The Skinheads
I’m not particularly proud of the context I resorted to to accomplish this, but if you have the need, you have the need. I’ve hypnotized and seduced guys before, but it isn’t easy. After a lot of research, it occurred to me that extreme personalities may be more accessible. Specifically, race supremicists, skinheads, or whatever you want to call them are already extremely susceptible to authority.
Let me make it clear that I have no philosophical agreement there—none whatsoever. I just got involved because there are a lot of vulnerable cute young guys around. If you know history, Ernst Roem of the Sturmabgeteilungen (storm troopers) loved guys. And so do a lot of other men in the new incarnations of such groups.
In the back of my mind, there was the feeling that I might be able to stop a crime somewhere along the way. These guys do obsess on hate and weapons and absurd survival scenarios and all that. So my justification was that I might do some good in return for the little reward I was planning for myself.
They dig the leadership. They’re all from dysfunctional families and are starved for a substitute social context. They turn a blind eye to any notion that my intentions might be other than what they seemed to be. They are intelligent, fun to be with, and handsome. I had my specific circle of three—David, Max, and Sam. They all were variations on wan, generic late teens, about average, but average male late teens is pretty cool. The close-shaved skinhead thing is of course a turn-on all by itself. There were a couple of tattoos I could have dealt without. Their hero is of course an unmentionable villain of the middle of the last century, and all I ever had to do was say that this person disapproved of something, and that was that. So this person disapproved of tattoos and there would be no more of them. But this person (who never allowed smoking in his presence) didn’t disapprove of smoking, because I like watching guys smoke. I really was an authority figure for them.
I was waiting for my time. I knew how it had to be. I’ve done it before, but it isn’t easy, it’s risky, and you can’t count on what is going to happen. But one day we are at the mall in the food court having a soda, and the oldest, David, brings up this shibboleth about the person from the middle of the century having been a great mass hypnotist. “No, guy. He was a charismatic speaker [I couldn’t tell them the other side of it for now], but real hypnosis works a different way.” Instant, obvious interest. These guys were, partly through my influence, relatively substance abuse free, and young people just seem to be starved for altered-state experiences.
“In real hypnosis, there’s an engagement between the hypnotist and the one hypnotized. The first is a guide while the second goes through an imaginative exercise under that guidance. To get started, you just ask the person to relax. It takes a few seconds for you to feel that relaxation from head to toe. You can close your eyes if that makes it easier. You are pleasantly removed from your surroundings. You can be wherever you want to be, or nowhere at all. You know about each other and you know about me, but not about anything else unless I suggest it. You’re in a great place now, where you’re relaxed and comfortable, and you do a quick mental countdown—5,4,3,2,1—and you’re ready for this new experience of hypnosis.”
Yeah, it worked. And I’m not much exaggerating how quick the induction was. But their posture now was so strange that we were attracting attention. “Guys, when I count to three, I want you to sit up and open your eyes but remain in this extremely relaxed state.” They did so. A pleasant, natural, relaxed expression. They only get that zoned-out look when you’re taking them through a scenario that requires them to be mentally somewhere else.
I didn’t really have this planned, so I had to think quick. “Guys, you’re enjoying this so much that for the rest of the day you’ll be in this state until I say otherwise. If I suggest action, you’ll be active, if I suggest inaction, you’ll be calm like this. The word ‘sleep’ will make you instantly return to this inactive, relaxed state.” Oh brother, I was supposing a somnambulistic state without testing it, but God, they did seem under. By the way, I’ve always hated that stage convention of using “sleep” as the trigger, because they are anything but asleep, but it has the advantage of having only one syllable.
Now I had the problem of the fact that there were three. I can keep a foursome going, but it’s an effort. I really wish I had just David to myself, the one I really had the hots for, and was tempted to find a way to dismiss the others. Sending them out to play leapfrog crossed my mind, but I’m not into humiliation, and if I had three hot potatoes on my hand, I was going to take advantage of it.
