The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jason continued his itenerary of shows, and the following summer we found ourselves at a county fair some distance from where we live. It was one of those deals where you do the show four days in a row. I don’t much enjoy staying at a motel in hicksville, nowhere, USA, but I was Jason’s manager, I have my summers off, and I loved the guy so much I would travel with him whenever possible.

This series of shows had one strange aspect. This same guy showed up as a subject every time. He was a great subject, but stage hypnotists have an ambivalent attitude toward this. After all, it was basically the same show each time (not 100%, because you have to take into account repeat audience and adjusting spontaeously to what you have on stage, but there is always a lot of overlap). So you would have to wonder why, the novelty worn off, you’d have repeat subjects. Usually it’s a case of them enjoying the hypnotic experience. And this guy was good; he got more and more into it each time.

Oh, I also forgot to tell you, this guy was the cutest little Latin type you’ve ever seen. Late teens. Yeah, they have ethnicity in the 4-H club too. You never know what to expect these days. This guy was a little on the short side, quite dark, somewhat like the Salvadorans who mow the lawn where I live (sorry, but it’s true). But his accent and demeanor were typical US-just-graduated-from-high-school. Maybe he was adopted. Maybe I just still assume too much. Anyway, he had a slender but not skinny and beautifully proportional body and a face that was halfway between snub-nose cute (think Leonardo DiCaprio if he were dark) and grown-up handsome.

Now Jason was pure professional on the stage. He had to hypnotize his share of geeks, old men, and (yuk) girls, but it is quite amazing how high a proportion of cute or even gorgeous guys counted among his subjects. His rule was minimum age 16 (for shows with families present) or 18 (for PG/R, which was about as far as he ever went). Let’s face it, his show drove me crazy. It drove him crazy too. We kidded each other about it in bed. “How about that blond kid tonight who looked so spaced out I was afraid you’d have to call an ambulance?” “Yeah, but the ambulance would have been for you.” But we both knew that we were treading on thin ice if Jason ever took advantage.

Back to the repeat subject. The fourth night, Jason did the “you are naked” thing. (Yes, it was a family show, but Jason was pretty good at skirting around the edges. Twelve-year-olds understand nakedness.) Well, this Latin guy, instead of trying to hide or cover his private parts with a handkerchief or something, started jerking off his imaginary dick in front of everybody! So Jason immediately “woke him up,” whispered something in his ear, and sent him off stage. Hypnotists do this all the time when they realize someone isn’t really under, and in this case I figured Jason was just trying to avoid trouble. The guy left the stage and, actually, walked out of the entire performance area. In the audience, there was nervous laughter, a little bemusement, and then, thanks to Jason’s great showmanship, the show went on.

Afterward, I was removing Jason’s fake beard and make-up in the “green room.” Of course, at a county fair, they don’t give you much, but somehow they had managed to find a private room with a lockable door. I loved doing and un-doing Jason’s make-up. I had never done anything extreme like that Halloween party years ago when we did a full body-paint thing, but every time I applied the basic and simple stuff to make him look a few years older, I fantasized that I was, for instance, Dean Stockwell’s make-up artist in that old movie “Kim,” where Stockwell, then just a kid, is made to pass for a very dark Indian boy.

Anyway, I’m just about finished with Jason when there’s a knock on the door. It’s the Latin guy from the show. “Can I come in?” “Sure.” “I’m really fascinated by your show. Could I ask some questions?” “Sure.” “Would you guys like a cigarette?” he said, producing a box of Lites. Uh oh. Now I think I know what’s going on. Jason and I exchange a meaningful look. Our on-and-off love affair with smoking always meant something sexual was in the wind. We accept the offer.

The kid talks a little about the show, stubs out his cigarette, and Jason begins. “Sleep, Jose.” In my old hypnotist days I had tried to find imaginative alternatives to this incorrect imperative, but for the stage hypnotist it was always expedient. Jose performed the correct slump of the head. “Jose, I’m going to repeat the ‘you are naked’ routine one more time. But this time you will believe that you are in private, and instead of just thinking you are naked, you will actually strip naked. And you will really do the thing you were pretending to do on stage this afternoon. Wide awake now. You’re alone, Jose, why don’t you take off all your clothes?”

