that fucker Junior or Peter."

   "Look, I know <i>what</i> they're doing.  I just don't know <i>why</i>.
I thought maybe you could help me?"

   "Help you what?  Figure out why you've chosen right now to take this
little vacation from sanity?"

   "Taz, listen--I'm serious here."

   "Wah-wah-wah," he mocked.  "Listen, freak show, you know what this is?"
He held up his index finger and thumb an inch apart.

   My turn to scowl.  "Let me guess: The size of my dick?"

   "No--it's the amount of sense you're making ...  And also the length of
your dick.  They just happen to be equal in this case.  Doesn't happen
often, but it's pretty cool when this shit lines up, like an eclipse or
something.  Go to the Counseling Center if you need a therapist, and stop
bothering me." Taz walked out.

   Okay.  That didn't go like I planned.  Obviously I was going to have to
be one of those sidekick-less solo tricksters.

   So it was back to the drawing board for me.  I don't think I'm anybody
special.  That's probably why the Professor didn't put me at the top of his
target list.  That's why I had free run as long as I did.  The Professor
had bigger catches to land.

   Maybe the best way to disrupt what they were doing would be to take
charge of the agenda.  I wasn't really on their radar so they wouldn't be
expecting me to be a threat.  I'd nailed my roommate Jake.  I'd nailed
Coach Cox.  Who was next?  If the Professor had bigger targets than me,
well, I needed to make a big score too.

   Marcel was the fraternity alpha dog.  He was as take-charge as Coach and
probably had more influence over the frat brothers than the Professor did.
I decided taking him down was my goal.  At the very least, I could probably
pry details about the Professor's plans out of him.  Plus, it'd be one hell
of a kick to take Marcel down and have him following my orders!

   My balls felt so full and hair-trigger, I could barely see straight. 
Marcel came back to the frat house around nine o'clock and headed directly
to his room.  I followed.  I was fully dressed, of course--otherwise my
hard-on would have been leading the way; that's how charged-up I was just
from thinking about my plan.

   I passed Jake on the stairs and basically said, "Hi--gotta go--catch ya
later," as I zipped past him.

   I caught up with Marcel in his room.  He was alone.  Good.

   I knocked on the door frame.  "Hi.  Can I talk to you?  Privately?" I
didn't wait for permission; I came on in and shut the door behind me,
making covertly sure it was locked.

   "What's up?  Professor Johnson's been looking for you," Marcel said, all
friendly smiles and extroverted eagerness.

   "I need you to do something for me, please," I said as I fished in the
neckline of my shirt for the cord and crystal.  I held it up in the aid. 
"I need you to focus, Marcel.  Focus on my voice."

   He stood up from his desk and frowned at the crystal.  "Is that ...? 
Where did you get that?"

   I ignored his question and started right in on it in my best Voice Of
Authority: "Focus on the crystal.  Focus on my voice.  You remember how
good it feels to focus on the crystal.  Look into it."

   "Nice try, but that's not--"

   "Listen to me.  Look deeply into the crystal.  You're feeling that
familiar focused feeling, growing stronger." I came around the bed, closer
to him.  "Focus on the crystal and that drowsy feeling, heavy and light at
the same time, growing stronger, spreading through you.  Focus on the
crystal.  Focus on it.  That's it.  Focus."

   Suddenly Marcel grabbed my upheld wrist and yanked me to him.  I
sputtered, "Wha--" He spun me around and my body slammed into his, and his
arms bear-hugged me tight, my back to his chest.  "Lemme go!" I struggled,
but he was plenty strong and he had his arms locked tightly around me.  We
both wore tee-shirts and shorts.  Our bare legs tangled and we stumbled and
fell over, torsos landing on the bed, legs hanging off.  Marcel took most
of fall but managed to keep his grip clamped around me.  I yelled, "Let
go!" Fuck, he was strong!  He rolled, using his weight to help pin me down.

   "Shhh," he hushed, lips brushing the back of my ear.  "Let me explain to
you how it works.  You don't need a crystal to hypnotize someone."

