Bobby
You know, you don’t need potions, machines, or strange techniques. Ordinary, real hypnosis does work. It just requires the proper context. And a little experience.
When I was very young I had a little brother from the Big Brother program. I made a principled decision never to mess around with him. Ironically, he ended as messed up as if I had hypnotized him into going out and fucking his life up to the max. But that’s not the topic for this story.
Christian’s home was a sort of neighborhood center for teen hangouts, many older (he was say 14, the others say 18). Years later, I discovered that they actually were having affairs with his ditzy mother who was into bongs. Apparently they found it cool to be with a totally tolerant older woman, however homely. We’re talking about extreme working class neighborhood and latchkey kids here.
So there’s these guys, Mike and Bobby. They come and they go. And frankly, at the time, I hate them, because they’re a bad influence on Christian (and God they were, as it turned out). They’re sitting there with Christian and me in his filthy basement bedroom one day and I’m a little embarrassed and dying because Bobby is a god. He loves to show his body off. He is wearing nothing but cut-offs. Barefoot. Shirtless. Total mesomorph. Workout features like crazy. A little small, a little compact. Face and hair indicate some Afro-Am descent, confirmed by a glorious tan. (Years later he would mess himself up with tattoos and substance abuse and lose his looks early, but let’s not go there now.)
So, scared to death but knowing how to do it, I suggested hypnosis as a fun thing. These guys are pretty bored, you know. As though life had no meaning (Bobby’s older brother Joey took his own life not long after). Well of course, they go for it. Christian is supposed to be a spectator. In fact, he was a strong-willed stubborn kid who should not have made a good subject under me. But a hypnotic induction can be so relaxing, so enticing, so seductive, that one doesn’t want to resist. So I had all three of them under.
Well, I might as well go through the boring preliminaries. If I had a gang here, I might as well give them all the hypno-shit, and did. One of the things I do that doesn’t normally get done in shows is suggest extreme ticklishness on the palm of the hands, and of course inability to escape from it. I ran my fingers over all three guys’ hands and I got paroxysms of uncontrollable tickle-laughter. I had to stop before they pissed their pants.
But I have to get down to business. Mike was a rarity, a geek, an uninteresting object even as a late teenager. Christian, I wasn’t going to fool around with him. So I stole the pack of Marlboro lites from Mike’s pocket (well, this was a working class neighborhood and everyone smoked, and I knew Christian did though I disapproved), gave them a few, and told them to take a walk through the neighborhood, and every time they took a puff, they would see a beautiful girl sitting naked on the nearest doorstep and would comment to each other on that. Leave the rest to their imagination. As a matter of fact, I never got any feedback from that.
Which left Bobby and me. Now I’m not going to go through the suggestions. They will be obvious in what follows. “Where did Mike and Christian go?” “I sent them away. I told them they would find a beautiful girl on every doorstep. They were hypnotized just like you. Don’t you remember?” “What? I wasn’t hypnotized. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh, ok.” Then I squeezed his knee. “Stand up, Bobby.” A tremendous effort. “I can’t.” “Why not?” “My butt weighs a ton of bricks.” Good, he supplied the metaphor, I had only suggested heavy.
Then I touched his ear. “Jesus Christ I need a cigarette.” He gets one. He is of course the hottest smoker in hell. I allow myself a puff or two though I never smoked in front of Christian (who ended up being a chain smoker at 17).
Then I show him a mirror. “Oh God, that sucks!” “What’s wrong?” My hair, it’s disgusting!? “How should it be?” “It’s supposed to be blond.” “All right, relax, we’ll make it that way later.” As a matter of fact, we did handle that later. I wish I had had the stuff with me at the time.
The main idea here, in case you haven’t guessed, is that I’m going to have sex with this not very white white trash. So I run my fingers through his close-cut, but thick curly brown hair that will be blond when we get the chance. And he collapses not back into a trance, but into erotic relaxation. I’ve called him trash, which is not quite fair, because he obviously had talent, or he could not keep straight these complex suggestions.
Anyway, his bulge is obvious and from this point on the only consideration is not letting him cum too soon. I have given him a suggestion for that, too (the phrase “last, babie, last”), but physiology will have its way. I do it the way I usually do (as though I get to do this every day—ha!). It’s important to know his whole body with my hand. I just go slow. Let’s face it, I love him. If they want to be left alone, let them have acne and wear dorky clothes. Otherwise, they’re fair game. At the time, I was a lot younger and not unattractive myself.
