The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive



Case 98-1 “Tower in her pocket”

This story may be reposted in any on-line medium, so long as no one is charged any amount for access to the story, and the above e-mail address and this disclaimer are retained verbatim. All of the characters and their behaviour are fictional, and anyone attempting their behaviour is bound to get into a lot of trouble. Copyright © 1998 by Richard Williams, all other rights are reserved.

Heidi Norton was a raven-haired woman in her mid-20’s, with an easy smile and an engaging laugh to match. I met her by arrangement in the grand new Denver Public Library’s Periodicals room—someplace big and open is what she needed. She had been sent to me by a former faculty colleague, Jill Madison, who had heard just enough of Heidi’s story to know that it was up my line and too hot for her to handle.

Heidi was an engineer, Jill told me, quite a brilliant young woman. Observant, meticulous with details, alert. If Heidi said something was wrong, something was wrong. Something had happened to Heidi that was beyond normal, and could I do something about it?

I was surprised at Heidi’s easygoing manner, given the careful attention to the details of how we would meet. Subsequently, I was to learn that her strong personality was carrying her through this very personal crisis. She just wanted the reassuring public setting while we got started and the library was perfect for us. As I developed a rapport with her, she relaxed, as my interview subjects eventually always do these days, and I suggested we move to one of the quieter study alcoves. In that setting, with the dull noise of traffic underneath our voices, she told me her amazing story.

Her smile remained, softened as a feeling of calm passed over her. I was glad that my lover Sophia was not watching us, as she might have had doubts about my own willingness to resist the old urge to become intimately involved with my attractive subject. Heidi remained unaware of that, I trusted, and spoke in an unstressed voice.

* * *

We were in Paris when it happened. It was only two days of our seven-day excursion from Denver. Two girlfriends and I took advantage of the low fares for British Airways’ service inauguration and flew to London. We had never been overseas before, and it all seemed to move in such a whirl. We took the Chunnel train to Paris, checked into our pre-booked hotel, and were out to see the sights.

Do you know what a long hike it is up Montmartre to see the view? When the little funicular railway is not running, that is what one does.... hike. We were following a guy of about age 19 or so up the stairs. He was wearing jeans and we were teasing each other about how good his butt looked. Jean, one of my friends, made a comment about how it was too bad there was only one of him to go around, and then Kerri, the other friend—she’s older than Jean and I—suggested that at age 19, he probably imagined that he could handle all of us. Kerri and Jean talked some more about how horny 19-year old guys are, and how easy it was to get them to come. It was kind of raunchy teasing, I guess, but we were far from home and feeling really independent. [She laughed at herself.]

We were at the top, looking out over the City of Light, and now there was just one other person near us. The jeans guy had gone on ahead somewhere. The sole other visitor was an elderly man, maybe in his late 60’s. [I winced, but remembered that I was much closer to that age than she.]

He introduced himself to us without us asking, and began to tell us about the buildings spread out below. My friends weren’t very interested, and began to edge away. He actually knew a lot about the buildings, though, and I remained to listen.

Reynard was his name, and he really had a good sense of humor in addition to being able to tell the stories of Paris architecture. He switched to cutely-accented English when my high-school French stopped functioning. Unlike some Frenchmen, he gave me credit for trying—flattered me by saying that I seemed very intelligent. I laughed a lot, and relaxed with him. [A half-smile crossed her face.]

I should have done what my friends had done, but the old guy and I were so perfectly on each other’s wavelengths that my concerns vanished. Eventually, though, he noticed that my friends were slipping away, and he suggested that we must say our farewells. First though, he wanted to show me a trick for remembering Paris.

Holding his hands out with one palm facing down and the other facing up, he framed the Eifel Tower in them. He got me to do that, too, and it was neat how the distant tower appeared to be in the palm of my hand.

[At this point, I asked her to show me what he did, how he held his hands, but she would not. This puzzled me at the time, although her reasons became clear soon.]

