Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: mksmith@metronet.com (Michael Kalen Smith)
Subject: Trances (mc,hypnosis)
Date: Sun, 24 Apr 1994 14:28:24 GMT

Copyright 1993 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are
reserved.

			       Trances
				  by
			   Michael K. Smith
			       Part One

	It wasn't that I didn't have a pretty good reputation with the
girls in high school and college, but my successes weren't
spectacular, either. I did all right, plenty of dates most of the
time, two girls with whom I went steady for almost a year - the usual.
I wasn't a jock, or a student government leader, or anything, but
neither were most guys. It all seemed perfectly normal... but that was
before my friend Jeff's older brother taught me how to hypnotize
people.

	I was doing my freshman year of college locally, to save
money, when Edward came home from one of the big-time universities
where he was a senior psych major. His grades were very good and he
apparently had an excellent shot at one of the better graduate schools
the following year. Edward's particular fascination was the workings
of human will power. He wanted to understand the forces that drove
people. That meant trying to nullify someone's will power so he could,
in effect, take it out and study it, see what made it tick. And, for
Edward, that meant hypnosis.

	To him, hypnotism was a kind of crowbar that he could use to
pry the lid off his subject's mind, so he could investigate its
innards. He was very good at it, too. He was able to hypnotize his
brother in less than five minutes, even though Jeff knew perfectly
well what he was doing and probably tried to resist. I know Edward was
able to put *me* under in nothing flat, even though I'm ordinarily a
highly suspicious and skeptical person. I wouldn't have thought I'd
make a good hypnotic subject - but I have a polaroid of myself,
barefoot with pants legs rolled up, and an actual lampshade on my
head, capering about in a particularly silly way. That proves it.

	The odd thing is, being a rather reserved person for a
teenager and careful of my dignity, I would have resisted consciously
and strongly any attempt by anyone to get me to behave like that, but
I can clearly remember being completely aware of my actions at the
time. I just didn't *mind* that Edward had me behaving in such an
embarrassingly foolish way. It seemed, at the time, that it was all my
own idea,... and a very good idea, at that.

	When I emerged from the hypnotic state (Edward had told me
that I would feel not at all resentful, and I wasn't), I was very
curious about the old story that you couldn't make someone do
something against their will under hypnosis. He laughed.

	"Well, you can't just tell a subject to shoot someone, for
instance. But you could probably tell them they're shooting at a
paper target on a firing range - and if you convince them of it,
they'll shoot. Especially if they've been on a range before and know
they can't `hurt' the target. It's not a matter of overcoming the
subject's will power so much as doing an end run around it."

	I thought about that. "This is getting interesting," I said.
"Could you teach me how to hypnotize someone?"

	Edward was reluctant. He didn't want some irresponsible kid
poking randomly into things he didn't understand. But I was a serious
young man and I could be pretty persuasive myself. He finally gave in
and instructed me in the techniques of seducing a person's attention
until they had entered a trance state. No pendulum-like pocket
watches, no rotating spiral disks, no monotonic chanting, no "tricks"
of any kind. It was a matter of focusing the subject's entire
attention on yourself, a little at a time (though it actually happened
pretty fast if it was going to happen at all), until your suggestions
regarding their thoughts and behavior seemed to them to originate
within their own mind. It was a technique some people could master
easier than others, of course. And it turned out that I was a natural
at it - better than Edward, in fact, once I'd had some practice.

	My first subject, coincidentally, was Edward and Jeff's kid
sister, Sharon. She didn't really know me and she had no reason to
trust me. In fact, as a typical thirteen-year-old, she had no reason
to put much trust in *any* teenager much older than herself. But I was
able to put her under within a few minutes. As a test, I gave her a
few pieces of licorice and told her it was dark chocolate. I like
licorice, which was why I was carrying it around, but both brothers
assured me Sharon loathed the stuff. But she grinned with delight as
she ate it, and even thanked me for the treat very politely when I
brought her out of the trance! I knew this could be a source of Power,
with a capital "P".

	I had been somewhat interested in psychology already, but when
I transferred to the university as a sophomore the next year,
psychology became my official major. I also began thinking seriously
about pre- med and a career in psychiatry. It seemed a fascinating
opportunity to get "under the hood" of the human mind; I was beginning
to understand why Edward was so absorbed in the subject. But my new
skills at hypnosis also proved to be of more immediate use.

	Kathy was a cute little thing, a freshman I met during my
junior year, who looked closer to fifteen than the "eighteen-and-a-
half" she claimed. She was bright and friendly and open - and
trusting. A perfect subject, I thought.

	I had spent nearly a year honing my abilities on friends and
acquaintances, especially those who, like me, lived in the dorm. I had
never asked anyone to do anything that could be considered immoral or
illegal - just things they would not choose to do if they were in
control of their own actions. Things like a guy putting on a girl's
dress and strolling around the dorm completely oblivious to the
laughter trailing after him.

	Actually, I only went that far once, with a subject who was
almost universally disliked; he held no grudge afterward (I'd told him
he wouldn't) and no one else complained of the little show he had been
instructed to put on. More often, I had shy subjects get up and sing
bawdy songs and girls recite dirty limericks to strangers: Things that
were only mildly embarrassing, and which the subjects probably got a
secret thrill from afterward.

	I also learned the hard way to phrase instructions so as to
obtain exactly the results I wanted. One guy in the dorm had a bad
nervous habit of biting his nails; his cuticles were frequently
bloody. He was willing to let me attempt a bit of hypnotherapy, but I
screwed up badly. I told him that when he had the urge to bite his
nails, he simply wouldn't be able to.

	The unforeseen result was that he was physically unable to
move his hand to his mouth and he went into a serious panic.
Fortunately for both of us, I always left a post-hypnotic "back-door,"
to make it easier to put the subject under the next time, and I was
able to calm him down and modify the instructions: When he wanted to
bite his nails he would remind himself that it was ruining the
condition and appearance of his hands and he would lose the *desire*
to gnaw at them.

	That was much more successful. After a few weeks of aborted
hand- to-mouth motions - which didn't interfere with eating or note-
taking - he had conditioned himself not to bite his nails at all. The
desire had gone, the habit had disappeared, and he was delighted. I
suspected he would probably adopt some other nervous habit, but I
wasn't a therapist yet! Anyway, I was learning, always learning. And
then I moved to the university and I met Kathy.

	My "in" with Kathy was her infatuation with poetry. She loved
having her favorite verses read aloud to her, in fact: The classic
romantic. So we sat under a tree on campus one Friday afternoon and I
read CHILDE HAROLD to her in a quietly dramatic voice. She leaned
against the tree trunk, eyes half-closed, drinking in the music of the
words. After ten minutes of listening to my voice, she had virtually
put *herself* under. When I asked her to repeat a series of nonsense
syllables, she did so without hesitation. She was suggestible and I
had already worked out what I would do to take advantage of the
situation I had created.

	"Listen to me carefully, Kathy. We only met a few weeks ago,
but you're already beginning to have romantic thoughts about me - and
only me. You will find yourself daydreaming about me, and it will
happen a little more with each passing day. After a week or so, you
will wonder if you're falling in love with me. The sound of my voice
will give you exciting little chills, my touch will make you feel warm
and loving, you will gradually begin to fantasize about a physical
relationship with me. Nothing serious - sitting on my lap so you can
be close to me, kissing me, wanting me to put my arms around you and
hold you. All the things you read about in romantic novels. You will
be completely aware of your growing feelings and your increasing
desires for me, and they will all seem completely natural. They will
make you very happy. You will begin to do everything you can think of
to win me over to you.

	"Most important, you will quickly come to trust me in every
way, won't you? That's one of the main reasons you will begin to fall
in love with me - because you know you can trust me absolutely and you
know I would never hurt you.

	"Now: You will not remember this conversation and you will not
remember that you were in a trance. You've just been sitting here,
feeling warm and happy, listening to me read you poetry. Do you
understand?" She smiled slightly and nodded. "But you will follow the
instructions I've given you, won't you? And you will slip easily into
a deep trance state whenever you hear my voice - and only *my* voice -
say the words `Dive, Kathy, dive.' Repeat the words that will put you
into a pleasant trance when you hear my voice speak them to you."

	"Dive, Kathy, dive," she murmured, and giggled. I wondered for
a moment if she could be faking but quickly realized the giggles were
just part of her happy frame of mind. Kathy was just a giggler, and a
very cute one. One more little test, though.

	"Kathy, I want you to repeat the following words to me,
softly, but as if you really mean them: `Fuck me in the ass until I
scream for mercy!' Go ahead."

	She licked her lips and squirmed and her eyes opened wider.
She fixed me with a hot look. "Fuck me in the ass until I scream for
mercy... !" Her voice was soft but husky, almost smoky. What a turn-
on!

	"Okay, now you'll forget that I ever asked you to say that,
Kathy, and you'll forget that you ever said it. I'm going to count
backward from five and you will gradually float up out of your trance.
When I reach `one' you will be fully awake again. You will not
remember having been in a trance but you *will* follow your
instructions."

	I settled myself again, a polite few inches away from her, and
looked at the volume of Byron in my lap. "Five,... four,... three,...
" She was blinking and trying to focus. "Two,... one." She looked over
at me and I could practically see her mind shifting gears. There were
new thoughts in her head, now. Thoughts about me.

	I continued to read the lines of verse from where I had left
off, but she was paying more attention to me than to the words. She
licked her lips as before and I thought I saw a slight tinge of pink
at the tops of her ears and around her collarbone. She leaned toward
me a little without even realizing it.

	I marked the place in the book with one finger and closed it.
"Kathy, I'm afraid I have to get back to the dorm and work on a term
paper. Uh, would you like to go out tomorrow night? Maybe a movie? Or
we could just go for a coke and a stroll... " I was careful not to act
too sure of myself.

	"Oh, yes! I'd *love* to go out with you!" And she blushed a
little at her own enthusiasm. I was in.

	The next evening, Kathy and I walked down to the multiplex at
the shopping center near campus and took in a movie. We held hands and
cuddled and I was aware that she seemed to be watching me more than
the screen. And afterward, when we stopped at the Baskin-Robbins for a
cone, she continued to study me in a bit of a daze - not a "trance"
daze, just an ordinary adolescent one. (The fuzzy pink clouds were
almost visible... )

	When I kissed her under the trees outside her dorm, she didn't
hesitate at all but plastered herself against me and kissed me back
with exciting eagerness. Perhaps I could have grabbed her crotch
through her jeans, but I didn't want to push my luck and I'm not quite
*that* crude in any case. I settled for stroking her curvy little
bottom, with an occasional squeeze, and Kathy kissed me all the
harder. She would blossom under romantic attack much more satisfyingly
than from a blunt assault, and it was also a lot more fun.

	By our third date, she had arranged for her dorm roommate to
be out so she could sneak me in for a few hours. We left the lights
low in her room and I carefully unbuttoned her blouse as I nibbled on
her neck. She was shaking a little from nervousness but there was no
fear or hesitation. When I knelt and slid her jeans down her smooth,
silky legs, she moaned in the back of her throat and urged me to
hurry. Foreplay is pleasurable torture, though, and I had no
intention of being rushed.

	Then she was naked and I sat on the end of her bed, still
fully clothed, and smiled as my gaze traveled the length of her body.
Her eyes glowed; it was obvious she enjoyed being the object of my
attention.

	"Dive, Kathy, dive," I said quietly. Her expression didn't
really change but she blinked and her attention fixed on me
absolutely. "Yes," she whispered.

	"Kathy, what are you feeling right now? What are you hoping
will happen here?"

	"I feel sexy as hell," she said with a breathless laugh. "I'm
standing here on display for you and I love it! But only for you... "
She licked her lips. "I guess I hope we'll make love."

	"Are you a virgin, Kathy?"

	"No,... but I've only had sex with my boy friend in high
school a few times. This is different," she added with a Significant
Look.

	"Kathy, your arousal is increasing more and more. Can you feel
it?"

	Her eyelids drooped a bit. "Oh, yes... " Her hands moved
hesitantly to her breasts and she shook out her hair. "Please, take
your clothes off... " she murmured.

	"Not yet, Kathy. You want to show off for me first, don't you?
You want me to appreciate just how sexy your body is. And it would be
*very* sexy if you masturbated while I watched, wouldn't it?" I got up
from the bed and moved over to my jacket, draped over her desk chair.

	Her respiration had increased. "Um-hmmm," she said under her
breath as she began to roll her nipples between her fingers and
stretch them out from her body. I dug the Polaroid out of my jacket
pocket and snapped it open.

	"Kathy, lie on the bed and jack yourself off for me. Take your
time and enjoy it, sweetheart. Your breasts and your cunt will be much
more sensitive than usual and you'll really get into this, won't you?"
She crawled onto her bed and squirmed around on her back so that her
legs were stretched out and her thighs parted. One hand moved down to
her already moist pussy while the other continued to massage her
nipple.

	"I'm going to take some pictures, Kathy, but you will ignore
that, you won't think about it, you won't even realize I'm doing it.
All you'll be aware of is that I'm watching you masturbate and I'm
enjoying it very much, it's really turning me on, Kathy - and that's
turning *you* on, isn't it? Tell me what you're thinking, sweetheart."

	"Oh, God, what would your cock feel like and I love being
naked and feeling myself up and you're watching me do it and it feels
so good, so good, God, it's so nice, my clit feels like a whole penis
maybe and I wish you'd do this to me but I know you like to watch me
do it so I like to do it for you,... " She paused for a breath as both
hands separated her lips and one finger slipped inside.

	I took a couple of shots and they came out very well, even in
the low light. I had no thoughts about blackmail or anything; I just
wanted data for my private studies... and souvenirs, of course.

	It didn't take long for Kathy to work herself up to a high
pitch and I took several more snapshots of her with her eyes half-
closed and her mouth twisted with passion. As she hit the first
orgasmic crest I used up the remainder of my film pack. She was really
beautiful when she gasped and sobbed with her cunt full of fingers and
her rigid nipples about to explode. But I didn't want her in a trance
when we had sex.

	"Kathy, that was wonderful! You have no idea how sexy you are
when you do that; it really does turn me on. Are you happy about
that?"

	"Oh, yes, that's what I want! I want to turn you on so you'll
make love to me - please?"

	I was already stripping off my clothes. "Of course I will,
sweetheart, I want very much to make love to you! Now, when I get my
underwear off, you will come out of your trance - with no hesitation,
no regrets, no embarrassment about jacking off for me, okay? You
enjoyed doing it and I enjoyed watching it, and that's all that
matters, isn't it?"

	She responded with another "Um-hmmm" and then blinked and
smiled broadly as I held up my shorts and then tossed them on the
floor. She opened her arms to me as I crawled onto the bed and we
spent a little time kissing and caressing and stroking. Kathy was a
sweet girl and if I had conscience pangs they were subdued by the
conviction that she had been doing what she really wanted to do, if
only she had the nerve.

	We spent a very enjoyable couple of hours thrashing about on
her old dorm-issue bed, exploring each other's bodies with hands and
mouths, and finally fucking each other into sweaty exhaustion. She was
enthusiastic and uninhibited, which I wasn't sure she could have been
without hypnotic encouragement. I knew perfectly well I was using her,
but I preferred to think I was also giving her something back.

	I had Kathy on a string for three months before her increasing
dependence on me really began to worry me. I had made myself the most
important thing in her life and that had consequences I hadn't
imagined. She hung on my every word and thought, she got jittery when
she was away from me, and she went to tears if she thought I was
displeased with her. She became anxious every time we had sex, gnawing
her lip if I didn't display unbridled enthusiasm at her every
movement. Moreover, her grades were beginning to suffer, as were her
relationships with other people. Her girlfriends began directing
hostile stares at me when Kathy and I went out together.

	I won't say it wasn't fun, though. I could speak a code word
to her in public and watch while she enjoyed a small orgasm. And it
was kind of nice to have a very cute girl leaning over my shoulder and
nibbling on my ear while I had a hamburger with the guys at
MacDonald's. Nevertheless, my original instructions to Kathy hadn't
been well- structured or properly thought out. And since I had to
modify them anyway, I decided to "free" her, to allow her to continue
with her own life (and get out of mine).

	After putting her under, I asked, "Kathy, suppose for a minute
that I wasn't in your life; is there some other guy you know - or
would like to know - who's available and to whom you are really
attracted?" She hesitated and seemed a little fearful. "Go ahead,
sweetheart, it's okay. You aren't betraying me and I won't get mad; if
I wasn't interested, I wouldn't have asked."

	"Well,... there's Bobby Rinehart, in my Government class. He's
really cute and he's not going with anyone. I've seen him watching me
in class, too - but I don't mean - "

	"No, Kathy, that's quite all right. Now, this is what's going
to happen: Over the next week or so, you will gradually come to
realize that you and I don't have as much of a future together as you
thought we had. We won't have a fight and there won't be any hard
feelings from either of us. You will still be fond of me and I will
still be fond of you. But we will agree, quite amicably, that we
aren't really in love and that we should begin dating other people.
You will think about Bobby Rinehart and if you decide - for *yourself*
- that you'd like to go out with him, you will approach him
yourself,... or any other guy you think you might enjoy dating. Do you
understand, Kathy? You must not be shy about beginning a relationship
with Bobby, or anyone else. You will not remember this conversation,
but when you wake up tomorrow morning you will begin acting on your
new instructions, won't you?"

	We had a very nice "last supper" that evening, munching and
nibbling on each other. Two days later, Kathy said rather quietly, "We
need to talk about us."

	It wasn't quite as painless for me as I had expected. Even
though Kathy had been in a condition of servitude, I found I was going
to miss her attentive presence. That was the penance I had to pay,
though, for having Kathy in the first place. At least I had arranged
it so that we would remain friends.

			       Part Two

	The months with Kathy had been an interesting experiment and I
had learned a lot. But I had become certain that I had only released
feelings in her that were already there. Kathy had already been
attracted to me or I wouldn't have been reading Byron to her that
afternoon. I had removed her inhibitions, perhaps, but I hadn't
convinced her to do anything she might not have done anyway. I needed
to find a more naturally resistant subject. I wanted to discover just
how far my power extended. And I had my chance when I went home for
the Christmas holidays.

	I had two weeks of down-time before the spring term began and
I was mostly hanging around the house, reading and watching TV, and
visiting friends. Generally goofing off. Of course, I made a point of
dropping by to see my old friend Jeff, who had transferred to a
different college. As it turned out, he was off on a Christmas
shopping expedition with his mother and the door was answered by his
licorice-hating little sister, Sharon - my very first hypnotic
subject. She was fourteen now, a very cute, bouncy little gumdrop with
a baby face and a sweet smile, and the moment I saw her I knew what my
next experiment would be.

	"Hi, Sharon - you've really grown up since I saw you last
year! You remember me, don't you?"

	She blanked for a moment but then recognition appeared on her
face. "Oh - yeah! Jeff's friend! Um, you hypnotized me once, didn't
you?" She opened the screen and motioned me in.