That was Jason, always knowing when to take the direct approach. He knew his subjects. He knew trance logic would resolve the contradiction between being alone and having two other people in the room who couldn’t keep their hands off him.

Well, I won’t describe Jose’s strip, which was not, and was not intended to be, a strip tease. When he was naked on the chair again, he immediately began jerking himself off. He was going too fast (sigh—so many guys do that). Jason touched his jerk-off hand and said, “You must slow down; you must last; you cannot cum until I give the word.” So then Jason and I started. Feel up every inch from the bottom to the top. God, those gorgeous thighs. He was sitting down and Jason didn’t seem to want him to stand up, so we sort of just slid our hands under his butt. We were synchronized (well, when you’re someone’s lover for two years you can read each other’s minds about these things). The abdomen, the pecs, the bi’s. Nibbling the ears. Teething the hairline. This guy got real wet. The whole business didn’t last more than ten minutes. Jason and I both knew that this wasn’t about serious love-making. So Jason told Jose to cum, he did, he wiped, he dressed, he left.

“So what was that all about? You know we crossed a line in there?” “Yeah, I know, but I’m sick of being a freaking saint. I know that you and I both feel like we’re passing up a lot of gorgeous guys that we could probably have. We only live once.” We. What did I ever do to deserve such a lover? He finds an opportunity, but won’t take advantage without including me. “Jason,” I said with that little paternal tone that I still couldn’t avoid, “we’ve always agreed that we can’t just mess around with people’s lives.” “Look, Paul, I’ve been doing this for a long time. I can tell. I didn’t tell that guy to pretend jerking off on stage. I didn’t get him started smoking—I could smell it on him. If he’s been in my show four times I know it’s an erotic interest and I know he’s going to be fine, even happy.” Good enough for me. So that night we went to bed back at the motel and murmurred each other to sleep talking for the umpteenth time about types that turned us on.

It was near the end of summer and we were back home. We got almost daily visits from this neighborhood kid Tommy, who was our (well maybe just Jason’s) groupie. He was in his mid-teens, so hands off for the time being. He had red hair, freckles, greenish eyes, a cheerful, mild demeanor, and, like all the males I wish I could line up and admire throughout history, a beautifully proportioned body that fell just short of perfectly mesomorphic. I guess you have to know this, given the kind of story I’m telling, but the main thing going on here is that this was another latchkey kid who needed parental substitutes and Jason and I just happened to fit in. He must have known that Jason and I were more than roommates; modern kids are a lot more tolerant than in the old days.

I don’t want you to misunderstand. We weren’t the neighborhood hangout. A couple of years previously I had a parent get really bent out of shape about giving her kid a cigarette. And you can’t have kids knocking at your door all the time, or even walking up to you in the car, without giving the appearance that you’re selling drugs. But Tommy had worked himself into our lives as an exception.

You may remember that Jason used to do neighborhood hypnotist shows for fun (and under the influence of Joey, to whom I’ll have to return in another story). Well, Tommy wasn’t around then, but about six months ago, Jason gave gratis a G-rated show for some pubescent kids on the occasion of the 13th birthday of someone in the neighborhood. That age group falls under real easily. I wasn’t there, but apparently, it all went well, if you can imagine having them play a mock game of “Twister” being very interesting.

Tommy was in the show and instantly fell in love with hypnosis. And I guess—I might as well not hold this back any longer—with Jason. Like everyone who has this reaction to his first experience with hypnosis, he tried, with varying success, to hypnotize everyone he knew. He was nothing like Jason, but in that one respect he took me back and made me nostalgic. So Tommy hung with us, talked obsessively about hypnosis, and we dealt with it because he was basically a suburban middle class street kid who needed the adult company.

On Tommy’s 16th birthday part of the festivity was to take him to our favorite ice cream place at the mall. When we were done and had left the building, Jason produced his box of Lites and Tommy and I bummed. I always let Jason be the smoking instigator anymore because 21 and teen can still pass while in this day and age 39 and teen is interpreted as child abuse. Our smoking always produced stares, which didn’t bother me. Probably some people were expressing surprise or disapproval, but I have no doubt that a lot of people just found it as hot to see these two guys smoking as I did. And maybe even seeing me. For my age, I’m no slouch.