Then, he had me pretend to slowly telescope this little Eifel Tower down between my palms, till my hands would touch each other. As I did so, he calmly explained in a smooth voice, that I would feel very comfortable in doing this, and that it would put the energy of the City of Light into my hands, that I could carry it in my pocket. He told me that this would let me keep Paris in my memory, and that perhaps I would come back and visit him. I laughed in agreement, sure! I can’t say exactly what all he said, because at that point, just as I clapped my hands together, jet lag caught up with me I imagine, and I kind of drifted off.

It was just a second or so, but I guess he noticed, because suddenly I realized that he was raising his voice and telling me to wake up. I felt embarassed, but really full of energy. My friends were coming back to drag me away, so I had an excuse to leave then, but actually now there was less chance of me falling asleep, I was so refreshed.

As we headed down to the little cafes and bookstores, Kerri and Jean told me that they were amazed at how long I had talked to Reynard. They claimed that I had carried on chatting with him for fifteen minutes while doing that tower-in-my-pocket trick, but I think they were really stretching it. I did talk to him for quite a while, but that trick only added a couple of minutes.

[“I must ask you a very personal question at this point,” I interjected. She nodded agreement. As calmly as I could, I spoke “did you feel sexually aroused when you were done speaking with him?” Heidi started to speak, then stopped herself, then began to speak again.]

Yes, I did! It’s amazing that you knew that. I never told that to Dr. Madison when we spoke.

Yes, I felt an attraction to him! I didn’t tell Kerri or Jean that at the time, either. It seemed so strange. I think it was the combination of our teasing about the 19-year old guy, and then perhaps the sheer stimulation of talking with Reynard. Whatever, as the three of us walked down the hill, I realized that I was wet from just thinking about things.

Something else funny, that I bet you wouldn’t guess is that I remember his phone number- Reynard’s phone number. And I don’t remember him telling it to me. I even have thought about calling him, but I’ve got this bigger issue to deal with.

[I nodded encouragement. She had spoken freely about her sexuality, and now she was headed into the deepest water of her story. Things were going well.]

The three of us had a good time that evening, although Kerri and Jean got a bit smashed, and I was kind of embarassed by how loud they were- especially when they started in topping each other with more “horny 19-year old” tales. It was kind of a relief to get back to my room.

For a minute, I thought about what Reynard had told me. It had been quite a day, and I did want to remember it all. I tried taking the imaginary Eifel Tower out of my pocket, and waved my hands as if I was shaking it out to full size. It wasn’t an earth-shattering feeling, but he was right, it did bring back the image in my mind right away.

I started undressing—I especially wanted to get those panties off, as the cold air on the damp cloth was making me uncomfortable. I was down to my underwear—nothing fancy, Professor, just comfortable for travel—and I heard someone make a low whistling sound.

You can imagine how I almost lost it right then! I whirled around, and there was the 19-year old guy in the room with me. He seemed perfectly at home, and not at all threatening in his manner.

“Go ahead with what you were doing,” he suggested, in English accented just like Reynard’s.

I wanted to scream, but for some reason I did not.

“What do you want?” I pushed the words out of myself. I was rooted to the spot, trying think of a way out. He was between me and the door. I don’t think that I could have gone anywhere out the window. Anyway, he looked strong enough to have stopped me from going anywhere that he didn’t want me to go.

“I’m just here to do what you want,” he answered. That could have been an evil-sounding phrase, it could have been sarcastic, but instead it was presented as a simple fact. He calmly unzipped his fly.

Again, with urgency, I demanded to know what he wanted. Again he gave me the same cryptic answer. He unsnapped his jeans.

“Who are you?” I tried a different tack.

“I’m the guy on the stairs who you thought had such a cute butt.” He began reaching into his blue cotton briefs.

“Uhhhh.... okay, but what’s your name?” Now I was sorry that we had teased about him. Had he heard us?