	I followed her into the living room, watching the jaunty
twitch of her little bottom beneath the tight denim of her jeans. She
was wearing her hair below her shoulders and it bounced and swayed in
shiny waves against the back of her pink sweatshirt. God, she was so
full of adolescent female energy.

	"You remember being hypnotized, do you?"

	"Oh, sure! You don't forget something like that. I was so
surprised that I went under so easily. I remember, you gave me some
chocolate, too, didn't you?"

	"Do you remember what a post-hypnotic trigger is, Sharon?"

	She turned as she reached the living room. "A post-what?"

	"Dive, Sharon, dive," I said quietly.

	Her puzzled expression slowly cleared and she smiled happily.
"Yes... " I learned very early to always leave a back door.

	"Sharon, I'm going to ask you some easy questions. You know
the answers and you will be absolutely honest and candid. And you
won't feel any reason to be embarrassed, will you? You know I'm your
friend, don't you?" She nodded and cocked her head attentively. "You
know I like you, Sharon, and that I have only the best intentions,
right?"

	"Sure." We sat down on the sofa, side by side.

	"Is there anyone else in the house right now? Is Jeff due back
anytime soon?"

	"Nope, I'm all by myself. I don't expect Mom and Jeff for at
least a couple of hours. Why?"

	"Because I don't want us to be disturbed. Now remember, Sharon
- be honest with your answers and don't be embarrassed, either. You
can tell me absolutely anything, can't you?" She nodded again. "Does
it usually embarrass you to talk about sex, Sharon?"

	"Um,... no, I guess not - not when I'm talking to you,
anyway." Very good, I thought.

	"Most teenaged girls get horny - right, Sharon? And they
masturbate. How old were you when you started doing that? How did you
discover it? And how often do you do it?"

	"Oh, I found out about getting sexy a couple of years ago; I
guess I was eleven or twelve. My jammies were a little too small and
the top rubbed against my titties and they got tingly, sort of. My
friend Debbie told me she got hot when she wore tight jeans without
underpants, so I tried that, too. That got me really horny and I
started rubbing myself in bed. I guess I get off once or twice a week,
now." She sounded very matter-of- fact. Terrific, I thought; the timer
was sure ticking on *this* little sex bomb.

	"That sounds about right, I think. Have you ever masturbated
in public? In school, or on the bus, or someplace?"

	She giggled mischievously. "Yeah, I've done it on the school
bus a couple of times. If you put your legs close together and squeeze
the muscles just right, you can get off that way! The bus bouncing
helps, too." She was even sexier when she grinned.

	"And I did it once in science class, with my pencil eraser,
because Mr. Edwards is really cute! Even if he is almost thirty. All
the girls have the hots for him, I think. I know a couple of girls who
have used their fingers to jack off in the showers in gym, but I've
never done that. People might think I was a lesbian!" She laughed and
her hips squirmed - which suggested something.

	"Sharon, while we're sitting here talking about sex, you're
getting really horny, aren't you? You really want to jack off right
here, don't you?"

	"Ummm, yeah, I really do... " Her voice had lowered in volume
and pitch and she squirmed even more. "Can I, uh,... ?"

	"Yes, of course you can, Sharon. Just pretend I'm not here and
I can't see what you're doing - but keep answering my questions." The
girl scooted her ass forward on the sofa beside me and her thighs
parted as her hand glided down to cup the crotch of her jeans. She
began massaging and rubbing the denim between her legs rhythmically
but her attention didn't wander from my face, though she licked her
lips a couple of times. The side of her knee was pressed against my
thigh and I could feel the small muscular twitches as she climbed
higher.

	"Sharon," I continued softly, "close your eyes and picture the
sexiest things you can think of, as if they were on a movie screen in
your head. The pictures are very clear. What do you see while you
masturbate? Tell me what you see, Sharon."

	She drew a shaky breath. "It's Darlene's brother, Phil. He's
two years older than Darlene and me. I'm over at Darlene's house and I
go upstairs to use the bathroom, and Phil's bedroom door is open a
crack, and I hear these... sounds. And I can't help it: I go over real
quietly and peek in." Her voice was low and she was breathing faster
as she relived the experience.

	"All he's wearing is a T-shirt; his jeans and his shoes are on
the floor. I've never seen a guy that old naked before! He's holding
his,... his penis. He's, like, jerking off, and his cock is real big
and stiff- looking, and I wonder what it would feel like if he put his
cock in my - between my legs. It looks so big - but it must fit,
people do it all the time. And he's moving his hand faster and faster,
and I'm getting hot just watching him, I'm getting wet down there, I
can feel it... "

	Sharon's hand was moving in tighter circles and her pelvis was
jerking a little. She was sure as hell getting *me* hot! "Go ahead,
Sharon - what happens next? What does Phil do? And what do you do?"

	"I put my hand between my legs, feeling myself up. And Phil's
bouncing on the bed and he's got his eyes shut. And then he comes.
I've never seen that before - God, there's so much of it, all that
white stuff! And he shoots it at least a foot in the air, he shoots
off several times, I can't believe it goes so far,... and I can't
imagine what it would feel like if he squirted all that stuff inside
me. But I'll bet it would feel really great!"

	Sharon's hand was really moving now, and her hips were
bucking. I should have had her take her jeans off, I thought - but
this was safer. And then she sort of squeaked and I could feel the
trembling in her knee. She let out a long, ragged sigh.

	"The idea of having sex with a boy kinda scares me, but I
can't wait until I'm old enough. And then I tiptoe to the bathroom,
real quiet, and while I'm on the toilet, after I pee, I finger-fuck
myself. And I imagine Phil walking in on me, because I deliberately
didn't lock the bathroom door. And that makes me come - it's only the
second or third time I ever really came, too."

	Listening to Sharon's sweet young voice describe her
experience was intensely erotic and it had my cock as hard as a
baseball bat. So I took a pretty stupid chance.

	"Sharon, would you like to see another guy's cock? I'll show
you one, but you must not be frightened by it. You'd like that,
wouldn't you?"

	"Oh, uh,... I don't know. You mean, like, close up? Oh, wow...
"

	"Yes, close up, Sharon - very close. I'll show you my cock and
I won't touch you. There's nothing to be afraid of, is there, Sharon?
It's completely normal for a fourteen-year-old girl to be curious.
You'd like very much to see my cock, wouldn't you, Sharon? It's really
stiff... "

	I could see on her face the struggle between aroused curiosity
and little-girl uncertainty. "Oh. Well, uh,... I think - I think I'd
like to see it." She licked her lips again and swallowed, and
straightened her shoulders. A slight but enjoyable aroma permeated the
crotch of her jeans.

	I leaned back and unhooked my belt, unzipped my fly, and
slowly pushed down my jeans and my shorts. My cock sprang up like a
Jack-in-the-box but Sharon didn't even flinch. I'd been successful in
subverting her inhibitions and fears, and now this was what she really
wanted to see. In fact, she leaned closer in obvious fascination and
hesitantly reached out her hand.

	"You can touch it, Sharon, it won't hurt you. You really want
to find out what it feels like, don't you? You really want to hold my
cock in your hand... "

	And then her soft, warm fingers had grasped the thickest part
of the shaft, near the base - and her other hand had closed carefully
over the head. "Wow... it feels so hard and so soft, at the same
time... " She moved her lower hand slowly, lightly, up and down,
staring fixedly at what she was doing. She seemed to be trying to
imitate Phil but she wasn't sure how. It sure felt nice, sitting
there, being jerked off by this cute little teenybopper, but if things
reached their natural conclusion I'd probably make a mess I'd have a
very hard time cleaning up or explaining.

	"We'll just do this much, Sharon." I folded my hand gently
around hers and moved it upward, squeezing a large drop of semen onto
the palm of her hand. "Sharon, you have an overwhelming desire to know
what that `white stuff' tastes like, don't you? It can't hurt you and
it doesn't taste bad. Women do this all the time. Put out your tongue,
now, and lick that drop off your hand. Taste it slowly and remember
what it tastes like." She put out her little kitten tongue and cleaned
her palm with a thoughtful expression. Her nose twitched and she
smiled.

	"Now, Sharon, cup your hands over your nose and mouth and
inhale deeply. That's it, sweetheart. Remember that aroma, Sharon:
That's what sex smells like. It smells wonderful, doesn't it? Do you
like it?"

	She smiled again and nodded happily as she lowered her hands.
"Yes, I really like it."

	"All right, Sharon. You will not remember that any of this has
happened. But whenever you feel sexy, whenever you start to
masturbate, sometimes you will think about when you watched Phil jerk
off - but more and more often, you will think about me, instead. You
will think about what my penis looks like and feels like. Your
imagination will call up the visual memories and images of this
afternoon. You'll remember the smell of sex. And your imagination will
take it from there: You will fantasize about having sex with me, all
different kinds of sex, and that will make you very, very horny. All
this will happen only when you're by yourself because you don't want
to get caught, do you? You will always be aware that it's just your
imagination coming up with sexy, exciting thoughts for you to get off
on. But you'll also start to have private daydreams about making love
with me. You won't know why it's *me* your imagination has picked to
fantasize about, but you won't worry about that. And, Sharon - you
will begin to look forward to seeing me again during the summer, won't
you? You will begin to think about finding some way to meet me alone."

	She smiled warmly. "Oh, yes - I'm really looking forward to
seeing you again next summer." She was gripping my cock again and now
she gave it a friendly little squeeze before releasing it. All this
was so far beyond my spur-of-the-moment expectations, I could hardly
believe it.

	I stood and pulled up my jeans and tucked in my shirttail
while sexy little Sharon watched with bright eyes. I reminded her once
more that she would not consciously remember what we had been up to
and then I brought her up out of her trance.

	She blinked and I said, "Well, It's been nice seeing you
again, Sharon. Tell your brother I stopped by, okay? Ask him to give
me a call before we go back to school."

	"It's nice to see you again, too. Real nice," she added. Her
tone and her expression were freighted with new meaning. "Maybe I'll
see you again over summer vacation... ?" she suggested. She looked
hopeful and she was leaving eyetracks all over my body. Who knew what
might happen when the seeds I'd planted began to ripen... ? I felt
kind of like a squirrel putting away nuts for the winter.

			      Part Three

	After I got back to school in January, I found that the spring
room- shuffling in the dorm had landed me with a thoroughly
undesirable neighbor right across the hall. His name was George
Kaufman and he was an asshole. No - let's be blunt about this: George
was a bigoted, red-necked, right- wing, foulmouthed, coprophagic,
anthropoid, odoriferous, knuckle-dragging, homophobic, microcephalic
son of a bitch.

	For instance... I had grown a beard the previous quarter - not
to make a statement, particularly, but just because I was too lazy to
shave every morning and full facial hair looks better (okay, it looks
more "deliberate," anyway) than a three-day stubble. The very first
time George saw me, he dubbed me "cunt-mouth" - his idea of
sophisticated humor. That's all he ever called me and it carried over
to his few friends. I decided I would have to do something about
George. I thought about simply knifing him in his sleep, but that
would probably get me expelled. No, it would have to be something
sneaky, indirect, and untraceable.

	My opportunity came via a girl named Sandy in my English
class. She had a steady boyfriend and she wasn't really my type - not
for dating, anyway - and that allowed us to become casual friends,
minus the usual sexual tension.

	Sandy was reasonably pretty (I thought) and rather vivacious
when she wanted to be, but she seemed to have a poor self-image. I got
the impression that her two sisters had been hometown beauty queens
and Sandy was the Cinderella of the family; she thought "plain" was
the best she could aspire to.

	Over lunch one day, I explained to her my interest in hypnosis
and my therapeutic successes, and I convinced her to let me put her
under. She would remain aware of the whole process, which should
allay any uneasiness she might have about what I was doing. So I went
over to her room that evening and, in the comforting presence of her
roommate, put her into an easy trance. Then we had a little talk.

	I asked Sandy questions about her opinion of herself and found
what I had suspected: An assumption of inferiority, constant self-
comparison to her sisters, and resignation that she would never be
very attractive. I assured her that she was in fact *very* pretty,
that she didn't have to be a pin-up to have all the dates she wanted,
that she had a warm and friendly personality that nearly any guy - or
girl - would find attractive. Her roommate clued me in on a few
details and I carefully reshaped Sandy's view of herself. It took
maybe an hour and that was it.

	Within a few days, Sandy's roommate called me excitedly to
tell me her friend had actually approached a guy she had secretly
liked and asked *him* for a date - and the guy had accepted. Moreover,
the date had been a complete success and Sandy was so pleased with
herself she was practically in tears. That made me feel good, to know
that I could help someone that much by actually doing so little.

	The following week, before class, I happened to see Sandy
conversing with another girl, obviously a buddy of hers. The buddy was
immediately joined by my nemesis, George, who put his arm possessively
around her. George hadn't seen me and I slipped back into the doorway
and observed the three. Sandy's body language seemed to indicate that
she wasn't a big fan of George's, which confirmed my judgment of her
good taste in men. When she came into the classroom, I asked her who
that was she'd been talking to; I thought I knew her from somewhere...
maybe back home?

	"Who, Cynthia? Cynthia Lewis? We went to high school together,
so I don't think you'd know her... " No, I guess I didn't know her, I
said; she must simply look like someone I knew. Oh, well.

	After class, I walked with Sandy over to the Library and as we
cut through the little grove of fir trees out front, I said "Sandy,
wait a minute." She stopped and looked at me questioningly. "Dive,
Sandy, dive."

	Her expression didn't change, but she said "Sure... " and
waited for instructions.

	"Sandy, does your friend Cynthia Lewis have any bad habits or
personal problems that you think she'd be happier without?"

	"Well, I'm afraid she's kind of a borderline anorexic. She
panics if she goes even two pounds over what she thinks is her ideal
weight and then she skips meals for days. It's made her sick a few
times and her doctor had to bully her into eating. But the worst part,
I think, is that she worries and loses sleep over it. She's terrified
she'll get `fat'. You know those charts on public scales, that tell
you how much you should weigh for your height? Well, Cynthia takes
those things literally; she doesn't realize she's just a large-framed
person! She's never going to be a fashion model. `Normal' weight for
her is about ten pounds more than those stupid charts and she looks
really good at that weight - very busty and kind of voluptuous. I
worry about her sometimes... "

	So there was my leverage. "Sandy, I want you to take your
friend Cynthia aside and explain to her that you know someone who
might be able to help her with her weight problem. You will convince
her to get together with me, and I'll try to readjust her sights to a
healthier and more realistic weight target, okay? You will stay with
her the whole time, so she has nothing to worry about, does she? Tell
her all about the session you and I had - you remember every bit of it
- and how it seems to have helped you. You'll tell her you worry about
her and you want to help her. You're convinced of that, so you'll be
able to convince her, okay?"

	A week later, Sandy asked if she could bring a friend of hers
around to talk to me about a problem she was having with her weight.

	Close up, Cynthia turned out to be not at all hefty - just not
a little wisp of a girl, either. She was about five-foot-six, maybe a
size fourteen, with large tits and wide hips. Not fat, though. Just,
as Sandy had suggested, "voluptuous." She was quite pretty but she had
a rather drawn expression, as if she spent too much time staring down
at the scales.

	We sat and chatted for a few minutes. Cynthia wasn't at all
sure about this hypnotism thing, but she trusted her buddy, Sandy, and
Sandy insisted I had been able to help her overcome her shyness about
guys; Cynthia, in fact, remarked on the change in Sandy she had
observed herself. I assured her that she would be completely aware of
everything that was happening and that Sandy was there to make her
feel more comfortable, too. And she finally agreed.

	Cynthia was not a difficult subject. She was used to deferring
to other people and she practically put herself into a trance.
"Cynthia, when your doctor has scolded you for not eating, what did
*he* say your weight ought to be?"

	"About 125 pounds - but that's *way* too much!"

	"No, it isn't, Cynthia. You're taller than average and you
have a larger bone structure than those tiny little girls whom you
think are the `right' size. You must convince yourself that your
doctor is right: You, personally, individually, should weigh about 125
pounds. You will let your weight gradually increase to about that
level, won't you? You will feel much better when you let yourself
weigh what you *should* weigh, won't you? When you go a few pounds
over your target, you won't worry and fret about it; you'll just eat a
little less for a few days until you're back down to 125, give or take
a couple of pounds. You won't rush it, you won't fast, you won't go on
crash diets - none of that is necessary, is it, Cynthia? You know
you'll be much healthier, don't you? And your doctor will be pleased
with you. You'll look very nice and very sexy at your proper weight,
Cynthia. And that will make you much happier. Your friends won't
worry about you so much. You're a beautiful young woman, Cynthia, and
you have a very nice body, and you must not try to starve yourself for
no reason. Do you understand?"

	Cynthia nodded and actually looked relieved, as if someone had
given her permission to do what she knew she ought to do. I said,
"Now, pay no attention to anything I say for a minute, Cynthia." Then
I turned to Sandy, sitting quietly in the other chair, and said "Dive,
Sandy, dive." Now they were both under. I put Sandy on hold and turned
back to her friend.

	"Now, Cynthia, there's something else we need to talk about."
She nodded. "How long have you been going with George Kaufman? And why
are you attracted to him?"

	"A couple of months, I guess. I know some people don't like
him, and he's kind of loud sometimes, but he's all right. He pays
attention to me and he doesn't care that I'm overweight. I mean, I
used to be - I mean, I guess I'm not really overweight, not anymore,
but he - "

	She was beginning to confuse herself so I said, "Cynthia,
you're not overweight, remember? No matter what George or anyone else
says or thinks. Are you in love with him, Cynthia? You two seem pretty
tight when you're together."

	She laughed lightly. "No, nothing like that! He likes to put
his arm around me in public, so I let him. It embarrasses me a little,
sometimes, but what the hell. But I'm not in love with him!"

	"Have you fucked him, Cynthia? What do you usually do in the
way of sex play, on dates?"

	"Uh, yeah, we've fucked a couple of times. But it makes me
nervous; I don't want to get pregnant, or catch a disease or
something, and he refuses to use protection. So mostly we just play
around. He sucks on my tits and that feels nice - but he sucks too
hard sometimes, and leaves a bruise. And we jack each other off in the
car. You know." She was a little uncomfortable divulging all this
intimate information.

	"Cynthia, you will not be nervous about telling me these
things. I'm helping you with a couple of problems, right? Your friend,
Sandy, is right here, keeping an eye on you. You're perfectly all
right and completely relaxed, aren't you? Now, tell me about George.
What kind of lover is he?"

	"Oh, he's okay, I guess. His penis is awful small, but - "

	"Small? Smaller than other guys' penises you've seen?"

	"Oh, yes - *much* smaller. I made out with several guys in
high school and a couple others in college before I met George, and
even the ones with average-sized penises were a lot bigger than
George's little thing." Wonderful! I couldn't help grinning.