I’m down his body from the top. I use the mouth as well as the hand. The mouth on the ears, no tongue kissing. Not willing to risk that yet. Every square inch of the bod with my hands. I’ll never have this opportunity again. He was willing at least to put his hands on me. (I had made a suggestion that it would be pleasant to give as good as he got, and in those days, I also had a tanned, trim, smooth body with a swimmer’s build). I groped. We used our hands. I put my finger to his mouth and ran it over his lips. I urged his chin down and ran my finger around the inside of his mouth. Preparation for the future? He loved it.
It took a lot longer for me to cum than him. He was nice and kind to me. His hand tired before mine, which is like iron, so I had to finish myself off, but at least we had our arms around each other when I did. Some cum went on him, for which I apologized (it doesn’t make any difference health-wise). I doubt the hypnosis had all that much to do with it. I think they’ll take it from someone who is nice and whom they trust and who is kind and safe no matter who it is. And even though he was a questionable character, he never told Christian or his mother.
I’d love to tell you that I had hotter sessions with Bobby beyond the hair stuff or that we were lovers. This was not the last time we basically jacked each other off. And we did do the hair stuff, and he loved it. The theme of this site is fantasy and impossibility, but I couldn’t just say “sleep” and have him go under again. So we were never mouth lovers or ass lovers. But the notion that I had someone so gorgeous under my hands once in my life has hung with me forever.
To follow up, not long after the first “incident,” we were once again all at Christian’s house in that messy basement. There was Bobby, Christian, me, not older Mike, but the kid from across the street, another Mike (well, there are lots of Mikes). This one was a cute redhead. Only those of you who appreciate cute redheads will know what I mean, and those of you who don’t like them can just pass the rest of this story by.
“Hey, watch this,” said Bobby. And with some sort of pressure on the elbow and a mild suggestion, he put Mike under. Obviously, some sort of post-hypnotic thing going on. Now it is a familiar phenomenon that those who have been hypnotized go out and try it on others. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. This worked.
“Oh God,” I thought, “What is he going to do, and Christian sitting right here?” “Look, go get some ice cream” I tell Christian and hand him five dollars. “No, I wanna see what’s happening.” So I hand him a twenty. “Go get some freaking ice cream.” Always ready to be bought (this was one of the downfalls of our relationship), he gets up and goes.
I don’t think Bobby had any scruples about being a live porn show in front of a 14-year-old boy, but as I said I had laid limits around Christian. What they did in front of me was another matter. Now Bobby was an interesting variation on an idiot-savant. He was a total mess in school, of course, but sophisticated in areas that interested him and not without intellect, as his previous behavior under hypnosis had indicated. Anyway, he had apparently created this entire alternative personality with young Mike (young but within age limits for Bobby). In this alternative persona, Mike was a street hustler who loved his work. Bobby was a customer who had just paid him $100. Oh hell, did I really want to go here, or let them?
Taking my chances, I observed. Under suggestions, Mike had a mouth that was totally hot for Bobby. The deep kissing I had never dared with him just happened between the two. And then the BJ’s. First Mike on Bobby, then a 69. “Bobby, you want some privacy?” I said. Remember, only Mike was under, and Bobby and I had what you might call a limited relationship. “No, stay, it’s more fun if you’re watching.” Sigh, they learn early, don’t they? At least there was trust there.
Bobby, in case you didn’t figure it out, was a little high. Mike must not have been or he wouldn’t have been hypnotizable, but he sure looked halfway to Pluto. Look at those teen porn sites that routinely get yanked by the e-mail groups and you’ll realize what I mean. A couple of spaced-out young guys having enormous fun with sex. Anyway, they had a really happy time of it. I’d love to say I saw the jiz come out from both of them, but one of them came in the other’s mouth, and I don’t think I want to tell you which was which. In a fit of responsibility, I told Bobby that if he ever made Mike his bottom, he’d have to be safe and not hurt him. “I know.” Yeah, right.
I didn’t jerk off in front of them during the sex, as though they would have noticed, but I sure did when I got home. As I always still do when I think of Bobby, the one person who ever realized my hypnotic fantasies.