“I don’t know what my name is.” The question stumped him! He looked genuinely perplexed.

“How can that be?” I wondered to myself if he was a mental case. Still, he made no move toward me.

“Well, you never learned what my name is. You just consider me to be a sex object, right?” He pulled his penis out through the fly in his briefs.

“Hey, I’m sorry! I didn’t like the way my friends were talking... and I’ll agree that I should have said something. But you don’t need to be upset about it. I’ll even get them to apologize.... let me call them right now.” I pointed toward the phone, but I could not move to it.

“I’m not upset,” he calmly responded. “You don’t know my name, so I don’t know my name. Make up a name for me if you like.” He spread the fly so that his balls projected through it. Still he did not move toward me.

This was not making sense, except that he seemed very deferential toward me. I asked him why that was.

“You brought me here.” He gently cradled his manhood in his right hand, and began to stroke it.

I was determined to keep him away from me, and it seemed as though as long as we were talking, I was okay. Except that it also seemed that he planned on obtaining an erection in front of me. I guessed that was harmless in itself, but sure was weird.

“How can you say that I brought you here?”

“When you did that trick with the palms of your hands... you brought me here.” He held his penis up slightly, as if to enjoy the sight of its head emerging from its turtleneck foreskin.

“Hey, that isn’t a magic trick, that’s just a memory device!” My tone was stern, partly because I was wondering if he might be right.

“Well, I’m part of your memory. Yes, that was a memory device, but I guess it’s not working the way you thought it should. What were you expecting would happen?” He began rhythmically stroking his little friend.

“Couldn’t you stop doing that while we talk?” I pleaded.

“No, not unless your subconscious wants me to quit. In a bit less than seven minutes from now, you’ll be enjoying watching me come.” A mellow look passed over his face as he settled into a pleasing pattern of massage.

“Well, my conscious mind sure wants you to quit. Isn’t that good enough?” Involuntarily, I looked at the clock.

“The conscious mind isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he intoned. It was in a deeper voice now, a voice with a sense of power in it. His penis rose from its resting place in his hand, as if with a will of its own, and curved into a strong arc shape.

“If I was to frame you between my palms and clap them, would you disappear?” I was trying to piece the whole process together. I had to get rid of him quickly!

“Yes.” He shifted his hand slightly, to vary the pattern of his touching. He was enjoying the sight of his own erection, teasing a finger down it, and then testing its strength by pushing down against it. He smiled when it sprang back into position.

I struggled to try and frame him in my palms and was unable to move my arms in a coordinated manner. Suddenly I felt helpless.

“You said that I could make you disappear!” I pleaded, almost whining. He smiled quite pleasantly—no sign of enjoying what must have been my humiliation.

“Yes, if you wanted to, but you don’t.” A drop of precum appeared on the engorged purple-red head of his staff. He ignored it for a moment.

“How do you mean? Uhhh, couldn’t you point it away from me?” He obliged by turning slightly, but that didn’t help, because now I was looking at his perfect French curve in profile.

“Your subconscious brought me here, because somehow you tangled up the memory trick with your ideas about me. Your subconscious wants to know if I could handle three women this evening, and now it’s finding out. It’s really simple, isn’t it?” He carefully spread the now sparkling fat bead of fluid down over the head of his penis, paying special care to moisten the sensitive stretch of skin under its “chin”.

“You mean I HAVE to watch you?”

“I mean that you WANT to watch me. Isn’t it true that you’ve always wondered what it would be like to watch a man masturbate? You used to enjoy doing it with Jack Flanders when you were a Freshman at the University, right? But you never got to watch, because you were necking and he always wore a condom and you both kept your clothes on.” He chuckled a bit, and then pulled his penis slightly down and turned so that it pointed toward me again, even more directly now.

“More pleasure,” he explained. “More like being inside you to stress it a bit.” I wanted to be offended again, but what he said seemed to make sense. Of course, I was startled to be reminded about Jack, but then this did make further sense as a fantasy of some kind, because how would a guy in France know that story? Perhaps I could just close my eyes, and the whole bad scene would drift away. I tried closing them.