	"Okay, Cynthia, this is what you're going to do: Starting the
next date you have with George, you will begin telling him exactly
what you've been telling me. When he paws you in public, if you don't
like it, tell him so, okay? Tell him he's embarrassing you. If he
sucks too hard on your tit, tell him to stop doing it, you don't like
to have a bruise there. And when you handle his little prick, it will
strike you so funny, you won't be able to keep from laughing,
understand? You won't be able to stop yourself from making jokes about
it, will you? You can do much better than George, you know that, don't
you? In fact, after your next date, you should tell all your friends,
female *and* male, just how tiny and inadequate George's equipment is,
don't you think? Make sure the word gets around about him. He's used
you, hasn't he? It's time you got even, isn't it?"

	Cynthia's smile had taken on a beautifully wicked tinge. I
realized she resented George's condescension toward her even more than
she had said. I turned back to Sandy, who had been sitting quietly all
this time, smiling at her private thoughts.

	"Sandy, you will forget completely that you've been in this
trance. When I count down to five, you will come out of it and not
remember you've been under. You're watching me counsel Cynthia on her
imaginary weight problem, and that's all that's happened. You'll
remind her that her ideal weight is really more like 125 pounds and
you'll give her all the psychological support she needs until she gets
used to it, won't you? She's your friend and you're glad you were able
to help her by bringing her to see me, right? Okay now: Five,...
four,... three,... two,... one." I had turned back to Cynthia when
Sandy blinked herself awake and shifted position slightly.

	"Okay, Cynthia, is everything clear now? About your best
weight? And everything else we've talked about?" She nodded and
smiled. The girls went back to their dorm chattering happily and at
peace with the world.

	A couple weeks later, I began seeing notes scrawled in
restrooms on campus: TINY GEORGE, TERROR OF THE BEAVERS! And: LITTLE
GEORGE KAUFMAN STRIKES AGAIN! I overheard two guys in the dorm
cafeteria laughing about what their girlfriends had told them about
George "Little Dick" Kaufman; the news was coming around third- and
fourth- hand, now.

	George himself was red in the face and snarling most of the
time these days. There was a scuffle in the hall when someone made a
crack behind his back and George made the mistake of taking a swing at
the guy, who put him on the floor with one punch. It's amazing how
much blood your nose can produce.

	Sandy had told me, in between giggles, what her buddy had told
her about George the day after our session, so I'd already known the
"therapy" had taken. Cynthia's weight gradually increased a few pounds
and she seemed much more relaxed and much happier with herself. I saw
her with other guys besides George and she looked,... well,
"fulfilled."

	I asked Cynthia out a couple times myself, in fact, and it
didn't require hypnosis to explore her charms. She had tits like firm
sofa pillows: Large but not sagging. Her stomach and legs hadn't a
ounce of flab and she was a delightful girl to exchange caresses with.
And when, on the second date, we did The Deed in her dorm room, I
discovered I didn't need the two condoms I was carrying in my pocket:
Cynthia had laid in a stock in the drawer of her bedside table, in all
colors and flavors.

	Oh, yeah - George transferred to another school at the end of
the spring semester. He wouldn't even tell anyone what school it was,
apparently for fear someone would call ahead and keep the gossip
going. I almost missed him. What good is it, being a hammer, when you
can't find a deserving nail?

			      Part Four

	I went home for the summer after my third year of college with
the satisfaction of a 3.8 GPA and a notification letter in my pocket
that I had been awarded a full scholarship for my senior year,
including room and board. I wouldn't have to find a summer job that
year, except perhaps for a little extra pocket money. I made do with a
moped instead of a car anyway, and most of my spare cash went for
books rather than fancy clothes or expensive dates.

	On the recommendation of my faculty advisor, I had put
together an extensive reading list that I had to try to get through
before beginning my senior thesis, so I was expecting to spend much of
the ten weeks sprawled in an easy chair with a good reading lamp
nearby. But I wasn't going to ignore my social life - or my
particular physical needs.

	I'd been home about a week before I got around to calling my
old high school friend, Jeff. We weren't exactly blood brothers, but
we had always gotten together during vacations and we sent each other
oddball Christmas cards and such. It was his brother, Edward, who had
gotten me started with hypnosis. Edward was in med school now, on his
way to full shrink-hood. I had just about decided not to pursue an
actual medical career - or not an M.D., anyway. The prospect of still
being in school when I was thirty was not appealing. But psychological
counseling on the strength of a master's degree was a real
possibility.

	Jeff was three years into a political science degree and was
trolling for a position in some congressman's office after graduation.
We sat out on his big, screened-in back porch, drinking cokes,
comparing college experiences, and laughing as we thought up insane
career ideas. We were joking about going into business together - he
could select political candidates and I could brainwash them - when I
became aware that someone was watching me.

	I leaned back in my pine rocker and looked over my shoulder. A
dim shape, young and female, stood inside the screen door. I smiled
and Sharon gave up her attempt at concealment and opened the screen.
She was barefoot and long-legged in her cutoffs and French-style T-
shirt.

	If I'd had any doubts about the efficacy of the long-term
suggestions I'd planted in this girl's mind last Christmas, all it
took was one glance at her face to know I'd been successful. Little
Sharon's hot, smoky stare made me begin to sweat.

	"Hi, sis," Jeff said. "Listen, while you're up, would you mind
getting us a couple more cokes?"

	He was being perfectly friendly, not demanding, but Sharon
quietly replied "Get `em yourself, man,"... and her eyes never left my
face.

	I shot a quick glance at Jeff, who seemed nonplussed. I said,
"Sharon, would you mind very much getting us a couple of cold cokes?"

	She broke into a brilliant smile. "Sure! Just a sec... !" And
she was headed for the kitchen. I turned back to Jeff and his
dumbfounded stare. His eyebrows were crowding his hairline.

	"What was *that* all about?!" he exclaimed.

	I smiled lazily. "I think your kid sister has a crush on me."

	"On you? Why?"

	"Why not?" I replied. "Maybe she's dazzled by my obvious sex
appeal."

	"Hell, she won't even be fifteen for another month!" he
exploded. "How would she even know you, anyway?"

	"Well, she's known me as long as *you* have, actually. Just in
the background. Come to think of it - how much older is your father
than your mother?"

	"About seven years," he said. "But - "

	"That's more than the difference between my age and Sharon's,"
I said quietly. It was kind of fun watching ol' Jeff's blood pressure
rise.

	"But Mom was already out of college when she met Dad! It's
completely different!"

	"Calm down, already. I didn't say I was going to take her to a
motel, did I?"

	His eyebrows came down fast. "Hey, now - She's my *sister*,
man... "

	"Jeff, don't you think some of the girls *you* try to get into
bed have older brothers who are just as protective as you are?"

	"Well,... " He couldn't think of a retort and Sharon banged
through the screen door at that moment, a coke in either hand. Jeff
looked in her direction and shut up.

	"Thanks very much, Sharon," I said as she handed me both
bottles. I passed one to Jeff, whose gaze was flicking from his
sister's face to mine and back.

	"Well, just watch it," he muttered at me under his breath.

	When I got up to leave a half-hour later, I'd mollified Jeff
at least to the point where he'd decided his sister's adolescent crush
did not indicate an imminent elopement. Sharon disappeared about that
point, too. I figured I'd have to wait until she called me, since
calling her would only arouse her brother's suspicions again. But she
was way ahead of me.

	As I pulled away from the curb in my father's borrowed car, I
was startled by a movement in the rear view mirror, followed
immediately by a breathy "Hi!" close to my ear. Sharon glanced out the
back window and clambered over into the front seat.

	"A stowaway, huh?" I returned her conspiratorial grin.

	"Yeah - I didn't know when I'd get the chance to talk to you
again."

	"And what did you want to talk about, sweetheart?"

	She hesitated, licked her lips, and took a deep breath.
"I'm,... I'm in love. With you." She looked a little apprehensive. I
decided to continue to play the game awhile longer.

	"Why do you think that, Sharon?" I smiled at her
encouragingly.

	"Well,... I think about you all the time." Her hand touched my
shoulder and she scooted closer on the seat. "I imagine all kinds of
things about us. About - " She glanced at my lap. I very gently
stroked her thigh and her breath caught again. "About making out with
you," she finished in a rush. "And, uh, other things... " She blushed,
just a little. "And it's always you - never any of the guys I know
from school. Maybe they're just too young for me."

	Sharon was sitting sideways on the car seat, one leg folded
neatly beneath the other. Her knee overlapped my thigh and I continued
to stroke her silky tan. Her hand had moved to the back of my neck and
her slender fingers twined nervously in my hair. She was putting out
more heat than a barbecue pit.

	I had slowed down as I reached the end of her block and now I
turned the corner and stopped at the curb, out of sight of her house.
I set the brake and turned to face her; she seemed a bit unsure of
herself, probably worried I was going to tell her to run along and
grow up. But I took her other hand and held it firmly; when I smiled
back at her, she sighed happily and tried to shift even closer.

	"Sharon, could you get away to see me without your parents or
your brother knowing about it?"

	"Yeah, I think so... !" She was all bouncy eagerness now. "My
friend, Marilyn? I told her I had a secret boyfriend - " (She shot me
an apologetic smile) " - who was older and had a car, and my parents
wouldn't approve." She sure had *that* right. "Marilyn thinks it's all
too romantic! If I tell my parents I'm sleeping over at her house,
she'll cover for me. She has her own phone," she added.

	"Okay, then why don't you make arrangements with Marilyn for
this Friday night, sweetheart? And I'll organize us a place to go
where we can be alone, okay? Oh - one other thing." I squeezed her
hand and she gave me her full attention. "Dive, Sharon, dive." It had
been six months, but she slipped effortlessly into a deep trance.

	"Sharon, it's Wednesday now. Tonight and tomorrow night, you
will think about me when you go to bed - even more than usual. Then
you will masturbate and imagine it's my hand instead of your own, and
that thought will make you even hornier. Over the next two days, your
breasts - especially your nipples - and your cunt will become more and
more sensitive, they will tingle almost continually, and that will
make you think constantly about sex and about me. You'll become more
and more aroused in anticipation of our date - and you will enjoy
those sensations very much, won't you, Sharon?"

	A light flush was already rising around her delicate
collarbone. Holding her hot gaze, I reached out and brushed her
nipple through her shirt with one finger. She twitched with pleasure
and arched her back for me.

	"Sharon, when you come out of your trance, you will feel an
enormous desire to kiss me. You *need* to kiss me before you get out
of the car, don't you?"

	"Oh, I want so much to kiss you," she replied breathlessly. I
brought her out of it and almost immediately she hopped up on her
knees, above me now, and set her elbows carefully on my shoulders. I
leaned back, letting my hands slide up and down the backs of her
thighs. She hummed softly in her throat as her mouth swooped down on
mine. For fourteen years old, little Sharon had a natural talent for
lip-work. She twisted her fingers in my hair and made exciting little
sounds as she ground her mouth against mine. Her tongue darted in and
out and I found it hard to remember that she was supposed to be an
inexperienced kid.

	When she relented a few minutes later, my ears were ringing
and I knew I had left finger marks on the backs of her thighs. I was
looking forward to Friday night almost as much as Sharon was. Then she
was out of the car and jogging barefoot toward the mouth of the alley
that would take her back to her house. We hadn't even firmed up the
arrangements for our date.

	On Thursday, when I got home from an afternoon workout at the
pool, my mother was muttering under her breath because some unknown
person had called twice and hung up when she answered. The next time
the phone rang, half an hour later, I grabbed it myself on the
upstairs extension.

	In response to my "Hello?" there was a breathy pause and then
a whispered "I just had to hear your voice. Please don't be mad at
me... "

	"I'm not mad at you, Sharon, but you might get in trouble if
you keep calling like this." I kept my voice low and one eye on the
door; my mother wouldn't understand this conversation. "Just think
about what you and I might be doing tomorrow night, okay? Tell me what
you think is going to happen, Sharon. Describe it to me."

	I could hear her take a long breath. "I'm going to hold your
penis in my hand. Maybe I'll lick it and put it in my mouth - and
you'll put your finger in my pussy and get me hot. Oh, God... " She
was breathing faster.

	"That's not all I'm going to put in your sweet pussy," I
whispered back. Little Sharon was doing things to me. And the only
response I got was a throaty murmur.

	"I'll see you tomorrow night," I said.

	"Yes, you sure will - all of me, I'll bet!" She throttled a
giggle. "Pick me up at eight o'clock at the end of the alley where I
got out." And the receiver clicked.

	When I pulled up to the curb at 8:02, Sharon was out of the
shadows and into the car with a pink gym bag before the wheels stopped
rolling. She was wearing dark jeans and a dark sweatshirt, and she
sank down on the floor, out of sight, though there wasn't much chance
of her being seen. If she wanted to make a romantic intrigue out of
this, that was okay with me. Then she got my attention by slipping her
warm, slender hand up inside the leg of my jeans. "Where are we
going?" she asked.

	I'd been working on that problem since Wednesday. I certainly
couldn't take her home. A nice hotel cost far too much and was much
too public, especially for an assignation with a girl as obviously
underage as Sharon. And a cheap motel, the kind of place that would
ignore her age, was a good place to get ripped off. But by calling
around among a number of old acquaintances, I'd finally found a
solution.

	A guy named John Alexander, one of "the gang" in high school
and that first year at the junior college, was still single and was
now earning a comfortable living selling some sort of electronic
equipment to big corporations. He was frequently on the road, either
making a pitch or working a sales show at some convention center. He'd
been known to lend his rented town house to friends, and this was one
of those occasions. He'd left that morning on an out-of-town weekend
trip and I now had his door key and his cheerful "Poke her one for
me!"

	John was an unusually trusting guy, especially for a salesman,
but so far no one had trashed his place, or annoyed the neighbors, or
caused the cops to visit. I intended to be as invisible as possible.

	There was a spot in the complex's parking lot right in front
of the town house door, so I got out and unlocked the place - and
Sharon scuttled in as though the police were right behind her. I
looked around as I shot the deadbolt and flicked on a lamp. It was a
typical bachelor pad - lots of leather (well, naugahyde) and tweed
upholstery, brass lamps on the oak end tables, and a massive liquor
cabinet in the place of honor opposite the front door. I didn't really
notice the stereo system at first because it was spread all across one
wall, woven in amongst the bookcases. Each of John's speakers was the
size of my dresser in the dorm. The small kitchen was full of food
processors and other high-tech appliances.

	Sharon was already hurrying upstairs to check out the bedroom.
I heard a smothered squeal of delight and the exclamation "There's a
waterbed!" I followed her up the carpeted stairs, smiling at her
enthusiasm.

	She was lying spreadeagled in the master bedroom, pumping and
flexing her lithe body to make waves in the bed. Her face was an
appealing mix of fourteen-year-old shyness and very grown-up sexual
hunger. But I wasn't in any hurry - yet.

	"Sharon, why don't we go back downstairs and try out that
fancy sound system? This is supposed to be a real date and I'd like to
find out what kind of dancer you are." She thumped back down the
treads ahead of me and had pulled out some CDs by the time I caught
up. I hadn't heard of any of the groups but they didn't look like the
sort of thing anyone could dance to at under 40mph. Fortunately, John
was also an `oldies' fan and I found a number of slow-dance tunes that
I knew I could handle and that Sharon might enjoy being romanced to.

	She was a little hesitant, though. "I'm not very good at old-
fashioned dancing... "

	Old-fashioned? "Come on, sweetheart, it's easy - nice, too." I
loaded up The Belmonts and The Platters and slipped my arms around her
slender waist. She immediately crossed her wrists behind my neck and
moved up as close as she could without actually climbing inside my
clothes. I gave her a quick kiss and tucked her head on my shoulder;
she hung on like we were in free fall.

	I had to admit, it was very nice moving slowly around the room
with a hot young thing like Sharon in my arms. I didn't delude myself
about my preference for young - or young-looking - girls. I liked them
sweet and slender, inexperienced and eager, fresh and filled with
curiosity. Dancing like this was delightful,... even if I hadn't had
sex on my mind.

	Her nose nuzzled my ear, giving me fleeting chills. When I was
her age, I had been only casually interested in girls. My first kiss
had been awkward and I hadn't known what to do with my nose. If
someone like little Sharon had turned her blowtorch on me back then, I
probably would have fainted. I had begun to understand why teenage
girls often were attracted to slightly older, more experienced guys.
Perhaps I still hadn't persuaded a hypnotic subject to do something
against her nature; perhaps this was what Sharon had subconsciously
yearned for. But that certainly wasn't going to keep me from enjoying
myself tonight.

	My hands slid across Sharon's firm little ass and she strained
her hips closer to me. A small whimper escaped her lips as I tucked my
fingers in her back pockets and she tried to burrow even closer.
After a moment, she moaned in frustration and clamped her mouth to
mine. She clutched the back of my head and her tongue assaulted my
front teeth. I moved up under the back of her sweatshirt and counted
the knobs of her vertebrae.

	Sharon pushed herself away with a gasp and feverishly hauled
her shirt off over her head. She fumbled with the front clasp of her
bra and then her small breasts sprang free, nipples pointing over my
shoulders. When my hands covered them, I loved the touch of their
smooth surfaces and the silky down under my fingers. Her nipples were
as stiff and resilient as rubber and when I pinched them lightly her
hands grabbed hard at my forearms and she inhaled sharply.

	Then I had her jeans unbuttoned and unzipped and she moved
back and pushed them down, kicked off her loafers, and stepped out of
them. She reached for the elastic of her thin white cotton panties
but I pushed her hands away and knelt; I had been looking forward to
doing this myself.

	When I poked my tongue in her navel, her stomach muscles
fluttered and she choked down a nervous laugh. I eased the elastic
slowly over her hips and she seized my hair and moaned louder than
before. The curls of her wispy pubic hair rose into view and I combed
them between my teeth. Then her panties were down and as they fell to
the floor she quickly stepped out of them.

	I stuck my tongue into her crevice as far as I could and she
jittered and pushed her crotch forward. Spreading her moist labia with
my fingertips, I was able to get my mouth as far as the top of her
clit. Her stomach muscles shuddered again and she tried to spread her
thighs and bend her knees without falling down.

	Then I stood and swiftly clutched her buttocks, lifting her
off her feet. She squeaked and then giggled as she wrapped her long
legs around my hips and hung onto my neck. I walked the six feet to
the couch and laid Sharon out on it like a banquet. As I straightened
and began unbuttoning my shirt, she struck a seductive, sprawling pose
- shoulders back and tits out-thrust, spine arched, toes together and
pointed. She must have been studying PENTHOUSE. Her tongue glided
slowly across her upper lip.

	"Go ahead and start without me, Sharon. I'll be able to catch
up... and you already know I like to watch." She grinned and spread
her knees so I could observe her middle finger disappearing from view.