   "I know that--"

   "All you need is to pay close attention to what you're feeling."

   "Let me go, man!"

   "No, we're going to lie here just a minute.  Just like this.  Be still.
Shhh.  That's it.  Settle down.  See?  Don't you feel different already? 
Just relax."

   "Marcel, seriously--let me go."

   "No, I'm not going to.  Listen to your heartbeat.  Can you feel it? 
Take a deep breath.  What about your neck?  Soon you'll feel the first
little muscles in your neck relax.  A relaxed, pleasant heavy feeling
moving down your neck.  Feel it?"

   "Fuck no--"

   "I think maybe you do.  Don't be afraid of it.  As you focus, that
drowsy, heavy feeling will move into your shoulders as you continue to
focus and listen to my voice.  That's it.  Let your arms relax.  Let them
go loose and limp.  Don't worry.  Let your arms fill with the deeply
relaxed, deeply pleasant feeling spreading through you.  Feel it spreading
down into your chest and lungs as you breathe in ...  and out ...  Yes. 
That's it.  Don't resist.  You might resist if you wanted, but it feels
better when you just let it happen.  Resisting tires you out faster, then
that heavy, pleasant, drowsy, oh-so-drowsiness spreads even faster.  So
focused.  So drowsy.  Without thinking about it, you will soon enter a
deep, peaceful hypnotic trance, with no effort, no resistance.  Just relax
and let it happen, as automatic as dreaming.  You know how pleasant it
feels to fall asleep and dream, and how easily you can forget your dreams
when you awaken.  Yes, that's it.  You are responding very well.  Without
noticing, you are breathing much more easily and freely, and I see you are
drifting into a hypnotic trance.  Yes.  You can enjoy relaxing more and
more.  Your subconscious mind is focused and listening to every word I say,
so it's less important for you to consciously listen to my voice.  Drifting
now.  Letting go completely.  At your own pace.  Just as soon as you are
ready."

   Someone knocked on the door.  "Hey, Marcel?"

   I snapped awake.  Fuck!--He nearly got me!

   "Uh, what're you guys doing?  Am I interrupting?"

   I jerked away from Marcel and stumbled off the bed, shoved by the
visitor, and out the door, hoping nobody saw the erection in my shorts, but
I managed to get out of there.

   Another minute and I'd have been gone.  Fuck, fuck, fuck--that was
close!

   11.

   Jake didn't want to talk about how Professor Johnson and the hypnosis. I
tried to bring it up by asking how the Professor hypnotized him the first
time.  He brushed it off and looked at me as if I was crazy, so I dropped
it.  Maybe I still wasn't completely comfortable talking about hypnosis,
especially since it seemed to lead to gay sex acts.  We'd probably discuss
what was going on later, I guessed.

   At swim practice on Monday, I tried hard not to stare at Jake.  I still
couldn't believe he had sucked me and jacked me off like that.  Sure, he
still sucked at sucking--I mean, easily the worst blowjobs I'd gotten back
during rush and stuff--but I was massively turned-on by the thought of
ordering him around and making him do stuff.  Maybe he'd get better with
more experience.  He was already getting better with practice.  Or maybe
he'd let me fuck his ass.  I was newly fascinated by his ass in his snug
swimsuit, though I'd seen it a thousand times before.  I had to make myself
not stare.

   When practice ended and we poured into the locker room, I was hoping for
a repeat of last week's shower fun, but Coach had other plans.  "You and
you," he barked, pointing at Jake and me.  "My office.  Right fucking now."

   Okay.  No time to get out of our swimsuits.  We followed him into his
office, and Jake closed the door.

   "Have a seat," Coach said.  He sat on the corner of his desk.  Jake and
I sat in the two cheap-ass chairs in front of his desk, the kind whose sole
purpose is to be "functional" and keep your ass off the floor, rather than
be comfortable.