“You’ll miss the best parts,” the young man told me. “In fact, your subconscious is not going to let you keep them closed, because as you try to, you are already wondering what I am doing. You can hear that my breathing is changing now, even though you can’t see me.”

He was right. I felt compelled to open my eyes again, to see why his breathing had grown audible. He was swaying back and forth in time to his breathing, and the stroking motions. His eyes were dilated.

“You’re coming right along there...” I tried a cheerier tactic. Could I charm him into going away, or letting me go?

“Yes, but that’s easy when I’m with someone as good looking—as sexy—as you.” Suddenly I was conscious of standing in front of him in my bra and panties.

“I see that you are enjoying this, too. That’s great!” He motioned with his free hand toward my wet panties.

“Ohhh... that’s just left over from something earlier,” I lied. It suddenly dawned on me that it had been renewed, wetter than ever, in his strange presence.

“Of course... it’s not... I know how you feel right now... because I am part of your mind.” He intoned this between gasps. The head of his sex organ was now shiny with his flowing preparation. Tiny streaks of white were appearing in the clear fluid.

“It’s getting warm in here... isn’t it...” he said throatily. He struggled to unbutton several shirt buttons with his left hand, while continuing with the unseen, unheard beat of jungle drums.

“Stop now, or I’ll scream! You’ll be arrested.” My conscious mind tried one last urgent demand to shake free of him, but he just tilted his head down and looked at me with penetrating eyes. I remained frozen to the spot, unable to do more than whisper now.

“Please.... please...” I begged him, but as I did so, a strange thought entered my mind. I was saying that not as an entreaty, but as if I was his lover... my voice was matching his urgency. And it felt good.

I watched his balls as he flexed his groin muscles—his jewels were pulled forward. For some reason, it occurred to me that in pre-caveman times, this must have been a turn-on (or a warning) to the fecund females of the band. As if knowing what I had thought, he strutted for a moment around the room, inviting me to witness his readiness.

And then he had to come. Again, he lowered his head and looked deeply into my eyes, drew in a deep breath, and as he did so, I saw the electric bolt arc through him, and a jet of hot semen shoot toward me. Instinctively, I stepped back, although it fell harmlessly short of me.

“Wait a minute!” I thought to myself. I was able to move now. I looked at the clock—seven minutes exactly.

I bent down and touched the carpet; it was sticky, warm and wet where his load had fallen. He looked at me now with a foolish grin as he squeezed the last drops out.

“Now you’ve made a mess in my room. How am I going to explain that to the maid?” I was indignant, although at the same time I felt very warm and unbelievably sexy. Nothing else made sense, so why should things be different now?

“You’re the only person who will worry about that,” he chortled. “Remember, all this is in your imagination.”

“Now that I can move again, can I clap my palms together and make you leave?” I was still trying to feel angry, but instead I was being distracted by this sexy feeling. Even if it was imaginary, thinking about a good-looking guy feeling so excited by ogling me was making me excited. That wasn’t right, I knew, but knowing that didn’t stop the feeling.

[Heidi leaned forward to speak even more softly to me. Her face was slightly flushed. At first I thought it was from embarassment at this intimate recital, but then I noticed that her mannerisms were indicating something else. She touched at her clothing, to straighten imaginary wrinkles, and unthinkingly tugged at her bra to relieve the added tension building within it. I tried not to notice.]

“You can do that, but you don’t want to, do you?” He laughed and grinned at me.

“Heidi, isn’t your bra getting awfully uncomfortable? You think it’s warm in here, don’t you?” It seemed perfectly normal for him to say that. “Myself, my balls are hurting from the tension of this elastic on them. Do you mind?” And without waiting for my answer, he slipped his pants down. His flaccid penis retreated easily back through the fly of his briefs. And then he was tossing his shirt and undershirt aside.