	My shirt was off and my jeans pushed to the floor in a hurry.
Sharon stared hotly at my rising cock for a moment, then reached up
and wrapped her free hand around it. She squeezed a little and pulled
it closer; I had to move quickly to keep from tripping over my pants,
but I finally pushed my shoes off and worked my feet free.

	Then I knelt again, grabbed Sharon's hips, and swiveled her
around to face me. She was still on her back, ass off the edge of the
couch, and I hunkered down between her legs and pushed her thighs back
and farther apart. Her pretty little cunt opened like a pink flower
spreading its petals, and as I buried my face in it she jerked her
head back and grabbed the sides of the cushions.

	I had muff-dived on several girls and had thoroughly enjoyed
it - and so had they. But this was different. For one thing, Sharon
had almost no "muff" to speak of; the soft strands bordering her cunt
didn't conceal a thing. For another,... well, it may simply have been
her youth, but the taste of her was exquisite - sweet and light and
fragrant, and definitely heady.

	So I continued to lap at her pussy, sucking on her clit and
swishing my tongue around inside until it became obvious, from her
sobs and moans, that she was on the edge of both orgasm and hysteria.
I pushed my nose between her labia, shook my head, and growled into
her depths - and she squealed "Oh, Jesus!" and trembled like an aspen
in the wind. When her spasms passed, I straightened up to see tears
running down her flushed cheeks as she panted for breath.

	Sharon let her legs drop loosely in temporary exhaustion and
held her arms out to me. I bent over her sweating body and slid my
forearms under her shoulders, lifting her up to me, and kissed her
long and thoroughly.

	"What did you do to me?" she asked hoarsely when we came up
for air and she put her cheek against mine. "I didn't know it was
possible to feel like that, especially without... " She continued to
breath heavily.

	"... without fucking?" I finished for her. Her grip tightened
and I felt her head nod. I put my hand between her legs and began
sliding it along her hot, wet crevice. Her response was to gasp in my
ear and clutch spastically at my ribs with her knees.

	"Oh,... oh, yes,... please - please do it... God, fuck me!"
she moaned, and her body began to thrash about once more. My cock
resembled a heat-seeking missile aimed at the cross-hairs of little
Sharon's crotch. But I didn't want to waste this moment crawling
around on a naugahyde couch.

	I stood and held out my hands. "C'mon, sweetheart - this
requires a proper bed."

	She sat up, which put her eye-to-eye with my anxious cock. She
took hold of it and stroked me slowly a few times, then swallowed and
opened her mouth. It was obvious she wanted to suck my cock - or
thought she should, anyway - but she had no idea how to go about it.
I could have instructed her, and on another occasion I just might, but
it would take some time and would certainly destroy the mood right
now. Also, I found my patience had vanished. I leaned over to where my
jeans were heaped on the carpet and rummaged in the pocket.

	"Not this time," I said softly and pulled her to her feet. "I
can't wait to make love to you for real." She seemed to go boneless as
I bent and lifted her in my arms and climbed the stairs again with no
effort. Her arms were wrapped tightly around my neck and she was
gnawing at my ear lobe.

	Then she was lying in the middle of that big bed, arms and
legs writhing restlessly. I sat on the edge of the frame and displayed
the foil packet in my hand. "You want to *always* use one of these,
sweetheart. You don't want to get pregnant and you don't want to pick
up the results of someone else's indiscretion." She nodded solemnly
and watched as I unrolled the condom over my almost painful erection.

	As I crawled onto the mattress, Sharon spread herself like a
starfish as she had earlier, and this time I was ready. She curled her
ass upward as I pressed against her virginal opening and I was a
little surprised at the ease with which she accepted me.

	She smiled at my expression. "The doctor said I broke my hymen
a couple years ago when I started my periods and began using Tampax.
It doesn't hurt at all, but it feels so wonderfully *big*... "

	I pistoned in and out a few times slowly and carefully,
spreading her plentiful lubrication and settling myself. Then I hooked
her trim ankles over my shoulders and folded her neatly in half, knees
pressed against her collarbone. That gave me the deepest penetration
and I strained to fill her as full as possible. She worked her vaginal
muscles, perhaps instinctively, and the effect in that warm snugness
was like a python swallowing a rabbit.

	I leaned forward to get the maximum friction against her clit
and started drilling for oil. The surf we churned up in the waterbed
helped. Within a minute, Sharon's eyes were squeezed shut as her hands
wandered over the backs of her thighs and her own upturned ass. My
pumping forced a series of breathy moans from her. She was transported
and she was taking me along for the ride. Several times I felt myself
approaching a climax and backed away from the brink, willing myself to
extend the pleasurable assault.

	All my senses were open and when I knew she was headed for her
second orgasm I speeded up and gave her a push. Her whole body tensed
and quivered as she fell over the edge, and I was only fifteen seconds
behind her. It had been several months since I'd screwed a girl in
cold blood, so to speak - especially with the luxury of a real bed and
private surroundings.

	As I finished emptying myself into her, Sharon began to relax.
She favored me with a sweet, dreamy smile and urged me down to kiss
her. I settled my full weight carefully on her, partly because my
arms were shaking and partly because I simply wanted to cover her with
my body.

	"Mmmm,... you feel hot to the touch - like an electric
blanket," she murmured. "A *heavy* electric blanket." I pushed her
legs together and straddled them, taking some of my weight on my knees
and elbows. That also pushed my retreating cock out of her, but that
was okay - it felt like it needed to step out for a smoke anyway. I
gently kissed her eyelids and her nose and her lips. I hadn't planned
this feeling of affection toward Sharon, though I liked her well
enough. She was such a scrumptious little thing, I couldn't help it.

	Perhaps that emotion communicated itself to Sharon because she
finally took a deep breath and said, "I wasn't going to ask this - I
swear I wasn't. But, do you - well,... do you love me? Even a little?"
She immediately covered her face with her hands. "God, I'm sorry!" she
wailed. "Why can't I keep my mouth shut?"

	I slid off of her and peeled off the condom. I propped my head
up on my fist while I stroked her succulent breasts and thought about
her question. Kathy had been physically and emotionally addicted to me
because I had set it up that way - but she hadn't been "in love" with
me, not exactly. She was old enough to have had several crushes and
been devoted to at least a couple of boyfriends.

	But I had deliberately played on Sharon's adolescent
romanticism, her need to be "in love," and she was responding *too*
well. For whatever reason (maybe even my conscience), I wanted to try
to explain her own feelings to her without resorting to hypnosis, if
that was possible.

	"Sweetheart," I wonder if you and I mean the same thing when
we talk about `love'. Are you thinking about marriage and a family?" I
smiled at her blank expression. "I love you for what you are, Sharon -
a sweet, beautiful fourteen-year-old girl. I imagine you'll fall in
love at least a couple of times before you find the guy you want to
marry. If we were to meet again in, say, eight or ten years,... well,
who knows?" The way she looked at me, she was steeling herself against
an unbearable rejection. Damn. I was going to have to fix this on a
deeper level.

	"Dive, Sharon, dive." Her face cleared and she smiled warmly.
"Sharon, you're no longer a virgin now - you're a woman. You will come
to realize, over the next few weeks, that there is a difference
between casual love with sex-for-fun and the kind of deep, serious
love you come to feel for someone you want to spend the rest of your
life with. You must not be afraid of either kind of love, do you
understand? It's natural to feel loving and affectionate toward
someone you're also physically attracted to, but you know, don't you,
that that's not the same as `capital-L' love?" She nodded with a calm,
thoughtful look.

	I was still caressing her and when my fingertips passed over
her still- rigid nipple, she twitched. "Sharon, tell me what you felt
when we were fucking - and how do you feel right now? How do you feel
about sex?"

	"Oh, God,... " Her eyes glowed. "I could feel your penis
moving in there, way deep inside, and it felt so strange - but it felt
really great, too! My clit felt as big as my thumb, and I wanted to
come so badly,... but at the same time, I *didn't* want to come. I
just wanted to go on feeling you rubbing me with your cock so I could
get more and more excited. I didn't want to come for *hours* yet - but
when I did, and then you came inside me,... wow! It was like being
shot full of electricity!" She paused and I could see her mind
replaying very recent events.

	"I think, when you pushed my legs back - well, it left me wide
open, you know? Sort of helpless, I guess, like you could do whatever
you wanted to me. I mean, I could feel the sweat running down into,...
into my asshole." Her face was heating up again. "But I knew you
wouldn't hurt me so I didn't mind. In fact, it was really sexy and you
went in really deep. Jesus... "

	"And how do you feel about sex now, Sharon?"

	"I love it! I want to do it again, a lot more times!" She
flashed me the lustiest grin I'd ever seen on a girl her age. And I'd
never actually fucked a girl while she was in a trance...

	"Okay, Sharon, let's do it again, shall we? You will stay in
your trance and you will react to everything I do in the freest, most
uninhibited way you can imagine, won't you? You feel even more
adventurous about sex than you did before, don't you? Let you hands,
your whole body, do whatever it wants, let yourself experiment, okay?
You know I won't do anything to hurt you, don't you? You feel a
tingling in your cunt, Sharon, you're beginning to feel really sexy
again, really heated up. Just turn yourself loose, sweetheart."

	It was like I'd been ambushed by a jaguar. Sharon rose up,
bright- eyed, and threw herself on me, grabbing my hand and urging it
toward her crotch as she flung one leg over my hip. The anxious mewing
sounds she made as she scattered hot kisses across my chest were
certainly arousing. She strained against me, digging her nipples into
my flesh. She reached back with her other hand, trying to skewer
herself on my cock. It was a delightful bit of wish-fulfillment, but
Sharon was stronger than she looked and I became concerned about
love-bruises. Time to introduce another factor.

	I let my hand trail down her spine to her coccyx and she stuck
her round little bottom out for my convenience. I continued and when
my finger stopped over her anus and rubbed in little circles, she
pushed back against it and dug her nails into me. All her openings
were still damp and I had no difficulty sliding the first joint of my
middle finger into her rectum. She had moved upward against me to give
me easier access, and my mouth was perfectly positioned to reach her
nipples, which I milked attentively.

	But I wanted to explore that lovely ass more closely.
"Sharon," I said, "unwrap yourself, sweetheart, and get up on your
hands and knees. Wiggle that hot little butt for me." She giggled and
did as I instructed, back bent and ass in the air, squirming
provocatively. When I crawled around behind her, riding the waves in
the waterbed, I was especially drawn by her fragrance and by the
symmetrical beauty of her ass, including the wisps of silky hair
framing her pussy. Just above that was her small, star-shaped pucker.

	I stroked her bottom, marveling at the smooth resilience, and
kissed her lingeringly on both cheeks. Then I scattered a series of
wet kisses down the crease of her cleft and her ass began to twitch in
earnest. I put out my tongue and licked the length of her cunt while
she gyrated and balled up the sheet in her fists. Two fingers eased
into her depths, still hot and juicy, while I made rings around her
asshole with my tongue. She tasted deliciously of dried, salty sweat.
Sharon bucked and shook and groaned in mounting passion.

	"Oh, that feels lovely," she whispered hoarsely. "I wish you'd
stick your tongue right up my asshole, that'd be so wild! And you
could fuck me from behind, too... " Her fingers were now between her
legs, strumming her clit with abandon. I followed her request - and my
own surprised inclination - and pushed my tongue through her
sphincter; I could only reach a few centimeters, but it was the
attempt that turned her on.

	I hurriedly tore open another foil packet and rolled the
condom over my resurgent cock. And, getting on my knees and moving up
close behind her, I brushed my cock head against the lips of her cunt.
She vibrated, spreading her knees farther apart and cocking her ass up
even more. I slid into her easily, as if she had been screwing for
years. Holding her hips tightly, I thrust into her so hard and fast I
bumped her cervix. She went momentarily rigid and gasped, "Oh, God!
That's so great! It's like being raped or something - only I love it,
I really do!"

	After three or four minutes of pounding away, I said, "Let
your knees slide out from under you, Sharon - slowly, so I don't lose
you."

	She let herself slide onto her stomach and I followed her
down, keeping my knees on the outside of her legs. The grip of her
small, tight ass allowed me to remain buried in her - but now her
clasp was even tighter and it swallowed me whole. I pulled her arms
down to her sides and held her close, completing the vulnerability
fantasy she had mentioned several times. Her head moved restlessly and
I could feel her slender body undulating beneath me as I resumed
thrusting into her.

	"Oh, yes! Hold me down, don't let me move! Just keep fucking
me, just like that - oh, that's so nice!"

	"Sharon," I said between breaths, "it feels to you like my
penis has grown to twice its previous size. Your vagina is completely
filled with it, stretched and filled to overflowing, and you feel
every movement it makes with great intensity, don't you?"

	Her reaction was instantaneous. "Oh! Christ! Oh,... oh,
shit... I didn't know your cock could get so huge," she moaned as her
ass shuddered beneath my stomach. "God, you're going to split me open
- and I don't care! Just keep doing it,... keep fucking me!"

	The marvelous part of this was that Sharon wasn't parroting a
set of lines I had given her to repeat. What I had done was to
establish the circumstances; her reactions to that were her own. And
her feedback was something more than I had expected - as with this
little rape- fantasy of hers. Well, I thought, a game was a game.

	"Sharon," I continued softly in her ear as I rammed myself
into her, "what would you think if I were to tie you down to the bed
by your wrists and ankles?"

	She stopped her breathless squirming for a moment. "Would it -
would it hurt?"

	"No, sweetheart, I told you I would do nothing to hurt you.
No, this would be sort of `pretend'. The restraints are real but very
light; they're symbolic, do you understand? That way, it's always
*your* choice whether you want to continue." Except for my hypnotic
influence, of course.

	I was aware of a slight increase in Sharon's excitement (if
that were possible) as she thought about the suggestion. "Oh, wow,
that sounds,... um, it sounds really sexy. I'd be tied down? Then you
could do anything you wanted to me, couldn't you? Wow... "

	Again, I thrust hard into her and her ass clenched as she
grunted a little. "God,... so big - I feel so full,... " she murmured,
and humped me back. Sharon's youthful horniness was becoming too much
to bear and I picked up speed, ramming into her with increased force.
She twisted her hands around, where I had them pinned at her sides,
and squeezed the tops of my thighs. With each lunging stroke her body
was shoved forward, setting up more wavefronts in the bed which
synchronized with the "Uh - uh - uh" sounds she was making. After a
few minutes, her breath was almost as rasping as mine and from the way
her fingers dug into my flesh it was clear she was also nearing
another climax.

	When I hit the final impalement and ejaculated for the second
time into the hot focus of her, Sharon's entire body went rigid - even
her toes, which strained against my shins. I wished I wasn't wearing
that damned condom. Sure, the physical sensations are all there, but
simply *knowing* there's a synthetic barrier between you and the girl
you're plowing can be off-putting, at least to me. Ah, well...

	It was going to be a little while before I was ready for a
third round, though I suspected Sharon could go on having orgasms all
night in her present inflamed physical and mental state. Time for
play!

	As we both struggled to catch our breaths, Sharon flexed her
internal muscles and gave my overheated cock a delightful squeeze.
"You gonna tie me up now?" she asked. I began to wonder if I had
created an adolescent monster.

	"Of course I am, sweetheart." I eased my rather sore and
wilting penis out from between her reddened thighs and rolled over to
the side of the bed, where I peeled off the condom, tied a knot in it,
and set it on the nightstand beside the first used one... and the
other three foil packs, which I hoped would be enough to get us
through the night.

	I hadn't expected bondage games, of course - hadn't even ever
taken part in one, in fact - so I had no rope or velvet-lined
handcuffs with me. When you're desperate, you improvise. I wondered
how much John had paid for his neckties.

	"Sharon, remain face down and extend your arms and legs toward
the four corners of the bed; stretch as far as you can. Imagine the
sensation of being tied to the bedposts." She obediently stretched her
limbs out, grunting a little as she reached as hard as she could. Her
red-splotched buttocks quivered in a lovely way with her efforts. Her
cunt glistened between her parted thighs; by rights, there should have
been a trickle of my semen dribbling down onto the sheets, but that
couldn't be helped.

	I rummaged guiltily through our host's closet, looking for
makeshift rope, and finally discovered a small heap of frayed bungee
cords - the sort with rubber-coated metal hooks on the ends of each
three-foot length, for tying down suitcases on luggage carriers and
such. An obvious accessory for a salesman; I might even tell John
later what use I was putting them to.

	As I returned to the bed, where Sharon was becoming a bit
red-faced, both from her exertions and from renewed excitement. "Now,
sweetheart," I began, "I'm going to fasten you down. I promise you, it
won't hurt. You'll be able to get loose with no difficulty if you
really want to - but you won't want to, will you? This is a sex
*fantasy*, remember: You must keep in mind that *you* are the one
who's really in control. But since you trust me, and you know you
won't be hurt, and you *really* want to try a little kinkiness, you
will gladly play the role of a helpless captive, completely at my
mercy. Do you understand, Sharon? That's what you really want, isn't
it?"

	"Yes - that's what I want, I want to be helpless, you can do
anything you want to me and I can't stop you... " She trembled and
licked her lips in anticipation. Her fingers repeatedly spread and
balled themselves into tight little fists.

	I quickly looped a cord twice around her right wrist, made a
loose overhand knot, and hooked the metal ends around the upright of
the rattan headboard. The elastic cord stretched enough to keep her
arm taut. As I hooked up her other arm, she caught my eye over her
shoulder and gave me a sultry smile through a curtain of tousled hair.

	It wasn't until I turned to bind her feet that it dawned on me
that John's waterbed, like most, had no footboard. I hastily grabbed a
couple more bungees and linked them together so I could fasten one
ankle to the closet doorknob and the other to a chrome stand loaded
with exercise weights. Then I stood for a moment admiring my
handiwork.

	Little Sharon certainly *looked* helpless, with her slender,
smoking body stretched across the bed. She writhed sinuously, testing
her bonds. Her toes were pointed by the angle and tension of the
cords, forming oddly attractive creases across the soles of her small
feet. I raked a thumbnail lightly across the bottom of one pretty
foot and she gasped and tried to curl her foot even further. I slowly
licked the sole of her other foot and she began to shake a little.
Then, leaning over her without touching the bed, I nibbled at the back
of one knee and she jerked and moaned softly. It wasn't difficult
figuring out how to push Sharon's buttons.

	I crept onto the bed between her trembling legs, leaned down,
and buried my nose in the aromatic space between her cunt and her
asshole. Sharon squealed and puffed, and jerked at her bonds. Her
wrists twisted and contorted as if she were fastened much more tightly
than she really was.

	Separating her buttocks with my thumbs, I swabbed my tongue
from her gleaming cunt to her rhythmically twitching anus. "G-g-god!"
she stammered. I nipped the silky flesh in the depths of her cleft and
lapped again at her pussy. She was vibrating like a drumhead.