   "So," Coach said to me, "I hear you've been avoiding Professor Johnson.
He's not happy.  We both want you on the same training regime that's worked
so well for Jake here and the rest of the team.  You <i>do</i> want to be
part of this team, don't you?"

   I didn't like the sound of that.  "Yeah.  But you know, Coach, I think
you like it better when I do the training, right?"

   He fingered that purple crystal pendant he wore and regarded me for a
minute.  Then he lifted it away from his chest and into the light.  "I'm in
charge here.  What I say goes, and we're doing it my way."

   I looked him right in the eye and gave him my best Voice Of Authority.
"Are you really in charge, Coach?  You know you like it when Professor
Johnson takes charge.  You liked it the other day when I took charge too. I
bet you want me to take charge again.  Just for a little while.  No one has
to know.  It'll be our secret."

   My voice fell into a commanding drone.  "See?  You do like it.  Our
little secret.  Just listen to my voice.  You too, Jake.  It's easy.  So
easy."

   Jake was kind of slouched down in his chair a little but watching me
skeptically, listening.

   "That's it.  Just listen.  No need to think.  You're tired and it feels
good if you just relax and feel that heavy sleepiness spreading through
you. Drowsy.  Sleepy.  Already so ready for a relaxing hypnotic trance. 
Already relaxing down.  Listening.  Focusing.  No distractions.  Relaxing.
Breathing deeply, slowly.  Beginning now to drift into a relaxing hypnotic
trance.  So pleasant.  So sleepy.  So relaxed and sleepy.  So ready to
follow my easy instructions as you just relax and listen to my voice."

   Fuck, this was a rush!  Jake's eyes closed.  Coach's eyelids drooped and
finally closed too.

   Coach took off his shirt.  Jake lifted his ass off the chair a little
and pushed his swimsuit down, but his legs seemed too limp to kick it off
over his feet, so he settled back down in the chair and just relaxed.  No
problem.  Coach slipped down his shorts and jockstrap.  My dick was
fiercely hard, and I didn't mind that it showed in my swimsuit--hey, their
eyes were closed, right?  Jake's prick was already hard.  His hands around
the base had it pointed straight up in the air, waggling around a little.
Coach's cock kept on stiffening.  I pulled mine out of my swimsuit and held
it the same way Jake held his.  Our cocks were a good match, approximately
the same length and girth.  Jake's cock head was maybe a little thicker. 
Coach's shaft was much thicker than ours, but not as long.

   Jake stroked his cock.  Coach stroked his cock.  I stroked mine.  It
felt good, and I wanted to push things a little further.  But Jake spasmed
and came too quickly.  Fuck!  Okay, there was always Plan B.

   Jake on his knees worshipped Coach's cock and balls with his tongue,
just like the other day.  "That sure feels good, don't it, Coach?" I said.
Coach made this happy moaning sound.  "So, while you're enjoying that nice,
relaxing blowjob, why don't you tell me what Professor Johnson has planned
for me."

   12.

   So that's pretty much that.  Yeah, I know--you're like, <i>Wait--he
hasn't told us why ...  </i> I promised you some closure, and you're
thinking I've left everything dangling.  Who's the narrator here, again? 
That's right--it's me.  I said I was going to tell you my story, and that's
exactly what I did.  Before you start bitching about bad narration again,
I'll get to that closure thing in a moment and tie up most of the plot
threads.

   Don't worry--I saw the last <i>Lord of the Rings</i> movie; I'm not
gonna have this story end, like, seventeen times.  There are, though, two
final scenes for your viewing pleasure.

   For the first scene we'll start with that same Monday afternoon.  I was
walking down the hallway, and I passed by Taz's room.  Marcel and Junior
were in there too.  Taz sat on his narrow bed with his back to the
headboard.  Marcel sat at the foot of the bed, and Junior stood at the
door, like he was practically standing guard.  At first though, Junior was
distracted and didn't see me.  I backed up and watched.