“Hey! How’d that happen??? My bra is off!” I barked this at him. Somehow, I was standing there topless, just like he was—with, of course, noticeable differences.

“You took it off, while I was taking off my shirts.” He said it in a teasing tone. “And I’m glad,” his voice quieted, “because you are too cute to stay in it.” I blushed, even though the whole thing was strange, or maybe because of the strangeness. How had I done this?

“I like the way your blush goes on down to your breasts.” He said it in such a sincere way. How peculiar!

“Yes, keep following it that way,” he murmured. Without realizing it, my fingers of both hands were tracing my blush down onto my breasts, almost reaching my nipples. I pulled them away abruptly when I realized what I absent-mindedly must have looked like I was doing.

“Let’s stop this now! May I clap my hands and get rid of you?” He did not react with any look of offense. Instead he spoke simply and directly.

“Remember, Heidi, you wondered if I could take three women in one night, didn’t you?” I hung my head in acknowledgement.

“I might be a little slower the second time, if I have to do everything by myself. You could help me.”

“You mean I have to wait here with you till you’ve come three times?” I sounded incredulous, I guess. I was remembering Bob, my lover last year, and trying to remember how long it took him by the third time. Of course, then I had liked that slow process, but now I wanted to get this over with.

“You still don’t seem to understand. You want to have me here.” He was so patient. “You could speed things up, though.”

“How?” I asked eagerly.

“Just let your hands keep on doing what they have begun doing.” Again, so calm—about the fact that he had noticed me idly teasing my breasts!

[She leaned forward even closer to me. I could feel her warmth.]

I was so excited about what was happening that I had started to stimulate myself. I hadn’t even noticed it at first, just kind of nervous hand movements—but they felt so good.

“So that’s what it’ll take to get this over!” I told myself, and suddenly I felt a delicious feeling of freedom. This must all be a fantasy, anyway, and he hadn’t harmed me even though he’d had the opportunity.

I cupped my breasts in my hand, teasing them and teasing him. His eyes grew big as I slowly moved toward him. Another part of him grew big, too.

“There’s something you want to show me, isn’t there?” I asked him seductively. I was enjoying turning him on.

As I eased closer to him, still out of arm’s reach, my right hand slipped down over my belly—I don’t work out a lot, but as an engineer I’m out doing field work enough, climbing over or under things—I’m in pretty good shape.

He drew in his breath as my hand slipped over my mount to the wet spot of my panties. He was transfixed as I began to stroke through the silky, soggy material. Without taking his eyes off me, he ripped the blue briefs off his well-shaped butt, and his manhood rose eagerly once more.

Aggressively, he stroked his staff, sliding through the fluid which came quickly to him this time. I lured him on, now drawn by my own hunger to stroke myself from inside the panties.

I had, of course, masturbated plenty of times by this age, and was glad to have explored my own sexuality through it. The only time that matched this, though, for intense sensations though was the night after I first met Bob while we were working on the Bull Creek Project. We had felt a deep connection with each other, and I could sense that both of our bodies were prepared to have sex on that very first night together, but we had held back because it was supposed to be a working relationship. Late that night, as I washed up for bed, an incredible yearning swept over me, and I felt Bob’s presence there with me. I caressed myself in front of the mirror, and imagined that he could see me through some kind of lovers’ ESP. I lost sight of myself when I felt my back arching in passion, as I envisioned opening myself to Bob’s pent-up strength. Much later, as we lay in each other’s arms in real life, I confessed this to him and learned that he had also been masturbating at home in front of the mirror, just about the time that I was. How strange and beautiful!

And now, I recognized this feeling again.

“Damn, these things are uncomfortable!” I grabbed at my panties and yanked them off. I had to do it, really. I can’t explain it, but they were sooo uncomfortable suddenly.

I swayed temptingly in front of him, spreading my sex lips with the fingers of one hand, while the others first found my opening, and then coaxed my clitoris out to play.