	Finally, I slid my middle finger far into her molten vagina
and stirred it about to completely lubricate it for its next task. The
same finger moved up the slope of her frenzied ass and pushed slowly
through her sphincter, the tight, muscular ring clutching at it all
the way, until my palm was flat against the underside of her ass and
three joints of my finger were being Hooverized by her rectum.

	Slowly, I began to finger-fuck her ass, sliding my finger
almost all the way out, pausing to build the suspense, and stabbing
much more quickly back into her.

	Sharon tensed just before each thrust and sobbed a little at
the end of each. They weren't sounds of pain, but of ever-mounting
lust, and I was amazed at their recuperative effect on my cock. I had
never in my life screwed a girl more than twice in a single evening,
and here I was, going for my third erection in less than three hours.

	I was becoming very aware that what I really, really wanted to
do was to get my cock about fifteen inches up that entrancing ass of
hers. Watching that trembling little butt squirm and writhe as it
tried to suck in even more of my finger was almost more than I could
stand. Sharon was all my most carefully sublimated erotic fantasies
come true. It was becoming a matter not of "should I?" but of "can I
get away with it?"

	Could Sharon's young, very tight ass manage my cock? There
would almost certainly be a little pain at the beginning, too: Would
that pop her out of her trance?

	"Sharon, I'm afraid I have to leave the room for just a
moment. You won't worry and you won't be afraid because you know for
certain that I'll be right back; you know that, don't you,
sweetheart?"

	"Yes," she giggled unevenly, "I know you'll be right back -
but what about my asshole?"

	"Um. Think about what it might be like to have a man's cock in
your asshole, Sharon. You've heard of ass-fucking, haven't you?"

	"Yeah, I guess so. Isn't that kinda weird?"

	"Isn't being tied to the bed?"

	She giggled again. "Maybe so, but it's nice, too!"

	"I'll be right back," I repeated as I slid my finger out of
its dark harbor. "Imagine how nice it would feel to have my penis in
your ass instead of my finger, okay?"

	She twitched her bottom and made fists as the pictures moved
through her mind. I headed out the door and down the stairs, my new
erection bobbing in front of me. Searching the kitchen for some kind
of test instrument, I thought of the jokes I'd heard and opened the
vegetable crisper in the refrigerator. John apparently liked Polish
and Czech food because I found a fresh kielbasa, nearly a foot long
and almost two inches in diameter. Even its consistency was vaguely
cock-like (I supposed). Back upstairs, I stopped in the master
bathroom and dug up a tube of K-Y; I would've been surprised had I
*not* found it.

	Sharon was moaning slightly and her little sphincter seemed to
be winking at me. "I'm back, Sharon, and I have a surprise for you," I
said softly as I squeezed K-Y along half the length of the kielbasa
and rolled it around in the palm of my hand, coating it liberally. I
also smoothed a smaller glop of the stuff on and in Sharon's asshole
while she twisted and hummed in the back of her throat.

	"Now, this won't hurt at all, Sharon, do you understand? This
is just a sex toy I found - kind of a fake penis, just to make sure
you can deal with being fucked in the ass. I want you to tell me what
it feels like, okay, sweetheart?" I was pressing gently at the little
brown ridges with the narrow end of my "toy" and she was trying to
hump the sausage.

	Twisting slightly, I worked the end of the kielbasa into her
ass an inch or so as Sharon gasped and started breathing rapidly,
mouth wide open. Another two inches and her neck was bent, head thrown
back as far as she was able. Her toes wiggled slowly and I saw her arm
and leg muscles tense and release in turn. At six inches, I began to
rotate the meat so its curve changed direction within her; her
buttocks seemed to shimmer with tension and her tangled hair whipped
back and forth.

	"Are you okay, sweetheart? How does that feel?"

	He took her a few seconds to put together a reply. "My God,"
she whispered hoarsely, "there's a snake in my gut, and it feels like
my legs are on fire, and my toes have electricity in them, and I think
my nipples are lit up like Christmas tree lights! And it just goes on
and on... "

	Wow, some reaction. I released the kielbasa and looked at it
thoughtfully; it was half-buried in her butt and the thicker end
traced slow, complex patterns in the air as Sharon's pelvis writhed.
Could she take in the whole thing? But if she did,... how would my
merely human cock compete afterward? Perhaps I hadn't thought far
enough ahead. Oh, the hell with it.

	I continued to work the sausage into Sharon's asshole, which
dilated to accommodate it. I added more K-Y around the wide-stretched
ring; it felt strange to the touch but didn't seem in danger of being
damaged.

	I became so mesmerized by what I was doing that it wasn't
until I could no longer get a grip on the thing that I realized only
an inch or so still protruded from her rectum, like a stumpy little
tail. Sharon's back was tightly arched and she was making a prolonged
"Unnnnhhhh... " sound.

	A bright scarlet sexual flush had crept down her neck and
shoulders and there was no doubt about her state of arousal - nor
about my own. My cock ached so much I was almost afraid to touch it.

	"What do you feel like now, Sharon?"

	"Ohhhh... You're so huge and long in my butt, I don't believe
it! Are you going to come inside me? Are you?" In her extreme
excitement, she seemed to have forgotten the kielbasa was supposed to
be a "toy." And it was a sure thing that I was going to come
somewhere.

	"I'm going to pull out and then go back in," I replied
hastily, and began extracting the sausage, pausing every inch or so to
thrust it back into her as if I were fucking her for real. Her moans
became louder and her gyrations more athletic at each plunge.

	As the length of the kielbasa emerged, I was a bit surprised
to find none of the shit stains I had expected. That reassured me,
though. As the last bit of the sausage appeared, I positioned myself
above that lovely little ass. Tossing the "toy" over my shoulder (it
made an exhausted sound as it bounced on the floor), I plunged through
her vibrating sphincter, burying my cock completely in one thrust. It
might not have felt like a lot to Sharon by comparison, but it was
exquisite to me.

	I pulled partway out and rammed into her again and she buried
her face in the sheets and sobbed under her breath. I'd thought her
virginal cunt was tight but her rectum was unbelievable, and there was
no end to it. My balls banged against her pussy and I ran my hands up
and down her flanks. My vision was clouded, I was so transported. I
could hold out for only two or three minutes before I geysered again,
the third time that evening. It felt like I was shooting sperm as far
as her kidneys. Sharon's sobbing was louder and she was gasping "Oh -
oh - oh" between gulps. Neither of us was able to move at all for five
or six minutes.

	Her lovely adolescent ass still held my organ so tightly in
its grasp, I was able to stay put for quite awhile. Every few minutes,
some internal muscle or nerve would twitch and my penis would spasm in
response. I was amazed at my ability to climax so many times so close
together, but I knew the tank was empty at last. There was no telling
how long it would take my body to manufacture more seminal fluid. But
at least I'd had the pleasure of flesh-to-flesh contact that last
time. Sharon wasn't likely to get pregnant from having her ass plowed
and I knew I was absolutely disease-free, so there were no guilt pangs
on my behalf. A most delightful - and exhausting - end to my brief
jailbait affair.

	The next question was, what should I do now? Stay overnight in
John's bed with my arms wrapped around this cuddly little doll? (And
take a much greater chance of her parents discovering she wasn't where
she was supposed to be... ?) I peered at the bedside clock as I rolled
stiffly off Sharon's body; she groaned softly and shifted position.
It wasn't quite midnight, though I felt like we had been screwing for
at least three days. If we got up now, I could probably deliver Sharon
into her friend Marilyn's care by 1:00 in the morning - not
unreasonable hours for a Friday night sleep-over, if the girls claimed
they had been out running around.

	I reached over and stroked her sweat-slick shoulder. "C'mon,
sweetheart, we have to get up and take a shower so I can take you to
your slumber party."

	She screwed her eyes tightly shut. "Don' wanna go... wanna
stay here with you... " She looked adorable behind the curtain of
tangled hair and I really wanted to keep her - but I wasn't *that*
stupid.

	"Sharon, pay attention. I'd like very much for you to stay
here, too, but I'm afraid it's a very bad idea. Let's go, sweetheart -
up and at `em." She groaned again in weary satiety and rolled over.
She winced a couple times as she sat up and scooted over to the edge
of the bed. If Sharon's healthy young body was stiff and sore, I hated
to think what kind of condition I was going to be in in the morning.

	She held up her arms for assistance and I hauled her to her
feet. Her arms, naturally, continued to slide around my neck and we
glided smoothly into a slow, gentle kiss,... completely unlike our
most recent lovemaking. Even used up and worn out, I appreciated the
warm softness of Sharon's body pressed against mine as our sweat
combined. That might present a problem to the outside world, though.

	"Darlin', I think we're both badly in need of soap and hot
water," I commented as the kiss tapered off.

	She sniffed and smiled. "We just smell like sex; I kinda like
it."

	I squeezed her tighter. "So do I, sweetheart,... but I don't
think your folks would appreciate it. Or your brother." We made out
way stiffly to the master bathroom, which had a big shower with tinted
glass doors, fake cobblestone flooring, its own recessed heat lamp
overhead, and a high-tech, ten-way showerhead.

	Sharon was still a bit fuzzy but she woke up with a squeal
when the first icy blast of water hit her between the shoulder blades.
In another two seconds, the water was nearly scalding, though, and she
backed into it, wriggling her shoulders with a sigh and twisting her
neck from side to side. I began soaping her down and she raised her
arms so I could reach her ribs. She gave me a sweet, warm smile as my
slippery hands glided over her breasts and down across her belly.

	"You're still in your trance, aren't you Sharon?" She nodded
and cocked her head. "Tell me what you're thinking about right now,
sweetheart. What's behind that lovely smile?"

	She leaned against my chest and tucked her face into my neck.
"I'm thinking about how nice it is to be here with you," she said
quietly. I was touched to the heart. She seemed to hesitate and then
added, "I'm also thinking about being in love." She raised her head
and focused on my eyes from two inches away. I opened my mouth but she
touched my lips with her fingertips. "I know what you said,... you
know, about sex and love. But I'm in love with you now - tonight - and
I can't help it."

	She was so earnest in her proclamation, I found I couldn't
help it either. "Sharon,... putting it that way, for tonight - well, I
love you, too." She wrapped her arms around my chest and squeezed so
hard, I worried a little about a cracked rib.

	We didn't say much for a few minutes. I rubbed up a thick
lather over most of her body, ears to toes. I loved handling every
inch of her and she obviously enjoyed being the object of such careful
attention. Then it was her turn to soap me up, and she made
innovative use of her breasts as bath sponges, grinning when her
nipple in my navel made me shiver.

	When Sharon had rinsed off, we switched places under the
showerhead and I watched the gleam from her slick, wet skin as she
leaned against the tile with her ankles demurely crossed. She saw the
direction my eyes were traveling and smiled at my fixation. Holding my
gaze, she cupped her small breasts and pinched her nipples. One hand
slid slowly down to cover her pubic mound and her middle finger
slipped into her vagina.

	I couldn't believe she could have the energy to go round
again, but it quickly became obvious that she was merely putting on an
erotic little show for my entertainment. She turned around and leaned
her elbows and forearms against the wall, knees straight, her inviting
little bottom jutting out at me. She gave me that hot little smile
over her shoulder as she traced a slow track down between her buttocks
with one nail. My cock made a halfhearted twitch and gave out
completely. So I made the best response I could: I bent over and
planted a wet, lingering kiss on the out-curve of one taut, perfectly
formed cheek. Sharon wiggled in delight, and when I added a little
nip with my teeth, she giggled in a way that gave me chills hotter
than the shower.

	Fifteen minutes later, we were toweling each other down
beneath the big heat lamp in the dressing alcove. Sharon insisted on
drying me completely, just as she had soaped me - and, of course, I
did the same. We paused several times for cuddles and kisses and it
was crowding 1:00 before we finally tidied up the bedroom and made our
way downstairs to gather up our clothing.

	I was becoming concerned about slipping Sharon into her
friend's house, but she calmly explained that Marilyn kept the ringer
turned down on her private line and that the two of them often
conversed secretly about "girl things" in the middle of the night.
Marilyn would arrange to sneak her in and no one's parents would be
the wiser. I hoped she was right.

	Sharon sat on the arm of the sofa, casually and beautifully
naked, talking quietly to her buddy on the phone. One toe traced
invisible patterns in the carpet and she'd wound the cord several
times around her fingers, looking for all the world like any other
fourteen-year- old girl, except for all that lovely skin.

	Again, I let my gaze travel slowly over that gorgeous little
body as I dressed. I wasn't likely to see her in this state again; the
chances of being caught were simply too great. She watched me watching
her and smiled intimately as she talked. Then she silently parted her
thighs to give me an unobstructed view of her pussy, which appeared as
exhausted as I felt.

	I was a bit surprised to hear her say, "I'm still bare as a
baby, Marilyn, and my boyfriend's putting on his clothes. I like the
way he's looking at me, like he'd like to eat me for dinner. And I've
just spread my legs so he can see almost inside of me. Yeah,
really,... but he already knows what the inside of me feels like.
Have you ever let a guy fuck you in the ass? No, Marilyn - it's
fantastic! Or maybe it just has to be the right guy... " She winked at
me. Hearing her nonchalantly describing her new sexual experiences to
another girl her age was a whole different kind of turn-on. I wondered
momentarily if Marilyn-the-girlfriend might become available for a
three-way party. No - that would *really* be taking risks!

	"No, I told you Marilyn: There's no way I'm going to tell you
who the guy is! He's so sweet, and I *love* fucking him, and he could
get in *really* bad trouble, you know. Besides, you don't know him.
He's older, remember? No, I won't tell you how much older, either!"
she added with a laugh. "Look, I have to get dressed, okay? I'm
leaving pussy puddles on his sofa, I swear I am. We'll be there in
about thirty minutes and I'll wait just beyond the kitchen porch
light, okay? Yeah, I promise - I'll give you a blow-by-blow - or a
hump- by-hump, maybe! Oh, Marilyn,... you simply will not believe what
sex is like. *Real* sex, I mean, not just kissing and making out. It's
just too terrific... "

	I was dressed now, and had moved to lean between Sharon's
knees so I could nibble on her pussy as she talked on the phone. I
placed my thumb carefully on her clit and moved it in slow circles.
Unbelievably, my little lover's eyes went smoky again and she arched
her back.

	"Uh - oh - God!" she moaned into the mouthpiece. "Oh, Marilyn,
you wouldn't believe what's happening, what he's doing to me right
this minute! Oh, that feels so good... " I grinned and pinched her
clit between thumb and forefinger. She gasped and moaned again and
gave me a wicked look; obviously, some of Sharon's very vocal reaction
was for her friend's benefit.

	"Sweetheart," I breathed in her ear, "I'm afraid you're going
to have to dress that gorgeous body so we can get out of here. Of
course, I could deliver you to Marilyn's house just as you are... "

	Sharon stifled a giggle and covered the mouthpiece with her
hand. "That would be exciting, wouldn't it?! Better not, though, just
in case we got stopped on the way... " I was joking, of course, but
the image of Sharon's naked body heating up the front seat of my car
blazed through my mind.

	"Marilyn, I've *gotta* go! I'll see you in thirty minutes - if
I can find all my clothes!" she laughed. Then she hung up and pulled
on her sweatshirt. (A pretty young girl clothed only from the waist up
is a wondrous sight.) She picked up her panties and her jeans but
paused and gave me a thoughtful look. "Want a souvenir... ?" She
dangled the white panties from an outstretched fingertip. She saw the
answer in my eyes and carefully wadded up the material and crammed it
up between her legs, most of it disappearing into her cunt. She closed
her thighs tightly and kind of rotated her hips. When she extracted
them, her panties were visibly damp; she waved them close to my face
and I inhaled the thick perfume. She leaned close and ran her little
tongue over my lips as she stuffed her trophy-gift into my pocket.

	"I'm sorry I don't have a memento to give to you in return," I
replied softly as she nibbled at my ear.

	"Are you kidding?" she chuckled, and my ear tickled. "I have
two tied- up rubbers in my jeans pocket that are full of you." She
guided my hand around to her ass, still bare below her shirt. "Plus an
extra installment... " One long kiss filled with tongue and then
Sharon was almost shyly pulling her jeans up over that naked, lovely
ass and jamming on her loafers. Her bra went into her gym bag. She
slung her purse over her shoulder and looked around to make sure she'd
forgotten nothing. And then we were out the door and climbing into the
car, and I found myself very much regretting that my evening (and
almost certainly my affair) with Sharon was nearly over.

	I wasn't sure what remained of Sharon's trance so as we pulled
out of the parking lot - the only car on the street at that hour of
the night, as far as I could tell - I squeezed her shoulder to get her
attention and said "Dive, Sharon, dive." When I glanced at her face, I
saw the calm, relaxed serenity I'd learned to associate with a
successful hypnotic trance. She was under, all right.

	"Sharon, you understand, don't you, that you must not say
anything to anyone about our relationship? Don't even hint at my
identity, correct? You can tell Marilyn and your other most
trustworthy friends all the physical details about how you lost your
virginity and how much fun sex can be, though." I was revising my
thoughts quickly. "In fact, Sharon, you *will* tell them all about it
- very privately, of course. You'll tell them in detail how great it
feel to be fucked in the ass, and all the rest of it, won't you? But
you will be very careful not to give them, or anyone else, even the
smallest clue to who I am, all right? Just refer to your `boyfriend'
and leave it at that. Do you understand, sweetheart?"

	She seemed almost affronted that I would think she had to be
instructed. "Yes, I understand; I'd *die* before I told anyone
anything that might get you in trouble! I just wouldn't do something
like that - especially around Jeff. And my parents would never
understand about sex anyway." She paused. "I wouldn't even trust all
my friends to keep their big mouths shut about something this
important - it would make terrific gossip around school. I'll be
really careful what I say and who I say it to, I promise."

	She slid closer and stroked my thigh as I drove through the
darkened suburbs. "I can trust Marilyn, though, absolutely. Other way
`round, too, because I even held a little bag of pot for her last year
when she was afraid her parents or the maid might find it." She smiled
conspiratorially. "We do things like that for each other all the time,
you know. In fact,... Marilyn's the one who showed me how to get
myself off." She folded her hands primly in her lap. "I didn't know
how and I asked her, and so we got in bed together one night, and she
played with her pussy and I watched. She even came!" she giggled
impishly.

	"Hmmm. Sweetheart, have you and Marilyn ever touched each
other's pussies?"

	"Noooo... I think she wanted to once, though."

	"Okay. Don't you think it would be a good idea if you and your
friend got really cozy and masturbated each other? Girls can make love
with other girls, you know; sex is sex. Would you enjoy that? Would
Marilyn?"

	"Yes," she replied slowly, "I think she would. She's really,
really interested in everything about sex. And it sounds like fun... "
I had a feeling little Sharon's social life was going to heat up
considerably.