As we walked back to the car, Tommy said, “You know what I’d really like for my birthday, Paul? I’d like to hypnotize you.” He didn’t say, you and Jason. Some complexities are better left uninvestigated. I suppose he and Jason had already had a conversation about this. “The only time I’ve ever been hypnotized was years ago by Jason and his friend Billy, and I was a great subject, but I think they just caught me at the right moment. Also, I think I just had a fundamental trust in them, not that I don’t in you. I’m too old, I’m too experienced, I’m too wary. I don’t think I can be hypnotized again.”

“Can I try?” Leave it to young people not to let something go. By this time we were home. I mean my home, which was Tommy’s second home. “All right, it’s your birthday, why not give it a try? Now here’s the deal. You’ll have my full cooperation, but Jason is going to be here all the time and he’s not going to let you make a suggestion he knows will be wrong for me. The second condition is, no amnesia. If this works I want to remember the whole thing. OK?” “OK.”

Generally speaking if you go under with certain expectations, they influence your suggestibility. I had more trust in Jason than in anyone else in the world. If by some chance this actually worked, he would make sure I didn’t get suggestions, let’s say, to take out my life’s savings at the bank and use it to pay for a roller coaster ride into hell while simultaneously I was in court admitting to being a serial killer.

Tommy was good. He was very, very good. So was I. I know a stage hypnotist who begins each show by asserting, correctly, that hypnosis is a skill. Most of the audience probably think he means a skill on the part of the hypnotist, but of course, he means a skill on the part of the hypnotized. And as with all skills, some are more talented than others. I never thought I had that talent until that summer when Billy and Jason and I basically shared a weeks-long hypnotic fantasy.

It took a long time for Tommy to put me under. He was very patient. Not frustrated like you might expect such a young person to be. Maybe he had some instruction from Jason, or maybe he just had learned more from the experience of hypnotizing his friends than I realized. I was trying to dismiss such analytic thinking from my head. My propensity for dealing with things analytically was one of the reasons I was a dubious subject. But finally, we got there.

“Paul, you can’t straighten your arm out.” So I started straightening it out. “No” he said softly but firmly as he touched my elbow. Suddenly, not only could I not straighten it out, it contracted uncontrollably so my arm was completely bent. “Paul, I’d like you to offer Jason a cigarette and light it for him.” Somehow, I felt this was a complicated and silly suggestion so I just sat still. “It’s ok Paul. Just put your hand on the pack. Good. Now lift it up. Now lift the lighter in your other hand. Now stand up. Now walk across the room to Jason. Now hold the pack out to him. Etc., etc. I knew that hypnotic resistance could in some circumstances be overcome by breaking the suggestion down into little pieces. And here it was happening to me. I literally couldn’t help myself.

So let’s get to the main event. Here is how I remember it. It is a very vivid memory. It is a pretty happy memory (one qualification, which I will get to). I’m on a street in the nearest big city. It’s night. It’s not a great place to be hanging out. It’s where I need to be. I’m 18. I look down at myself and I have a compact, cute body. I have a nice (nice?) tattoo on my left upper arm. I can’t see myself but I know I have a cute face. I know I have blond hair. I’m a hustler—a street prostitute. I’m a punk.

A new model car pulls up. The driver is south Asian, 20 maybe, real dark, real handsome. In the back of my mind I know it’s Jason, but that’s not what I really see. “I’ll do anything you want for $80. But first you gotta buy me some cigarettes.” So we drive. “What brand?” “Newports.” You see, the problem with the scenario is that I’m too into the role. I don’t like tattoos, I don’t like Newports, but—sigh—I do know about street hustlers (not one of my proudest moments).

So I smoke like three in a row in the car and we get to [Jason’s] place, and he basically wants me to fuck him with a rubber. And I look down at this gorgeous Sri Lankan or whatever hunk and I want to do a lot more than just stick my dick up his ass. I want to stroke his warm brown butt. I want to..., but hustlers only want to get things over as quick as possible. My trance is coming apart because of these conflicted feelings. For a moment I see Jason on the couch and me standing there not knowing what to do with that rubber. Tommy! Where the hell did you come from? He lays his hand on my shoulder and gently works me back into the trance. How did he get so good? So I start behaving like a hustler again and ask—what was his name, Vijay—if he wants it doggy style or on his back. “Both.” And that’s it. I fuck and fuck and fuck.