We moved to each other’s rhythyms, dancing now without words, our breathing deep, taking in lusty gulps of air. His balls churned powerfully, as his body struggled to be ready again so soon. It was hurting him, I could see, but it felt so good to him, too.

“So...” he panted, having found his voice somewhere an octave down, “you wondered if I could have three women tonight....”

“So far...” I gasped back, “I don’t see any results....” I said that in a light voice, floating on the hormonal waves which carried me toward my own climax. It was such a turn-on to see his reactions to me!

I had spoken too soon.

“I think... you are about... to change... my mind...” he roared, and a strong jet of brightly white cum shot into the torrid air between us. A bit of it hit my belly, and before I could stop myself, I touched it with my finger and tasted it.

“Mmmmmm....” I teased. “Seconds are the sweetest, because the first time is really leftover from all the girls you eyed today. This time, you’re all mine.” Even as this happened, I felt the need for my fingers in my vagina again, and I climaxed. It was the most shattering since that imaginary night with Bob. I felt it work its way through me with no resistance, the wave overcoming every part of me.

His penis drooped lazily this time, and instead of feeling relief, I felt a sudden twinge of regret.

“Will you be able to come a third time, so soon?” I asked. All feelings of apprehension were gone. I wanted to help. Hell, I wanted to have him!

[Heidi leaned back in her chair now, raising her voice without concern. Suddenly, she was the assertive, in-control woman who my former colleague had described. Her posture brought her firmed breasts up attractively, so there was no loss of femininity in this picture.]

Yes, as I realized that this was all in my imagination, I had relaxed, and then I had become a willing and eager participant. I knelt in front of him and held his balls up for my kisses.

“Feeling a bit tired?” I cooed.

“Hmmmmm...” his voice was scratchy, but remained in the octave low which had so enraptured me. “Perhaps you could help me reach that third time sooner than later.”

I didn’t even say anything, just began kissing and fondling him. Perhaps you’ll excuse me glossing over the even more intimate details, and I guess it isn’t ladylike to brag, but then what I did wasn’t very ladylike.

[She laughed out loud. A guy who had just sat down, a man who I recognized as an Internet sex photo site voyeur in this library, looked up from his copy of the New York Times Book section and glared at us from across the corridor. We were distracting him. I told Heidi who he was, and then she laughed out loud again and stuck out her tongue at him. In a huff, he moved away. Heidi resumed her story.]

I had a copy of the Engineering News Record that I’d brought on the flight to catch up on. I turned and grabbed it off the night table, and used it for modesty as I approached him. I held it coyly in front of my pussy, blocking his view, and turned the pages as if I was reading the glossy magazine.

“Hmmm, the new bridge towers are in place for the suspension bridge at...” I said as seductively as possible. It only took a minute of that. He came closer, and caressed my breasts on each side, letting his hands slide around my back, savoring every part of me. As he tenderly treasured my nipples, I floated into a cloud—the woman who got an “A” in Calculus the first time around—and now I couldn’t have done simple arithmetic. Nor would I have wanted to. For me now, 1+1 would equal infinity.

This unnamed young man snatched the magazine aside, swept me off my feet, and carried me to the bed. He mounted me like royalty, as if it was his right. I spread myself lustily, wanting him, wanting him, sliding my hands over the shapes of his working muscles. His staff was steel now, and I polished it with more enthusiasm than I had ever shown for housekeeping. I forgot everything, only his coming orgasm meant anything to me.

With the edge of his horniness gone, and his penis yet powerful through my own efforts, he took me into the place where I longed to be. You’re a man, so you won’t understand, I guess, exactly what that means.

[She was right. Although I had been in the center of some memorable orgasms, on top or below or alongside, there was still much that I had never understood. On the other hand, I don’t know how to run a power plant, either, but I enjoy the creative uses for electricity.]