Here’s how you do it with skinheads: “David, when I put my hand on your shoulder, you’re going to be absolutely convinced that the black guy at the table next to us has infected you with blackness [I can’t use the coarser words here]. In fact, he has turned you into about the blackest guy on earth. You will make no move against him, but turn to me for the solution to this problem.” I made the other two think they were some unallowed ethnicity or religion, and then touched them all on the shoulder.
Personally, I wish one of them had been black, or that I could make myself see them that way. I dig black. But, as with the tattoos, you can’t have everything.
After I touched them, the reaction was more extreme than I might have imagined. They were all very upset. Creating a scene, in fact. David was in tears. “Help me, John, I don’t want to be a....[finish it in your imagination]. I realized I was about to get the attention of security. So, “sleep.” “Guys, I will get you out of this when we get home. We’re going to have a relaxing ride in the car and you’ll just trust me to make you right again when we get home. A smoke will do you good.”
It was a short ride to my house. They were still a little squirmy and agitated. I really had created a monster. How was I going to “cure” them? With sex, of course. David’s suggestion was that only an older white person could provide him with the “energy” to switch him back. He could get that energy from me. He’d have to follow my directions and my whiteness would rub off on him. He would only become white again when I said we were done.
If this seems improbable to you, check out those faith healers or even Franz Mesmer, who purport to change people by making passes near their body. I wasn’t going to stop with “near,” of course. Then there was the issue of what to do with the other two. Same thing, basically. “Max, you can only get rid of your Jewishness by pushing it up Sam’s ass. “Sam, you’ll stop being Japanese when Max pushes it out of you.”
Now I’ve got the issue of anal sex to deal with. I didn’t want to fuck David or have him fuck me—I’m more into gentle stuff and the intensity of a good bj. And I didn’t want the other two to hurt each other. It would just be a gas to add to the scenario a good porn-film-like fuck. But now I have opened a can of worms. Virgin ass, need for cleanliness, need for safety, etc. So I dealt with it by a series of suggestions.
Let’s deal with the other two first. I keep around all the stuff you need. Clean the ass with an enema. Wash it antiseptically. Get that ass relaxed, real relaxed, real real real relaxed. (There’s no way to know how it’s going to work the first time.) Put on the rubber. I don’t think Max knew squat about rubbers. They were into girls, of course, but I think they all had basically limited experience, to put it politely. Sexual frustration is another aspect of attraction to the skinhead thing.
In the meantime (and I really made this tough on myself; I should have just gotten David alone), getting back to being white means carresses, hugs, kisses. Lots of kisses. I doubt he had ever kissed a girl that way. I forgot to describe him except in a general way. His best feature was his gray-green eyes. He didn’t mind looking me right in the eye even before I hypnotized him. Another irresistible feature of most of these guys is that they are gentle, tender, caring. The unattractive aspect of their “hobby” is an overwhelming psychological reaction to neglect and issues of self-image and self-esteem.
Getting that blackness out of David was going to take more than wondrous foreplay, though I can go on with that forever. I started down on him to show him how I like it myself. Hell, everybody likes it like that, so why doesn’t anybody get it right? He was about to lose his mind when I made him do the same to me. “Your mouth is hungry, itching for me” is always a good suggestion. It helps if you run your finger around their mouth a bit first. Then there’s always the issue of cumming. I had told him he was going to get his whiteness back by my giving it to him through the mouth. Oops. I had to modify that one. I know the drill. So we finished each other off, he was confused, but he was white again. The other two had, whew, wipe the forehead, a very successful anal sex session. One of the hardest jobs of my life, but worth it.
Jesus, we had been sexing it up for an hour, and I suddenly realized that I had not done much in the way of keeping them under. I did “sleep” one more time. The suggestion was that they had spent the afternoon watching the propaganda film “Triumph of the Will” for the umteenth time. I think it worked. Last suggestion: have a dream tonight where it’s ok to be brothers with people of other groups. Did I suggest that we could repeat this scenario whenever I used a trigger word? No. It doesn’t work that way. Magic rays and potions don’t work either. Will they forget? Will they keep the experience in the back of their mind and forgive? Was it after all just a positive experience for them that I should not have had to coerce? Will they be ok in the head in opposition to this crap they believe? I don’t know. This was just yesterday. Tomorrow is another day.