   Taz wore only his briefs.  Marcel was in his boxer shorts too and his
baseball cap.  Taz had the front of his briefs pushed down and tucked up
under his balls, which pushed his very large woody and balls up and made
them seem even more enormous.  Marcel had his boxers open, his cock out
through the fly.  Marcel stroked himself.  Taz stroked himself too.

   Marcel was droning on about something--I heard his voice but didn't make
out the words.  Taz's head nodded forward, eyes closing.  His head and eyes
jerked up and open, only to droop and nod again.  Obviously Marcel
hypno-seducing Taz.  Taz was falling asleep but fighting it, fighting it,
but still falling asleep.  Fighting, then losing, fighting, losing.

   I didn't have that air horn with me.  I could go over there and rap on
the door, really loud, and wake Taz and fuck with their plans--which made
me grin.  Taz and I weren't really allies, but as long as Taz wasn't under
their spell, I wasn't alone in this.  A couple of really loud knocks on the
door would snap Taz out of it.

   But before I could, two things happened.

   First thing: Marcel leaned in and his hand touched Taz's hard-on.  Taz's
hand fell away, limp against his thigh.  Marcel stroked.  I was fascinated
by the sight--Taz's enormous erection, and Marcel's slow, firm strokes. 
They'd done the circle-jerk part before, I decided, which was why Taz
wasn't fighting the hypnosis anymore.  I thought, <i>Is everybody in this
frat having circle jerks but me?</i>

   Taz's eyes were closed now and weren't reopening.  After that tenth
slow, confident stoke, Taz gasped and his cum erupted from the tip of his
erection.  That's how I knew Taz had lost--it's hormonal--after a guy cums,
he feels sleepy and relaxed and docile, and Marcel was going to use that as
he finished hypnotizing Taz.

   It wasn't too late--I could still interrupt them and Taz would snap out
of it.  Marcel hadn't done anything more than get Taz into a trance; he
hadn't gotten his hooks into Taz yet.

   Second thing: Junior saw me watching.  He scowled and stepped out into
hallway, pulling the door quietly closed behind him, and scowled at me. 
With his arms crossed over his chest like that, he made it clear he'd
probably beat the shit out of me or something if I tried to interrupt.  I
decided I better back the fuck up and get out of there.

   Sorry, Taz.  I wouldn't be coming to your rescue this time.

   Now, for the second scene, let's jump to that evening.  I was hanging
out in the great room on the main floor of the frat house.  Based on what
Coach told me, I was safe for the rest of the day---no chance of running
into Professor Johnson.  He wasn't going to make another attempt to
hypnotize me until at least tomorrow.

   About half the guys were around somewhere, and the rest were off at late
classes, part-time jobs, dates, or whatever the fuck they were up to, the
usual shit.  Still, nobody was in the great room but me.  I was parked on
one of the couches and reading through my chemistry notes for that big
midterm the next day, because I just can't study at the library--too
quiet--or in my room.

   Marcel walked by and said hey, and I warily said hey back.  Next thing I
know, Marcel's sitting next to me on the couch, and I mean with his arm and
shoulder pressed firmly up against mine.  "Whatcha doing?" he asked.

   "Studying," I said, tensing up because of that happened last time with
him.

   He made a face.  "Yuck.  That's no fun."

   "Fun has to wait.  I have a killer midterm tomorrow.  I've still got a
bunch of shit to get though."

   His hand cuffed my thigh.  "You sure?  I think the studying can wait a
little while.  There's always time for a little fun." He turned my books on
the table where he could see the titles.  "Wow ...  Chemistry, physics, and
history.  I guess my only question is: how have you not been blowjobbed to
death by the entire cheering squad?" He grin-smirked.

   I scowled.

   He leaned in, undeterred, and whispered, "I can fix that, you know."

   My cock gave a definite twitch, definitely interested.

