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From: misuelma@mail.freenet.hut.fi (Michael Suelmann,Passau Germany)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Repost/Michael K. Smith: Trances
Date: 5 Oct 1996 17:56:19 GMT
Organization: Freenet Finland
Lines: 2782
Message-ID: <5367g3$bac@freenet.hut.fi>
Reply-To: misuelma@mail.freenet.hut.fi (Michael Suelmann,Passau Germany)
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I didn't write this story. Unfortunately the address mksmith@metronet.com
is not valid anymore.

From: mksmith@metronet.com (Michael K. Smith)

                              TRANCES

                        by Michael K. Smith


   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 posthypnotic "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.


                         TRANCES -- part 2

                        by Michael K. Smith


   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 babyface 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 posthypnotic 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.


                         TRANCES -- part 3

                        by Michael K. Smith


   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?


                         TRANCES -- part 4

                        by Michael K. Smith


   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 shoulderblades.  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!



                       TRANCES -- Part 5



   Fall of my senior year was interesting.  Loads of work, but
interesting.  All my coursework 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 scuttlebutt 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 blotter 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" topknot 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's
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's 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's 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 de 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 out fuckfest 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* like 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
posthypnotic 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
                            (whew....!)


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 1994 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.
-- 
Michael Suelmann			misuelma@freenet.hut.fi
					suelmann@forwiss.uni-passau.de