	"Sweetheart, I want you to be sure to write to me at school
and tell me what happens in your sex life with Marilyn, with other
boys, all of it, okay? And give me all the other news about your life,
too, because I'm very interested. Be sure no one catches you writing
or mailing letters to me, Sharon; that could land us both in a lot of
trouble. But you will be explicit and completely honest in what you
tell me, do you understand?" And I had her memorize my post office
address at school.

	Our parting was almost anticlimactic. I turned off the
headlights as I rounded the corner onto Marilyn's block and eased to a
stop at the curb across the street and several houses down. As I
killed the engine and switched off the dome light, I looked toward the
house Sharon indicated and was sure I saw the white lace curtains move
in an upstairs dormer window. Sharon saw it, too, and grabbed her gym
bag off the floor.

	"I'd better be going - I should be there already when she
opens the kitchen door, so she won't have to wait." She quickly opened
the door and seemed about to leap out and disappear. Suddenly, I was
unprepared for her departure.

	"Sharon - " I grabbed her shoulder and she looked back at me.
Her face softened and she moved back, close up against me, leaving the
passenger door ajar. I kissed her and then hugged her more tightly
than I had intended.

	"Sharon, when I count down to one, you will no longer be in a
trance and you will forget ever having been in a trance, but you will
remember everything I've told you. And you won't forget to write
regularly and tell me everything, now, will you? And I want you to
remember something else, sweetheart, because it's very important." I
held her face in my hands and stared hard into her eyes. "Always
remember that you're a special person, Sharon. Very special." Her
beaming smile was dazzling.

	"Five,... four,... three,... two,... one." She blinked and
sighed deeply. Gathering up her bag again, she slid back to the half-
open door but paused halfway out and looked back at me steadily.

	"I don't care: I still love you," she said softly and with
great conviction. "I think I always will." And then she was out and
sprinting silently across the street as the car door clicked shut.

	I could make out the upper part of Marilyn's kitchen door over
the surrounding shrubbery and I sat and watched as it swung open and
closed again. I imagined the two girls tiptoeing upstairs, Marilyn
whispering excited questions at her friend and my little lover
displaying that knowing grin in reply. What a sweetheart she was - and
what a sweet fuck.

	I let off the brake and coasted fifty yards past Marilyn's
house before I restarted the engine; the headlights remained off until
I'd turned the far corner. All the way home, I thought about the
evening's unbelievable events. I hated to have to give up Sharon, but
safety came first. Relative safety, anyway. There were lots of other
hypnotic subjects out there, and I already had a couple of interesting
experimental candidates in mind.

	I awoke after 10:00 the next morning with a partial erection.
I couldn't remember my dreams but I was sure I knew what they'd been
about. I attempted experimentally to masturbate but stopped almost
immediately. My cock was as sore as if a dump truck had run over it -
twice. When I finally climbed out of bed, I groaned because of the
stiffness in my lower back. Sharon was probably feeling even more
wasted, despite her youthful resilience, but I knew she didn't regret
it.

	I had to wonder how she might have behaved through all this
had I simply removed her overriding inhibitions and not added all the
extra guidance. Would she still have been such a hot little girl? It
was impossible to know. My quest for someone who could be shown to
have done something under hypnosis that they would never have done
otherwise was still incomplete. But this had certainly been a
delightful experiment!

			      Part Five

	Fall of my senior year was interesting. Loads of work, but
interesting. All my course work now was in psychology and pre-grad
counseling and I was starting on my senior thesis - the subject of
which was (of course) the theoretical aspects of hypnosis.

	My advisor was Prof. Andrea DiMucci, a very attractive woman
in a Mediterranean sort of way. About forty, I guessed, probably under
120 pounds, perhaps five-foot-three in her stocking feet - which
probably none of her students had ever seen, since she favored heels
of significant height.

	The heels didn't seem to go with her dresses and suits, which
were of conservative cut though they concealed what I estimated was a
very nice, almost voluptuous figure. Her gleaming black hair was
always up in a restrictive knot atop her head.

	Dr. DiMucci was a very knowledgeable and very professional
instructor, but that didn't keep her male students from exchanging
speculative looks when she came out from behind her desk to pace back
and forth across the front of the classroom as she lectured.

	She didn't wear a wedding ring, either, and the scuttle butt
was that she'd gone through a messy divorce a few years before and
simply had no interest in dating - or so a couple of the younger
single male profs had confided.

	Dr. DiMucci was also rather conservative in her attitude
toward the therapeutic uses of hypnosis - not that she'd had any
personal experience with putting people under, but the dogma of
whatever school of psychology she subscribed to had a low opinion of
it (so there).

	This meant that I was forced to spend several afternoons in
her office, perched on an uncomfortable wooden chair in front of her
obsessively tidy desk, trying to explain my interest in hypnosis and
the possibilities my reading and experience had suggested - and
without giving away my personal experiments.

	Late one Friday afternoon in September I was leaning against
the wall in the hall outside her office, waiting for the good
professor to show up. I'd received a letter from little Sharon,
telling me how much fun she'd had with her friend Marilyn. "She put
two fingers up inside me and it really felt nice!" she'd written - and
all the I's were dotted with tiny hearts.

	I was imagining the scene and smiling when Dr. DiMucci arrived
and murmured an apology for being late. I watched from behind as she
tried to get her key to work in the door lock; this involved shifting
her compact weight from foot to foot and jiggling her hips just enough
to keep my attention focused. Sharon... DiMucci... Why hadn't it
occurred to me before? Would it be possible to prove the validity of
my graduation thesis by putting my advisor into a trance?

	"Professor," I began as I settled into the familiar hard
chair, "how would it be if you allowed me to perform a little
demonstration to prove my point about hypnotism?"

	She raised her eyebrows and shot me a calculating look. I knew
she had a pretty good opinion of my academic abilities and she
generally considered seriously anything I had to say. "What did you
have in mind?"

	"Well,... if I were to hypnotize you, for instance... "

	She stared at me and then broke into a musical laugh. "Me? You
think you can `abracadabra' me into a hypnotic state? Not a chance,
sir!"

	"Then you shouldn't object if I at least attempt it, right? If
I'm wrong, I'm the one embarrassed by failure. You have nothing to
lose, have you?"

	Her smile became more serious. "Look - you're an excellent
student, you're very people-savvy, and I have no doubt you'll become a
first- rate psychological counselor. I have no interest in causing you
embarrassment, really."

	I took a deep breath and jumped in. "Dr. DiMucci, I have the
greatest respect for your knowledge and abilities,... but I have to
say that hypnosis is one subject in which I'm pretty sure I have more
practical experience than you have." If you're going to hang yourself,
you might as well tie the noose good and tight, I always say.

	I could practically see the thought process spinning around in
her head. If I failed, I'd have to drop the subject of hypnosis in
favor of a topic she approved of. And she was an experienced
professional psychologist: As far as she was concerned, there was no
way she was going to be affected by some musical hall mumbo-jumbo. And
she was genuinely sympathetic to my enthusiasm - she just hated to see
it misdirected.

	"If I let you attempt this... experiment,... where and when
are we talking about? Here and now?"

	Well, it was getting late and the halls were quiet. Most of
the other faculty offices were dark and locked. Prof. DiMucci seemed
tired from the long week, so her defenses were probably low. And, of
course, she was absolutely confident of her own resistance to my
"powers," which gave me an additional edge. "Yes, here and now would
be fine, I think. Professor,... are you willing to trust me in this? I
mean, I *will* need your cooperation, whether you buy the idea or
not."

	"Sure, I promise, I'll cooperate. Besides, I'm your senior
advisor - and that gives me a certain amount of authority where you're
concerned, and I know you're not stupid." I wouldn't do anything I
ethically shouldn't if I ever wanted to receive *any* degree from
*any* university, was what she meant. She smiled again and I decided
not to worry about it.

	I stood and looked around the small office. There was an
unused desk lamp on a bookcase in the corner and I retrieved it. I
switched it on and turned off the overhead, aiming the lamp off to one
side to provide only a dim background illumination.

	Moving around in front of her, I could see her pale face
highlighted by her glossy black hair. She was a much greater challenge
than the kids I had worked with; I had to make her feel relaxed.

	"Would you mind taking off your earrings and your wristwatch?"
She complied as I contemplated the neatly buttoned high collar of her
blouse. "Umm, could you also undo that top button? Also the buttons on
your cuffs?" She looked at me for a moment, then nodded agreeably and
did as I asked. One last thing. "And would you slip off your shoes,
please?" Off they came, no questions or complaints. I considered
asking her to take out her contact lenses - being a little out of
focus would help her concentrate on my voice - but I decided that
would be pushing it.

	"Now, professor, just look off in that direction; don't focus
on anything in particular." I gestured toward the far side of the dim
office. "In fact, you won't think about what you're seeing,... you'll
only pay attention to my voice. You're thinking this is all a bit
silly though you're willing to be tolerant of it. But that's not
necessary, because you're already allowing yourself to slide off into
that comfortable, warm, relaxed place in your mind where you have
nothing to worry about, nothing that has to be done right away, no
phones ringing, no student papers to read,... just you in your
favorite chair at home, lights turned down to a comfortable level,
sipping a glass of your favorite wine - " (I was taking a chance
there, but not much of one, not with a woman named "DiMucci") " -
listening to your favorite music playing softly in the background... "

	I edged around in front of her again so I could see her face.
Her posture had dissolved and she slouched in her desk chair, eyes
half- closed, a peaceful, serene expression on her face.

	"Professor, I imagine your friends call you `Andrea,' don't
they?" She murmured her assent and the expression on her face never
changed. "Has anyone ever called you `Andy'?"

	"Not since I was a little girl; my uncles used to call me
that, to tease me. When I got older, I insisted on being called
`Andrea' because it was more grown-up." Her tone was calm and
unsurprised that I would ask such a question. The Eagle had landed, as
someone once said.

	Twenty minutes later, I was the only person in Dr. DiMucci's
adult life with permission to call her "Andy," at least when we were
alone. She would always be absolutely candid and honest with me. And
I had established a back door and given her certain instructions. Then
I told her to forget she'd been hypnotized, but to remember what she'd
been told, and I brought her out of it.

	When she blinked and took a breath, I was again sitting in the
chair across the desk from her. She gave me a small, sympathetic
smile. "I guess it didn't work, did it? Well, I told you it wouldn't.
I'm sorry you had to find out the hard way."

	"That's all right, Andy. But would you write out a little
statement on your pad there?" She didn't even blink at the name.
"Please write `Hypnotism doesn't work.' And if that's a true
statement, sign your name below."

	She scooted up to the bloater and wrote out the three words.
But when her pen moved to add her signature she paused and looked
blankly at the paper. "That's odd. How the hell do you spell
`DiMucci'... ?"

	She looked up sharply and the machinery in her head cranked up
again. Carefully, she scratched out "doesn't" and printed "DOES"
above it, then signed her name: "Andy DiMucci." As she reread what
she'd written, her eyebrows popped up into her hairline and she shook
her head slowly. "Well, I will be dipped!"

	That got a smothered laugh from me. "I beg your pardon,
professor?"

	"You did it, didn't you? You put me under! Damn - I don't
believe this, I just don't believe you did it. No pendulum, no drugs
or anything, just your voice; you really did it!" She leaned back in
her chair and eyed me with new respect. "Well, what can I say? You go
ahead and write that senior thesis, mister, and if it's as impressive
as this little demonstration, I'll guarantee you a very high grade."
She smiled and shook her head again. "I just realized: You called me
`Andy,' didn't you? Let's keep that between ourselves, shall we... ?"

	"Of course, professor. I was just making my point, you know.
Oh - one other thing... " She gave me her attention. "Dive, Andy,
dive." And she was under again.

	"Andy, did you know the guys in your classes think you're a
very attractive woman? Especially for someone twice their age? You do
know how pretty you are, don't you?"

	"I guess so... Walter always told me how beautiful I was, and
I loved hearing him say that - but then he treated me like shit. How
you look has nothing to do with who you are, I found *that* out all
right."

	"That's a sad thing to hear, Andy. Your students and the
younger male faculty members have a lot of respect for you as a
teacher and as a psychologist - but they also think you're a lovely
woman. They believe it's possible to be both. So do I. I think you
should begin to change your mind about that, don't you?"

	I rose and strolled around the office, noting the squash
racket in a worn case in one corner and the running shoes peeking out
from under one side of her desk. "You keep in good shape physically,
don't you? You get plenty of exercise?"

	"Sure. I play tennis and squash, I jog when the weather's
nice, I swim a couple times a week. And I have an exercycle in my
bedroom that I ride while I'm watching recorded soaps on my VCR. It's
good for you, especially when you're in the classroom most of the
day."

	"Oh, I agree entirely. But regular exercise also means you've
kept your body looking young. I think you should show off some of the
results of all that exercise, don't you? I think you should begin
wearing fewer drab suits and more flattering dresses and skirts.
Stand in front of a full-length mirror naked, Andy, and look closely
at what you see. You look very good, especially for a woman of nearly
forty, and that will give you pleasure and satisfaction. You should
share that pleasure with the men around you. You don't have to come on
to them, or strut in front of class, or behave in an unprofessional
manner - just let people share the pleasure of looking at you. Take it
as the compliment it is, okay?"

	"Maybe you're right... I *am* in good shape. And `nearly
forty' isn't quite accurate, I'm afraid, though it's nice to hear. I'm
really forty-two. Yes, I should dress a little more frilly, the way I
did when I was a teenager. I have good legs - that's why I wear heels
so often - but shorter skirts wouldn't hurt, either... You're right:
Why should I give a damn about Walter?"

	I assumed Walter was her ex-husband, but she was on a roll and
I didn't want to inquire just then. "One other thing, Andy. You have
beautiful, thick, dark hair that goes with your dark eyes. Why don't
you try wearing it down? Let it swing freely, let it bounce when you
walk." Her hand moved up to the "Gibson Girl" top-knot and she got
that thoughtful look. In fact, she was so agreeable about my
suggestions, I took a bit of a chance.

	"Have you ever gone out in public without a bra, Andy? When
you were younger?"

	She chuckled sexily. "You bet I did! When I was in college, I
used to wear tee-shirts and sweaters with no bra, and the boys
noticed, too! But I haven't done that in twenty years. You think I
still could?" She seemed almost hopeful.

	"Well, take a look in your mirror. I'll bet you don't have
much sag, not with all the exercise you get. What the hell - take a
chance, Andy!"

	Dr. DiMucci's first class on Monday morning caused quite a
stir. I took my usual seat at the window-end of the first row and
observed both the professor and her effect on her students.

	She was turned out in a rich forest-green wool skirt that
ended four inches above the knee and she wore the sheerest dark gray
hose I'd ever seen. Silver-gray heels showed off her lovely legs and a
wide belt emphasized the narrowness of her waist. Above that was a
snugly-fitted burgundy cashmere sweater with long, tight sleeves - and
it was obvious from the way her bustline shifted in several directions
at once that there was nothing between her nipples and the wool.

	She'd had her hair done and it cascaded over her neck and
curled around her ears, glossily reflecting the light from the
windows. Large silver hoops shimmered at her ears and her lips shone
a dark, luscious red. Her dark eyes were already large and riveting
but she'd even improved on that by thickening her long lashes even
further.

	More than one undergraduate sat with his mouth open,
mesmerized by Andrea DiMucci's re-invention of herself, and even
several of the girls stared in fascination and envy. She was obviously
aware of the class' electrified reaction and basked in the attention
even as she took up the day's lecture. There was a clatter of pens and
a rustle of paper as students unfroze and hurried to get their
notebooks open, but many of them continued to steal glances at their
instructor.

	Dr. DiMucci stayed out in front of the desk for the entire
lecture period, strolling up and down, consciously posing with one leg
stretched out, and occasionally leaning back against her desk with her
back slightly arched. The longer I watched her subtle performance, the
more I began to consider the possibilities, and the hornier I got.
The other guys in the class could fantasize, but I might be able to
fulfill my growing fantasies.

	Two days later, I stopped by Dr. DiMucci's office - "Andy," as
I now thought of her to myself - to drop off my revised thesis
outline. She was conferring with another student and I waited
discretely for my turn, leaning against the outside of the doorframe.
When the other guy left, she motioned me in and shut the office door
behind me.

	"Did you see me in class the other day?!" she squealed under
her breath and grinned broadly. I could only grin back. "I wasn't sure
I could go through with it, but I *loved* it! I haven't had boys look
at me like that in a long, long time. You're responsible because you
made the suggestion - - and I can't tell you how grateful I am for
that!"

	She was wearing a thin red silk blouse with a short, straight
black skirt, and I was extremely aware of her swaying nipples beneath
the fabric and the shifting of the flat muscles in her thighs. She did
a slow pirouette, arms raised above her head. "How do you think I
look? Seriously? Not too young-ish, not trying too hard?"

	Was she kidding? "Andy, I think you look absolutely gorgeous.
You sure don't look forty-two anymore, but not too young, either. You
look like you've rediscovered yourself."

	"Maybe I have. The self I've tried to bury for too long. Well,
that's over: Andrea DiMucci's back!" She giggled - a sound I wasn't
used to hearing from mature women, but she did it very well.

	I sat and handed her my outline. She scanned it for a few
minutes, made a couple of notes, and then began asking questions.
*Lots* of questions. Having discovered that hypnosis wasn't just a
joke, she was suddenly and intensely interested in everything she
could learn - and I apparently was the only practitioner she was
acquainted with at the moment. When she asked about my previous
hypnotic subjects, however, I became cautious. And I reminded myself
that I still hadn't proved to my satisfaction that I could convince
someone to do something they were dead- set against. Now-or-never
time.

	"Professor, how would it be if I came over to your house some
evening this week? We could discuss my thesis in more comfortable
surroundings... "

	Dr. DiMucci had been relaxed and friendly - "mentor mode" -
but at my unexpected suggestion she shifted instantly to cool, steely
academic superiority. Her back stiffened, her gaze narrowed, and she
radiated disapproval.

	"Certainly not! That would be unproductive, not to mention
quite unprofessional; it would also be a very bad idea personally, for
both of us. In fact, you're being rather presumptuous." Her frown made
me uncomfortable. She looked away and I scrambled to recover my wits.
I hadn't really expected such a strong reaction!

	"Dr. DiMucci... " She glanced back. "Dive, Andy, dive." It
took perhaps thirty unnerving seconds longer than the last time, but
finally she was under.

	"Andy, I sincerely apologize for making such a suggestion; am
I forgiven?" She looked at me thoughtfully, apparently deciding to go
with youthful stupidity, and smiled slightly as she nodded. "Very
well," I continued, "since it *was* such a bad suggestion, you will
now forget completely that I ever made it, won't you?" She nodded
agreeably and, from the change in her expression, I could practically
see the incident disappear from her mind. Now, I would need to probe a
little.