   I thought, <i>What's going on here?</i> I looked over at Marcel, which
was easy to do with his face inches from mine.  I was pretty sure he was
trying to provoke a reaction out of me because he was always doing that
alpha dog button-pushing shit to see if he could get a response.  I was
determined to play it cool.  He wore a date-quality tee-shirt and shorts, a
backward baseball cap.  He nudged his knee against mine, and his hand gave
my thigh a squeeze.  It could've been just friendly, but it felt like
something more, something linger-y.

   I said to him, "Uh, dude, do you need to go jack off or something?"

   "Wanna come watch?" His wolf-grin moved closer like he was about to kiss
me.  "Again?  Or do you wanna join in this time?"

   Playing it cool or not, this was just a little too uncomfortable and
button-pushy for me, and I had to pull away as best I could, leaning toward
the opposite end of the couch.  "Sorry, Marcel--" I couldn't stop myself
from blushing, which was the worst part.  It was the same as a confession.

   He leaned in closer again.  I pulled away.  Was he fucking with me?  Why
was he doing this?  "What are you doing?" I warned.

   He ran his hand over my chest.  "Nice," he purred.  My dick certainly
stood up and took notice.

   His knuckle brushed my nipple through my tee-shirt.  "Coach Cox and Kyle
told us what you like."

   His breath warmed my neck.  "You like blowjobs, and you like being in
charge."

   His fingertips teased down my fluttering stomach.  Barely a whisper in
my ear: "Sometimes letting go can be fun too."

   What the fuck was he doing, and why the hell was he teasing me like
this? If he was trying to seduce me, he sure had my cock hard enough
already to burst out of my shorts.

   His nose brushed my cheek.  "You know you want this, and you know it's
going to happen.  Stop making a big deal out of it.  Just let it happen."

   His body heat flooded me across the narrow space separating us.  If I'd
turned my head a little, we could have kissed.  I knew Marcel wasn't doing
this because he wanted to.  He was only doing it because my name had risen
to the top of his to-do job list.  Marcel was just follow orders.  This was
the first time I felt how pitying someone and wanting to fuck them can get
all tangled up in your head.  There's overwhelming sadness, and meanwhile
you've got a rodney that could hammer nails.  Is that sick?  Yeah, I think
that's sick.

   He pulled back and gave me a wink and his patented leer-grin.  "Well,
when you change your mind, you know where to find me." <i>When</i>, the
cocky bastard said, not <i>if</i>.  And then he was off the couch and
strolling down the hall that led to the stairs to his room, humming a
little tune as he went.

   I tried to study.  I really did.  I tried to read.  I tried to make the
sentences make sense in my head.  I tried to make sense of my notes.  I
tried for at least five or six minutes.  But all I could think of was
Marcel up there jacking off--that and his invitation.  I knew it was a
mistake to act interested, and an even bigger mistake to let him know how
my cock had twitched when he squeezed my thigh.  Fuck, if he said anything
to the other guys ...!  Nope, there was no way in hell I was taking him up
on his invitation.

   But--<i>crap!</i>--now I was so horny I couldn't concentrate worth shit
on chemistry.  I kept at it for at least another ten minutes, though it
felt like a hundred times as long, and the words just kept going
<i>blah-blah-blah</i> in my head without making any sense at all.

   Okay, it was close to time to get some sleep.  I gathered up my stuff
and headed upstairs.

   My room was on the third floor.  I should have gone all the way up.  Or
I should have gone all the way up to my little attic hideaway.  But I
stopped on the second floor instead.  Marcel's floor.  I had absolutely no
reason to be there that time of night, but there I was.

   I was just going to walk by Marcel's door.  Yeah, that was it.  Just
walk by.  Chances are, either his door would be closed, or if it was open
he'd be doing something mundane.  Jacking off with his door open, like that
hallway circle-jerk I'd spied on the other night?  Highly unlikely.  Yeah.