When it was over, it was time for Tommy to go home. His mother still expected him in every night. When he was gone, I asked Jason, “how much of that was real?” Well, you dreamt the whole part about hustling and getting in the car and smoking and getting to my place. I could see the rapid eye movement. But you really did fuck me just the way you remember.” This was really weird, because Jason was the top almost all the time when we bothered to fuck at all. I had fucked him too but it had never amounted to one of our great sexual experiences. “Was it ok for you?” He moved next to me and put his arm around me. “Man, it was great. It was just fucking great.” “I wanted to really make love to that guy you looked like, but the suggestions to behave like a hustler took over.” “And how do you know how a hustler behaves?” “Never mind, let’s not go there.”

I had no idea whether there had been some collusion between Jason and Tommy over the nature of my suggestions. I didn’t know what if any kind of gratification Tommy had from the show. I didn’t ask. The only important outcome was that, accidentally or on purpose, the kid had opened a new dimension in my relationship with Jason, and I could only be grateful. Over the next couple of weeks, I kept having “flashbacks.” I’d be making love with Jason and in the middle of it I’d start giggling (well, humor is part of sex). “What’s the matter?” “Nothing, it’s just that suddenly I saw myself as that hustler again.” I never saw Jason as the Indian guy though, which doesn’t make much difference, because he was still pretty gorgeous just as himself.

Not more than a month after his 16th birthday, Tommy was over and he had some interesting news. It seems he had bummed a ride to the community college to watch a hypnotist show. Normally, Jason and I would attend anything local just to compare notes, but he had been out of town and I was just too beat now that we were back into the normal fall schedule. “He was pretty lousy. Having people go through pantomime is so lame. I went along but I don’t think I was really under. But afterward I talked with some of the other subjects, and there were these two guys, Billy and Shawn, who said they knew you. Billy said he really wants to talk to you. Here’s his number.”

So why the hell not? We had them over to dinner the following week (dinner is just naturally how I organize things socially). The conversation was long and complicated, but apparently they had both maintained a friendship while continuing to have short-term relationships with girls. The idea of attending the show together appealed to them for some unspecified reason. Well, once you’re hooked on hypnosis and have had positive experiences with it, it isn’t easy to let go.

After dinner we were continuing our conversation. I went into a rather long speech I won’t bore you with about complexities in relationships and a bunch of other things. I was talking down rather than out as I often do, and suddenly I got this nudge from Jason. Those two guys had—well, someone who didn’t know from squat would have said “nodded off.” They were under.

I knew they both had this propensity. Maybe they had discussed this before they came. Maybe they both unconsciously wanted it because in the past I had appeared to help them sort out relationships. However, I had two hypnotized guys on my hands, and I had to choose whether to just wake them up or take a course of action. Tommy, now legal though barely, was there. His relationship with me was such that making it sexual would have been out of the question. I knew he was in love with Jason, but I had deliberately avoided knowing where that was going. Then I had these two guys in their mid-20s who went back so far with me.

So I cobbled something together. I still had body make-up hanging around. I told Jason to go and get it and the drop cloth we had used from painting the apartment. I had Billy and Shawn dance to their own music while we waited, just to secure the trance. I told the wide-awake Tommy I had an idea, but he didn’t have to go along any farther than he wanted.

“Guys, in a few minutes you are going to open your eyes and you are going to believe that you are two of the most famous artists in the world. Your specialty is body painting with your fingers. Tommy here is your newest model. You will apply body paint to him from top down to the highest artistic standards. You will work together to mix colors so that he really comes out a work of art. You will start with the face and work down. You will not do anything with his hair.” Tommy had classic red hair and nothing could be done to improve on that.

So Tommy, who had already taken off his shirt, got on the drop cloth on the couch and the other two began. They had that look of exclusive concentration that only appears on the face of the hypnotized. They dipped their fingers in one color after another and smeared it on in slow small circles, overlapping each other. They spread the color out so there was lots of shading and various hues. They did the face, the ears, the neck, the arms, the pecks, the tummy, and uh-oh, here we go. I wasn’t going to urge Tommy to strip below the waist. He did it sponteously. He pushed the “artists” back gently and removed the rest of his clothes. He was aroused. “Tommy guy,” I said, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay standing for a while so they can do you behind and so the paint can dry.” “OK.” Then I told Billy and Shawn to save the private parts for last. I couldn’t have Tommy spirting jizz all over and ruining the “work of art.”