	"Andy, when you were in your early 20s, say, recently out of
college,... was there some one guy you absolutely had the hots for?
Someone you practically dragged into bed, or tried to?" I was
interested in mature female lust, not adolescent passion. "C'mon, now,
Andy; you know you can tell me absolutely anything and it won't go any
farther. In fact, you *want* to tell me, don't you? You *need* to tell
me all about the one guy you were really, uncontrollably horny over.
If there was ever such a guy. Was there?"

	I thought I already knew the answer to that one: Dr. DiMucci
had begun turning bright pink around the ears and she seemed to be
gazing hungrily at someone who wasn't in the office with us.

	"Yes, there was someone like that - Dr. Evans. Sam Evans, who
was in charge of us residents at the clinic. I was twenty-four and he
was thirty, I think. God, just listening to him talk nearly made me
wet my pants." She licked her lips and squirmed a little. "It's funny,
too: He wasn't really a hunk or anything, though he was good-looking.
Only a little above average height, wore glasses, had ordinary sandy
brown hair - not very different from a dozen other guys I'd known and
sometimes dated. But there was something indefinable about Dr.
Evans... " Andy sighed deeply and gave me a rather shaky smile. "The
very first time we were introduced, I fell all over my tongue because
this... this big cannonball of lust hit me square between the eyes. I
wanted to rape him right there in the office. `Course, I didn't know
yet that he was married."

	She paused, apparently replaying old memories. But I wanted to
share those memories. "Tell me what you're thinking about, Andy. Tell
me about Sam Evans. Did you have an affair with him?"

	"An affair? No, never. But not for lack of trying. Every other
married man I've ever been physically attracted to, I've been careful
to avoid that sort of thing. I'm simply not capable of deliberately
throwing a monkey wrench into someone's marriage. I couldn't sleep
nights if I did that, I really couldn't. But Dr. Evans was the
exception. I would have fucked him breathless in the middle of the
dining hall if that's what he'd wanted." She shrugged helplessly.

	"I met his wife a few weeks after I first met him. A very nice
woman named Cheryl, only two or three years older than me. He
obviously loved her, and vice versa. But that wouldn't have stopped
me, not with him. She was a nurse supervisor, sometimes had to work
Saturday evenings. After about six months, Dr. Evans and I had gotten
acquainted well enough that I took a chance one of those Saturdays and
invited him to a chamber music performance at the university - just
for the company, I said, and since his wife was tied up with work.
All a lie;... God, I wanted him! So we went and we enjoyed the music,
and that was all. I tried every way I could think of - subtly, of
course, because I didn't want to repel him entirely - to let him know
that I was available. Either he didn't catch on or he was being
diplomatic. I probably should have just grabbed his cock in the car
and climbed onto his lap! I ended up going back to my quarters in a
state of sweating frustration and I masturbated and cried for several
hours... "

	I was fascinated by the good doctor's revelations. I'd been
privy to assorted adolescent female fantasies under hypnosis but this
was the first "older" woman who had divulged such things to me. Her
nipples were invitingly stiff and elongated beneath her blouse, and
from the way she moved restlessly in her desk chair, it seemed likely
she was flexing her thighs below an increasingly damp crotch. But
there were still people about out in the hall and I couldn't risk
taking a peek. "So you were never able to satisfy your desire for Dr.
Evans?"

	"No. My residency was up in January and at the Christmas
party, I got desperate and brought my own mistletoe." She smiled at
the memory. "No kidding, I really did. Dr. Evans was the person who
really galvanized me, who convinced me I could really *make* it in
this profession; a marvelous and inspirational teacher. And then I
cornered poor Sam in a stairwell and dangled that little green sprig
over his head. He kinda laughed - we'd gotten to be good friends and
colleagues as well that year - and he gave me a friendly sort of peck
on the cheek. Then I grabbed his face and kissed him on the mouth,
and... well, all that pent-up sex boiled up and I pushed myself
against him - I think I was moaning by then - and he reacted,... but
only for a few seconds. God, it was so great while it lasted. I was
hanging around his neck and he finally pulled me off, almost roughly,
and whispered `Andrea, this is not a good idea!' I literally wanted to
haul up my skirt and make him screw me right there, standing up
against the wall on the landing. I can imagine what my face looked
like. The poor man took one look and practically flew back up the
stairs to the party... ! I sat on the stairs and felt miserable.

	"I was sure he'd denounce me, unprofessional conduct or
something, but he seemed to take the blame himself. He avoided me for
a couple days, and then he tried to apologize to *me* - as if it was
him doing the coming-on. I'm ashamed to say I let him go on thinking
that; it sort of guaranteed my own safety. And then I finished my
residency - with an outstanding report from Dr. Evans, I might add -
and went off to a good counseling position. I had several brief
affairs in the next year or two, and every time I was fucking some
guy, Sam Evans' face would appear in my mind and I'd go into
unbelievable orgasms. Then I'd feel guilty about the guy who actually
had his cock in me, but I couldn't help the fantasizing. Then I met
Walter and after a few months we were married."

	I wasn't concerned with Walter right now. "Andy, if you were
to meet Dr. Evans again tomorrow, and he was divorced and free for the
taking,... how would you feel? Would you still be interested in him?
Would you still want to fuck him? He's only about five years older
than you, remember."

	Her expression went blank for a moment and then she answered
slowly and thoughtfully. "They say you can't ever go back - but I
think I'd want to find out if he still affected me as strongly as he
did when I was younger. God, that would be fantastic, wouldn't it?"
She shivered a little and smiled. "I could make him sorry he didn't
take his chance when he had it, back at the clinic. Not revenge - "
Her eyes sparkled. "But he'd sure regret missing that opportunity if I
fucked him good and proper now. I know a lot more about sex than I did
then. Wow... "

	It startled me a little that her "wow" sounded so much like
Sharon's, but that was just what I wanted to hear. "Andy, during the
remainder of this week, you will think about Dr. Sam Evans at random
intervals when you're awake, and you'll dream about him when you're
asleep. It won't interfere with your teaching or driving or anything
like that, but your memories of that year in his company will drift
back at unexpected moments and you'll think of all the things you
might have done together - especially with the knowledge and
experience you have now and the youth and enthusiasm you had then."
Her face had brightened.

	"This Friday night, you will dress very sexy indeed. You won't
wonder why you're doing it - you simply will want to. You won't make
any dates, obviously, and you will avoid visits by anyone - except me.
I'll knock at your door about 9:00 and you'll invite me in. It won't
seem unusual or unprofessional to you. It will just be a friendly
visit. But when you close the door behind me, Andy, and lock it, you
will look back at me again and you will see Dr. Sam Evans as he was
when you were a resident. And you will be twenty-four again. And you
will be even hornier for him than you were originally - but this time
you'll be absolutely convinced that he's equally aroused by you. Do
you understand, Andy?"

	Her respiration had increased and she was visibly excited.
"Yes, yes, I understand. Oh, Sam... "

	I admit to being a little nervous as I walked up Andrea
DiMucci's front walk that Friday night. This wasn't like putting the
make on a high school or college girl. If I got this one wrong, it
would basically be the end of my career before I'd even got started.

	I rang the bell and Dr. DiMucci must have been waiting with
her hand on the knob because it opened instantly. "How nice! You know,
I had a feeling you might stop by this evening. C'mon in!" She smiled
broadly and stood aside as I entered. She was wearing a blue jersey
micro-mini that barely concealed her crotch and instead of hose, I saw
sky-blue, lace- topped thigh-highs above silver heels so high I was
amazed she could stand upright. Her white, off-the-shoulder chiffon
blouse was cropped short, shimmering above her bare midriff. On top of
everything else, Prof. DiMucci had a very sexy navel.

	"I've looked over your thesis outline." She looked away as she
closed and latched the door, and then turned back to me. "I believe
the only area that needs work is perhaps more source material for the
historical practice section; you need to beef that up a little, but -
" She stood frozen, staring at my face. Her pupils dilated like stereo
camera lenses and she sucked in a deep, shaky breath.

	"Dr. Evans,... you came after all. I waited and I kept trying
to get you to notice me, but you never did." Her voice was fifteen
years younger, throatier, hungrier, but less sure of herself.

	"I noticed," I said softly. "I just couldn't do anything about
it. But Cheryl and I broke up a while back and I can do as I please
now; there's no guilt involved. I wanted you all along, you know. I
still do, Andrea."

	She blinked and moved closer. In those high, high heels, she
was only two inches shorter than me. I set my hands carefully on her
bare waist and she pressed up against me with a long sigh. Her arms
slipped around my neck and she shifted slightly into the classic
silver screen kissing position. I accepted the invitation and lowered
my mouth to hers. At the first touch of our lips, she moaned and
pressed harder, grinding her body against me, clutching at my neck,
pushing her knee between my legs. My cock was already climbing the
inside of my chinos. This woman's touch - even as her younger self -
was much more practiced and assured than I was used to and she already
had me breathing hard. I realized I was gasping and took a long, slow
breath for stability.

	"Tell me what you want, Andrea. I want to hear you say it."

	"Are you kidding?" she purred. (I'd always thought a woman
"purring" was just a rather cliched metaphor... until I heard Andy
DiMucci doing it.) One hand unfastened itself from my neck and glided
between our bodies to stroke my cock through my slacks.

	"I can tell you *exactly* what I want, Sam. I want you to put
your hands and your mouth on my breasts. I want to suck your cock,
cram it completely into my mouth. I want to feel your fingers in my
pussy and on my clit. I want to feel - oh, God! - I want to feel your
lovely cock sliding into me, far, far in, filling me up. I want you to
fuck me in every position ever invented, slow and gentle, hard and
fast. I want thunderous orgasms until we both pass out. I want enough
of your semen in me to last me a year. And, Sam - I want it now!" She
growled her last demand softly in my ear.

	Jesus God. My hands were trembling. What could I do against
such insistence? Not that I had any intention of resisting, of course.
My hands moved from her hips down over the swell of her ass and cupped
her firm cheeks through her tiny skirt. She plastered herself against
my front, moving up and down against me as she nibbled at my neck.
When I slipped my hands up under the back hem of her skirt, I was
surprised to find only smooth, warm flesh; she chuckled throatily as I
realized she was wearing only a very slender thong. I squeezed her ass
and she flexed her muscles in response.

	It was a little astonishing - or perhaps I was just more naive
than I realized. I'd expected an unavoidable bit of flab here and
there on Dr. DiMucci's body, no matter how well she maintained it, but
throughout that evening I never found a square inch on her frame that
might not have belonged to someone my own age. It might have been
partly because she'd never had children - I don't know. But with the
throttle wide open and the governor off, that steaming body ran like
Casey Jones' express train. All I had to do was hang on.

	During the two or three seconds it took me to think those
thoughts, Andy had yanked her chiffon top off over her head and stood
half- naked, back arched and nipples extended. My hands went to those
earth-mother tits like magnets and when I cupped them and squeezed she
let her head loll back and closed her eyes.

	I led her over to the sofa and sat with her straddling my lap,
her breasts pushing into my face, and I feasted, sucking and nibbling
one tit and then the other. Andrea clutched at my hair and murmured
"Sam, Sam,... " and I felt no guilt at all.

	After an infinite few minutes, my own shirt was gone and she
was lying sprawled across my lap, licking and sucking at *my* nipples.
That was a new experience - at least they way she did it, slurping and
tugging with her teeth - and small electrical jolts ricocheted across
my ribcage. Her miniskirt was a rolled-up band around her waist and I
kept one hand busy stroking her thighs and caressing that smooth,
silky ass. She hunched her pussy at me but I was trying to take my
time getting around to that.

	She finally abandoned my chest and nearly broke my zipper
getting my pants open and pushed down. My cock bounced up and she
grabbed it like she was piloting a Spad XIII. Then her face was
burrowing in my lap and my cock was disappearing down her throat. I
hoped I'd get it back; the combination of enthusiasm and expertise was
almost more than I could take. The very last thing I wanted to do
around this tigress was to climax too quickly so I finally wrestled my
penis away from her clutches and more or less fought my way to my
feet.

	Andy grinned and adjusted herself on her back on the sofa
while I pushed my slacks and shorts off. I walked around to the front
of the sofa, though, staying just out of reach. She gave me a puzzled
look... until I grasped her ankles and hauled her down the sofa toward
me. She got the idea almost immediately and draped her legs over the
sofa arm, her bare ass jutting up over the edge. When she spread her
knees, the dividing strap of the shimmering blue thong nearly vanished
between the lips of her pussy. She still wore the sky-blue hose and
the silver heel, and the image from my point of view was much sexier
than if she had been completely naked.

	I squatted and buried my face in her crotch, licking her labia
on both sides of the crotch strap as I eased the thong down her thighs
and off her legs. Then I spread her pussy with my fingers, her creamy
skin set off by the inky curls of her thatch, and dived in, sucking at
her twitching clit and poking my nose far down into her fragrant
depths.

	Hooking my arms around her thighs, I scooted her up even
farther until her glistening cunt pointed straight up - the only full
professor I'd ever seen in that position. Spreading Andrea's legs
wide, silver heels waving in the air, I crouched over her crotch and
resumed my feast. She was almost sobbing and I wondered if she was
capable of tearing the sofa cushion in two behind her head.

	My cock was straining so hard it was beginning to ache, but I
still wasn't ready yet to fuck Dr. DiMucci. Instead, I moved into a
more- or-less sixty-nine position, kneeling on the sofa behind her
head. When I leaned forward, she tilted her head back and again
stuffed my penis into her eager mouth while I went back to sucking on
her clit. Her hands roamed over my butt as I thrust down her waiting
throat and felt my balls jiggle against her nose and eyelids.

	In fact, Andy turned out to be such a talented cocksucker that
I was soon fucking her esophagus as vigorously as I would have her
cunt. Finally, she made a kind of tossing motion with her head and I
was hazily aware that she had engulfed the entire Trinity within her
lips. Her mouth clamped down just a little and I experienced a
jerking spasm while her nails dug into my rigid ass muscles. I was
half afraid she was going to choke but she didn't struggle to escape -
quite the opposite. And when I came a half-second later and shot what
felt like a quart of cream down her throat, I also sucked in her clit
and bit down a little harder than I had intended.

	Andrea went as rigid as I was - she had no way of producing a
sound but I knew she would have moaned rather than shrieked - and we
lay like joined marble statues for several long seconds. Then I took a
deep breath and levered myself up, and my penis and balls slithered
from her mouth as she gasped for her own breath. She lay panting while
I milked my cock and dripped sticky white threads across her face in
artistic patterns.

	"Oh, Sam," she whispered hoarsely, "that was wonderful. God,
I've wanted you for so long... " That brought me around in a hurry.
I'd nearly forgotten I was supposed to be someone else.

	"Raise up, Andrea." She curled up out of the way so I could
sit down (before I fell down) and then snaked her way around so her
upper body was draped across my lap. Her dark eyes gazed up at me
adoringly and we both ignored the drying semen in her lashes and
eyebrows. "Andrea, tell me what it was that happened between you and
your husband. Would you confide in me?"

	She sighed and grimaced. "I guess I need to tell someone,
don't I? And who better than you, Sam?" She shifted to a more
comfortable position and I lightly traced my fingertips across her
breasts and around her nipples. She smiled and cuddled closer, and
sighed again.

	Walter seemed like a good catch at the time," she said. "Or
maybe I was just getting desperate. God only knows why I thought I had
to `catch' someone in the first place. But he was really nice-looking
and he flattered me with attention. I couldn't have you, Sam, and he
was available, so I took second-best. But he wasn't even that, of
course, and I lived to regret it... " She shifted uneasily and I
stroked her hair.

	"Things went okay, I guess, for maybe a year. But Walter was
in sales, not an especially educated man. He got annoyed because the
books I read at home were generally beyond his comprehension. He began
to feel threatened by me, unable to compete intellectually. So he got
even in the traditional, `acceptable' ways." She laughed rather
bitterly. "He complained if supper wasn't ready when he got home -
even though I'd been teaching all day. Or if his laundry wasn't done.
Eventually, he went from complaining to pure ugliness. Especially
when it came to sex. He demanded that I accommodate him whenever he
happened to feel horny - like at 3:00 in the morning, with him drunk
and me exhausted. Or it might be just as I had finished getting ready
for work in the morning, so he could mess up my clothing and makeup.
Finally, he became... physically abusive. A couple of times - well,
basically, he raped me." Her voice was so low now I had to strain to
understand her.

	"But, Andrea, you're a psychologist! Didn't you see what was
happening?"

	"Not for quite awhile, no. That sounds odd, perhaps, but a
psychologist is seldom the best person to analyze her own problems."
She gave me a quizzical look and smiled slightly. "You know that, Sam:
That's why shrinks go to other shrinks." I reminded myself to stay in
character more carefully.

	"So? What happened? You finally just had enough, I hope."

	"Oh, yeah... I had more than enough - but I was unwilling to
accept that my marriage was a failure, afraid to admit I'd married the
wrong person entirely, and for the wrong reasons. I've never handled
personal failure very well, Sam." And she gave me another Significant
Look.

	Dr. DiMucci was beginning to depress me. I'd had no idea her
marriage had been so traumatic. Moreover, I was beginning to feel
guilty for having rejected her all those years ago - and I wasn't even
who she thought I was.

	"Andy," I said, "it's time to stop beating yourself up about
Walter. You were the victim, not the abuser; it wasn't your fault
that it happened and it's not your fault that the marriage fell apart
as a result. I know you understand that intellectually." I remembered
her acid tone when she talked about her ex in her faculty office.
"Emotionally, though, it sounds like you're still blaming yourself.
Pay attention now, Andy: The only mistake you made was in not getting
out of a bad marriage sooner. But you're out of it now, so just put it
behind you. A `learning experience', as they say."

	She gave a ladylike snort and patted my chest. "That's the
line I use on my students when they groan about a research assignment.
But I understand what you're saying, Sam, and I know you're right. I
have to stop being bitter and just get my life back." She leaned her
head back against my shoulder and gave me a very searching look. "Are
you going to be part of that life, Sam... ?"

	If I wasn't careful, this was going to get too complicated. I
felt sorry for my professor's unhappiness in her marriage, and I
understood (now) her desire to reclaim the one man she had really
desired in her life, but still... Well, there was always an escape
hatch: "Dive, Andy, dive."

	She twisted around on my lap and gave me her full attention. I
took a deep breath while I thought quickly through what I wanted to
say. This lovely naked woman who had sucked my cock and swallowed my
semen was nevertheless a fully-tenured professor and a major factor in
my life just then. One false step and my life as I knew it was over.

	"Andrea, listen to me carefully. Your ex-husband, Walter, is
still too great an influence in your life. Rationally, you already
know you have nothing to feel guilty about regarding Walter. Little by
little, over the next year or so, every time you think about Walter,
your feelings of guilt will give way to professional comprehension.
After awhile, Walter will no longer seem especially important in your
life, do you understand? The time you spent with him will lose its
trauma and you will come to regard your marriage to him simply as a
mistake, Andrea, a mistake you've since corrected.