   His door was open halfway.  Inside, there's Peter and Junior.  No
Marcel--not that I could see--but I could see plenty of what was going on
with Junior and Peter.  Junior had on a white wife-beater, just like the
other night when I'd spied on their hallway circle jerk, but he was naked
from the waist down.  And Peter?--he was just plain naked.  They were
standing up, Peter leaning back against the far wall, and Junior leaning in
kissing and licking at Peter's neck, and they both had hard-as-hell cocks,
sticking nearly straight up.  My jaw dropped.  I was staring, but who the
hell cared?  There was no one else in the hallway to catch me, and they
left the door open like that, like they wanted somebody to catch them. 
Maybe they weren't having sex yet, but they were definitely well into their
little stroll down Foreplay Road.

   Suddenly the floor creaked behind me, and suddenly there was an arm
around my waist and I was rushed through the door and into their room. 
"Look who I caught enjoying the show, guys," Marcel said.  He'd shed his
shirt, shorts, and shoes, but he still wore his ever-present baseball cap
and a pair of boxers.

   "Uh--wuh--wait," I stammered, "it's not what it looks like"--even though
it was and I was so busted.  I had no idea what to say next.  Marcel hauled
me over to Junior and Peter.  They grinned and didn't seem surprised in the
slightest.

   "It's about time you joined in," Marcel chuckled.  "I was about to think
you'd never take the hint."

   "It's not like--"

   "It's exactly like." And then Marcel kissed at my neck--aw, fuck, that
sure felt nice--and Junior and Peter were surrounding me too.

   I said, "Guys, what the fuck?" They pushed my back against the wall and
they were all over me.  Junior's shirt went flying this way, and Marcel's
boxers and baseball cap went flying that way, which meant all three of them
were naked now, which made my dick jump.  Junior and Peter pressed up
against me, their hard-ons rubbing my arm and my hip as they kissed and
licked at me.  I had to stop myself from reaching for their dicks.  I
turned my face away from their kisses, but I couldn't push any of them
away, not for long anyway before they came right back.  Two of the pressing
mass of bodies had my arms pinned back against the wall.  Someone else
fumbled with my tee-shirt, pushed it up on my stomach, and then went after
my pants.  Soon I was feeling cool air and warm skin brushing across my
hard dick.  Fuck it--with naked bodies rubbing up against someone like
this, what guy wouldn't pop a boner?

   "You really need to loosen up some, buddy," someone said.  My roommate
Jake.  He stood in the doorway, Professor Johnson right behind him.  The
Professor had his hand on Jake's bare shoulder, and was probably
responsible for the glazed look in Jake's eyes and the blissed-out smile.
Fuck!--The Professor must have known I was hypnotizing Coach Cox and fed
him false information to trap me!

   "We got him, Professor," Junior declared happily, "just like you asked.
We accomplished our job."

   "So you did.  Very well, boys, you may cum--after he does.  Jake, why
don't you do the honors," the Professor said.

   "Sure thing, Professor." Jake grinned.  Shirtless, he took two steps
toward us, pushed off his sweatpants, commando, and dove naked into the
squirming mess of arms and shoulders and skin crushed up against me.

   Professor Johnson said, "Yes, relaxing sounds like a good idea, doesn't
it.  We should all help him relax." He held up that purple crystal on a
gold chain, holding it in the air where I could see it over somebody's
head. "Focus.  Relax.  Don't fight it--don't fight me.  Let's work
together. I want what you want.  We can work together to make it happen. 
Relax and focus."

   But who could focus with all this going on?  My frat brothers were
grinning, giggling, having themselves a lot of fun.  I felt something warm
and wet on my hard-on, a tongue, and then a mouth engulfed the head.  Three
of them kept me pinned against the wall, writhing and kissing and licking,
while the fourth sucked my cock.

   Process of elimination.  Junior's head was licking at my left nipple. 
Peter's was in front, blocking most of my view as he nibbled at my neck and
purred happily alongside my ear.  Marcel's hair appeared and disappeared to
my right.  That meant the sucking mouth belonged to ...  my roommate Jake.
Jake was sucking my cock.  And finally he was doing a pretty decent job at
it!  No teeth this time.  It sure felt good.  I groaned my appreciation.