So we got the legs, the back, and they took special tender care with the buttocks. They would have kept going forever if I had let them. But we couldn’t have Tommy becoming a dull uniform brown-green. So I told Billy (the gentler of the two) to pick a color for the penis and scrotum. Leave it to Billy to choose bright red—the color of the privates of an erect whale. Not my choice, but this was supposed to be group fun.

I suppose we could have made this a mutual body-painting party, but we had been at it for almost an hour already, the body paint was running out, and I had something else in mind. Billy and Shawn had in the process of doing all this messed themselves up like six-year-olds making mud pies. I suggested to them that they would take a shower together and come back out naked.

“Jesus, I need a cigarette,” said Tommy. Even when he said something that sounded like a punk, he had this wide, open, happy, lovable face. Well, Jason’s box was empty, so Tommy rummaged through the dropped clothing of the older guys and bummed one. I still wouldn’t let him sit down because it takes about 20 minutes for the paint to dry. He lit up with the Zippo Jason had given him for his birthday and took a grateful and graceful hit. Made up like that, he was one hot young smoker.

When the two guys came out of the shower they were unfortunately also coming out of their state. But they were motivated, so I sat them down and in a few seconds they were once again deeply under. “Guys, I know you have missed each other and like making love with each other and need to have your feelings about this un-mixed-up. I want you to have a lot of fun tonight just like the last time we had this kind of session, but tonight, I want you to let Tommy be your facilitator.” Assuming Shawn had no idea what that word meant, I explained. “You will let him get you started. You will follow his lead. You’ll find doing so very sexy.”

With that wide open look of “I’m surprised but I sure don’t mind,” Tommy sat down between them. “Feel me up, guys.” So Shawn on the left and Billy on the right expressed in a most tactile way their appreciation of their own work of art. Oops, I forgot. Had to whisper to Tommy, “Watch out, Shawn is aggressive. Just make him hold back if he gets too rough with you.” This turned out not to be much of a problem. Tommy seemed to be a natural choreographer whose instructions were easy to follow.

Tommy got them started with his hands, one on his right, one on his left. A kiss on his right, a kiss on his left. Precocious. I didn’t say anything. Either he would go further or he would not. He sort of looked to me for guidance. “You can let them do their own thing now.” So Tommy led them into an embrace and things took off. Well, I’ve told you before how those two make love, so let’s skip some of the details.

Jason and I had remained fully clothed! Even though Tommy was technically fair game now, it still seemed weird and premature to have a full-blown five-part orgy involving him. I had another idea instead. Tommy had had fun this evening but not a lot of major satisfaction. I looked at Jason. He knew what was coming. He’s a very bright guy, in case I forgot to mention it, and always in the back of my mind was the thought that he needed to complete the education he deserved.

But he wasn’t going to get his Ph.D. that night. “Tommy, you need to wash that stuff off you too.” In case you didn’t know, good body paint comes off with soap and water. “Jason, do you want to go to the shower with him to help? It’s a big job.” “I guess.” Ha—“I guess.” That’s something kids say. So I’ve got Jason regressing because of uncertainty and Tommy looking like I just handed him the key to eternal happiness. And they went.

You have to understand that I don’t have a jealous bone in my body about Jason. He’s entitled to experience more than I alone can give him. Every moment I have been with him has been a pure gift. If we ever do break up, I can’t believe there will not always be friendship.

So they took a longer shower than God ever ordained, and the two roughnecks whom I still somehow loved finished their thing, while I was too tired even to jerk off, and I realized suddenly that I had never gone through this “sleep-wake” thing with them. I had actually done the whole “show” from that moment after dinner with them both in deep trance. So when they were both spent, I had a decision to make. Time for the straigtforward approach. I had to get rid of them, to be frank. “Guys I’m going to clap my hands and you will wake up and get dressed and go home.” And so they did, not without a friendly goodnight. God knows how much they remembered or how much good it did them.

Then the other two guys came out of their “shower,” saying nothing. Tommy put on his clothes and went home, way late, which means I was probably going to hear from his mother. Jason and I went to bed without words, but I put his arm around him, he put his around me, and we knew what was important.