	"Your marriage did not *fail*; it ought never to have taken
place at all. You and Walter should never have married to begin with,
you understand that now, don't you? Day by day, month by month, your
natural common sense will take over when it comes to the subject of
Walter. It will be a natural healing process - your own training will
tell you that - - and you'll not only accept it, you'll welcome it,
won't you, Andrea? Within a year, Walter will be a fading memory who
means very little to you. You'll have difficulty remembering his face
or the sound of his voice. And you won't care. Right?"

	She smiled in relief. "Right... What do I care about Walter -
the bastard... " It would take awhile, obviously, but I was sure I
could rid Prof. DiMucci of at least the memory of her bad experiences
with her ex-hubby. I wanted to do that much for her, in exchange for
being her "Sam" for the evening. Speaking of which...

	"Andy, what sexual act have you always speculated about but
never performed? Maybe something `kinky' that embarrassed you or made
you uneasy, but that you were still curious about?"

	She licked her lips. "Anal sex, I think. All kinds."

	"All kinds?" (How many kinds could there be?)

	"Well,... ass-fucking, of course. I've seen that in, ah, porno
films - you know. It looks like a real turn-on... but it also seems
unhygienic. Probably painful, too - at first, anyway. There's also
`rimming', which looks like it could be exciting to have done to
you,... but I don't know if I could do it to someone else."

	This sounded promising. "You've never done any of those
things, then?"

	"Uh,... no - not really. Sometimes, when I masturbate, I put
one finger up in, uh, up my ass. I wiggle it and it feels really sexy,
but it's kind of awkward."

	"Wal - Your ex-husband never tried any of this with you?"

	"Sure, he tried - several times. But to him, anal sex was just
another way to try to degrade me, Sam. I didn't like it because he was
about as gentle as an alley cat and I always pushed him away... " She
glanced at my face surreptitiously and a bit hopefully, I thought.

	"Do you think you'd like to try some of those things with me,
Andy? You'd trust me to do it properly and gently, wouldn't you?"

	"Of course, Sam - I'd always trust you." She was still deep in
her trance.

	I thought about continuing our fuck fest right there on the
sofa but screwing my professor in her own bed suddenly seemed a lot
more interesting. "Andy, what color sheets do you like?" Her eyes lit
up and a moment later I was being led by the cock toward the back of
the house. The sheets were zebra-striped. And she began to remove
those sexy heels and blue hose, but I insisted she leave them on.
Besides, from her hip-swinging gait, I was sure she felt more wanton
in them.

	I whispered quiet encouragement to her all the while we were
arranging ourselves in another 69 on our sides. Andy sucked lustily on
the head of my revived penis and then licked it like a lollipop. Her
labia had become extended from her arousal and I sucked the soft, damp
flaps into my mouth and teased them with my front teeth. Then I buried
my nose in her fragrant cunt and sucked hard on her rigid clit, which
was protruding like a tiny red cock. She moaned and squirmed and began
to lick my balls.

	After a few minutes I upped the ante, getting my middle finger
nice and slick in the depths of her pussy and then rubbing it across
the tight pucker of her asshole. She shivered and when I eased my
finger into the snug opening she squeezed my cock and poked her butt
out a little more. She sucked at her lower lip and continued to moan
throatily while her rectal muscles tugged at my finger. I wiggled it
about and she jerked slightly and croaked "Gawd... !"

	She was still entranced so I began making suggestions. "Andy,
your anus is very sensitive now; it feels like it has ten times as
many nerve endings as usual, doesn't it? Now, you'll copy everything I
do until I tell you to stop, do you understand? You won't worry about
it and you'll feel extremely sexy. You'll follow my suggestions
because they'll seem so obvious and so erotic. Start with your finger
in *my* asshole - gently, though!"

	She did as she was instructed, working her slender middle
finger up into my ass and licking at the head of my cock at the same
time. When I wiggled my finger again, she wiggled hers, and we both
shivered.

	"I think you're ready to try rimming, Andy, but I don't think
we can both do this at the same time, so I'll go first." I nudged her
hips around and buried my face in the cleft of her ass but it was too
awkward in that position. Finally, we untangled ourselves and I got
Andy up on her knees, her lovely bottom jutting upward at an
interesting angle. I spread her cheeks to expose the puckered brown
target, took a deep breath, and began running my tongue round and
round the ridged muscle. Andy quivered and sobbed and made fists in
the sheets. When I stabbed into her waiting anus, she jerked and
smothered a cry. A half-dozen additional incursions and her hips were
shaking, her knees bouncing spasmodically on the bed. Without warning,
I shoved two fingers into her dripping pussy and she jerked wildly and
went rigid for a moment.

	Andy finally rolled loosely onto her back and stared at me for
a moment with glowing eyes. "I've *never* liked that," she whispered
hoarsely. "Now, get up on your knees, Sam! I'm gonna get even... "

	It was a strange and highly vulnerable position for a
heterosexual male to find himself in, but I got up on my knees with my
ass in the air. Andy smiled and licked her lips as she moved around
behind me, out of sight.

	First, I felt her hands, fingers spread, moving lightly over
my butt. Then her fingertips traced a vertical path across my
asshole, as I had done to her. She teased the opening a bit and I felt
my rectal muscles flutter. That was followed my her soft breasts; she
breathed more rapidly as she rubbed her erect nipples against the
opening.

	Then there was a pause of a few seconds and I suddenly became
aware of a soft, warm, wet something mopping and swabbing my anus. An
exquisite sensation. Andy's increased respiration suggested she was
getting off on this, too. As her tongue explored, her hands crept
between my parted thighs, one grasping my rigid penis and the other
lightly squeezing my balls. Her tongue finally began poking into my
asshole while she tugged my cock back between my legs. I found myself
balling up the sheet in my fists, just as she had.

	Perhaps her tongue was longer and stronger than mine, but she
seemed able to drill much deeper than I had,... or maybe it just
*felt* deeper. She stroked my cock and squeezed my testicles
alternately and I could feel the internal pressure building. I was
pretty sure that if I climaxed again so soon, I'd never be able to
manage what I was beginning to think of as "The Test": Fucking Dr.
Andrea DiMucci in her professorial ass.

	"Andy, whoa!" I fell on my stomach on the bed to escape that
electric tongue. "I think we're ready for the next step. And you're
really looking forward to having your ass plowed, aren't you?"
(Reinforcement of hypnotic instruction never hurts and the crudity was
calculated.) She looked a little less certain as she nodded her head,
but she evidently was still willing.

	I got her up on her knees again and moved around behind her. I
slipped my rigid cock into her overheated pussy, stroking in and out a
few times for lubrication. Then I told her to relax her muscles and
began pressing the head of my cock against her sphincter. She kept
tensing and then self- consciously relaxing; she was trying hard to go
through with this - partly for herself and partly for "Sam."

	And that uneasy situation, in fact, was exactly what I wanted.
I was convinced that Prof. DiMucci, her curiosity not withstanding,
almost certainly would not submit to being ass-fucked by anyone other
than her beloved and trusted Sam. This was, I thought, the ultimate
test of my control over a hypnotic subject. Could I convince Andy to
do something she ordinarily would be loath to do - especially with one
of her students - by doing an "end run" around her conscious self?
I'd never been sure about my previous subjects; I'd always felt I'd
merely loosened social and psychological inhibitions that kept them
from doing what they really *wanted* to do. I hadn't made them go
against their fundamental grain. But my earlier subjects had all been
more or less my own age, or a good deal younger, like little Sharon.
At that age, they probably could be expected to open themselves up to
sexual adventure with very little prodding. Dr. DiMucci was another
story altogether. I realized I was holding my breath.

	Andy whimpered and bit her lower lip as I slowly but
relentlessly eased myself into her rectum. "Think of this as losing
your *other* virginity," I said softly. "It may hurt a little the
first time but it'll feel so good afterward, you won't mind... " (Of
course, I wanted this fuck to hurt a *little*, since I was
deliberately "pushing the envelope.") Her ass wasn't as tight as those
of the very few younger women I'd done this with, but it was tight
enough, and smooth and warm besides.

	It took several minutes, but I eventually was buried in her
completely. My balls pressed against her crotch and my pubic hair
seemed to sprout directly from her anus. "How does it feel?" I asked.

	"Big. God, it feels huge. And very strange." She took a
shuddering breath. "Please be careful, Sam... "

	"Tell me what you want me to do, Andy?"

	"I... I want you to fuck me, now, Sam. Go ahead, I can do it,
I'm sure I can... "

	I withdrew a couple of inches and pushed back into her. She
groaned but held her position. My pre-ejaculate helped moisten the
passage and I increased the tempo a bit, fucking harder and deeper.
She made mewing sounds in counterpoint but she didn't protest. I had
to exert enormous self-control to keep from coming before I was ready.

	A dozen strokes, then twenty, and I was pistoning nearly all
the way in and out of her, clutching her hips to keep from losing my
balance. She was breathing loudly through her mouth and gulping air
every few seconds. This was the crucial moment.

	"Andy, I want you to imagine that it's not Sam fucking your
ass but one of your undergrad students. Tell me how that makes you
feel!"

	"No! God, no! I'd *never* do that, Sam! Don't ask me to
believe that!"

	"It's important, Andy - tell me how you would react if you
knew this penis belonged to a twenty-one-year-old student whose senior
thesis you were supervising. His cock is slamming into your asshole,
Andy! What's your reaction?"

	"God, I feel so ashamed! I'm so embarrassed - no, I'm
mortified! It's not only completely unprofessional, Sam, it's
disgusting! Why are you saying these things?" she wailed as she tried
to pull away from me.

	"No, Andy, listen to me! Dive, Andy, dive! Dive, do you
understand? It's me, Sam! That was just a little psychological
experiment, Andy. I'm sorry, and you will forget I asked you to
imagine those things, won't you? You'll forget all about them and
concentrate on the enormously sexy sensation of feeling my penis in
your asshole. Just think about that, Andy, okay?"

	She stopped pulling away and her tears ceased. Her breathing
became heavier and she began thrusting back against me. That was all I
could stand and I geysered deep into her. I doubted she could feel my
semen but she could certainly register my pelvis jerking and
contracting, and that set off her own orgasm.

	We ended up stacked two-deep on the bed, my cock still buried
in her ass, both of us gasping for breath. I was done for the evening,
in every sense, and now I had to make as unobtrusive an exit as I
could manage.

	"Andy," I whispered close to her ear, "I want you to doze off
now. You're exhausted and you'll sleep for a few minutes until you
hear my voice again, do you understand?"

	"Yes, Sam,... g'night... " And her eyes were closed. I pulled
out of that lovely ass without awakening her and padded into the
master bathroom to wash off my sticky cock. Then I went downstairs and
dressed, making sure I had everything I'd come in with. I gathered up
Andy's scattered outfit from around the sofa, took it back upstairs,
and laid it out on the end of the bed. Her shoes had come off during
our last pounding encounter and I set them neatly side by side on the
shoe rack in her closet. I unrolled the blue stockings down her sweaty
legs and stuffed them the net washing bag in the bathroom, which
already had several sets of underwear and hose in it.

	Back at her bedside, I stood for a minute and thought
carefully about what still needed doing. Kneeling beside her, I spoke
softly in her ear again.

	"Andy, you came home very tired and rather edgy today and you
stripped down and lay on your bed for a nap. Do you hear me, Andy?"
She mumbled an affirmative. "In a few minutes, you'll wake up, look at
the clock, and realize you've slept much longer than you intended.
But that doesn't matter, does it? You were tired and you obviously
needed the rest. But you will remember *nothing* about my being here
this evening, will you? It will all be just a wonderful, romantic,
nostalgic dream you had during your nap, do you understand? You know
better than to think Sam was really here, don't you, Andy? You're a
professional psychologist and you recognize an unfulfilled dream
fantasy when you have one. It will amuse you and you won't feel sad
about it. You have only nice thoughts about Sam, even though you
regret you were never able to make him understand your feelings about
him. But he was never here - no one was here this evening. That's
impossible, isn't it?

	"You will get up from your nap and go into the bathroom and
you will sit on the toilet and take a long, satisfying shit." (I
didn't want my semen oozing out into her underwear on onto the
sheets.) "Then you will take a hot, soothing shower and that will
relax your tense muscles. When you get out of the shower, you'll feel
much, much better - in fact, you'll feel kind of hungry. You'll put on
whatever you ordinarily wear around the house, you'll go downstairs,
and you'll fix yourself a little something to eat,... whatever sounds
good, okay?"

	"'Kay," she muttered and smacked her lips.

	"Then, you'll relax with the TV or a book or something for an
hour or two. You'll get really sleepy while you do that and you'll
decide to go to bed for good. When you come back up here, you'll hang
up the outfit that's lying on the bed - and you won't wonder why you
got it out, will you? You'll sleep soundly and undisturbed tonight,
won't you, Andy? Maybe you'll dream about Sam again. But you'll awake
in the morning feeling much better, very refreshed, and you'll
continue with whatever you had planned for the weekend. Do you
understand all that, Andy?"

	My sexy professor, who had done with me what she was convinced
she would never do - and certainly not with a student! - rolled over
on her side and sighed. "Sure,... " she murmured under her breath.

	I left the bathroom light on and pulled the door halfway
closed so she wouldn't wake up in the dark wondering where she was.
Then I slipped quietly out of the bedroom and down the stairs and out
the front door, making sure it was locked behind me. I hadn't even
taken a souvenir polaroid.

	Ordinarily, I had complete confidence in my ability to plant
post-hypnotic suggestions, but this was a very different situation. I
spent Saturday and Sunday anxiously wondering if I had tempted the
fates one time too many.

	On Monday morning, the male psych professor who taught my
first-period class passed me a sealed envelope with my name typed on
it. My stomach started to churn. I went to the last row of the room,
sat down, and took several deep breaths before I could make myself
open the flap. It read:

	"Would you please come by my office this afternoon at the
usual time? There's a little matter I'd like to ask you about. Andrea
DiMucci"

	It was a very long day. I went through three Alka-Seltzers and
half a bottle of Pepto-Bismal.

	Dr. DiMucci's last class was over at 3:30, so at 4:00 that
afternoon I tapped on her office door, wondering what the academic
equivalent of a court martial would be like.

	She opened the door personally instead of just telling me to
come in, and went behind her desk again while I felt as wooden as the
chair I sat down in.

	She cleared her throat and said, rather seriously, "First
things first. Your senior thesis outline is not only acceptable - "
(She broke into a broad smile) " - it's bloody excellent! I have every
confidence your full research and writing will live up to it. It
better - I expect perfection, you know!"

	My intestines were unknotting with relief and I discovered I'd
been holding my breath. She continued, "There's something else I'd
like to discuss with you, though. I've looked at your full transcript
and it doesn't surprise me that you will probably graduate next spring
with honors. If you don't already have plans for next year, I'd like
to offer you a Research Assistantship in this department next fall,
contingent on you beginning a master's degree in psychological
counseling. What do you think?" She looked at me expectantly and then
laughed musically and added, "Don't you think you'd better pick up
your jaw? I think this is the first time I've ever seen you at a loss
for words, sir!"

	"Yes, ma'am! I'd like an R.A. position very much! Uh, can I
ask what brought all this on so suddenly? I mean, the research and
teaching jobs aren't usually offered until summer, are they?"

	"Yes, that's true,... but I just have a feeling about you. You
remind me of an excellent psychologist under whom I did my clinical
residency - about the time you were getting out of diapers, I imagine!
I had rather a special relationship with him - "

	She stopped and looked away and I was sure I detected a blush
around her earlobes. "In any case," she went on, "he did me a good
turn and I've been thinking about him a lot lately. I think I owe him
a return favor,... by giving you the kind of boost he gave me. Simple
as that. But don't think I won't work you till you drop, sir! I
promise you, you'll earn that measly stipend the department pays." She
smiled again and I couldn't help smiling back. It was going to be a
good year after all - a *really* good year.

	In the event, it took me a year and a half to complete my M.A.
and another six months to pass the state exams and be licensed. The
following fall, two things happened: First, I joined the staff of the
university's student psychological counseling center and began
thinking seriously about doing my Ph.D. after all. Second, little
Sharon, recently turned eighteen, entered the university as a
freshman.

	I'd kept in touch with Sharon irregularly but carefully. She
wrote me periodic affectionate letters and included lengthy, steamily
detailed accounts of her sexual maturation. She had even called me at
school a couple of times for advice about one thing or another - and
I'd always had the feeling that it wasn't my advice she wanted so much
as just to hear my voice. I certainly enjoyed listening to her. And we
were careful not to let her brother, Jeff, discover our long-distance
relationship that had previously been very close-distance indeed.

	But I hadn't actually seen Sharon for nearly three years when
she came knocking at my cubicle door in the Counseling Center office.
I looked up to see a tall, graceful girl with long, wavy blonde hair
and large violet eyes. She was wearing tight chinos and a sleeveless
knit shirt that emphasized her long limbs and small waist, and she was
watching my face with a solemnly mischievous expression. She was such
a knockout, I actually didn't realize who she was for several seconds.
I just stared. Then she lost it and had to smother a giggle. "You
should see your face!"

	I stood up so fast I almost knocked over my chair. "Sharon? My
god, I don't believe it! I used to think you were the cutest thing
around, and now you've gone and turned beautiful on me... ! I mean,...
wow!"

	She had intended to make an impression on me, of course, but
I'm sure I exceeded her expectations. There was a subtle shift in her
expression. She glanced behind her to make sure no one was watching
and then took two quick steps forward and flung her arms around my
neck. "Oh, I've missed being with you so much!" she breathed in my
ear. "Did you think I'd forget that evening we spent in your friend's
townhouse?"

	I hugged her tightly, both delighted to see her and bedazzled
by the radiant young woman she'd become. I think that hug relieved her
of any doubts about her re-entry into my life because she placed her
nose an inch away from mine and licked her lips before continuing. "Do
you remember what I said just before I got out of the car at Marilyn's
house? I said I thought I'd always love you. Turns out I was right. I
don't care if you have a girlfriend or a fiance or what: I *do* love
you. And I'm eighteen now, so we don't have to worry about Jeff or my
folks or anyone interfering, either." She hesitated, then added, "I'm
here if you want me; do you?"

	That was six years ago. Sharon's married now and teaching
elementary school. She's also four months pregnant. I see her every
afternoon, actually,... except when she has to stay late for a
teachers' meeting, in which case *I* have supper waiting when *she*
gets home.

	The frame on my doctoral diploma is still shiny but I have
excellent prospects in the private practice I share with Dr. DiMucci
(whom Sharon and I have asked to be godmother to our firstborn). We
use hypnosis quite a lot in dealing with the problems of troubled
teenagers. Andy also found herself a new love interest a couple years
ago - a law professor who moved here from California - and though
she's still resisting a second marriage, they have a close and loving
relationship.

	Funny how things work out...

			       The End