   Maybe Professor Johnson was still talking, but who was paying attention?
Certainly not me.  I was getting my nipples licked, which felt good and
ticklish at the same time, and it made me giggle along with the guys.  I
was getting my neck and ears kissed, and various things were happening to
all the various other body parts that somebody managed to reach, and in the
center of this constellation of sparkly sensations was the feeling of
Jake's mouth licking around my cock head, his one hand around my dick
shaft, and his other hand tugging gently at my sensitive ball sack.  I
sighed contentedly and surrendered to what they were doing to me.

   "I'm gonna cum," I whispered just before Peter tried to kiss me again,
and this time I let him.  His tongue invaded my mouth and tasted like
spearmint, and mine chased after his, kissing back as intensely as he
kissed me.  I felt my climax building.  Jake's hand slid from my ball sack
to my ass, and his finger thrummed back and forth over my butthole.  My
head got all tangled up in wondering whether Jake was gonna stick his
finger in my unexplored hole and whether I'd like it.  Just the thought-

   My body tensed and tightened as they kept me pressed against the wall.
My cock burned with that familiar fire, and my balls pump-pump-pumped out
my load.  I felt it overflow Jake's mouth and coat his fingers, and the
slickening sensation fired up my orgasm even more.

   "Fuck!  Holy fuck ..." I groaned happily, sagging back against the wall,
spent and happy.  I'd worry about the consequences later.  Right then, my
whole world was the happy warm limpness weighing down my arms and my legs,
the comfortable heat of my friends' muscular bodies pressed against mine,
and that contently spent feeling I was enjoying in my cock and balls.  I
moaned my appreciation and shuddered through a final orgasm aftershock. 
Peter chuckled and kissed me again, and again I let him.  Consequences
later.

   Peter had one arm holding me against the wall, and his free shoulder and
arm moved--he was jacking off, fast and furious.  Marcel and Junior were
too--even Jake, between my legs and nuzzling my balls, was vibrating as he
pumped at his erection.

   "Gonna cum!" Marcel panted.

   "Me too," Junior growled.

   "Fuck, yeah!" Peter gasped.

   Jake moaned into my ball sack.

   "Cumming!" Marcel choked out.  He pushed his hips forward and I felt his
cockhead smack my hip over and over as he flogged his rod, then wet heat on
my skin as he squirted his load on me.

   Junior: "Here it comes!  Here it--Ahhh!--Fuck!" His face twisted, mouth
open.  I felt his cum hit my arm and ribs.

   Between my legs, Jake groaned and unleashed his cum against my leg.

   "Move," Peter gasped, pushing Marcel aside.  "Lemme in there. 
Fuck!--Oh, man!--Fuhh!--uhh!" His cock fired his spunk against my stomach.

   All of them collapsed, happy and grinning, against me, smearing their
cum into my skin--which I decided felt totally sexy, instead of gross.

   Somebody cleared his throat: "<i>Ahem!</i>"

   Junior and Peter turned their heads to look at Professor Johnson, which
meant I could see the Professor again around Peter's head.  The slough of
body parts surrounding me still had me pinned to the wall, but the press of
flesh felt comforting in my afterglow.  I now understood the attraction of
cuddling.  I needed a nap after that strong climax.  I was kind of glad
they were holding me there, because I'm not sure I could have stood up on
my own.  That's how strong my orgasm was.

   "You'll have to forgive them," Professor Johnson growled to me, clearly
irritated.  "I enlisted the boys to help `recruit' you and a few others,
and I suggested they would have to wait to ejaculate until they got you
secured and ready.  They've been feeling understandably ...  pent up these
last few days, especially since you decided to disrupt my timetable.  I'm
willing to overlook your recent interference.  Coach Cox tells me you've
got the beginnings of a good technique.  If you behave and cooperate,
perhaps I'll help you refine it."