[She sighed as her mind replayed the splintering orgasm which had ripped through her that night.]

I went to sleep with him curled in my arms. We didn’t even bother to pull the covers over ourselves. I guess we were too hot anyway. Sometime in the early morning, I felt chilly and woke up.

He was gone. I pulled my wonderfully aching self up off the bed, searched the room, nothing. The door was locked from the inside. His clothes were gone. The carpet was dry! Not a trace of him was left, except for this terrific feeling inside me. Every muscle felt like I had used it over and over and over.

I tried putting my palms together and spreading them apart, but all that happened is that I suddenly had a good picture of the Eifel Tower in my imagination!

I see the question forming on your lips... no, I never have seen him again, even though I’ve tried that trick in many private moments since.

And, yes, I tried to probe around a bit with Kerri and Jean, but they didn’t know anything more than what I told you already.

[She let out a longer sigh—the sigh of a person tired of something, but of someone who enjoyed the tiredness.]

“What do you think, Professor? You’re the expert on the paranormal. Was this some kind of alien experience?” [She laughed nervously.]

* * *

“Heidi,” I began, “a lot of times, I don’t know what the things mean that I write down. I put the cases in my notebooks, and later on piece them together.”

“And in this case?”

“I have a hypothesis as to what might have happened. You know enough about science to know why it’ll just have to stay that way for a while.” She nodded understanding.

“Have you ever heard of the School for Social Expression?” She had not.

“Actually, it’s real name apparently is the School for Sexual Expression. It trains men and a few women, for a handsome fee, to use hypnosis in developing relationships. That could either be on a loving basis, a recreational basis, or a downright dangerous basis. I’m still chipping around the edges of learning about the place, but your Reynard sounds like someone who might be a graduate, or perhaps is a wannabee.”

“But how does that relate to what happened to me?” Heidi looked puzzled.

“Remember that you felt a vague desire to call Reynard, or to see him again? I think that was supposed to be the main event. While you were talking with him, he took advantage of that old-fashioned, romantic memory trick with the tower and installed powerful sexual urges in your mind. But your subconscious outwitted him—instead of heading to him for a roll in the hay on his command, you meshed that urge with the discussion about that 19-year old, and came up with something uniquely your own. Jill Madison said that you are intelligent, and now I absolutely believe her.” I stopped talking and just enjoyed looking at Heidi as she digested all this.

“What will become of me?”

“I suspect that you may have worked it all out already. However,” and I paused to let it sink in, “don’t take any chances. Here’s a card from a fellow who knows a lot more about hypnotism than me. He’ll work with you, even by e-mail or in a chat room if you can’t see him in town.” I gave her a card from my German friend Professor Markus.

“He’s a man who can write thirty-five paragraphs about the phrase “recreational sex” with a straight face. You can trust him.” I said it as sincerely as I could, and sort of believed it. I knew that Professor Markus would clear out amateur Reynard’s leftovers in Heidi’s subconscious, but I wondered if he would resist the temptation to replace Reynard with himself. Still, no one had complained about him.

“That’s great! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.” She leaned across the table and gave me a smooch on the cheek. A passing librarian was startled and then kept on walking. She had likely seen worse. “I’ve got to go now,” Heidi added.

“A dinner date?” I smiled.

“Bob’s in town.” She blushed. “We’re just going to talk though—we both kind of think that Bull Creek Project thing was just a fling.”

“Are you bringing a copy of Engineering News Record with you?” I raised my eyebrows and grinned at the young engineer.

“PROFESSOR!” She exclaimed in professional woman shock, and then collapsed in a gale of girlish giggles.

* * *

Sophia is helping me get this edited on her laptop. We’re back in our room at the Oxford Hotel now. It;’s greatt to do it right away before I forgut some of the key points. The problemm is that it’s geting hard—typing i mean, with her breathing seductively and pretending that her bra is getting more and more uncomforatbale. I’ll have to run the spellchek later.

- Professor R