   "Hit me with your best shot, Professor.  Hey, I've got a chemistry
midterm tomorrow--how about improving my study skills while you're at it?"
I teased, still grinning stupidly after my orgasm.  Truth is, I was curious
about being hypnotized.  How would it feel?  What would it be like to know
I was following someone else's orders?  Hypnotizing Jake and Coach Cox had
been fun.  I knew I'd do what the Professor said if it meant I got to take
charge and hypnotize some guys too sometimes, like Marcel.

   The Professor didn't know that, though, not yet.  "Defiant to the end,
eh?  If you hadn't skipped the special practice meetings, you'd already be
seeing an improvement in your study abilities like the rest of the swim
team.  Isn't that right, Jake?"

   "Yessir, Professor," Jake sighed happily from somewhere in the mass of
flesh against my legs.

   "Now, if you're quite comfortable, perhaps we can get on with the
program."

   I needed sleep.  I knew I wouldn't be able to hold out long.  Beside me,
Marcel made a purring little hum--a contented sound--in my ear and nibbled
at my neck.

   The Professor spoke in a firm tone, like my Voice Of Authority but
smoother, a voice that just made you want to listen.  "Focus on how relaxed
you feel now.  Focus on it, and feel it deepen, feel it double, feel it
happening.  You had a good run, but the time has come to surrender, time to
accept what you can't prevent."

   "Now you're going to see how it's <i>really</i> done," Marcel said and
nuzzled my neck.

   <i>Okay</i>, I thought to myself, <i>now Professor Johnson is going to
hypnotize us--I knew it was gonna happen--it's cool we're all going to be
hypnotized together</i>.

   "Focus on the crystal.  Focus on that light, pleasant feeling that fills
you as you focus on it, the feeling that starts in the corners of your eyes
as you look deeply, so deeply into it, and moves through your cheeks and up
into your forehead too.  As I continue speaking, as you continue focusing,
that feeling grows stronger and stronger.  Soon you'll feel the first
slight trickle of that relaxed, pleasant heavy feeling moving down your
neck.  Then, as you focus, focus so deeply, that drowsy, heavy feeling will
move into your shoulders as you continue to focus and listen to my
suggestions.  Let your arms dangle loose and limp, filling with the deeply
relaxed, deeply pleasant feeling that is spreading through you.  Feel it
spreading now into your chest and lungs as you breathe in ...  and out...
Drifting now.  Letting go completely.  Let go when you're ready.  So
relaxed now.  Let go."

   To my left, Junior sighed and settled against me, eyes closed, head
rolling against my shoulder.

   "You can continue becoming more relaxed and comfortable as you focus,
even if your sleepy eyes close, your drowsy, drowsy eyes, closing,
closing."

   From down in front of me where he still knelt, I heard Jake groan
quietly, and I felt his weight sink against my leg.  Marcel and Peter
settled alongside me too.  Their bodies against mine felt reassuring and
good.  I was so fucking tired, so fucking drowsy.  I fought to keep my eyes
open, just a little longer, not wanting to miss anything--fight it off and
enjoy this relaxed lethargy just a little longer.  My dick was getting hard
again.  Keeping my eyes open against the pleasant sleepy feeling was so
difficult, too difficult ...

   "As you surrender to the deepening comfort, you don't have to move or
talk or let anything distract you.  No distractions.  You are getting
closer to a deep hypnotic trance.  Nearly there.  Nearly asleep.  Yes. 
It's inevitable.  And you realize now that you don't care whether you slip
into a deep trance.  Being hypnotized is always a very pleasant, completely
relaxing experience.  Deep, peaceful relaxation, deep sleep.  Perfect, deep
sleep.  You will be really happy that you let me hypnotize you.  Every time
I hypnotize you, it will keep becoming more enjoyable, more of this relaxed
pleasure.  Getting closer.  Let yourself fall asleep now.  Falling asleep
now.  Sleep.  Falling.  Sleep.  Sleep now."

   There was probably more, but that was the point I closed my eyes like
the Professor said, let my head lay against Junior's, and surrendered into
sleep.
   * * *